“Good.”
I can’t stop a bite of sarcasm. “What happened to your whole stand-united-as-a-family thing?”
Grier’s response is just as biting. “You can stand united anywhere but that funeral home. And for the love of God, Reed, keep your nose clean. No more fights at school, no bullshit, all right?” His eyes fall to Ella with an unspoken warning.
My biggest weakness? No way. Ella’s the steel in my spine, but Grier only sees her as evidence of my motive. I step closer to her.
He shakes his head and turns to Dad, adding, “Let me know if you want me to arrange another meeting with Delacorte.”
“There’s no meeting,” I snap at them.
Dad pats the lawyer on the back. “I’ll call you.”
Frustration jams in my throat. It’s like I’m not even here. And if no one’s going to listen to me, then there’s no point in being here.
“Let’s go,” I tell Ella.
I pull her out of the study without waiting for her agreement—or anyone else’s.
A minute later, we’re upstairs, and I throw open her bedroom door and hustle her inside.
“This is stupid!” she blurts out. “I’m not moving into some hotel with Steve and that horrible woman!”
“Nope,” I agree, watching as she climbs onto her bed. Her uniform skirt rides up and I get a nice view of her ass before she sits down and draws her legs up under her chin.
“And you’re being stupid, too,” she grumbles. “I think we should take Delacorte’s deal.”
“Nope,” I say again.
“Reed.”
“Ella.”
“It would keep you out of prison!”
“No, it would keep me in that bastard’s pocket for the rest of my life. It’s not happening, babe. Seriously. So get the idea out of your head.”
“Fine, let’s say you’re not taking the deal—”
“I’m not.”
“—then what do we do now?”
I take off my white dress shirt and kick off my shoes. Wearing my pants and a wife-beater, I join Ella on the bed and draw her into my arms. She snuggles up against me, but only for a brief moment. Then she’s sitting up again, scowling at me.
“I asked you a question,” she grumbles.
I exhale in frustration. “There’s nothing for us to do, Ella. It’s Grier’s job to deal with everything.”
“Well, he’s not doing a very good job of it if he’s recommending you make deals with shady judges!” Her cheeks redden with anger. “Let’s make a list.”
“A list of what?” I ask blankly.
“All the people who could have killed Brooke.” She jumps off the bed and hurries to her desk, where she grabs her laptop. “Other than Dinah, who else was she close to?”
“Nobody, as far as I know,” I admit.
Ella sits on the edge of the bed, opening the laptop. “That’s not an acceptable answer.”
Exasperation shoots through me. “It’s the only answer I’ve got. Brooke didn’t have any friends.”
“But she had enemies—that’s what you said, right?” She pulls up a search engine and types Brooke’s name into it. About a million results pop up for a million different Brooke Davidsons. “So it’s just a matter of finding out who those enemies are.”
I rise up on my elbows. “So you’re, what, Lois Lane now? You’re going to solve this case on your own?”
“Do you have a better idea?” she counters.
I sigh. “Dad’s got investigators. They found you, remember?”
Ella’s hand pauses over the mouse, but her hesitation lasts only for a second before she clicks on what appears to be Brooke’s Facebook page. While the page loads, she throws me a thoughtful glance.
“The funeral,” she announces.
“What about it?” I ask cautiously. I don’t like where she’s going with this.
“I think I should go.”
I sit up in a rush. “No way. Grier said we couldn’t go.”
“No, he said you couldn’t go.” Her gaze returns to the screen. “Hey, did you know Brooke had a BA from North Carolina State?”
I ignore the useless tidbit. “You’re not going to that funeral, Ella,” I growl.
“Why not? It’s the best way to get an idea of who was close to Brooke. I can see who shows up and—” She gasps. “What if the killer shows up?”
Closing my eyes, I try to will up some much-needed patience. “Babe.” I open my eyes. “Do you really think whoever killed Brooke is going to waltz up and say, ‘Hey guys! I’m a murderer!’”
Indignation flashes in her blue eyes. “Of course not. But haven’t you ever watched those crime documentaries on TV? Those FBI commentators always talk about how killers will return to the scene of the crime or attend the victim’s funeral as a way to taunt the police.”
I stare at her in disbelief, but she’s already focused on the laptop again.
“I don’t want you going to the funeral,” I grind out.
Ella doesn’t even look my way as she says, “Too fucking bad.”
11
Ella
“What nun did you kill for that outfit?” Easton asks when I climb into his pickup early Saturday morning.