Chapter 47
TOM
Amelia makes a face as she stares at Kat and Hazel talking across the room. Her posture is standoffish, no one else brave enough to join her at the cocktail table she’s commandeered.
She hasn’t taken her eyes off them other than to scan the room every now and then, a nervous energy to her that has me on edge as I join her.
“Must be hard watching Kat continue to be so successful—especially when Hazel was passed over for this award,” I murmur, careful to keep my voice low.
She stiffens, her gaze sliding slowly to me before returning to the girls. “I think it’s only natural to want to see the people you love succeed.”
“Is that why you heckle her on social media?”
She opens her mouth to speak and then closes it, looking down at the amber liquid in her glass. I wouldn’t have guessed her to be a bourbon drinker but looks are deceiving.
“I let myself feed into that vile underbelly,” she admits, a beat passing before she looks up at me.
“Losing my niece was tragic but then watching how it changed Hazel,”—she swallows hard—“it feels like I lost both of them. Kat has the pretty face and the connections and she’ll be fine, but Hazel… she doesn’t have that.”
“Bullying Kat was your solution?” I ask, not bother to hide my disdain.
“People handle grief in different ways. I chose the wrong way.”
“And would you also consider trying to drive Kat off the road the wrong way?”
Amelia’s eyes widen as she stares at me, her mouth forming a perfect O as she searches my face to see if I’m kidding.
I’m not.
“I’m not proud of the way I behaved, Mr. Oakden, but I would never cause physical harm to that girl.”
“Even though she writes those other books?” I prod.
“Even then.”
“So, you admit you knew about Kat’s other writing. Writing romance and children’s books must make you pretty upset.”
She blushes but shakes her head. “I don’t agree with all that explicit talk and behavior, but that’s her business and she can make peace with the good Lord on her own time.”
“And you want me to believe it wasn’t you in that car? Kat could have died, Amelia. The other driver was relentless bumping the front corner of their car into the back corner of Kat’s.”
I watch carefully as the color slowly drains from Amelia’s face, her hand shaking the slightest bit as she picks up her drink and downs it before pushing the empty glass into the center of the table.
“That’s how we lost Portia, Mr. Oakden. Someone forced her right off the road.
The girls were on a trip to Vermont to see the leaves.
Hazel wanted to write a series about fall and thought it would be fun to go there for some inspiration.
Portia died and Hazel came back a shell of herself.
” She sucks in a breath and then shakes her head, her eyes darting to Hazel and Kat before returning to mine.
“She lost her twin; that would change anyone.” The words are not as confident as before as a chill snakes down my spine.
“The accident changed me too. I don’t drive at night and I’m extra cautious because of it. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
I watch as Amelia tries to maintain her composure as she beelines for Hazel at the bar, her steps a little uneven as she goes.
It was a lot of bourbon.
Maybe.
But something she said niggles at the back of my mind. “Portia died and Hazel came back a shell of herself.”
Amelia’s entire demeanor had shifted, a myriad of emotions flitting across her face as she stared at her niece.
“Portia died and Hazel came back a shell of herself.”
“Royce,” I whisper, my eyes tracking to where Kat is standing talking to one of the organizers of the event, “what information do we have about the accident that killed Portia Drake?”
“Basic police report,” he says, keys clacking away as I watch a rather animated exchange between Hazel and her aunt. Hazel’s mouth is pinched and her expression cold as she shakes her head while Amelia gestures nowhere in particular.
“Royce.”
“I’m looking. Basic autopsy, nothing in her system. Roads were wet and it was dark— police signed off as her being unfamiliar with the area and lost control.”
“The aunt said she was forced off the road.”
“Uhh…” There’s more clicking as I track Amelia heading toward the bathroom and Hazel talks to the bartender.
“There’s nothing in the police report that says that, just that driver left the road and crashed into a tree attributed to the weather, speed of the vehicle, and that she was unfamiliar with the area. ”
“Who identified her?”
“Hazel and identification found in the car.”
“What kind of car was she driving?”
“A black Ford Taurus.”
My blood runs cold in my veins as everything finally clicks into place.
A dark sedan.
“Portia died and Hazel came back a shell of herself.”
Or not at all.
I mean to step around the table when the empty glass catches my eye—but it’s not empty.
White residue clings to the bottom and the side where Amelia had taken a drink.
“Ozzy, find Amelia now. She went toward the restrooms,” I order, his affirmative coming through my earpiece. “She’s going to need medical. Samson—”
“Yeah, boss?”
“I need you to collect this cup on this table without causing a panic and then relieve Ozzy. There should be a detective in the hall you can turn it over to.”
“Roger that,” Samson murmurs.
“And someone get me eyes on Hazel,” I grit out as I try and locate her in the crowd, a shifting of people making it impossible to find her.
Not Hazel.
Portia.
“Boss,”—Grimm’s voice is dangerously low—“is she…”
“She’s Portia. Hazel died in that crash.”
Seconds feel like hours as Samson relieves me at the table and I make my way toward the front.
There’s no room for panic.
But I can feel it creeping in, clawing at my psyche as Grimm suddenly appears at my side, the both of us trying to locate our target.
“But they’re—” Grimm starts but it’s Royce who finishes.
“They were identical twins. Social media photos from their trip show Portia with brown hair like Hazel’s. Before that all her pictures have her with long blonde hair.”
“Amelia said someone forced her off the road. If that’s not in the police report then Portia had to be the one to tell the aunt she…”
Time slows, my words dying in my throat as Hazel—Portia—comes into view carrying two flutes of champagne. I watch in horror as Kat accepts one, her fingers wrapping around the stem.
Outrage.
A commotion.
And all I can do is pray I make it in time.