Chapter 5
Piper
Present Day
I’m still alive about twenty minutes later when I get a call telling me the car service has just pulled up in front. Slipping the Amex, the bills and the hotel key into my coat pocket, I take the elevator downstairs and walk out. I actually smile when I see Just Josh again.
He’s clearly a complete idiot so there’s no reason for me to feel anything but aggravation as I walk toward him, but he’s the first person I’ve spoken to since I came back to Astley who doesn’t look at me with condescending pity or actual contempt.
Probably because he’s from Carlton, and has no idea who I am.
“Hey, Josh,” I say, sliding into the backseat, biting down on the desire to call him the nickname I’ve given him in my head.
“Hey yourself,” he says with some surprise. “Heading to Carlton?”
“Yep.” I settle into the backseat, battling the urge to talk to him more. I’ve always talked too much. I know how annoying my habit is, and Quill Nelson never let once me forget it. But there’s something liberating about talking to a guy who has no idea who I am.
I open and close my mouth a few times, wondering what conversation starter Quill would find least annoying. Not that I care what that fucker thinks.
“My parents are dead,” I blurt out.
I don’t think anyone could find that conversation starter annoying.
His eyes widen. “Oh, uhm. Sorry about that.”
“Yeah. I’m looking for their murderer.”
Stupid. Nancy Drew would never lay her cards out like that. But then again, this is just Josh. The only thing I risk is wasting my time.
“Uh, okay. Why are you telling me?”
“Actually, I wanted to know more about the owner of this car service. Someone paid for the car that brought me to the hotel, and someone paid for my room there. I don’t know who, but I get the feeling it’s the murderer.”
His eyes are so wide that I wonder if they’ll pop out of their head. “So, you’re solving a mystery. Like the Hardy Boys.”
Exactly. Wait, no. Like Nancy Drew.
“Can I help?” he asks with a thrill in his voice, taking me by surprise. He seemed so… boring.
I sit up straight. “Yes. Maybe you could introduce me to your boss. I guess he knows who paid for the car?”
Just Josh sits up straight, a look of determination on his face. “Yes, I’m going to do that. I’m going to drive you there.”
He looks so serious that this time, I can’t prevent a grin from breaking out on my face. Maybe I’ve been a bit harsh on this guy. He’s kind of cute with his curly brown hair and dimpled cheeks.
Not cute in an ‘I want to go down on you’ kind of way. Then again, I haven’t found anyone cute in that way since Quill Nelson fucked me while strangling my neck and telling me what a worthless whore I was.
No, Josh is like, dorky cute. Like Dad.
I bite my lower lip and look out the window.
It feels like it’s suddenly grown cold, or maybe, with everything that’s happened, I just haven’t been aware of the weather.
I hug my thin coat around me. It’s better adapted to California winters than to Astley ones.
A thin flurry of snowflakes is falling to the ground, and I can tell the mountains on the eastern border of town will be perfect for skiing tomorrow. All the rich tourists will be glad.
I sit back in my seat, lost in bitter thoughts as the car drives on, weaving in and out of traffic, past Astley Lake and to the north, through the affluent towns up there.
It takes far too long to reach Carlton Car Company, as far as I’m concerned.
This is the first time I’ve given myself time to sink into my thoughts and break the very thin, outermost layer of the mountain of emotion that I’m going to have to process one of these days. Not yet though. I can’t handle it yet.
So it’s with a sigh of relief that I feel the car coming to a halt outside the company.
I get out of the car, followed by Josh, and we head into the place. At the front desk, a woman with long acrylic nails is blowing bubbles with her gum. She mutters a hi, and I recognize her voice from earlier, on the phone. Then she looks at Josh expectantly.
“We want to see Bill,” he says.
She shrugs and calls, “Bill!”
A few minutes later, a man walks out, yawning and stinking of cigarette smoke. “Yeah?” he mutters. “What are you doing here, Josh? I sent you your next assignment.”
“I want to help this lady,” says Josh with a burst of energy that feels very at odds with his earlier apathetic personality. “She’s looking for a murderer.”
He pronounces that last word carefully, punctuating each syllable with a pause to give it weight. I want to kick him in the shins.
Especially when Bill’s face closes down at once. “I don’t work with no murderers.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” I say at once, giving him my brightest smile. “I just wanted to know the name of the person who sent me a car earlier today.”
He narrows his beady eyes. “Why?”
“No reason. Except someone sent me a car and I don’t know who.”
My cheeks burn from the fake smile I keep plastered on my face.
“I don’t work with no murderers,” he insists. “Who’d he murder?”
“I never said anything about murderers,” I say, my grin nearly stretching itself clear off my face. “I’m just curious.”
“Yeah, well, curiosity killed the cat.”
With those words, he turns his back to me and stalks straight back into his office.
Well, fuck. So much for my investigation.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
It’s all I can do to keep from punching the fucking wall. I’m so fucking frustrated. No, pissed. I’m pissed off at the boss of this company, at Josh, at the stupid woman at the front desk, at Kevin the motherfucking bellboy, at Jen in Bali, at Officer Jones. At all of Astley.
Also, I don’t have a ride.
Josh is nowhere to be found. I head back outside, fuming, slamming the door so hard that the glass almost shatters. I’m so fucking sick of this. My parents are dead and I’m wandering around like some stupid Nancy Drew knockoff, trying to solve a case.
I don’t want to be Nancy Fucking Drew. I want be the one who hunts down the person who did this to my parents, and gut him like a fucking fish.
Overwhelmed by my anger, I pause, my hands crisping around my knees, trying to catch my breath.
“Hey! Wait! Piper!”
I turn around to find fucking Josh walking toward me, wearing a cheerful smile that makes me want to stab him.
“How do you know my name?” I scowl.
“Well, you did reserve a car, didn’t you?” he shrugs. Then, as if he didn’t notice my temper, he adds, “Found it!”
“What?”
He waves a piece of paper he’s scribbled something on. “While you were talking to the boss, I went through the reservation database. Here’s the name of the guy who killed your parents.”
He hands me a paper and I read the name scribbled on it.
I knew it. I fucking knew it.
Still, it hurts to see the actual proof. I guess I was hoping it wasn’t true.
But there it is, clear as day.
Quill Nelson.