Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
I remember Savilla clearly on that first day of school. She was the smallest one in the class and terribly shy, with no indication of the boisterous, outgoing person she would become.
“Why don’t you say hello?” Momma had said as she nudged me forward to meet Savilla.
The girl had been with her nanny, Nanny Kate, whom I would get to know well in coming years. I’d stepped forward and held out a miniature plastic penguin that Aunt DeeDee had given me the night before—to help you break the ice.
Savilla had studied the object in my palm and hurried to her backpack, taking out a stuffed lion with a soft mane, which she’d held next to my penguin. She’d given Momma and me a wide grin, one tooth already missing. “Look. They’re the same.”
I’d looked up at Momma, who had shrugged as if to say, Just go with it. At five, though, with my literal way of seeing the world, going with it hadn’t been a possibility for me.
“They’re not the same,” I’d insisted, taking her animal and holding them both up to the light in case she needed glasses. “My penguin is smooth and your lion is furry.”
“Do you love your penguin? What’s her name?” Savilla had asked, completely ignoring my explanation.
“Yes,” I’d answered, with the childhood affinity for any object smaller than me. “Her name is Poppy the Penguin.”
“This is Harriet the Lion,” Savilla had said, grabbing her stuffy and combing back the fur with two fingers. “And I love her too, just the same as you.”
That’s when I’d realized that Savilla hadn’t been referring to the objects as being exact replicas of one another; it was the feelings we’d assigned to those objects…
and, okay, I hadn’t realized this at five, but I did now, and it gave me a bit of insight into the way that my half-sister’s brain worked.
She was very big picture, very much not detail oriented, which was where I came in.
Maybe channeling some of my half-sister’s way of thinking could help me solve Lacy’s blackmail problem as well as Brett’s murder.
I thought about all of this as I followed Lacy to her room with a promise that we would figure out everything in the morning when we were in a more rested and less distraught state of mind.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I tried to assure her.
“I just keep seeing The Worst,” Lacy whispered, as we reached her door.
I knew she was referring to a thought experiment we had made up in high school in which we would imagine the absolute worst-case scenario to its final end.
Like, if I failed my biology final, I would get a C on my report card, which meant that I wouldn’t be salutatorian and I might struggle to get into vet school and then decide just not to attend college at all, which would mean I’d be working at a chicken coop for the rest of my life and I’d probably be so desperate that I would marry Joe Larson and have twelve babies and hate my life.
We would usually end up in a fit of giggles, stress temporarily relieved, but today The Worst was having naked pictures sent to her clients, potentially losing a lot of her hard-won business and causing contention with Anton, though I hoped the last part wasn’t true.
I hoped he would be the kind of guy who would see the past as the past and support Lacy come what may, but the reality was that I didn’t know him that well.
I hugged Lacy goodbye, my heart aching at her brave attempt at a smile as she disappeared into the room where Anton’s snores already filled the air.
I wanted to sleep too, but first I needed to find Savilla.
Thankfully, it wasn’t hard since she was back in the vestibule, handing out keys to the few remaining guests who must’ve just been released by Charlie and his crew.
“Find anything useful on that CD drive?”
My mind was swirling with so much information that I actually wasn’t sure. “Maybe.” I paused, uncertain how to broach the question I really wanted to ask. I decided to be direct. “Were you here for the 2021 pageant?”
“I don’t think so.” Savilla bit her lip, thinking back. “Wait. At least not for the last exhibitionist.”
I was certain Savilla wasn’t using the right word, but I let it slide as she continued.
“One of my friends had a gallery opening in New York that same night, so I left before the final pageant show.” Savilla tilted her head, questioning me. “Why?”
“I was just wondering if you happened to see Brett that year.”
“Not that I remember, though he would show up on occasion, especially when we were kids. Everyone used to volunteer back then. All hands on deck, Daddy would say.”
“Any idea who he might’ve written his song about? The one that got away?”
“Sorry, no idea.” Savilla shrugged.
I couldn’t tell if the way she’d answered was dismissive or avoidant, but I was so tired that I probably couldn’t read anyone right at this point.
Savilla turned to the brass keys. “I put you in The Original. It’s down the hall from mine, so if you need anything, I’m only a few steps away.”
Hooray. It could almost be like a sister-sleepover, except I was starting to suspect she knew more than she was saying—and she still didn’t know we were sisters.
“Do you want him in your room?” Savilla asked sweetly, a hint of teasing in her eyes.
“Who?”
“Charlie.”
“Um…” I had no idea how to answer, much less how Charlie would want me to answer that question. “Whatever he wants.”
“I already asked him before he started questioning everyone. He said it’s totally up to you.” Savilla smiled. “He’s a true gentleman.”
I swallowed hard, aware of the fact that she’d been talking to him about me. Like we were in middle school. “Sure, yes, then. We likely won’t get much sleep anyway.”
Savilla raised her eyebrows as if I hadn’t meant that we’d be awake to discuss a murder investigation, not to engage in other delights.
“I’ll put two toothbrushes along with other toiletries in the bathroom.
I’m doing the same for the guest rooms and the cottages out on the green.
” She leaned forward and whispered, “Charlie told me which people I should keep in the main house, and I’m pretty sure it’s because they’re the most suspicious. Except for you and me, of course.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell Savilla that to Charlie, everyone was a suspect.
I took the key and turned to leave, then pivoted back to face Savilla. “Actually, I was hoping to ask you one more thing,” I said. “About Joe and Brett. You’ve kept in touch with both of them over the years, right?”
“Mostly.” Savilla traced the edge of one of the room keys with a finger. “I don’t think it’s any secret that Joe was super hurt when Brett got him kicked out of college.”
I leaned closer. I’d suspected this but had never actually heard this part of the story.
Another guest, Miss Most Likely to Drop Out (she didn’t), approached and took a key from Savilla, and I waited until she was out of earshot before continuing our conversation.
“What did Brett do to Joe?”
Savilla took a step closer to me and spoke in low tones. “At Virginia Tech, Joe made the football team but Brett was red-shirted. Halfway into the season, one of the coaches found something in Joe’s locker—something that wasn’t his—and they kicked him out.”
“What did they find?”
“Steroids.” Savilla tisked. “A big no-no.”
I could believe Joe would be dumb enough to use an illicit substance—but maybe weed, not steroids. He had been a natural athlete from the time we were in fifth grade, already tall and broad for his age. He’d always been fast too, a typical dumb jock, a stereotype that he seemed to embrace.
Something about the expression on Savilla’s face told me that she didn’t believe he’d been doping either.
“You think Brett planted the steroids in his locker?” I asked, though it was less a question and more a realization.
I thought of Brett’s short stature, the way he’d bulked up almost immediately after graduating high school, the way he’d been trying extreme health regimens.
Could he have been using steroids and planted them in Joe’s locker?
If so, what was the purpose? To get Joe kicked off the team?
Out of school? Such a tragedy would’ve changed the entire trajectory of Joe’s life.
It would’ve kept him stuck in a town where he’d watched his parents—especially his dad, I now knew—struggle.
Wrecking his life would’ve been reason enough for Joe to crave revenge.
I’d found possible motive.
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Savilla said, nodding toward a man entering the vestibule from the direction of the ballroom, his sneakered feet not making a sound as he strode into the entryway. It was Joe, and right behind him was Presley Lombardi.
“I came to get my key,” Joe said, putting his hand on the small of Presley’s back before catching my eye and yanking it away.
Savilla first handed Presley a plastic card with a room number written on the paper holder. The plastic card meant she was not in the residential wing, which likely meant Savilla didn’t trust her and Joe to be that close by. Made sense.
Presley, her eyes wide as if she were forcing herself to prop them open, nodded her thanks then turned and loped toward the elevator.
Next was Joe, and Savilla was placing him far from the residential wing as well.
“Can I have a key to Presley’s room too?” Joe asked, his eyes flitting to me as he tapped a hand restlessly against the marble desktop where Savilla’s computer faced her. “I want to check on her.”
Savilla shook her head and kept an even tone. “That’s not our policy.”
I could feel my eyebrows rising even though I told my face not to give anything away.
“Fine, I’ll take a second key to my room. Just in case I lose it.”
Savilla didn’t bat an eye as she handed him another key, and I admired her seeming neutrality. She would make a discreet hotelier if she decided to turn the Rose Palace into such a thing. “And Joe, Dakota had some questions for you.”
Savilla blinked innocently between the two of us, and I realized that she thought she was being helpful: I had suspicions, and I could ask him directly about my concerns.
In her mind, this must be the most direct route to get answers, but from my perspective, I’d rather watch from the sidelines and make my own conclusions.
Murderers weren’t usually forthcoming, after all.
Joe crossed his arms and tilted his head as he examined me. I noticed for the first time that he had purple circles under his eyes, either from extreme fatigue or crying. Maybe both.
“I really want to get to my room,” he said, looking in the direction that Presley had just wandered.
“Maybe you two could take a walk and chat first?” Savilla suggested, as if we were two old friends going for a stroll instead of suspect and interrogator going off alone. “Or we could see if the sheriff is available to arrange a better time to chat?”
The words were perfect, the right level of threat and encouragement.
Joe hesitated one more second before realizing that I was the better option than actual law enforcement. “Sure.” He put on a fake gentlemanly tone. “A moonlight stroll in the garden, perhaps?”
“What about the solarium?” I suggested, swallowing back the lump of fear rising in my throat. Did I really want to be alone with a potential murderer? I found my voice. “It’s still moonlit, but out of the chilly night air.”
I didn’t add that it was also close enough to the ballroom for an officer to hear if I screamed. A ridiculous thought, I chided myself. Even if Joe had something to do with Brett’s death, he wouldn’t dare threaten me. I was the girlfriend—or whatever—of the lead investigator, after all.
Then I thought of Dr. Bellingham and Katie Gilman alone together at the back of the property four months ago, and about bursting out of a hidden tunnel to find him hovering over her, threatening her despite the fact that they were both pageant judges and Katie was related to a Finch.
Some men had no qualms about hurting women, regardless of their position or rank.
But no, this was different. It had to be. I knew Joe. I did.