Chapter 17 #2
“As I was saying, you already have a dress. We also have your measurements, so you actually didn’t need to come in today.”
“That was my sister. You must have her measurements.”
Joules gives me a look, like she’s confused. “Oh? I thought?”
“My sister Nell was the one who came in for the fitting.”
“Right.” Joules seems still unconvinced, but I don’t care. She stares at me for a few seconds before adding, “You do look just like her.”
I put my tea down as I get to my feet, wanting this over with already. “Everyone says that.” Well, lately they have—nothing like a dead sister to put you under the scrutiny of everyone else.
“Well, then. Shall we get you into your sister’s dress?”
Joules hangs one of the lacey monstrosities inside the fitting room and pulls the curtain around me, leaving me to change.
I stare at the gown.
It’s not Nell’s style at all. I note that Joules didn’t ask what happened to Nell or why I’m the one now getting married.
She didn’t seem curious at all. Maybe she thinks my sister got to wear it before me; these are all used after all, and apparently it’s not uncommon for families to treat wedding dresses like christening gowns in Wychshire, handing them down through generations.
But when I look inside, for the stitching where Joules said every bride’s name is supposedly sewn…
There’s nothing there.
Joules flurries in once I have it on, fussing and pinning.
She beams. “There.”
And pulls the curtain aside.
At the far end of the room, a giant floor mirror leans against one of the walls, like a doorway to another realm. Inside it, another girl with dark, curly hair and wide hazel eyes stares back, straight-jacketed into swathes of tulle and silk, looking petrified beyond reason.
Joules snaps a Polaroid and wafts it about to dry the film. She then pastes it into her daybook, right below the one before it, and shows it to me.
“Oh, look. You and your sister could be twins.”
Between fittings and copious amounts of tea, and Madeleine cakes served on dainty china plates, I’m done. It’s also nearly 1 p.m. After two hours and the cost of another wedding, I interrupt Joules, explaining to me the different heights at which a veil is worn.
“Do you have a bathroom?”
She points to the back of the shop. While Joules makes me yet another pot of Lady Gray, I hurry to where she directed me, but instead of stopping at the bathrooms, I peer out the back window.
Mundel’s car is there, but no Mundel until I look closer and see him fast asleep in the driver’s seat.
This might work.
Without stopping to consider whether it’s wise, I leave my jacket and hurry through the front of the shop, into busy cobbled streets, wrapping my arms around myself to keep out the cold.
The signs to the shopping center cut through the park.
The building sticks out like an unwelcome beacon so close to the old part of town that it’s clear to see why the residents kicked up such a fuss when it was built.
By the time I reach the mall, it feels too late.
Even so, I tear through the glass doors and dash toward the veggie grill, passing by shops full of the latest fashion trends at full speed.
I really want to stop and buy some essentials like underwear and proper cosy pajamas, but that can wait until after I meet my friends.
They haven’t left yet, and I spot them right away. Laine is in a baseball cap and a knit dress with leggings, and Nola is wearing a snow-white eye patch to match her white shirt tucked into leather trousers. She must have come from work.
They see me and grin.
I’m about to wave when I see a reflection of someone wearing a peaked cap who looks like Mundel, following me through the crowd. He’s a few heads behind, but I’d recognize his tweed ensemble anywhere.
My breath hitches. Instinctively, I dart into the nearest shop. Through the glass, I see it is, indeed, Mundel. He’s looking around, searching for something while speaking on his phone.
He’s looking for me.
He must have followed me.
I grab the first thing I see on a rack and head to the changing room, frantically hoping Laine and Nola saw me run into…I glance down at the label of the skimpy underwear in my hand. I’m in Agent Provocateur.
I’m forced to wait a few minutes, and then the main curtain twitches, and I hear Laine’s voice.
“In here,” I hiss.
Both girls barge into the changing room. Laine immediately wraps her arms around me in a death squeeze. Nola is next, though her hug is more of a cool embrace, with a few pats on the back for good measure.
Laine glances around. “So, should we be worried that we’re hiding here?”
“Troy’s guy is outside.”
Laine peers through the curtain as though she can spot him. “You brought him with you?” she hisses.
“No, he followed me.” I let out a little groan.
“Then you don’t have much time.” Nola studies me. “What can we do? How can we help?”
I reach into my pants and extract Troy’s phone and pass it to her. She gives me a funny look. “So this is his, is it?”
“Yes, it’s Tro—I mean Severin’s.”
Laine smirks at me. “Ooh, you stole his phone?”
I nod. “He wasn’t at the auction the day Nell disappeared. I need to know if he was at Grayfleet at all that day, and if not, where was he?”
Nola thinks for a moment. “So you actually want me to hack the location data rather than his phone?”
“Can you do that?”
“I have a friend who could, we just need his number and a date and time, but let’s check his device first, just in case.”
I don’t tell my friends that Troy kissed me, and other things…I don’t know why. Something holds me back. I’m not sure they would understand. Laine might, considering what happened between her and Jaxon, but….
I blink, trying not to let my mind wander.
Laine is nodding at whatever Nola was saying.
Nola sits cross-legged on the floor of the changing room, with her laptop open, turning it on.
When she connects Troy’s phone to it, the screen glows eerie blue, illuminating the sharp angles of her face. Then her fingers fly over the keyboard.
Seconds pass, but eventually she frowns.
“Shit. I can’t bypass carrier security. The phone’s too secure. He’s got this locked up like Fort Knox.”
Of course, he would. My stomach sinks. “So that’s it?”
“Hold on, he might still have…” Nola unplugs the device, takes a safety pin from the lingerie I picked up, and jabs it into a hole in the side. A SIM card pops out. “Ah, he does. I thought it might, since it’s an older model.”
“What will that do?”
She ignores me and takes the SIM out of her old, small, black flip phone and inserts Troy’s.
“Okay, there’s like...three old numbers saved to the card itself.
Everything else must be on the phone or cloud.
” She reads out the numbers, and I type them into my own phone.
“Do you recognize them?” I shake my head.
“It’s the best I can do until Quinn gets the location data from Severin’s number. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
She shrugs, sticking the SIM back into Troy’s phone. “There’s always face ID.”
“I’m not doing that?”
“If he wakes up, as he asks why you’re in his room in the middle of the night. Sit on his face.”
I stare at her, my already face warm. “No! That won’t work.”
Nola gives me a look. “It always works. But if you’re too scared, then sedate him. Crush some sleeping pills into his wine.” She says it like she’s giving me the recipe for a meat pie.
“Oh, I guess that might work.”
Nola smiles, eyes gleaming. “Better yet, poison the bastard.” She reaches into her jacket pocket and offers me an apothecary vial containing a colorless liquid. “Here. Untraceable but effective. You only need a few drops.”
I dare not touch it, but I have no choice. “What is it?”
“Best you don’t know, eh?”
“Don’t freak out.” Laine lets herself back into the changing room cubicle, locking the door behind her. While Nola worked on the phone, she went out to keep a lookout. “But a big guy just came into the store, and he doesn’t look like the type to buy lingerie for his girlfriend himself.”
I suck in a breath. “Mundel? Does he look like he just walked off a Downton Abbey set?”
Laine stares at me. “I wouldn’t say Downton Abbey, no.”
Maybe I watch too much daytime TV.
But then Laine’s nose wrinkles, “More like the Apprentice?”
That’s how I know she’s my soul mate. “You should go, now, before he comes looking for me.”
Nola is already slipping out, having packed away her things.
Laine hesitates. “Are you sure you’ll be okay? If you need anything—”
“Actually, can you look into the Swanley tragedy for me? I need to know what happened to their son after he was sent to prison.” Laine used to be a P.I. She has dark web contacts that I can only imagine.
Her eyes narrow, like she wants to ask more, but all that comes out is, “Sure. Cash would be able to dig something up. I’ll try to get something for the next Stronger Together meeting. If you can make it?”
“I’ll try.”
She nods and exits the cubicle. I have just enough time to shove Severin’s phone and the vial into my pants.
A few seconds later.
“Sir! You can’t go in there! That’s the ladies’ changing rooms—”
“I’ll do what the hell I like.” The masculine voice has an American drawl. It’s not Mundel.
It’s Severin’s. He’s here.
How did he know where to find me?