Chapter Thirty-One
THIRTY-ONE
I spend the next hour going between my parents and talking Mom down. They finally agree that if Dad isn’t booked on a plane in the next twelve hours, then she’s coming for me, and I believe her.
I flop back on the bed, exhausted, and my stomach makes a noise like a wild animal.
I pick up my phone and idly scroll through a takeaway app, though I know I should probably eat something we already have here.
Preferably with vegetables, after grazing on cereal bars and chips all day.
I gather up the empty wrappers and cans, studiously avoiding the wall of shame, as I’ve now come to think of it.
Since I recovered from my meltdown yesterday, I’ve been mortified every time I’ve even thought of it.
What was I playing at? Helen and Jen were murdered, and there I was running around playing investigator, accusing my friend of the worst thing anyone could do.
Izzy was right. This isn’t one of my detective shows where the case is conveniently solved in a forty-five-minute episode that leaves time for adverts.
No, this is real, and it’s tragic, and if I’m honest… it’s terrifying.
I open my door quietly and peer round the corner into the hallway.
The sliding glass doors that lead to the living room are still closed, and I can hear the TV from here.
I stealth-walk past, and my phone buzzes as I step into the kitchen.
I gently close the door and dump my trash before looking at it.
Alessandra: On my way to see you both, I have been worried. A
Dad must have asked her to check in with me. She already sent two texts last night and one this morning that I left on read.
Oh god. I better tell Izzy. I take a deep breath, square my shoulders and walk to the living room, sliding the door open a sliver. “Erm, Iz? Can I come in?”
“Your house,” she replies shortly.
It’s not really my house, but I don’t bother to correct her.
We don’t need to argue any more right now.
I push the door the rest of the way open but don’t step inside.
There’s a twenty-four-hour news channel playing on the TV and Izzy is still wearing her pajamas.
She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, Kim’s tarot deck spread out before her again. She doesn’t look at me.
“Alessandra is on her way.”
That does it. Izzy’s head snaps up and she narrows her eyes at me. “Why?”
“I forgot to text her back last night. And this morning.” I wince. “So she’s checking on us in person. I know we’re not talking, but—”
“But we don’t want her to tell your dad we’re fighting on top of everything else.” She looks up guiltily. “I heard you talking to your mom.” She looks at the sofa, which is still dressed up as a makeshift bed. “I’ll put that back in your room.”
“Thanks,” I say, and Izzy pushes herself to standing, gathers the bedding and tiptoes round the tarot cards as she leaves the room. “Leave it in there, if you want?” I add.
“Okay,” she says without turning round, but I know she’s accepted my olive branch.
No doubt she’ll make me talk it out later, because that’s what Izzy does, but for now we can present a united front.
I have to admit, I’m dying to tell her what I found today, but I should probably wait a bit before bringing up The Four again.
I return to the kitchen and put the kettle on, hoping a cup of tea will prove how sensible and civilized we are.
Luckily, we’ve kept the place pretty tidy, so I pull some clean cups from the dishwasher and listen to the gentle roll of the boiling water as I search the cupboards for Kim’s glass teapot.
I finally find it tucked into the back of the mug cupboard as Izzy returns and hovers at the threshold, dressed now in baby blue sweatpants and a matching cropped sweater.
“I shut your bedroom door,” she says, looking at her bare feet.
“In case Alessandra goes to the bathroom or something.” She’s seen that I’ve ripped everything off the wall, then.
I wait for her to make a snide comment, but she just looks at me with her big doe eyes.
“Maybe we can go and buy some paint tomorrow, to cover it up before your dad and Kim get back?”
“That’s a good idea, thanks,” I say, gratefully accepting the peace offering without having to get into it. The kettle clicks, fully boiled, so I turn my attention back to tea as I mumble the next words. “Iz, I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” she replies. We let the words hang in the silence for a second, and then she comes up behind me and squeezes me in a bear hug. “This week has been like something from a horror movie, hasn’t it?”
“Yep,” I sigh. I pat her hands, and she lets me go.
“Are you making a pot of tea?” she asks, head cocked.
“I’m trying to look like a competent adult,” I admit, holding up the jar Kim keeps the loose tea in. “Do you just, like, put this in hot water?”
“I guess?” Izzy peers inside the pot. “There’s a little metal strainer. I think the tea goes in there and you fill the pot with water.”
“That makes sense.” I spoon some of the loose leaves into the mesh and then pour some hot water over the top until the dried leaves darken and swell. “It smells good, anyway.”
“Well done.” Izzy pats me on the back as the doorbell rings. She flinches. “Are we going to get a talking-to for not being in touch after what happened to Jen?”
“I really don’t know,” I admit. “I’ll answer it. You find some biscuits or something.” I approach the front door, my insides doing some sort of complicated Irish jig. As I’m pulling it open, I realize I should have checked the peephole, but luckily it is Alessandra. She sighs when she sees me.
“Thank god, you are okay,” she says, tsking at me before ushering me back inside.
I hold the door open for Alessandra as she’s laden down with bags, and I point in the direction of the kitchen before closing it and following her.
“After everything that has been going on, I was worried when you did not text me back. I almost called your father!”
“I’ve been speaking to him, I promise,” I say. “I’m sorry, I meant to text back but…” I trail off. I don’t have a good excuse.
“You have had a terrible week, I understand, but I have been thinking about you all day, and it felt wrong to go another evening and not see you both.” Izzy and I watch in awe as she starts to unpack the bags, stacking Tupperware containers onto the kitchen table and filling the room with a smell that can only be described as heavenly.
“I know you are probably living off fast food, so I cooked. There is bruschetta to start and some gnocchi and cheese tortellini with tomato sauce, enough for the next couple of days.”
“Thank you, you really didn’t have to,” I say as I try not to salivate on the spot. Instead, my stomach rumbles loud enough for all three of us to hear.
“I see it was a good idea.” Alessandra finally breaks into a smile, and I look at her properly.
Her long hair is pulled into a high ponytail and she’s wearing the sort of all-black athleisure wear that could almost convince me to go to the gym.
Even off duty, she’s the most glamorous person I know.
“I will go now I have seen you both with my own eyes.”
“Oh, don’t go yet. Fliss made tea!” Izzy says, sounding so proud I can’t help but laugh. “I’ll bring it into the living room, if you want to make yourself comfy. Just don’t slip on the tarot cards.”
“Tarot cards?” Alessandra raises an eyebrow as I grab three empty mugs and guide her into the living room.
“Yeah, my stepmom is obsessed, and Izzy has just discovered them.” I gather up the spread on the floor and gesture for Alessandra to sit on the sofa. She looks around, taking in the shelves of books, the plants that bloom from every surface. “Have you been here before?” I ask.
“No, but it is very welcoming. I can tell your stepmother is in charge of the decorating, and the tidying. You have seen your father’s desk, yes?”
“I have. He’s always been messy.” I chuckle as Izzy comes in and sets the teapot on the table. She’s magicked up some chocolate biscuits and a small matching jug of milk and bowl of sugar. “How is everything at the gallery now?”
“It is mostly normal again. The staff locker room has only just been reopened,” Alessandra says, watching Izzy pour the tea and accepting a mug. “But I cannot go in there anymore. It is too…sad, I think. But it is in use again.”
“Did the police ever come back to talk to you?” I ask, the words out of my mouth before I can help it. Izzy serves me a mug of tea and a look that says “You’re on thin ice, Keller,” and my face heats up.
“I spoke to the detectives again, yes. They told me about the suspect they had in custody but after what happened to that poor girl on Friday, I think he has been released.”
Interesting. They would only have released the unhoused man if they thought the murders were linked—if he was in custody, then he couldn’t have killed Jen, could he? Maybe my intuition was right after all.
Alessandra adds just enough milk to tint the dark amber liquid in her cup and picks up a teaspoon to stir it in. “It is terrible that they were allowed to print those awful photographs online. I hope you did not see them.”
“Photos?” I glance at Izzy, who looks away, and remember the news channel on the TV when I first came into the living room. “Photos of what?”
“The girl from Friday. Jennifer, I think her name was? A reporter got there before the police and put the pictures online.” Alessandra shudders. “Please, do not look. They are so upsetting.”
“No, I won’t,” I say, and I kind of mean it. I don’t want to see those pictures.
But they might help me prove that The Four and the recent murders are linked…
We sit in silence for a few minutes as Izzy moves the tarot cards around and Alessandra flicks through one of Kim’s witchy books that Izzy must have left out. I blow on my tea, hoping I’ve not made it too strong.
Alessandra eventually changes the subject. “Tell me about the cards.”
Izzy, who is sitting on the floor at the opposite side of the table, kneels up, her eyes twinkling. “Do you read tarot?” she asks.
“No.” Alessandra shakes her head as Izzy tidies the deck and starts to shuffle. “But we hosted an exhibition on them for a few months. There were some very old pieces, including Italian tarocchi cards.”
“What are they?” Izzy replies, placing a now neat deck on the coffee table.
“The original tarot. It began as a card game that the Italian nobility played.” She takes a sip of tea, and a smile crosses her lips. “Over the centuries people ascribed more and more meaning to the cards, until they became tools of divination.”
“You don’t believe in it, then?” I ask her, relieved I’m not the only one.
“Not really. I do find it interesting that others do, though, and I love to see the variations on design that people come up with.” Alessandra taps the deck. “This set, for instance—the pattern tells me it is a Rider-Waite-Smith deck, which was developed in 1909.”
“I knew that!” Izzy waves a little book in the air.
“I’ve been doing some research on Pamela Colman Smith, the artist. Did you know that her name wasn’t even on a deck until 2009?
And that was just a commemorative edition.
Even though she drew the artwork on the cards, it was named after the men who funded and published the deck for over a hundred years! ”
“I did know that,” Alessandra says, laughing softly. “She was quite a character, from what I remember. I am sure we still have some of the exhibition booklets at the gallery. There was an entire section on her letters and sketches. I will dig one out if you would like to come by and get it?”
“I’d love that, thank you,” Izzy says. She pushes the deck in Alessandra’s direction. “Would you like to choose one?”
“Why not.” Alessandra finishes her tea and pulls the card on the top of the deck, holding it face down for a second as she looks at each of us in turn. “And then I will go and let you eat, if you promise to text me before bed and again in the morning.”
“I promise,” I say, cradling my mug. “We really didn’t mean to worry you.”
“I know.” Satisfied, Alessandra turns the card and places it face up on the table. It’s upside down, the picture facing Izzy, who thumbs through the little booklet.
“The Two of Swords,” she mumbles, still flicking pages as I tilt my head to study the card.
A figure sits on a stone plinth in front of a rocky ocean backdrop and a crescent moon.
Their hair is short, they’re wearing a flowing white gown not unlike an old-fashioned nightdress and hold a longsword in each hand.
These are crossed over each other to form an X.
Izzy finally stops on a page and reads aloud.
“Here we go. It’s upside down, or reversed, which means something different, so…” She skims the page. “According to this, it means falsehood, duplicity and disloyalty.” She glances at Alessandra and grimaces, baring her teeth. “Erm, sorry about that.”
“A good thing I won’t let it ruin my day.” Alessandra laughs, standing up. “I better get back.”
I get up too and lead the way to the front door. “Thank you again for the food.”
“It is bribery for you to stay in touch.” She raises an eyebrow and holds out one arm. I hesitate for a second and then give her a quick hug.
“I will, I swear.”
“Good.” She looks over my shoulder as Izzy appears behind us, headed for the kitchen with the tea tray. “Bye, girls. Lock the door behind me.”
“Will do,” Izzy promises.
I watch as Alessandra walks to the end of the path, waving at her as she leaves. I close the door, my thoughts spinning.
“Shall I just warm up a bit of everything?” Izzy calls from the kitchen. I can already hear her popping lids off the Tupperware and unwrapping foil.
“Definitely,” I reply, though I don’t join her immediately.
Instead, I make sure the front door is double locked and head back to the living room, where I make a beeline for the coffee table.
I pick up the tarot card, making sure it’s not upside down, and study it.
Despite holding two massive swords, the figure’s body language is fairly relaxed, the face not giving any sign of pain or distress.
However, one detail stands out to me so much that it might as well be fluorescent.
The figure is wearing a blindfold, just like the first portrait of The Four.
Just like Helen.