“Never mind.” He leaned against the counter, sipping his scotch.
“Was she supposed to tell me something?” Two could play the question game. I had learned well from Bryce.
“Are the rest of the girls coming? Minus Shannon, of course . . .” He quickly changed the subject.
“Yes, and Shannon is coming.” I picked my drink up and looked at him. His eyes widened.
“Really? She must be more desperate than I thought she was.” Bryce laughed.
I took another drink, slowly sipping, deciding what to say to this man.
“You did invite her. What makes accepting an invite desperate? Perhaps you wanted her to come?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Jealous, aren’t you? Is that why you’re so tense? Don’t like the ex-wife interfering with our new life?” He took another slow sip of his scotch.
“Yeah, that’s it.” I nodded. I would let him believe what he wanted to believe . . . for now.
My attention was diverted from Bryce when I heard a loud, commanding voice from the front door. I was relieved at the interruption.
“Of course, I’ll have a glass of champagne. What a nice touch,” Shannon said. She was early. I knew it took all the strength in the world for her to even come here tonight, and I admired and appreciated her for that. She held on to my secret, a secret that literally could have destroyed me. Shannon was a good woman—she was an angry woman, but decent to her core—and I was proud to call her my friend.
“Hello,” I called out, my voice light and cheerful now.
Shannon found Bryce and me standing awkwardly in the kitchen. Her zombie makeup looked incredible. Somehow, she made it look elegant and sophisticated. Only Shannon could do that. The wedding dress was torn and short for a sexy look. It was designer, of course. She took a small sip of her champagne and looked at me with concern and then at Bryce with disgust.
“The place looks wonderful,” she gushed.
“Thank you. I think it came together really well.” I glanced around, admiring the decor.
“It’s so nice being married to someone with talent for a change,” Bryce quipped.
“Too bad Crystal and I never experienced that,” Shannon smirked.
Bryce looked her up and down. Before the video, I’d assume he was trying to intimidate her or was checking her out, but now, I thought he was probably thinking of all the different ways he could kill her. His features used to be soft to me, his eyes warm, but now everything about him was cutting, dark, and cold.
“I love the dress. Where did you get it?” I asked, changing the subject. It wasn’t the time for fighting. We had bigger fish to fry.
“It’s actually the dress I wore when I married Bryce.” She laughed, taking another sip. I almost laughed too. Shannon took petty to a whole other level.
“You tore up your wedding dress? I paid fifteen thousand dollars for it,” Bryce seethed.
“It’s not like I was going to wear it again.” She waved her hand dismissively.
“You’re right.” He laughed. “I couldn’t imagine anyone else taking that bullet.” Bryce drained the rest of his drink.
I grabbed Shannon by her arm. “Let me show you out back,” I said, pulling her outside. “Why don’t you get yourself another drink and put the crime scene tape on the stairs?” I suggested to Bryce as I walked away.
Once outside, the DJ began to play music. Servers bustled around with trays of drinks and appetizers. I walked Shannon over to a red chaise longue on the other side of the pool. We both took a seat, and I made sure Bryce wasn’t looking at us and that we were out of earshot.
“What’s the plan then?” I took another drink, my eyes bouncing between Shannon and the patio door.
“Just keep Bryce away from his office. I’ll get in there and get what we need,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Then what?”
“We take him down.” Shannon pursed her lips.
“Party’s here,” Keisha called from inside the house. Shannon and I quickly got up and walked back in, finding Keisha, Karen, and Jenny. Karen wore a skintight black spandex suit with skeleton bones on it, six-inch stilettos, a long brown wig, and a red Saint Laurent purse. She was also clearly wearing a major push-up bra. For a moment there, I thought she was Olivia. Keisha and Jenny were adorably dressed like Cher and Dionne from Clueless, in plaid blazers, miniskirts, and flawless makeup and hair.
“Are we the first to arrive?” Jenny asked.
Shannon and I nodded in unison. A server handed each of them drinks.
“Perfect.” Karen raised her glass. “Cheers to the day of the dead.”
71
Jenny present
I pace back and forth in the small interrogation room. Detective Sanford had left to take a call, leaving me alone for a few minutes to collect my thoughts. This whole process is taking far longer than I had anticipated.
The door opens. “So, where were we?” Sanford asks, his voice entering the room before him. He walks in and takes a seat, his head never coming up from the pages of his notepad. I mirror his movements and sit back down across from him.
“Ah, yes. So, you’re at the party?”
I nod. “That’s right.”
“Did you notice anything unusual at the party?” He rubs his chin.
“Not particularly.”
“And Shannon was in attendance?”
I nod.
“Would you not deem that unusual, given the circumstances?”
“Yes and no. True, she hated Bryce with a passion, but she was warming up to Crystal.” I pull the ponytail holder from my wrist and tie up my hair.
“Did any of them ever leave the party together?”
“Not that I saw.”
“What about Karen? Did she leave the party?”
“Not that I saw.”
“Keisha?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Olivia?”
I shook my head.
“Any of them leave?”
“I told you, not that I saw.”
He lets out a huff and scribbles some notes down. He’s worn out. His eyes heavier than they were hours before. His appearance has become more and more disheveled throughout the day. Buttons undone. Loose tie. Wrinkled shirt. He is unraveling right before my eyes. Buckhead made people crazy, but rarely this quickly.
“You’re not asking the right questions,” I finally say. My patience with Detective Sanford has worn thin.
He stops for a moment and then looks up at me. It’s probably the first time since meeting him that he’s actually properly looked at me. Not just in my direction while asking questions, not just in a professional, assessing manner . . . he is looking in my eyes. Curiosity, suspicion, doubt—I’m not sure why, but I finally have his attention.
“And what, may I ask, are the right questions?” He holds his gaze tightly fixed on me, a boxer waiting for their opponent to swing.
“Ask me about Bryce.”
72
Olivia
Dean and I arrived at the party . . . late, of course. The more important you are, the later you arrive. It lets people know that your time is more valuable than theirs. I assumed the girls had arrived early. I laughed to myself as Dean helped me out of the limo. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit as he had chosen to go as a prison inmate. He didn’t see the irony in the costume. Oh, but I did. I hadn’t told Dean about the video or my arrangement with Bryce. It was best to keep men of low intelligence in the dark. He was my husband, but he was also the one that got us into this mess in the first place. I certainly couldn’t trust him to fix it.