He nods. “A peacock feather.”
“Not to mention she runs a company that has a lab. She had access to cyanide if you ask me. And Kiera heavily implied that Madeline had stolen one of her boyfriends, or at least had her way with him.” That vision I had of Kiera informing Lucas—“Nobody tells me what to do. I should have done this the very first night and saved myself the trouble”—comes back to me. It hasn’t come true yet. I bet it comes true right as I’m about to bust her for murder. “Kiera has the motive and the means to pull it off.”
“I’d tend to agree. Who else?”
“Sophia?” I shrug. “She claims to have been running Jackson’s social media empire up until Madeline died and then she stepped into Madeline’s shoes to help with her father’s foundation. Madeline was sleeping with Sophia’s boyfriend, Parker, but then Sophia was sleeping with Madeline’s boyfriend, Lucas. I have a feeling the rich and infamous don’t live by the same rules as the rest of us. Sophia mentioned something about having an open relationship with Parker.” The night of the murder comes back to me in jags. “Sophia is the one that told me about Madeline stealing Parker’s youth serum and selling it to his competitor. I guess all of those billionaires who thought it was a good idea to cut their kids off at the financial knees once they hit twenty-five had no idea the younger set would resort to a life of crime. Anyway, Sophia said Parker was furious about his life’s work being sold to the highest bidder. He’s definitely a contender.” I lift a finger. “I just had a thought. Right after Madeline collapsed, Sophia all but accused Kiera. She said she knew Kiera would take things too far. She’s definitely a contender, too.”
“Duly noted. What about Lucas?”
“Lucas Lane,” I say, plucking Pixie back and holding her close. “The night Madeline died—I saw him watching her coldly from a distance before one of his pals pulled him over and then the waterworks started. I wasn’t buying it. But that doesn’t mean I think he’s the killer either. Madeline was cheating on him, but he was cheating on her, too.”
“We can’t rule him out. If he caught her being unfaithful, he still has a viable motive.”
“Agree.” I sweep my gaze over Shepherd Wexler’s handsome face. “So, are you going to the mourning mixer tomorrow evening at the Hathaway estate?”
Shep lifts his head a notch, and yet his eyes remain trained on mine.
“It sounds as if you’re breaking our date for tomorrow.”
For the life of me, I can’t figure out if he’s being sarcastic or not.
“Huh”—I say—“I was so thrown off that you took me up on my offer, I forgot all about Jackson’s mixer.”
“So did I.” He looks momentarily dejected. “Do me a favor. Don’t talk to any of the suspects tomorrow night. Nora and I will be there. Let us do the heavy lifting. You’ve done enough, Bowie. You risked it all tonight. If I hadn’t shown up, you might have found yourself in a jail cell along with Tilly and Regina.”
“Being trapped in a cage with Regina sounds like a fate worse than both the feds and the mob could dream up.”
His chest bounces with a dry laugh as he stands, and I walk him out.
“Goodnight, Bowie.” He gives Pixie a gentle pat to the head. “Sleep tight, both of you.” He glances down at the diamonds dripping from my wrist. “Any luck trying to figure out who gave that to you?”
“None,” I say, wriggling it off and holding it between us. “But I’m guessing the feds are out.”
“Have you checked it for an inscription?”
“Pfft,” I say, turning it over. “Nobody inscribes jewelry anymore.” I hold it under the light and, sure enough, a small gold disc dangles from the lobster clasp with the initials S.S. inscribed in a flowery font. “S.S.?” I look up at Shep in wonder. “Those are my initials. But I don’t get it. I’ve never seen this bracelet before. Oh my God!” I strangle it with my fist in horror. “Johnny must have sent this. He figured out where I was. It doesn’t matter if he’s sitting in a prison cell. He’s probably got his buddies in the Moretti family doing his diamond dirty work.”
Shep shakes his head. “I don’t know. The guy is awaiting trial for stealing from the government and the Morettis. His finances have been frozen. The thought of him sending you diamonds seems a bit of a stretch. It almost seems like a nice gesture. As if the sender wants you to hock it if you need a little spare change. Do you know anyone else with those initials? Your mother?”
And then it hits me.
“My sister.”
Chapter 15
Wallace Hathaway’s estate is comprised of lush rambling acres. There’s a pond out back where the guests congregate, twinkle lights strewn in every maple and oak, and it affords a magical appeal on this brisk fall evening. Pumpkins dot the periphery of the pond along with oversized terracotta pots filled with amber-colored mums. Mammoth white tents house lengthy tables that play host to rows and rows of shiny silver chafing dishes, each one brimming with something delicious to fill our stomachs.
Tilly and I showed up with Opal, each one of us in our Saturday night social finery. For Tilly that amounts to a fitted denim blue dress that hardly covers her rear, for me a simple red number that cuts off just above my knee, and for Opal an entire buffet of chainmail, fishnets, leather, and lace. And as if that jumble of mix and match materials wasn’t enough, she’s donned a pearl choker, and brooch in the shape of a black widow.
You have to give it to Opal. While
