Shade Me (17 page)

Finally, my phone vibrated in my hand.

7? Lujo on 18th

I had heard of Lujo. Overheard, really, was more accurate. Most of the spoiled girls with their fancy manicures and their sports cars spent their Monday mornings in the school hallways comparing their weekend conquests at Lujo. Lujo was not really a Nikki Kill kind of establishment. Actually, it was not
at all
a Nikki Kill kind of establishment. But I wanted to talk to Dru. I wanted to find out more about what had gone down with his dad. Maybe he would help me figure out who was in the photo.

See you then.

I
HAD EXPECTED
Lujo to be swank, but this place was swank to the extreme. I could practically smell the money when I walked in, and had the lights not been turned down so low, I might have been blinded by all the ice draping the customers. So many of them. Young ladies hanging all over old geezers. Older ladies surgically made young again. Middle-aged men in suits, their hair slicked back with product, their money clips flashing as they motioned for waiters.

It wasn't the kind of place where you might spot Lindsay Lohan or a Kardashian, but it wasn't stodgy, either. Not like the golf clubhouses that dotted the suburbs or the old-world Italian restaurants with their candelabras and red velvet. Lujo was modern, plush, with black, angular booths
and white suede seat cushions. Trendy tableware and flashy drinks. The thump of EDM beneath the conversation as waiters hurried, their eyes turned upward in a way that suggested they saw and knew nothing.

I stood in the doorway, tugging on the hem of the denim miniskirt I'd put on. It was the nicest item of clothing I owned, and it was so far beneath Lujo, it wasn't even funny. I scanned the crowd for Dru, but didn't see him.

“May I help you?” a snooty hostess wearing all black asked. She wrapped her stilettoed black fingernails over the edges of a menu, smiling at me as if to humor me.

I stepped toward the podium, wobbling a little on my heels. “I'm here to meet someone.”

Her eyebrows arched, but she didn't consult any sort of list.

“Dru Hollis?” I said, my voice turning up into an annoying question mark as I said his name. As if I were unsure that Dru was who I was actually meeting. I cleared my throat. “He's expecting me.”

She studied me for a moment longer—very skeptically—and then nodded. “Right this way.”

I followed her as we wound through the tables, the music getting louder as we made our way toward the back corner of the room. She stepped to one side and waved her hand toward the table.

“The Hollis booth,” she said.

Jesus, they had their own booth? Suddenly the black sequined tank top I had paired with my skirt felt as shabby as a garbage bag. I tilted my chin upward and scooted past her, my bare legs sliding over the suede of the bench. “Thank you,” I mumbled.

“Can I get you something while you wait for Mr. Hollis?” she asked, the note of bitchiness still saturating her words. “Something to drink?”

“Just, um . . . water,” I said, hating the way her pert little smile seemed to be mocking me. I wanted to get up, yank her perfect blond ponytail right off her head, and feed it to her.
You're no better than me,
I wanted to scream, and I wanted to do something to prove it. But in a place like Lujo, there really was no proof. Here, everyone looked better than me. “Thank you,” I said again, trying to convey everything I was thinking by making my eyes as dead as possible.

The hostess scurried away, and a few moments later a waitress arrived and plunked a sweating glass of ice water on the table in front of me. She walked away without a word. I sipped the water and checked the time. If Dru didn't arrive in ten minutes, I was out of there. We could meet somewhere more my speed, like a food truck.

To while away the time, I pulled the photos out of my purse and flipped through them again, pausing for a long time to study the blurred man walking through the open door. I squinted, trying to make out the details of his wrist.
Maybe there was a bracelet there. Maybe it was the same man. Maybe someone was cheating, and Peyton had caught them. Maybe that was who had beaten her. It was a working theory, and, really, the only thing I had at the moment, with Gibson Talley cleared. I felt like I was starting back at square one, especially if I ignored my doubts about Dru. Which Detective Martinez was making easy to do, given how much he was still watching my every move.

But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't see any jewelry on the man's arm. All I could really make out for sure was the shoe lifted in midstep as the man disappeared into the doorway. I thought maybe I'd seen it before, but I couldn't place it for the life of me. I had no color to anchor it to. If only it had writing on it.

I flipped over to the photo of the hand holding pills. A drug deal. I was sure of it now. No bracelet, of course. Nothing to help me, although I'd memorized every detail of the hand, even down to the nail jewelry.

I was staring so intently at the photos, I never even sensed anyone approaching me, until a blond blur planted herself in the booth seat across from me.

I looked up, startled, jamming the photos back into my purse.

“Someone's doing something naughty,” the blonde said. “What's got you so oblivious, Nikki Kill?”

I'd never been this close to her, but I would have
recognized Luna Fairchild anywhere. She was a sophomore, elfin and ethereal, always dressed as if she were heading for a music awards show. Often, Luna showed up to school in outfits Peyton had worn only days before, and I'd heard her on more than one occasion imitate Peyton's laugh to a T. Until Peyton cut and dyed her hair, Luna was a convincing Peyton stand-in. It was creepy.

“Excuse me?” I said.

She pointed toward my purse. “You looked pretty intense there,” she said. “I thought maybe you were doing something you weren't supposed to.” She flashed a perfect-toothed smile. “Just kidding, of course.”

The waitress who had all but ignored me earlier was instantly at our table, practically out of breath from rushing so fast to get there.

“Vodka cranberry,” Luna said, without even making eye contact with the waitress. She waved her hand, sending the waitress away.

“Yes, of course, Miss Fairchild,” the waitress said as she left. If the Hollis family was full of privilege, Luna was the most privileged of all.

“If you want a real drink, it will be fine,” she said, as if reading my mind. “They know me here. They won't question you.”

“I'm waiting for Dru.”

“Yes, I know,” she said. “I saw the texts. My brother is
really bad about leaving his phone lying around where anyone can see it. Cute, the two of you. I had no idea he was settling down and, like, actually dating someone. So good to see him getting serious with someone his own age for a change.”

“We're not dating.”

Luna leaned forward on her elbows, resting her chin on her hands, pinning me with a look of fake innocence that made my blood boil. “Interesting. Tell me, then, Nikki Kill, how come you're here?”

“Dru invited me,” I said. “But you already know that if you saw the texts.”

“You do know the definition of
date
, don't you?” she asked. I didn't respond.

She continued to stare at me, and then took a deep breath, leaned back, and fiddled with a cloth napkin. The waitress came back with her drink.

“You're a doll, Liv,” Luna said, and I swore the waitress practically melted under the compliment. She floated away, and Luna picked up her drink, sipped it. “Yes, I know my brother invited you to Lujo. It's really nice here, isn't it? So much better than some of the other clubs, where you can't even dance without getting elbowed by somebody's bodyguard. And not too many photographers here. We're old news.” She looked me over. “Or no news.”

“It's a bit much,” I said, not wanting to fall into whatever trap she was setting.

Her lips turned down as she assessed the room. “Maybe, but I don't mind a bit much. Not at all.” She laughed loudly, then sipped her drink again. “Anyway, I wasn't asking why you were here at Lujo. As you said, I saw the texts. You are clearly here at my brother's request. My real question is—and we are all kind of wondering this—why is he requesting, Nikki? How do you know my brother? And how do you know Peyton?”

“
All
wondering?” I asked. “Who is all?”

She shrugged. “My parents, too. They're a little concerned for his safety right now. For obvious reasons. So what's your deal?”

I blinked. “I don't understand your question.”

She took a bigger drink and set the glass down, the fake smile dropping from her face. “It's a pretty easy question.”

I shrugged. “I know Peyton from school. Everyone does. I met Dru at the hospital.”

She nodded. “Ah. But you seem so much more involved than that. You know? You can't blame me for being curious. I mean, after all, someone did try to kill my sister.” She leaned forward, slid her elbows across the table. “Do you think she's going to die? God, can you imagine? Peyton Hollis, dead. How my mother would mourn the loss of her best asset.”

Again, I wasn't sure how to respond. Luna seemed to be laying land mines all around me, waiting almost giddily for me to step on one. I couldn't figure out where this was
coming from, or where it was going. And I sure as hell wasn't going to tell her the truth about what I saw in Peyton's monitors when I was in the room. This obnoxious little turd didn't need to know the first thing about my crimson.

“I hope not,” I said. “She doesn't look good, though.”

“Oh, well, she stopped looking good a while ago, with the haircut and tattoo.” Luna sipped again. Her drink was already half gone. “I'm joking, of course.”

“Of course,” I repeated, but not even the tiniest smile ghosted across my face. Who jokes about someone who is fighting for her life?

“Anyway. So Peyton. I really hated the way my mother doted on her. Everything was about how she was so beautiful and so talented and blah, blah, blah. There've been times I would've given anything just to be Peyton. And then she did all that weird stuff right before this happened,” Luna said. “The tattoo, the hair, the band. Got a new phone and stopped answering her old one. She was in real trouble. We're all very sad, of course, but I can't say we're too surprised, given the path she was taking. I think we all knew she was just asking for something awful to happen.”

My mouth went dry. Everything about Luna was abrasive. Why would she be telling me this? And did she really just blame Peyton for her own beating? “She was asking to be beaten?”

“Well, I mean, I wouldn't wish what happened to her
on anybody, but it had gotten impossible to be close to her anymore. Did you know that she was an escort?” Shock must have registered on my face, because she nodded vigorously. “Yeah. A hooker, some people might call it. And she was selling drugs, too. Pills. Molly. People who do that are sort of asking for bad things to happen to them, don't you think?”

I didn't know how to answer. Was Luna telling the truth? Peyton, an escort? I immediately thought about the photo in my purse—the one with the hand holding out pills. Molly, Luna had said. Peyton had been selling drugs. Good God, there were so many more possibilities of who might have attacked her now. How would I ever figure out who it might have been? Maybe it was time to admit I was in over my head. Maybe it was time to cry uncle, go ahead and let Detective Martinez take over, no matter how wrapped up in this mess I had gotten.

Luna settled back into her booth, looking smug. “So I guess you don't know her all that well, then,” she said.

I shook my head. “I never said I did.”

Luna sipped her drink again. “It's all very unfortunate. I feel sorry for Peyton. She really got herself into a mess. And I feel even sorrier for Dru. I think someone's setting him up.”

“Who? Why?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe one of Peyton's suppliers.” She rolled her eyes. “Maybe her pimp. Dru and Peyton were two little peas in a perfect pod. Maybe that
pissed off one of her johns and he came after her in revenge. Who knows? Poor Dru. I worry he'll be next.” Her eyes darted across the dining room. “Oh, and speak of the devil.”

I followed her gaze. Dru was walking toward us, looking amazing in a pair of chinos and a crisp pink button-down, a Zegna tie bringing out his eyes. But, unlike me, he also looked like he fit in. He gazed at us curiously. Luna stood, greeting him.

“There's the man of the hour. Dru, Dru, Dru, you have never been very good at being on time. Nikki was sitting here all by her lonesome. Thank goodness I just happened to accidentally see your texts, so I could keep the poor girl company.”

“What are you doing here, Luna?” he asked.

“I just told you. I'm entertaining Nikki. And I'm having a drink. Is there something wrong with that?”

He plucked the nearly empty glass out of her hand. “Actually, yes. You're sixteen.”

The waitress breezed through with a fresh drink for Luna. Luna took it, all smiles. “Since when did you get so legal, Dru Hollis? It's really very unbecoming. You don't want Nikki here to think you're an old poop.”

Dru didn't respond, but I could see his jaw work with displeasure.

“Well,” Luna said brightly. “I guess I'll leave you two
lovebirds to it. It was good to meet you, Nikki. Maybe I'll see you again sometime.”

I nodded to her; she waggled her fingers at me.

“And I'll see you later, big brother,” she said to Dru, pinching his cheek.

And that was when I saw it. A flash of turquoise at the tip of her pinkie finger.

I'd seen it before. I'd practically memorized it right before Luna had arrived.

Someone's doing something naughty. What's got you so oblivious, Nikki Kill?

I'd been trying to shut out my synesthesia since I was eight years old. Trying to be able to concentrate on things without seeing colors. I'd been so focused on the pills, my brain didn't even register it. But it was there. Seeing it in person, I was sure I'd first seen it in the photo.

An outstretched hand full of pills. The fingers splayed. A delicate charm pierced through the pinkie fingernail. A tiny chain.

The letter
R
dangling at the end of it.

The
R
flashed at me,
turquoise, turquoise, turquoise
.