Chapter 36
We admire Hazel’s courage and are grateful that she’s speaking out. Her story shows that we are not alone and that this pattern of abuse of power extends beyond our former workplace.
Miranda McCloud, Chloe Lawrence, and Amiyah Marsh about Hazel Parker’s statement
Grace
I held my breath as Ethan answered the private detective’s call.
“Good morning, Edgar,” he said, putting the phone on speaker so I could listen in. My heart pounded in my throat. It felt like we’d been waiting an eternity to hear from Edgar, when in reality it had only been about two weeks since Ethan hired him.
“Good morning,” the detective said. “I hope I didn’t wake you?”
“No, I was already up,” Ethan replied, his hand slipping under the covers to find mine, as if he could sense my nerves. “What’s up?”
“I’ve wrapped up my surveillance of the targets,” Edgar answered without preamble. “Of the five names you gave me, only two drove Rolls-Royces: Claude Asterdam and Courtney Larson—although Asterdam sold his in January.”
I glanced at Ethan and saw in his eyes that we were thinking the same thing: It was suspicious.
Asterdam might have wanted to get rid of the car involved in the crash, just as he did with the rest of the evidence.
My limbs tingled with adrenaline, and I had an overwhelming urge to leap up and confront Asterdam for murdering my sister right there and then—but that wasn’t possible.
A sold car wasn’t enough proof, even if it felt like it to me.
“I’ve emailed you a full breakdown of all the vehicles registered to your targets,” Edgar continued. “Can I do anything else for you?”
“No, thanks. That’s all for now.”
“You’re welcome. Get in touch if you need anything.”
“I will,” Ethan replied, ending the call.
Silence settled over the room, but our thoughts were so loud I could practically hear them. After all these weeks of not knowing, it felt unreal to finally be one step closer.
“Claude Asterdam,” I murmured.
“Claude Asterdam,” Ethan echoed.
I could see the conflict in Ethan’s eyes.
The fact that his own father had helped cover up my sister’s murder hadn’t shaken him in the slightest. But the fear that this revelation might harm his friendship with James was written all over his face.
As relieved as I was to finally have a name, I hated that, out of all the suspects, it had to be him.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
Ethan shrugged and set his phone, which he’d been gripping tightly, down on the bedside table. “I’d been hoping it wasn’t Claude. He and James don’t always see eye to eye, but I thought he was generally one of the good ones. Or at least one of the better ones.”
I gave him a sad smile. “If you’d rather stay out of the investigation from now on, I completely understand. After all, James is your best friend, and I don’t want—”
“I’m not backing out,” Ethan cut in. He let out a long breath. “I wish it were someone else, but if Claude is responsible for Amy’s death, then James and Olivia will understand why I have to help you.”
I hoped so—I didn’t want him to lose an old friendship because of me.
But there was no denying that the sold Rolls-Royce would be one hell of a coincidence if Claude wasn’t involved.
My thoughts drifted to the two threatening letters I’d received, one of which was tucked inside my handbag.
Now would have been the perfect moment to tell Ethan about them, but something stopped me—the hope that this might all be over soon.
We were on the verge of cracking the case, and I was afraid that Ethan might stop me mere metres from the finishing line if he found out about the letters.
And I couldn’t let Amy’s killer win. That bastard had to be punished for what he’d done to my sister—no matter who he was and what he meant to Ethan.
“What do we do now?” I asked instead. Although I wasn’t lying to Ethan, holding something back still felt wrong. But keeping this from him was the right thing to do—he had enough on his plate as it was. He shouldn’t have to worry about me too. Besides, I could look after myself.
“We’re going to investigate Claude.”
“Any idea how we’re going to do that, Sherlock?”
“Indeed, Watson. If there are any leads about Amy’s crash, including the missing evidence, we’ll find them at Claude’s place.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You want to break in?”
“It’s hardly breaking and entering if the door is open,” he replied.
The very words I’d said when he’d caught me outside Rakesh’s office.
“His wife, Natalia, is throwing a party for her fifty-fifth birthday at the end of the month, in their villa. It’s the perfect opportunity to take a look around.
Claude will be distracted by the guests. I’ll get us an invitation.”
It really was a good idea, but all I heard was the word us. Ethan and I—together at this party?
“You want me to come with you?”
“Of course. This is about Amy, after all. And besides, there’s no one I’d rather go to an incredibly dull party with than you.”
“But that makes things between us pretty official,” I pointed out. His friends would see us together. His family too, probably. Not to mention all those high-society snobs.
“Are you scared?”
“No,” I replied, though that wasn’t entirely true.
I still vividly remembered the public’s reaction to finding out about Henry and Kate.
People had gossiped incessantly, with the loudest and most critical voice belonging to Ethan’s mother.
“But are you sure this is what you want? If we show up there together, there’s no turning back. ”
Ethan brushed a strand of hair from my face and let his hand rest against my cheek. His next words were soft. “I don’t want to go back, Dreamgirl. Not without you.”
“I don’t want to go back either,” I admitted. Even if I did, it was far too late. Ethan had claimed a place in my heart, and it was his forever.
I leant in and touched my lips against his, putting everything I had into the kiss.
All my feelings for Ethan, which ran deeper than I’d ever imagined they could.
There was only one thing I couldn’t give him: the truth about the letters.
But that weight on my shoulders would lift when we exposed Claude Asterdam. Which would hopefully be very soon.
“Do you have a dress for Claude’s party?” Ethan asked a while later.
We were still lying in his bed, the only change being the trolley beside us with the remains of the breakfast we’d ordered an hour ago.
“I thought I could wear the dress I wore to my aunt’s wedding,” I said. It wasn’t an expensive designer piece from a high-end shop on Bond Street, but it hadn’t been cheap either, and the deep-red fabric was elegant enough for this kind of event.
“OK. I just wanted to make sure.”
I looked up at Ethan. “If I’d said no, would you have been a gentleman and offered me your credit card, like Henry did for Kate before the Halloween Ball?”
“She had his credit card and picked out that dress?”
“Hey,” I smacked his chest playfully. “Don’t be so mean.”
“I’m just being honest. Don’t get me wrong, she looked good that night, but I doubt the dress cost more than fifty pounds. And I’m saying this as someone who doesn’t have a clue about fashion.”
I grumbled. “It cost twenty pounds, and she got it in a secondhand shop. Kate didn’t want to use Henry’s card back then because she didn’t want to end up being even more in his debt. Which was very wise of her.”
“Would you use my card if I gave it to you?”
“Totally! I’d go wild with it, and you’d feel the pinch.”
Ethan kissed my forehead. “It’s sweet that you think you could spend enough to actually hurt me.”
“I’d go to some really expensive jewellers and buy myself new rings,” I said, lifting my hand to show him the ones I already had.
Today I wore a selection of silver rings, several on each finger.
My collection included both gold and silver pieces, because I saw no reason to choose.
I liked both, sometimes even in combination, playing with the contrast between the metals.
“Don’t you have enough already?”
I gasped indignantly. “You can never have enough rings!”
Ethan took my wrist and turned my hand to get a closer look. “Have you always been into rings?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I’ve been collecting them for years now,” I replied, watching as he twiddled them like I often did when I was nervous.
“My parents gave me my first one during a holiday in Scotland. Since then, whenever I visit a new place, I buy at least one more. And I also get a lot as gifts from friends and relatives.”
“How many do you have?”
“I don’t know. Fifty? Sixty? Maybe more.”
“Then you won’t miss this one.” He pulled off a ring shaped like a coiled snake and tried to slip it onto his own index finger, but it got stuck at the knuckle. “Can I keep this one?”
“What? No! It’s mine!” I tried to grab the ring back, but he held his arm out of reach. I climbed over his chest to get it, but he wouldn’t give it back.
“Ethan!” I protested, grabbing his upper arm.
Laughing, he rolled over, and we tussled playfully as I attempted to reclaim my ring—which wasn’t even that important to me—and Ethan fought to hold on to it.
“You have to admit that it suits me way better,” he said with an amused smile.
Our scuffle had left the sheets in complete disarray, and now I was straddling Ethan’s stomach.
“It doesn’t even fit you,” I countered, laughing, and reached for his hand—only for him to pinch my nipple impishly through the fabric of my T-shirt.
It wasn’t painful, but it was hard enough to throw me off balance.
I squealed and let go of his hand. “Hey!”
Grinning, he slid the ring off his index finger and onto his pinkie, where it slipped down to the base. “What are you talking about? It’s a perfect fit. Like it was made for me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, I’ll lend it to you. But you have to give it back.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Ethan,” I chided.
“OK, I promise,” he said, and slipped the hand wearing the ring to the back of my neck. In one smooth motion, he pulled me close, sealing his promise.