Chapter 4
Piper
Present Day
Five minutes is all it takes to convince me I’m not getting any answers from the driver.
Mainly because he’s a complete fucking idiot who has no clue.
“I’m just Josh,” he says in answer to my persistent questioning. “I got a call. So it wasn’t from you?”
“You said it was a man’s voice.”
“Right. So not you. Your boyfriend, maybe?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “I told you so already.”
“Right, right. So, I guess not you. I don’t know, I’m just Josh.
A man called to reserve this car. I told him there’s a perfectly good taxi service in Astley, but he really wanted to go through the car company I work for, even though it’s two towns over.
So that was that. I got hired. I don’t know anything more than that. I’m just Josh.”
I roll my eyes in exasperation. “And how did you get paid?”
“My boss paid me.”
“And how did he get paid?”
Just Josh shrugs. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him. Here we are.”
He pulls up to the curb and I gulp, staring up at the massive steel building with two doormen stationed in front. There’s got to be a mistake. There’s just got to be.
Or maybe I’m even stupider than Josh, and I’m about to get killed, too.
Well, fuck it. I’m going to solve this case, just like Nancy Drew.
I snort, remembering my favorite book series as a kid.
Unlike her, though, I’m also going destroy the fuck out of whoever killed my parents.
My hands fist at my sides as fury seethes through me. Whoever did it, I’m going to hunt them down and ruin them. I’m going to make them pay. I’m going to kill them, and I’m going to make it hurt.
I don’t know how yet. I’ve never taken a single self-defense class. I’m a skinny girl without an ounce of muscle who can barely run a mile without passing out.
But I’m angry. I might have gotten a reputation for that, but no one knows just how fucking angry I can get.
They’re about to find out.
“Here we are,” Just Josh repeats, and I blink at him.
“Right.” I open the car door slowly, trying to drown my nerves under my anger. “By the way, can you give me your boss’ address?”
“Sure thing.” He hands me the business card to the car company. “Have a nice stay.”
I nod at him and he pulls away, leaving me standing in front of Astley Hotel, wondering what kind of an idiot I am.
Taking a deep breath, I head inside. The doormen look at me in surprise, likely recognizing in me the poorest girl in all of Astley. But they don’t say a word, and I walk resolutely up to the front desk.
“Yes, hi. I have a reservation for Piper Day.”
The woman there smirks. “I highly doubt that.”
I give her the middle finger and whip straight around, prepared to head back out. Of course. The only logical explanation hits me like a ton of bricks. This was just some stupid prank. The murderer isn’t here. Someone wanted to fuck with me.
That’s Astley’s favorite pastime. Getting a rise out of Pissed-off Piper. How stupid am I to fall into that trap? I guess I figured they wouldn’t be heartless enough to fuck with me right after my parents’ death. But the Astley folk have proven time and again that they really are that heartless.
I grit my teeth, my eyes burning like on that first day of fifth grade when Jax bullied me. Only this time, I won’t cry. My parents died and I didn’t shed a tear. I will definitely not cry over some stupid heartless prank.
“Uhm, Piper?” calls out the woman at the front desk. I don’t even know her name but she knows mine. Everyone does.
I turn back around, my jaw squeezed so tight I wonder if it will break. I really don’t want to face her again. I hate her. I hate everyone. Why did I even turn around?
“You were right,” she says, clearing her throat uncomfortably. “There is a reservation in your name.”
She doesn’t apologize, but I’m not expecting her to. Anyway, her callousness is the last thing on my mind right now as I draw up to the desk again, my eyes wide. So, back to my initial theory. The murderer made a reservation in my name at Astley Hotel.
Why?
“Do you… do you know who made it?” I ask breathlessly.
She frowns as she looks up the details. “Nope, sorry. It was paid for in cash.”
Oh. I sag a little against the counter in disappointment. Then I think of something else. “So that means he came in. He paid in person. Right?”
“I guess so,” she says, scrunching up her nose. “Looks like he made the reservation this morning. I wasn’t in, though. I work the evening shift.”
“Who works the morning shift?”
The woman at the front desk seems surprisingly willing to answer my questions. I guess that’s what happens when you’re staying in the penthouse suite. People want to make you happy.
“That would be Jen.”
“Can you call her?” I blurt out, my heart thundering.
“No can do.” Then she adds, “She just left for her honeymoon in Bali. She probably has no cell service anyway.”
I open my mouth to insist, but I can tell from looking at her it wouldn’t be any use. Anyway, I get the feeling there’s no point in asking more questions. The murderer wouldn’t make it so easy to find out his identity. I’m going to have to hunt him down myself.
The woman nods at a passing bell-boy—that’s the kind of ritzy place I’m in—and he stops in front of me, grimacing, because of course, he went to my school, and I hate his guts, and he hates mine.
But whatever. I have a murderer to find. I don’t give a shit right now about my old bullies.
“Piper–uhm–Miss Day has a reservation for the penthouse suite,” says the receptionist. “Take her up, will you?”
Kevin the asshole bellboy’s shocked expression must be a mirror of my own. What the actual fuck? The penthouse suite? The biggest set of rooms in the Astley Hotel?
This isn’t a 1000-dollar a night room. This is a 10,000 dollars a night room. Or rather, floor. The penthouse suite being the entire top floor of the Astley Hotel.
Swallowing my nerves, I follow Kevin into an elevator. He presses on a button then leans against the wall, eyeing me in a very non-bellboy-like way.
“So, guess your folks had money after all, huh?” he says, blowing a bubble with his chewing gum.
“What?” It takes a moment for his meaning to sink in.
“Is that why you killed them?” he smirks.
Before I even know what I’m doing, I’ve thrown a fist out, and it collides with the side of his smug face. Then I punch him again, and I hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking under my fist.
“What the fuck!” he shrieks, grabbing at his bloody nose. “You fucking psycho cunt! Fuck! My nose!”
The elevator arrives at the top floor at that moment, and he shoves me out, still cursing at me, then hurriedly presses the elevator button so that the doors shut in my face.
I pick up the key he let fall to the floor, relishing in the feel of my smarting hand. If I’d known how good it felt to punch assholes, I would have started a long time ago. Maybe I should take up a boxing class.
Between the satisfaction of breaking Kevin’s nose and the realization that I’ve got a mystery on my hands, things are starting to feel just a little less bleak.
Or maybe it just hasn’t really sunk in yet.
I have to repress the urge to call Dad and tell him all about how I beat up one of my bullies.
When I close my eyes, I don’t see the lifeless corpse with the blood trickling out of his mouth.
I see my goofball dad, whom I could talk to about anything, who loved Mom like crazy, and whose long monologues often made Mom and I roll our eyes.
Somehow I find myself thinking of him as I cross the little hall that separates the elevator from the entrance to the suite.
I unlock the door, wondering why I’m thinking so much more of him than of Mom.
I loved her too. But we were never as close, and a little worm of regret is starting to eat at me.
I wish we had been closer. I really wish we had. Is it too late to go back and try?
But all thoughts of Mom and Dad are suddenly wiped from my mind as I enter the suite.
Holy fucking shit.
It’s way more intense than anything I could have imagined. There are floor to ceiling windows and the size of the living room is three times the size of our house. There’s a hot tub on the balcony. A freaking hot tub.
The doors to the other rooms are parted just enough for me to see that the ostentatious luxury is present everywhere.
Everything is beige, too. There’s a massive fireplace and Modern Art on the walls.
I have a feeling it’s all original art, too, and I bet the hotel paid way too much for it, given how fucking ugly it is.
This place is luxury incarnated.
I get that the murderer wants to keep me close and all that, but why the penthouse suite? Could he not have killed me without paying 10,000 dollars to do it?
Hell, I would have been happy to stay in the cheapest room here. He didn’t need to spend 10,000 dollars to trick me into coming.
I cautiously walk from one room to the next, trying to find a sign of him.
I’m once more realizing how stupid I am, because I don’t have a single weapon.
Even if I found him first, I probably wouldn’t have time to get answers, let alone make him pay, if he decided to blow my brains out.
I look around for something, anything, that I could use to defend myself, and settle on an umbrella.
That’s really all there is. No pokers for the fireplace, which is a fake electric one, and the kitchen is just for show—there isn’t even a hint of a frying pan. There are wooden hangers in the bedroom, and I size them up, wondering if a hanger or an umbrella would do the most damage.
Probably neither, is the answer. I end up choosing the umbrella because it’s green, and that’s my favorite color.
Then I stand by the door, umbrella in hand, waiting for someone to walk in so I can bash them on the head.
I feel like an idiot, and that feeling just intensifies over the next hour as no one comes in. This isn’t some stupid kid’s book. It’s not this easy to kill a murderer.
He’s probably waiting for me to get comfortable. He’ll barge in when I least expect it. Maybe he has cameras set up, and he’s watching me right now.
At the thought, I look around, and spot two of them. Not exactly discreet. I grab a chair and reach up to the top of a bookcase, then swipe the one over the mantelpiece, and crush them under my foot. Then I do the same thing in the other rooms, finding at least one in each.
Satisfied at last that he at least can’t watch me from afar, I head back to the living room, where I spot a small tray in the center of the glass dining table.
I edge closer to it, half expecting its contents to attack me or something. But no. It’s a credit card. A… black Amex card. With my name on it.
Next to it is a pile of twenty-dollar bills. And next to that, a note.
Behave.
What the fuck?
I nearly laugh at the dissonance of it all. Spending money. My parents’ murderer is giving me spending money, while telling me to behave.
Okay then.
My first instinct is to chuck the card and the money in the trash. There’s no way I’m taking a dime from the person who just destroyed my life.
My second instinct is to pocket it, because the truth is, I do need money right now. Clearly, whoever killed my parents knows the Days’ reputation.
The poorest family in Astley.
Sighing, I go sit on one of the massive couches and grab my phone from my back pocket. I may be taking the dirty money, but I’ll make the murderer regret giving it to me.
Breathing on my glasses to fog them up, then wiping them on my shirt, I look up Taekwondo and click on the nearest google maps link. There’s a class two streets over. No price is listed on the website, but that doesn’t matter, since I’m now the owner of a black Amex card.
I’ve never been one for exercise, because it gets in the way of my reading. Same reason I can’t be bothered to wear contact lenses. Or do pretty much anything else that would take a bit of time and keep me from reading.
I haven’t read a single page since my parents died, though, and right now, the only thing I have in mind is revenge.
I’m going to make the murderer pay, even if I have to spend the rest of my days working out in some stupid taekwondo class.
I click on a link to reserve tomorrow morning’s class. I wonder if I’ll still be alive then.
Suddenly remembering the business card Josh handed me, I lean to the side so I can access the backpocket in which I’d crammed it.
My first clue. Maybe.
I dial the number on the card then bring my phone to my ear, my heart beating hard.
“Hello?”
“Yes, hi.” I clear my throat nervously. “I’d like to order a car. Can you pass me to the owner?”
“Just give the details, hon,” says the woman on the other side of the line. “I’ll make the reservation for you.”
“Yes, but…” I clear my throat again, feeling like a Karen. “I’d like to speak to the owner.”
“He’s not in right now, and I can take your reservation,” says the woman patiently.
“Okay.” I lick my lips, wondering what I’m supposed to say now. “Uhm… and how can I pay?”
“You can give me your card details on the phone, or pay the driver directly,” answers the woman. “When would you like your car? And at what address?”
“Uhhh… now, I guess. The address is the Astley Hotel.”
“And where will you be going?”
“Uhmm…” I hesitate even longer, then look at the address on the business card. Putting the woman on speaker phone, I quickly bring up Google maps again and choose a place not too far away.
“51 Bell Avenue, Carlton,” I say.
“Sure thing, hon. Do you want to pay now?”
“I guess.”
I give her the Amex card details. Then, hanging up the phone, I sag back on the couch, my hand still resting on the umbrella, though I know it’s useless.
I can’t even cling to the pretense of being able to defend myself.
Even the taekwondo class probably won’t make a difference, but one thing’s for sure, Piper Day isn’t going down without a fight.
Unless the murderer barges in while I’m sleeping and shoots me in the head. In that case, I guess I won’t really have a choice.