Chapter 5
“What?” I press the phone closer to my ear like maybe I’ve misunderstood.
Memories of Gemma spin through my mind’s eye.
The smile on her face when I met her years ago.
The friendship we rekindled when she picked up and moved to Florida.
All the job hunt talks. The dress. The shoes. The hug she gave me yesterday.
Now she’s dead? She can’t be.
I can tell Nora knows something is wrong. She opens her mouth to ask a question, and I reach across the table to stop her, holding her hand as I choke out, “Gemma—” My mouth goes dry, and I can already feel the tears in my eyes. “Gemma died.”
It doesn’t register at first. Nora blinks. “Sorry, it’s loud in here. I thought you said—”
“She’s dead,” I choke out.
The words land this time, like a slap across her face.
Nora gasps; her free hand flies to her mouth, knocking her water glass off the table in the process.
There’s a sudden splash to accompany the sound of glass shattering.
Our server looks up from another table and starts walking our way with a towel in hand.
“What happened?” I say to Beau. “We saw her last night.”
“They’re not saying yet.”
I watch as Nora’s expression slips from initial shock to a kind of daze.
Beau’s still talking, and I pick up fragments—Chief Kennedy, statement, parking lot. And then what he’s saying clicks into focus. “Chief Kennedy asked me to come down to the station,” he says.
“What? Why?” I demand.
Over the last year, we had blissfully drifted away from Detective Travis Ardell and Chief Kennedy, head of the Winter Park Police Department.
We went back to our lives, and they went back to the sleepy crime rate of this safe community.
Aside from the occasional social sighting, like last night at Marcus’s party, I hadn’t had many interactions with them.
Now, their faces come roaring back into my mind.
“I have to give a statement about last night,” Beau says.
“They’re calling in those of us who stayed late.
Gemma was one of the closing servers. They’re trying to figure out what happened, time of death…
” The line is eerily quiet for a second.
“Autumn, Shep, Tippy, Ford, and I were all there. They probably need witness statements from all of us. The closers from the kitchen, too. I’m going to head there now. ”
The next thing I hear is my chair scraping the floor as I stand. “Okay. Then wait for me.”
“Este—”
“No.” I’m grabbing my bag. “I want to be there. I want to do something to help.”
He must hear grief tightening my voice, because there’s a pause on his side of the line.
“I’ll meet you there,” I insist.
Nora stands, grabbing her bag. “I’m coming, too.”
“You don’t have to,” I say. “You spent enough time in that station after Will—”
“Este, a best friend gets a shovel, right? And anyway, you drove me here.”
“Take an Uber. Or take my car. I—” I start to rifle through my bag for my keys, but my hands are shaking. “I have to get to the station.”
My friend is dead, and I need to put eyes on Beau, the one person who keeps me steady.
Nora reaches out to calm me with one hand, then nods. “I’ll figure it out. Text me the second you know anything.”
I leave her in the dining room of the restaurant and race toward the police station with my heart galloping in my throat.
Gemma comes all the way from California just to die? What about her job interview? What about her plans?
Memories of yesterday’s 310 number and the shadowy figure outside the window pierce my heart as fresh dread washes over me.
Did California come for Gemma? Is it coming for me, too?
My vision blurs as I fight to keep my eyes on the road.
The moment I pull into the parking lot I see a Channel 2 news van. Kristy Clark, a local reporter, is setting up her shot. My heart drops.
This can’t be real.
I push through the entrance of the police station and see a kid barely out of the academy sitting behind the front desk.
My voice cracks as I say, “Hi, I’m looking for my husband, Beau—”
But I stop when I see Tippy and Shep being escorted to the front of the station by a police officer. Beau said they were called down, too, but I’m surprised Tippy came without an army of lawyers.
Isn’t that the first rule of rich people? Don’t talk to the cops?
Maybe Beau and I should hire a lawyer, too.
Tippy must not think she needs one. She’s lived here for decades after all. She probably knows half of the cops by name.
Sometimes I forget what a small town this can be.
When she sees me, Tippy rushes over like we’re old friends.
“Such a tragedy,” she says as she air-kisses both of my cheeks like we’re meeting at a gala and not a police station. And she doesn’t waste any time before leaning in to gossip. “They found her in the alley behind Lemon & Fig. I think it’s some kind of hit-and-run.”
The thought makes my whole body ache, like I’ve been hit head-on, too. The denial I’m still fighting makes me want to punch Tippy for being the one to deliver the news. My right hand tucks into a fist at my side, but Shep shuffles her off before I can swing.
Probably for the best.
I swallow the tears threatening at the corners of my eyes. I look behind me as they go. Grief, fear, and suspicion ricochet off one another in my mind until I almost can’t focus on anything. Nearly everyone in town has been called in for questioning.
“Your husband’s in with the chief now,” the young officer at the desk says. “You’ll have to give them a minute, but you can wait outside his office.”
“Thanks.”
Kennedy’s office has a wide window facing the hall, and inside, Beau is talking as Chief Kennedy takes notes and nods. I find a small bench with a view of the window and wait.
Usually, the sight of Beau steadies me. But now, his posture puts something uneasy in my bloodstream. He’s too controlled. Not his usual casual lean. And he’s picking at the cuticle of his left thumb. He’s upset.
Gemma and Beau were friendly enough. And sometimes, if Gemma and I were meeting up and she arrived at the house early, Beau would let her in and offer her a drink while I wrapped up whatever errand I was on.
I’m studying him as a visibly shaken Autumn comes into the bullpen. When she spots me, she rushes over, throwing her arms around my neck. Gemma’s work in the hospitality world meant she and Autumn crossed paths often. I squeeze her back, wishing I could undo all of this.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Autumn cries into the collar of my shirt. “Again! First Will”—she leans in and mouths “dies” with her hand cupped over her mouth to keep the offending word between us—“after the birthday party I planned for him. Now, Gemma. Are my events cursed? Am I cursed?”
I have to remind myself Autumn’s not actually trying to make Gemma’s death about her—everyone grieves differently.
“Oh, Autumn, no. I’m sure this is a very unfortunate coincidence.” I try to sound convincing.
“It’s awful. Gemma was so smart. And young. And—”
Autumn can’t choke out the rest. She’s racked with sobs. I sit her down on the bench and hold her close to me, patting her back and feeling like I want to burst into tears.
I watch the window to Chief Kennedy’s office as Beau gets up and shakes the chief’s hand, signaling the end of the questioning.
I stand, ready to run into his arms. Ready to grab him and tell him we have to get out of here.
“Hey.” Beau greets me with a one-armed hug and a tight smile. “I told you you didn’t have to come.”
“As if that was going to stop me,” I tell him. “What did they say? What happened? What’s going on?”
“Let’s get outside,” Beau soothes, giving Autumn a polite wave and ushering me toward the door.
“Tippy said it was a hit-and-run? Someone just left her in the alley behind Marcus’s restaurant?” I ask as we push through the front doors and into the heat of the day. “What happened?” I ask again.
“I don’t know.” He sighs. “Tippy, Shep, Ford, and I were hanging out around the bar, talking. Gemma made a last call for drinks around twelve-thirty.”
“Were Marcus and Autumn still there?”
“I think they were in the back wrapping up some party logistics. I ordered a ranch water, but she said the bar was out of limes. She went to the kitchen to grab more. I told her not to worry about it, but she insisted. And I don’t think she came back after that.
Then someone pulled out the Fireball, and we decided we had had enough to drink. ”
“And then she died?”
“After her shift was over, they think.” He shakes his head. “I have no idea what happened. And they wouldn’t tell me anything except that she was found in the alley.”
A hit-and-run? It’s not good enough. Gemma deserves more. She should still be here.
There’s a pained look on Beau’s face, like he can’t stand to see me hurt. He pulls me into a hug, and the even thump of his heartbeat gives my body something solid to hold on to. “I’m sorry, Este. I know how much you cared about her.”
I close my eyes and hug him back.
“Meet you at home?” Beau says as he lets go, fishing for his keys in his pocket.
I nod and climb into my own car, but there’s a pit in my stomach that keeps me from starting the engine.
Was Gemma in trouble? Did I miss something?
Gemma would’ve come to me if there was something going on. She would’ve told me.
I’m still sitting in my car when Chief Kennedy walks outside with Autumn, and they both stride toward her Lexus SUV.
The two of them slowly pace the length and width of Autumn’s car, checking every side for damage.
The conversation looks friendly enough for what it is, and I have to imagine they’re looking at everyone’s cars for signs of an accident.
Because they have to. Because Gemma’s gone.
I’m alone in the quiet, and a chill courses through my blood. I’ve been here before, watched life upended in a blink. My hands start to shake, and there’s a scream trapped in the back of my throat. Hot, angry tears burst from my eyes.
I can’t remember turning on the ignition, but suddenly, the car is streaking toward the edges of Winter Park to Gemma’s apartment.
When she first moved in, I brought her a bottle of wine and a houseplant.
It’s been a while since then, but I still remember how to get to the worn apartment building on Aloma Avenue.
I don’t know what I think I’m going to find there. Not her, certainly. Or maybe that’s not true.
Maybe if I see her apartment, my brain will be able to catch up to the fact that she’s not there.
Because in my mind, she’s not gone. Behind my eyes, I imagine Gemma the way she’s supposed to be. Wearing my lucky dress and those new shoes, striding into her job interview with her head held high.