“I’m sorry,” she gurgled before turning to the toilet again.
Once Evelyn was well enough, we took a car back toward the Saint Angel. A few blocks away, we had to pull over to let another bridesmaid hurl. The driver, disgusted, refused to let the sick girl back into his SUV, so we had no choice but to walk the rest of the way.
Luckily, the cool air did us all good. A little color returned to Evelyn’s pale cheeks, and the rest of the bridesmaids weren’t so weak-kneed as we headed toward the hotel. Despite the chaos, Marie looked happy, and that was all that mattered.
“Thank you,” she murmured, resting her head on my shoulder as she linked her arm through mine. “I know you planned the party.”
“Did Evelyn tell you?”
“No, but I’m clever enough to know your work from my sister’s,” Marie said, smiling. “I had a lot of fun tonight.”
“I’m glad—”
Up ahead, Angelica stumbled and went sprawling into the street. As she pushed herself up, she caught sight of something in the shadows and froze. Her mouth dropped open, and a piercing scream echoed through the night.
I rushed forward, pushing aside the drunken bridesmaids to reach Angelica. She pointed, wide-eyed, into the alleyway between the Saint Angel and the next building over.
In the darkness lay a body, twisted at horrible angles as if it had fallen from a great height. As bile burned my throat, I stepped closer for a better look.
The hair had been parted from the scalp and the face slashed wickedly in unruly patterns. Nevertheless, I recognized the victim.
“Megan Hollows,” Evelyn said hoarsely.
I turned to her. “Can I look into this now?”
4
There was nothing like a good murder to sober everyone up. Evelyn took charge of Marie and the bridesmaids, ushering them inside before anyone else could get a look at the ruined body. Angelica, of course, wasn’t so lucky. She’d tripped over Megan Hollows’ cold foot, something she wouldn’t likely forget without years of therapy. She dissolved into absolute hysterics as Evelyn tried to get her inside, shaking and hyperventilating.
“Are you coming?” Evelyn asked me, keeping Angelica turned away from the gruesome scene. She swayed slightly, still feeling the effects of her whiskey binge.
I stood over the body like a guard dog. “You go ahead. I’m going to take a look.”
“Jack,” Evelyn warned. “Don’t touch anything. This is a crime scene. The police have first dibs.”
“I won’t.”
Evelyn stared me down.
“I promise,” I said, holding up two fingers in the Scout’s Honor. “Get her inside. Have the girls take Advil and drink water. Otherwise, they’ll be hurting tomorrow.”
She cast one last look at Megan’s body and muttered, “They’ll be hurting regardless.”
Once Evelyn had gone inside, I got my first good look at the scene. Megan wore a slinky black dress, appropriate for a night out at clubs and bars. Her injuries were extensive. A sharp knife had made the clean, straight cuts on her face and torso. Bruises covered her arms and legs, as if she had been roughly abused before her death. Worst of all, her head had rotated too far around on her neck, breaking the spine. If she hadn’t been dead before the fall, she certainly was when she hit the ground.
I shielded my eyes against the icy drizzle and looked up between the buildings. There was no telling where Megan had fallen from. On either side of the alleyway, windows stretched up to the sky. The Saint Angel stood to the left, the other building—apartments perhaps—stood to the right. If Megan had checked out of the Saint Angel three nights ago, how had her body ended up here?
A chill rode the length of my spine as I came to a sudden realization: the tragedy had happened recently. For one thing, we were the first to notice Megan in the streets. The police hadn’t been alerted to the scene yet. For another, the body was fresh. No signs of decomposition. No rigor mortis. Megan had died within the last hour or so.
Guilt spread through my veins like a poison. I pinched the inside of my arm hard enough to distract myself from the nausea brewing in the pit of my stomach. If I had looked into Megan’s disappearance when I’d wanted to, I might have saved her from such a terrible fate.
“Oh my God!” Janine, emerging from the hotel for a smoke break, covered her mouth as she took in the sight of Megan’s corpse. She gagged but kept her composure and hurriedly retreated, pulling out her phone. “I’m calling the police.”
I gritted my teeth but allowed her to continue. Evelyn was right. The Chicago Police Department needed to clear the scene first. If I touched anything—if I stepped in the wrong place—I might be accused of interfering with the investigation or worse. Regardless, I had no plans of leaving Megan to rot in the alleyway alone, even if it did make me look suspicious.
The cavalry arrived with a chorus of sirens and blinding lights. Squad cars, SUVS, and a CSI truck blocked the street outside the Saint Angel and the adjacent alleyway. As a team of officers and detectives stormed toward me, I held my ground. Surprisingly, so did Janine.
“You gals the ones who called?” The detective who addressed us first wore a wrinkled dress shirt and clashing pants, like he’d rolled out of bed and put on whatever he could find. “I’m Royce.” He glanced behind me and wrinkled his nose at Megan’s body. “Not the way you’d like to end your night, eh?”
I bristled at the indifference of his tone. “I’m Jacqueline Frye. We found the body.”
Royce’s gaze flickered between me and Janine. “We being who?”
“Not me,” Janine said. “I don’t know anything about what happened. I just called it in.”
“You.” Royce pointed at me. “Explain.”
I quickly described how Marie’s bachelorette party had been heading back to the hotel when Angelica tripped over the body.