Chapter 43
Kitty and Antoinette’s Airbnb, West Hollywood, Los Angeles
I still feel a bit queasy when I wake up the next morning.
I’m going to have to swing past a pharmacy and get something to settle my stomach if this continues.
I can’t put it down to jet lag now. I must’ve picked up something on the plane.
All that recycled air. Flying germ boxes.
I check my phone and am surprised to see it’s almost eleven in the morning. I really must’ve been tired.
I stagger down to the kitchen, desperate for a coffee, and am surprised to find no sign of Antoinette yet either. No rogue coffee cups or glasses with the remnants of a green juice. No tell-tale toast crumbs on the counter and – I look around the kitchen – no sign of the milk being left out.
She must still be in bed. If she was up early for a yoga class or something, there would definitely be proof of life in here.
She must’ve come back late last night.
I was a bit hard on her actually. To make amends I decide to make her a nice breakfast for when she comes down.
Antoinette isn’t vegan like me so we’ve got all sorts of gross things in the fridge like butter and eggs.
I pop a couple of slices of sourdough into the toaster and crack two eggs to scramble for her.
My poor stomach turns over on itself as I watch the snotty things plop into the pan.
She’d better appreciate the sacrifice I’m making here.
I scramble the eggs, butter the toast, slice up some avocado and make a cafetière of coffee.
But when I’m done there’s still no sign of my sister.
It’s almost half past eleven now. I have a quick root around in the kitchen cupboards and find a tray.
I’ll take her breakfast in bed. That – along with the news that I’ve decided I do need her help to kill Aidan Ward – should cheer her up.
And maybe an apology. I was a bit harsh on her last night.
She was only trying to help me. If I’d seen that horrible sleaze-weasel pawing at her, I’d probably have stabbed him in the neck too.
I arrange all the things on the tray and then, on a whim, go into the garden and pluck one of the hibiscus flowers and lay it down next to the cutlery. Yes, this is definitely a good way to apologise. I carry the tray up to Antoinette’s room and balance it on my knee as I knock the door.
‘Antoinette?’ I call. ‘Are you awake?’
There’s no answer.
‘Antoinette?’ I say her name a bit louder this time. ‘I’ve made you breakfast.’
Still nothing.
She’s either dead to the world or she’s still furious at me.
‘Please, talk to me.’ I’m pleading now. ‘I’m really sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have shouted at you. And I’d really like your help with Aidan today. Please, Antoinette.’
She still doesn’t answer.
I hope she’s okay. Maybe she’s coming down with whatever I have.
I put the tray on the floor and knock once more. ‘I’m coming in.’
I turn the knob and open the door but there’s no one here.
No sign of Antoinette at all.
The bed is made. It doesn’t even look like it’s been slept in.
‘Antoinette?’ I call out again before pushing open the door to her en suite.
If she’s in the shower she might not have heard me.
But the bathroom is completely empty. And it doesn’t look like it’s been used this morning.
The air is completely dry, no lingering steam from the shower, no residual smell from deodorant or perfume.
It’s like she hasn’t been here all night.
Did I even hear her come in?
I don’t think I did.
After I left Aidan in the cellar to puke in the sink I’d come straight up to bed, passing out the moment my head hit the pillow.
Maybe she didn’t come home.
But where would she have gone?
I hurry back down to the kitchen and pick my phone up from the table. I call Antoinette but it goes straight through to voicemail. Urgh. She probably forgot to charge it again.
I jam my feet into a pair of trainers by the back door and half-walk, half-run past the pool and to the guesthouse.
The door is open when I get there but I call through anyway.
‘Agnes? Lauren?’
‘In the kitchen,’ Agnes’s voice bounces back. She’s perched on a bar stool at the island, eating a bowl of cereal and scrolling through her phone. She looks a lot brighter than when I last saw her. ‘Hey, Kitty,’ she says when she sees me. ‘Are you okay? You look ghost-pale.’
‘Is Antoinette here?’ I ask but Agnes shakes her head.
‘No, I haven’t seen her. I’ve been trying to get hold of her. Have you seen the news?’
I shake my head this time. ‘No. What’s happened?’
Agnes passes me her phone. ‘Richard Stone,’ she says. ‘He was found dead in his kitchen this morning. Fell on a bunch of knives in the dishwasher. How fucked up is that?’
I stare at the news story on the gossip site on the phone. ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Wow. That’s grim.’
Agnes raises both shoulders. ‘Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. Imagine dying like that. He must’ve been in agony.’ A mischievous little smile spreads across her lips. ‘Queen Karma serves again.’
I scan the article but it doesn’t say anything other than that the LAPD think it’s a tragic accident and they’re not looking for anyone else in connection with the incident.
Thank God.
One less thing to worry about.
I hand her phone back. ‘But you haven’t heard from Antoinette at all?’
‘No. What’s wrong?’
I sigh. ‘We had an argument last night and she stormed out. I don’t think she came home.’
Agnes’s blue eyes go wide. ‘But where would she go? She doesn’t know anyone else. Does she?’
‘Maybe Lauren’s seen her?’ I ask but Agnes shakes her head again.
‘Lauren was at Cort’s last night. She hasn’t been back yet.’
Just then we hear the front entrance of the guesthouse slam shut and Lauren walks into the kitchen.
‘Did I hear ya’ll taking my name in vain?’ she asks before seeing our worried faces. ‘Oh God, what’s happened now? Agnes? Are you okay?’
‘It’s not me,’ Agnes says. ‘Kitty says Antoinette didn’t come home last night.’
‘Have you heard from her at all?’ I ask Lauren a bit desperately because I know it’s a long shot. It’s Agnes she’s close to, not Lauren. I don’t even know if Lauren has her number.
‘No, I haven’t,’ says Lauren. ‘Are you sure she didn’t come back? Maybe she’s just gone to an early-morning yoga session or something?’
‘We had an argument,’ I say, ‘and I’m pretty sure her bed hasn’t been slept in. Fuck, where is she?’
‘I’ll try calling her again,’ Agnes says but the call goes straight to voicemail again.
‘Do you think she might have stayed at a hotel or something?’ Lauren says. ‘You know, to cool off if y’all were quarrelling?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say, ‘she didn’t have anything with her when she stormed out. She might have done, but … shit.’
Agnes touches my arm gently. ‘Okay, don’t panic. She’ll be fine. She’s probably just cooling off somewhere. Let’s go and have a look for her, Lauren?’
Lauren nods. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘We’ll take Lana Del Gay. Kitty, you should go back to the villa in case she comes home. She’s probably on her way back now and doesn’t even realise we’re all panicking about her.’ Agnes gives me a smile but I can see she’s worried. ‘Let me know if she turns up,’ she says to me.
I don’t want to go back to the villa.
I want to go and look for her too but Agnes is right. Someone should be there if she comes back. And it should be me. So I can yell at her for being irresponsible. And then hug her and tell her to never, ever worry me like this ever again.
Who fucking pulls a vanishing act when there’s a serial killer on the loose?
I’ll kill her myself.
Agnes promises me that they’ll call if they find anything. ‘I bet she’s back before we are,’ she says as we all leave the guesthouse.
I don’t know what to do with myself in the villa though.
Anxiety ties itself in knots in my stomach and the only thing that calms it seems to be relentless pacing.
I just can’t believe that Antoinette would deliberately leave me to spiral like this.
Not with one man to kill and the pieces of another that we still need to get rid of. She just wouldn’t do that.
But where could she be? She doesn’t know anyone here apart from me and Agnes and Lauren.
Does she?
Am I sure about that?
She’s been spending a lot of time on Reddit since we got here.
Maybe she’s been chatting with someone on there.
Maybe there will be some clues on her iPad.
I hurry up to her room.
It’s gone noon now, she’s been gone for almost fifteen hours.
I try to swallow down the panic I’m feeling as I find her iPad plugged into a charger next to her bed.
Why can’t she ever remember to charge her phone?
She hasn’t bothered putting any security on the iPad so I can click right into her web browser.
Reddit loads immediately and I can see she’s been scrolling through local subs, especially those focusing on the WeHo Ripper.
But it doesn’t look like she’s commented or been chatting to anyone.
I click open her iMessage app but there’s nothing in there apart from texts from me and Agnes.
There must be something here.
I open up the browser again and click on the search bar to see her search history. There might be some clues in there if she has gone to a hotel. I know she wanted to go to The Edition. But there’s no sign of the hotel in the history.
There is something though.
Something that chills me to my marrow.
A PrivatePool URL.
I click on it and immediately wish I hadn’t as it takes me to a creator page.
My heart skips several beats when I see the username.
Naughty Netty.
And then I see the pictures and I’m almost sick.
There are about half a dozen photos taken in this very room.
Photos of my sister in her underwear.
‘Oh Antoinette,’ I say out loud. ‘What have you done?’