If At First (Crimson Cove Mysteries Book 1) Page 13

  Vincent appeared lost and then bit his lip, thinking or already daydreaming. “Yeah. That does make sense. Who else would snoop enough to find the false bottom of my drawer?”

  My cheeks flamed but I admitted it. “I did find it.”

  I hated myself and my weird flaw in that moment, but he smiled wide, taunting me further, “I like to solicit dirty photos and talk from Sasha in hopes you will be shocked when you read my email.”

  My jaw dropped. “That’s terrible.”

  Lainey wore a horrified expression but Sierra laughed. “Gross. Your computer probably got something from that. She is nasty. She makes me look like a saint.”

  Vincent cocked an eyebrow doubtfully. “Well, maybe don't go too far.”

  She tossed a throw pillow at him and it started to feel like a slumber party.

  Until the door opened and my dad strolled in, giving us smiles until his eyes met with Vincent. Then his cheeks flushed and his jaw dropped. “Morning.”

  “Morning, Mr. Bueller.” Vincent nodded politely.

  “Morning,” I muttered. My dad smiled wide, his panicked eyes meeting mine. “I will tell Lori we need a big breakfast served. Ready in thirty minutes?” He didn't wait for our answer and hurried from the room.

  I grabbed a throw pillow and covered my face. “OH MY GOD!” I screamed into it. When I lowered it, Sierra gave me a confused look, but Lainey was also embarrassed. “Your dad thinks—”

  “Did he see you guys come into the house?” I asked.

  Lainey shook her head blankly.

  I nodded. “I think he thinks we all slept in here.”

  Vincent grinned wide. “Yeah, he does.” He winked at us, earning the same look from Lainey and me, but a twinkle in Sierra’s eyes told me she didn't think it was gross at all.

  It dawned on me then that she might have a thing for him.

  My jealousy at her twinkling her eyes at him made me think I had a thing for him too.

  I had to change the subject fast, “Anyway, the path I think we all need to be on is complete honesty with each other.” I glanced at Lainey and Sierra, and they both nodded, so I turned to Vincent and said the thing I had wished I could have before, “The night Rachel died, Sage was with her.”

  “I know.” He nodded.

  I shook my head. “No, I mean Sage was unconscious next to Rachel and her blood was all over Sage. Lainey and Sierra found them. When I got there they were all covered in blood from trying to save Rachel. Sage woke up and we ran for Sierra’s. I called my dad and he came and cleaned it all up.”

  Vincent’s eyes grew. “You were all there?”

  “Yeah.”

  He winced. “Oh shit. Linds, that's a thing. You ran from a murder scene and left Sage’s blood behind?” He made the same face my dad had. “I might know someone who can take care of that with the police.”

  I grimaced as Sierra shook her head. “No. Sage didn't have a single injury on her. It was all Rachel’s blood.” That wasn't completely true; she did have a huge fat lip.

  He processed for a moment before leaning forward and looking confused. “So she was covered in the blood but had been drugged?”

  “Yeah,” Lainey offered.

  “How did she get there?”

  “We think she was posed.”

  He gave me a panicked look. “Seriously?”

  I nodded. “Let’s get ready for breakfast and we’ll fill you in.”

  He looked like he might bolt for the door. He didn't. His mind was too busy, processing it all.

  Chapter Fifteen

  We are never getting back together

  I sat, staring out at the sea, wrapped in a blanket and lost in thought.

  “So it’s official then?”

  I turned to see Sage, a rather distraught-looking version of her, standing on the patio staring at me.

  I shook my head. “Go away.” There was not enough fight in me to even bother.

  “Just tell me if it’s official,” she demanded.

  My head snapped to the right as a fierce look crossed my face. “Is this really the most important thing in your world, Sage? Our friend is dead and someone is blackmailing your brother and Vince, and all you care about is whether Vince and me are official? I don't give two shits about a guy or a possible relationship right now. I care that I had to let someone I have disliked for a very long time sleep next to me because my friends kicked me out to be killed next. Then my father caught us all in the bedroom together. Vince was in my friggin’ bed, even though nothing happened. My father thinks Vince slept with us all. I tried telling him it was just safety in numbers, but he didn't look like he believed me.” It was meaner than I had intended to go, but I couldn't stop myself. “I am distraught over the fact someone I have known my entire life is dead. I am broken up inside that I hated her until the moment she died, and we toasted her rotting in hell at the likely moment the killer was stalking her. I am scared because some crazy person killed her and they are still out there, sending us hate mail and watching what we do. And for the life of me, I cannot imagine why anyone would hate us all this much. Rachel maybe, but Ashton? Or Lainey? No. Marguerite isn’t even from here—why her?”

  Tears flooded her eyes as she stumbled over to the large chair I was on and slumped into the seat next to me. She sobbed and leaned against me, not coherent at all, and yet I knew what she was saying. She was repeating everything I had just said.

  Someone had killed our friend.

  Someone was tormenting her brother and Vince.

  That someone wanted us to know they had savagely murdered Rachel and made it look like Sage had done it.

  Everything she blubbered made sense to me.

  We were all clearly still in shock, and I didn't see an end to it anytime soon. Not unless we got some much needed closure or answers.

  I wrapped an arm around her and snuggled her into me, stroking her sweaty blonde hair from her face and letting her soak my blanket in tears.

  Eventually, she started making sense. She sniffled and stuttered, “I just d-d-don't want any of this to be real. It’s not possible. It’s actually not.”

  “Before we get too far ahead of ourselves, we need to finish the other discussion. We can’t have this hanging between us.” Desperate to block it all out, I lifted her face, giving her a hard stare. “Tell me the truth—the real truth. Do you really love Vincent? Did you always love him?”

  That for me would seal the deal on if I ever asked Vincent to kiss me.

  She closed her eyes and shook her head, completely defeated. It was everything I imagined it would be. “Tom said I had to do my part. I-I had to keep Vince happy so our families could do business together. I had to be the perfect girlfriend and I wasn’t. And Tom said it was all I was good for and I had failed.”

  I winced, hating Tom just a little bit more.

  “When I told my mom Vince broke up with me, she told me I should try to get him back before Tom ever found out. I told her I didn't want to. I said I had someone I had been sort of seeing and she flipped out on me. I tried so hard to get Vince back after that, but he doesn't love me—he doesn't love me.” Her bright-blue eyes filled with hate. “He has always loved you.”

  “That's awkward for me,” I confessed quickly.

  She laughed, losing the hate in her eyes. “I don't even get it. You’re you and I’m me and he’s Vince. He should want to be with me.”

  I laughed. “You will get no arguments there from me.” We hugged and cried and watched the sea until she finally spoke again, but she didn't look at me, “I don't think I killed her. I have been thinking about it a lot, and I don't think I could do it.” Her voice cracked, “I mean, maybe if I was really drunk and she made me crazy angry, but I can’t see myself, my hands”—she lifted them in the air and stared at them—“I can’t see me breaking her bones like that.” She started to sniffle again.

  I shook my head against her. “I can’t either. I have known you longer than I knew Rachel, and even she cou
ldn't do something so horrible. And she was officially the worst person we know—knew.”

  “And even if she was evil and we wished we were rid of her most days, she didn't deserve to die that way. Not one of us really wished this on her.” Sage sounded like she was trying to convince me.

  I nodded, letting tears just fall from my eyes.

  “What’s that?” Sage asked as she traced the bandage on my knee.

  I scowled. “I got it the other night in the woods.”

  “Where?”

  “In the woods.” I didn't want to say where.

  She lifted her head quickly. “You got that in the woods at Rachel’s?” Her eyes were wide. I immediately went where she was going with it and closed my eyes, sighing. “Linds, that means you left your blood at the scene.”

  I nodded. I hadn’t been thinking about that fact. I had sort of been ignoring it completely, hoping the stick in my leg had stopped blood from coming out. “Maybe we trampled it so much they won’t find it.”

  She sighed. “Maybe. Lord knows my blood is there too. My lip is still fat.”

  “We can’t let anyone take our DNA as a sample. If they match it we won’t have a story. We have no witnesses except the four of us.” I rubbed my hand over the bandage.

  She got up, pushing off of me and stretched. “I need to go home. The funeral is tomorrow. I just wanted to make sure we were cool.”

  “We are always cool.”

  She gave me a defeated look. “And if you want to date Vincent, I’m cool with it. At least one of us will have him.”

  I was disturbed by the way she saw boys as possessions. I always knew she was materialistic, but this was ridiculous. “Hos before bros. I won’t date him, Sage. He’s your ex and he isn’t my type.” I winked at her.

  She rolled her eyes and backed up. “You can date the coffeehouse girl without telling anyone, and let Vincent be in love with you to satisfy your parents, Linds. That's the world we live in. Someone should snatch him up.” She waved and walked away slowly, leaving me to think about the coffeehouse girl.

  Her words were food for thought.

  I got up after about ten minutes of contemplating and hurried to my room, throwing on some shorts and a tank top and pulling my baseball cap on. It was my incognito outfit. No one ever recognized me like this. I ran down the stairs and hurried to the car, driving politely so my dad wouldn't lock the gate.

  It was good to be on the open road and driving my car again, even if Sage’s dad’s driver had brought it back for me against my wishes. I hated it when other people drove my car. The skies remained gray from the storm that still seemed to be hanging on the coastline. When I got to the Shack, I hurried to the door, sighing when I saw she wasn't working.

  “Lindsey?”

  I turned around to see her at the picnic bench in the garden off to the right of the coffeehouse, looking confused. “Hey,” I offered weakly.

  She raised one eyebrow. “Hey.” She was pissed, that much was obvious.

  “I’m sorry about the other night. My friend was sort of sick and then we found out some really bad news.” I frowned at myself. My friend was brutally murdered and I was going with bad news?

  She paused, maybe also thinking the same thing. “It’s cool. You want a coffee?”

  “Sure, why don't I grab them? What do you want?”

  “Iced chai latte.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Spicy tea needs to be hot. Dude.” I shook my head and walked inside, getting us coffees from the quiet barista guy who never ever said a word to me. As I carried the coffees outside, someone walked in and held the door open for me. The moment I saw him my stomach sank.

  Winter hat, beard, skinny jeans, extra long white wife-beater shirt, and a vest. He was so hipster he probably peed sriracha and rooibos tea.

  He winked at me as I walked by, unable to stop staring at him.

  He had to be the guy Rachel had been making out with. There was no doubt in my mind.

  I put the coffees down when I got to the picnic table, and winced at the foam on my hand. “I have to grab napkins.” I hurried back inside, staring at him as he ordered his coffee. His body was slim but he was muscled. His dark hair had a sandy highlight to it, maybe from the sun. His skin was tanned and his hands were rough, like he did manual labor. I knew the look of a laborer well enough.

  I couldn't shake the fact he gave off an incredibly mellow vibe. He didn't come across as violent or angry. But apparently neither did Ted Bundy.

  I watched him from the corner of my eye as I grabbed napkins and slipped my phone from my pocket. I lifted it out and snapped a quick photo before turning and leaving.

  When I got back outside I sent the photo to Sage with a quick text: Him?

  She texted back right away: Yes. Could he be the one who did it?

  “So did you manage to see the stars and the northern lights?” Hailey asked as I sat down.

  “No.” I shook my head, jumping a little when the door opened and the hipster strolled out. I angled my phone a little, taking a picture of his car but pretending it was a selfie with duck lips. “God, I hate Snapchat. I am so tired of seeing pictures of myself. Aren’t you?”

  “Snapchat?” She furrowed her brow. “I don't take selfies.”

  “Smart girl.” I lifted my head, staring intently into her azure eyes, and suddenly realized I was less sexually confused. In fact, I wasn't confused at all.

  Being close to her, I noted it wasn't the same as being close to Vincent. She didn't smell like sweat and deodorant or cologne. She smelled like flowers and the wind, and for some crazy reason I swore I smelled tobacco. Like pipe tobacco. The smell reminded me of something, but I couldn't place it. “Do you smoke?” I asked randomly.

  She shook her head. “No selfies, no smoking, no drinking, and no drama. Those are my actual life rules.” She made me smile because I finally saw it.

  The answer was so obvious. I didn't love her or lust after her. I just really wanted to be her. I wanted to be that confident and easygoing and not care what anyone thought about me.

  I wanted to be free.

  She lived in a car and no one had her tied down. She had no expectations and no rules. No personal shoppers or debutante balls. She was free and I wished I were too.

  As I was stuck mid thought, she leaned in and whispered, “Are you ever going to ask me out?” She offered a cocky grin and sipped her cold tea.

  Surprising both of us, I shook my head, answering us both. I truly hadn’t known until this moment.

  I blamed Vincent and his smell and the way he made my stomach ache. But deep down I think I always knew I wasn't actually gay. I liked the idea it might make me different from the others, it might free me from this society. It might make me unique and cool. But, no different than the douche in the winter hat in the middle of summer, it would be an act, fake and sad.

  “I’m not gay,” I answered her and a thousand others simultaneously.

  She winced. “Oh shit. I am so sorry. I super thought this was going somewhere else—obviously. Clearly, it’s not. Oh my God.”

  I reached across the table, touching her cool arm. “It’s fine. I honestly don't think I knew until this moment.”

  Her smile flashed wide. “Me either. You’re the first girl I think I ever imagined kissing. I think you might have bewitched me, Lindsey.”

  I nodded, agreeing and seeing it completely. We had bewitched each other.

  “Should we kiss, just in case we’re wrong?” she asked, leaning in more. “In case it’s more than being bewitched?”

  Leaning in and tilting my head, I let her come the rest of the way. I didn't need to answer her question; my movement did it for me.

  She came so close I could smell the berries on her lips and the chai on her breath as she brushed her glossy lips against mine. They slithered against my lips for a second, gently grazing and caressing. My insides didn't tighten the way I wanted them to. My heart raced but mostly because I was doing something forbidden
.

  That was what she was—forbidden. She was never going to be my father’s choice and that had made her very appealing to me. I lifted my hand into her hair, noting just how silky it was.

  The smell and the feel and the taste were all wrong, but it was still the best kiss I had ever had. We stopped kissing, just hovering above each other’s mouths. I felt her smile as she whispered, “I think I like kissing you.”

  I nodded, not smiling back. “Me too.” I pulled back, sitting back down and staring at my coffee.

  She got up, giving me a cool wave. “See ya ‘round, Lindsey.” She sauntered to her piece-of-crap cobalt blue car and drove off, leaving me there to process what it all meant.

  A disappointed sigh left my lips, becoming part of the breeze coming off the ocean. “I’m definitely not gay,” I muttered, still sort of confused.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Can I play too?

  I scrutinized my reflection, seeing some things I didn't want to.

  Somehow in the past four days I had lost track of things—traits that had made me, me. There was freedom in liking kissing Hailey, but my lack of actual attraction was disappointing. It was akin to being denied a university I had always dreamed of. I sensed my planned future slipping away from me.

  I would never vex my father with a lesbian lover and a Harley. I would never stand in the middle of the Senate protesting my rights to marry whomever I chose, protesting my father’s friends at the same time.

  I could protest but it wouldn’t feel the same anymore.

  There was something lackluster about protesting when it wasn't your actual cause. I believed in equal rights and equal rights to marry, and that would have to be enough. I wouldn't ever be with the downtrodden.

  Becoming a journalist with a Brown’s education would have to do. My father was a Princeton boy, at least I could still crush his lineage there.

  But in the reflection I wondered if the girl staring back at me had the brass balls she once thought she had.

  There was a serious amount of doubt playing in my mind, being that my world was falling apart, that I would ever be able to snoop or investigate.