Chapter 8 Friday, 12 June 2026 #2
Meanwhile, Gemma looked like she had nothing but time on her hands.
She’d left the bar and now sat at an otherwise empty table in the dining room, where dinner had yet to be served, gaze focused on something outside the one window whose curtain had been pulled aside.
Hannah slipped her notebook back inside her bag and made her way through the lounge and then the archway, into the dining room, ignoring the stares of several pearl-clutching guests as she passed.
It was all she could do to refrain from hissing and pretending to reach into her bag for a weapon. Tempting, but definitely not smart.
‘Mind if I join you?’ She stood at Gemma’s table, hands resting on the back of an empty chair. One of the floating candles in the Murano-glass bowl had gone out, and Hannah was momentarily surprised that the waitstaff hadn’t replaced it, even given the circumstances.
Her former classmate looked up, eyes meeting Hannah’s for the first time tonight. Something flickered across her face – apprehension or curiosity.
‘I didn’t kill her,’ Hannah said. ‘If that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘I wasn’t,’ Gemma said.
‘Okay then.’ Hannah took that as her cue to pull out the chair and sit.
Gemma was thinner than she’d been in high school; her clavicle and the bones at the top of her ribcage were visible and her cheekbones seemed to have narrowed.
With her understated black gown, tailored jacket and now-long hair encased in a natural pearl clasp at the nape of her neck, she fitted right in with the rest of the Upper East Side society ladies here tonight.
That is, she would have fitted right in if memories were shorter and her former classmates less vicious.
‘It’s been ages,’ Hannah said gamely. ‘Are you still in LA?’
Gemma nodded. ‘Ten years now. The city suits me.’
Hannah smiled. It was strange to hear anywhere other than New York referred to as ‘the city’. ‘Do you still talk to Oliver?’
A shadow crossed Gemma’s face, then she arranged her lips into a small smile. ‘Occasionally online. After I left for USC, it was easier to leave every part of Prescott behind, even the few friends I had left there.’
‘But you’re here tonight,’ she said gently. ‘Why?’
‘To murder Madison DuPont, obviously.’ Gemma’s eyes flashed.
Hannah flinched, in spite of herself, and Gemma’s mouth split into a wide laugh. ‘Is that what you think?’
Hannah shrugged. ‘Everyone’s certain I killed her. It doesn’t really matter what I think.’
Gemma placed her thin arms on the table and laced her fingers together. Her nails were painted hot pink and decorated with Malibu-themed nail art, the only indication she’d still retained some part of her old flashy style.
‘Well, if you want to know my opinion, I think the husband did it. It’s fishy as fuck that he left during the speeches – he probably snuck back in and hid in a stall in the ladies.
’ Gemma sighed. ‘But he’ll get away with it, rich fucks like that always do.
Too bad, but I can’t say I’ll shed any tears at her funeral. ’
‘Interesting theory.’ Hannah’s fingers tapped against the fabric of her clutch, itching to take out her notebook and pen. But that would have to wait. Instead, she fiddled with the oxblood red band on the napkin before her.
Gemma leaned back. ‘Your article was a good read, but you didn’t take it far enough.
New York hasn’t had a Republican mayor since Bloomberg, but for whatever reason, the city loves Winslow.
Young, handsome, always in the society pages.
But his platform is a sticking point with the Dems. He needed an edge, something unifying. ’
‘Which he accomplished by killing his wife?’
‘Quite possibly. Now that he’s a tragic widow, his popularity will skyrocket.’
The hairs on the back of Hannah’s neck stood up. Could Henry Alcott Winslow have truly killed his wife for political gain? Or was Gemma just trying to throw her off track?
‘My article wasn’t meant to be aimed at Winslow, but that’s a lot to think about,’ she said slowly. ‘But you still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?’
‘You journalists. Like a dog with a bone.’ Gemma sighed.
‘Look, it’s been ten years. Madison and her posse treated me like literal trash, but it wasn’t the school’s fault, at least not entirely.
Did you know Ms Caldwell tried to get The Upper Edge taken down?
Unfortunately, Instagram was still the Wild West in 2016 and the school’s several attempts to cancel the account failed, but she had my back.
She even offered to let me finish out senior year virtually, before that was a thing.
But I chose to leave. I wanted a fresh start. ’
Hannah pressed her lips together. There was something Gemma wasn’t saying. ‘If you wanted to support the new aquatics complex, you could have just written a cheque. You didn’t have to fly all the way to New York to attend the gala.’
Gemma shrugged. ‘True. But like I said, it’s been ten years since I saw any of these people. I imagine I’m here for the same reason you are. Human curiosity.’
‘I’m here on assignment. But sure, I’ll admit that walking in here tonight scratched an old itch.’
‘Well.’ Gemma stood, her chair scraping back. ‘Now you have it. If you’ll excuse me, I’m headed back to the bar. Something tells me we’re here for the long haul, and I need a refill.’
Hannah nodded. ‘Good to see you.’
As Gemma left the dining room, something needled at the back of Hannah’s brain.
She believed Gemma’s relationship to Prescott was more complicated than she’d previously assumed, and that she’d come here in part to gawk at their former classmates, but she did not believe that was the end of the story.
Something more than rabid curiosity had driven Gemma to fly cross-country to be here tonight.
She’d talked a good game about Henry Alcott Winslow, but Hannah suspected she’d allowed herself to be distracted.
When they were seventeen, Madison had been cruel to Gemma in a way time doesn’t easily heal.
Maybe Gemma had moved past the old wounds, or maybe they’d been festering for the past decade, growing deeper and uglier with each passing year.