Twisted Palace (6 page)

I
don’t see
Savannah again for the rest of the day. Normally I wouldn’t think twice about that since we don’t have any afternoon classes together, but the paranoia is getting to me. She was supposed to speak to the detective at lunch. I was hoping she would track me down afterward and tell me about the interview, but she didn’t, and I don’t even catch a glimpse of her in the halls during the second half of the day.

At lunch, though, Val confessed that the detectives left a message with her parents this morning asking for permission to interview her. I guess her aunt and uncle are like Callum, because they insisted on being present for Val and Jordan’s interviews.

Yup, Jordan. Apparently she’s on Cousins’ list, too. Which is very, very disturbing, because I know Jordan’s only going to have terrible things to say about Reed.

I’m not sure who the cops even spoke to today, other than Savannah. I’m dreading my own interview, but hopefully Callum can delay it for as long as possible. Maybe until these detectives do their stupid job and find the real killer.

If there’s a real killer
…

A silent scream forms in my throat, causing me to stop in the middle of the parking lot. I hate these thoughts that keep popping into my head. I
hate
that I’m still having doubts about Reed. He insists he didn’t kill Brooke. He swears he didn’t.

So why can’t I one-hundred-percent believe him?

“The parking lot is for cars, little sis, not people.”

I spin around to find Easton grinning at me. He gives me a little nudge forward, adding, “Poor Lauren’s been trying to pull out of that space for about, oh, two minutes?”

My gaze shifts to the red BMW with its engine running. Sure enough, Lauren Donovan is waving at me, a slightly apologetic look on her face, as if she’s the one inconveniencing me and not the other way around.

I wave in apology at the twins’ girlfriend and hurriedly step out of the way. “I spaced out,” I tell Easton.

“Still worried about the interviews?”

“Yeah. But I did speak to Savannah and she promised she wouldn’t say anything about the Gideon stuff.”

Easton nods. “That’s good, at least.”

“Yeah.”

“Ella,” Reed’s voice comes from behind us. “Ride home with me?”

I turn as he strides into the parking lot with Sebastian at his side. Again, my paranoia kicks in. “What happened? Don’t you have practice?”

He shakes his head. “East does, but I’m excused. Dad just texted and ordered me to come directly home.”

Fear pricks my spine. “Why? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” Reed looks frustrated. “All he said was that it’s important. And he already cleared it with Coach.”

His face is hard, which means he’s worried. I’m learning that Reed gets mean when he feels backed into a corner, and this corner filled with police, investigators, and prison has to feel like the smallest, loneliest corner in the world.

“Does he want me there, too?” I ask warily.

“No. But I do.” Reed glances at his youngest brother. “Seb, you cool driving Ella’s car back?”

Sebastian nods. “No prob.”

I toss him the keys, then watch as he heads for my convertible while Easton jogs off to football practice. Reed and I climb into his Range Rover, but I’m not sure why he asked me to ride with him, because he doesn’t say a single word for the first five minutes of the drive.

I stare out the window, chewing on my thumbnail. Silent Reed is tough for me to deal with. It reminds me too much of when I first moved in with the Royals. All I received from Reed were glares and cutting remarks, which was a huge difference from what I was used to. Mom was slightly—okay,
really
—irresponsible, but she was always cheerful and never kept her emotions in check. I was the one who did that.

“Say it,” Reed suddenly barks.

I’m startled. “Say what?”

“Whatever it is you’re obsessing about. I can hear you thinking, and if you bite any harder on your finger, it’s gonna come off.”

Chagrined, I look down at the teeth marks on the side of my thumb. Rubbing the redness away, I say, “I didn’t think you noticed.”

He answers in a low, gruff tone. “I notice everything about you, baby.”

“I’m worried. You keep telling me not to be, but it’s only getting worse” I admit. “At school, it’s easy to see the enemy. To categorize people into helpful or unhelpful, for you or against you. This thing just seems so big.”

So
scary
, but I keep that to myself. Reed doesn’t need to hear my fears. He’d take them on his shoulders and try to carry them along with all the other baggage that’s weighing him down.

“It’s all going to get taken care of,” he says, his capable hands guiding the SUV down the long paved driveway toward the Royal house. “Because I didn’t do it.”

“Then who did?”

“Maybe the kid’s father? Brooke was probably shaking down as many marks as she could that night. I wasn’t the only idiot who—” He stops abruptly.

I’m glad he does, because I don’t like thinking of Reed having sex with anyone else, even if it was before me. God, it’d be so nice if he was a virgin.

“You should be a virgin,” I inform him.

He lets out a surprised laugh. “That’s what’s got you all wound up?”

“No, but think about how many problems would be solved by that. You wouldn’t have this thing with Brooke. The girls at school wouldn’t be drooling all over you.”

“If I was a virgin, all those girls at school would be trying to get in my pants so they could say they were the first to climb Mount Reed.” He grins as he pulls to a stop around the side of the house.

The Royals have an entire parking area in the courtyard with special brick pavers set into a spiral pattern that leads into a garage that stores all their vehicles. Except no one likes to use the garage. Usually the courtyard is filled with the black Rovers or Easton’s cherry-red pickup.

“Girls aren’t like that,” I say as I get out of the SUV and reach in for my backpack. “They wouldn’t compete to deflower you.”

Reed’s hand is there first. He pulls the bag out of my grip with a smirk. “Girls are exactly like that. Why do you think Jordan’s after you all the time? You’re competition, babe. Doesn’t matter what you’ve got downstairs, most people are competitive as shit. And the kids at Astor? They’re the worst of the lot. If I was a virgin, that’d be one more contest for someone to win.”

“If you say so.”

He comes around the front of the Rover and drapes an arm around my shoulder. Dipping low so that his mouth touches the upper curve of my ear, he whispers, “We can play I’m the virgin and you’re the experienced upperclassman after I pop your cherry.”

I hit him because he deserves it, but it only makes him laugh more. And even though he’s laughing at my expense, I’m glad because I like happy Reed over quiet, angry Reed.

His good mood doesn’t last, though. Callum greets us at the door with a stern look.

“Good to see you’re enjoying yourself,” he says flatly as we enter the kitchen.

When I notice Steve at the counter, I jump in surprise. I know it’s crazy, but I keep forgetting about him. It’s like my brain isn’t capable of handling more than one crisis at a time, and Reed possibly going to jail is the only thing I can focus on. Each time I see Steve, it’s almost like I’m hit with the news that he’s alive over and over again.

I don’t miss the way his blue eyes narrow as they land on Reed’s arm around my shoulders. Steve’s expression looks vaguely like parental disapproval, something I haven’t experienced before. Mom was as easygoing as they came.

I slide out from under Reed’s arm under the pretense of going to the refrigerator. “Want something?” I offer.

Reed gives me an amused smile. “Sure, what’re you offering?”

Jerk. He knows exactly why I left him at the kitchen doorway, and now he’s making fun of me for it. Resisting the urge to give him the finger, I grab a container of yogurt.

Callum claps his hands together to get our attention. “Get a spoon and meet me in the study.”

“Us,” Steve corrects.

Callum waves a hand as he walks away.

“Stop it with the innuendo,” I hiss to Reed as I grab a spoon out of the drawer.

“Why? Dad knows about us.”

“But Steve doesn’t,” I point out. “It’s weird, okay? Let’s just pretend to be—”

Reed quirks an eyebrow.

“Friends,” I finish, because all the alternatives are too weird.

“Pretend? I thought we
were
friends. I’m hurt.” He slaps an exaggerated hand over his chest.

“You’re not now, but I can change that.” I wave my spoon at him threateningly. “I’m not afraid to get physical with you, pal.”

“I can’t wait.” His hand falls to my hip and drags me closer. “Why don’t you get physical with me right now?”

I lick my lips, and his gaze zeroes in on my mouth.

“Reed! Ella!” Callum yells. “Study. Now!”

I jerk away. “Let’s go.”

I swear I hear him say
cockblocker
under his breath.

In Callum’s office, we find Steve leaning against the desk while Callum paces. All traces of humor evaporate when we spot Halston Grier sitting in one of the leather club chairs situated in front of the desk.

“Mr. Grier,” Reed says stiffly.

Grier rises to his feet. “Reed. How are you doing, son?”

Reed reaches around me to shake the lawyer’s hand.

“Should I leave?” I ask awkwardly.

“No, this involves you, Ella,” Callum answers.

Reed comes to my side immediately and places a protective hand at my back. I notice for the first time that Callum’s tie is askew and his hair is sticking up, as if he’s dragged his hand through it a hundred times. My gaze skips over to Steve, who’s wearing jeans and a loose-hanging white shirt. He doesn’t appear to be concerned.

I don’t know who to take my emotional cues from. My eyes bounce between the rattled Callum and the calm Steve. Does this have to do with me and not the murder case?

“You should sit down.” This comes from Grier.

I shake my head. “No. I’ll stand.”

Sitting seems dangerous. It takes longer to get up from a seated position and run than it does if I’m already on both legs.

“Dad?” Reed prompts.

Callum sighs, this time scrubbing the heel of his hand down one side of his face. “Judge Delacorte came to me with an interesting offer.” He pauses. “It’s regarding the DNA they found under Brooke’s fingernails.”

Reed frowns. “What about it?”

“Delacorte’s willing to lose this evidence.”

My jaw hits the floor. Daniel’s father is a
judge
. And he’s willing to “lose” evidence? That’s the most corrupt thing I’ve ever heard.

“What’s the price?” I demand.

Callum turns toward me. “Daniel would be allowed to come back to Astor Park. You would recant all your accusations and admit you took the drugs willingly.” He glances at his son. “When you and your brothers found her, she made up a story so you wouldn’t dislike her more than you already did. That’s the price.”

Every atom inside of me revolts at Callum’s scenario.

Reed erupts like a volcano. “That motherfucker! No way!”

“If I do it…” I take a breath. “Will Reed’s charges be dropped? Will the case go away?” I direct my questions to the lawyer.

“You’re not doing this,” Reed insists, his hand clamping onto my arm.

I jerk out of his grasp and advance on the lawyer. “If I do this,” I repeat through gritted teeth, “will Reed be saved?”

Behind me, Reed yells at his father for even entertaining the idea. Callum tries to soothe him, explaining that he’s not recommending I take this path.

But obviously he wants me to or he wouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. It hurts, a little, but I get it. Callum’s trying to save his son from life in prison.

Steve, meanwhile, says nothing. He’s just taking it all in. But I don’t care about any of the other men in this office. Only the lawyer has the answer I need.

Grier folds his perfectly manicured hands in his lap, clear-eyed and unruffled by all the chaos in the room. I’m not sure what he sees when he looks at me. A frail girl? A stupid one? A silly one? How about one who loves her boyfriend so much she’d be willing to swallow swords for him?

This…this would be nothing. A few months of Daniel Delacorte in my life, a few more awful Astor Park kids whispering behind my back, a reputation as a drug addict? All of that in exchange for Reed’s freedom?

It’d be worth it.

“It can’t hurt,” Grier finally admits.

And Reed loses it again.

“
N
o way
!” At the attorney’s words, I immediately abandon Dad and storm over to Ella’s side, stepping between her and the snake before any more damage can be done. “That’s absolutely not happening. Ever.”

Ella shakes me off. “What about the video evidence?”

“It can all disappear,” Grier replies. “It seems that getting rid of evidence is something Delacorte has some experience with.”

“I can’t believe any of you would even consider this a good idea. Daniel shouldn’t be within a hundred miles of Ella,” I say hotly. “This is so fucked up.”

“Language,” my dad chides, as if he’s ever cared before when I’ve dropped F-bombs.

“Is it?” Ella counters. “How about going to prison for twenty-five years? If swallowing my pride means keeping you free, it doesn’t sound fucked up to me.”

Nobody reprimands Ella for
her
language, which just pisses me off more.

I turn toward Dad because he’s the one who needs convincing. Ella can’t pull off this trade by herself. Only Dad and this gutter lawyer can.

“This is the lowest thing ever. That asshole is a psycho and you’d bring him back? Worse, you’d subject Ella to a lifetime of harassment?”

Dad glares at me. “I’m trying to keep you out of prison. It’s not a great idea, but it’s one you both deserve to hear. You want me to treat you two like adults? Then you get to make the adult decisions,” he snaps.

“I’m making it then. Daniel stays where he is and we win this case on the merits, because I didn’t. Fucking. Kill. Her.” I enunciate each word so that there’s no mistake.

Ella grabs my wrist. “Reed, please.”

“Please what? Do you know what it’ll be like at school if you say you lied about Daniel? You wouldn’t be able to walk the halls alone. One of us would have to be with you at all times. Jordan would tear you up.”

“Do you think I care about that? It’ll only be for a few more months.”

“And what about next year? I won’t be around to protect you,” I remind her.

At the desk, I see Steve narrow his eyes. “I appreciate the sentiment, Reed, but Ella doesn’t need your protection. She has her father to protect her.” He purses his lips. “In fact, I think it’s time for me to take my daughter home.”

My blood runs cold.

Ella’s grip tightens on my fingers.

Steve straightens from the desk. “Callum, I appreciate you taking care of her when I was gone, but I’m Ella’s father. You have your hands full with your own children right now—Ella and I don’t need to be here.”

Oh hell no. She’s not leaving me or this house.

“Dad,” I say in warning.

“Steve, your place hasn’t been released yet,” Callum reminds the other man. “And it doesn’t sound like it will be for a while.” He looks at the attorney for confirmation.

Grier nods. “The sheriff’s office said they’ll be collecting evidence for another two weeks, at least.”

“That’s fine. Dinah and I procured the penthouse suite at the Hallow Oaks.” Steve reaches into his pocket and pulls out a plastic keycard. “I’ve added your name to the reservation, Ella. Here’s your key.”

She makes no move toward it. “No. I’m not sleeping in the same house as Dinah.” Hastily, she adds, “No offense.”

“Ella’s a Royal,” I say coldly.

Steve’s gaze falls to where Ella’s hand is white-knuckling my wrist. “You better hope not,” he murmurs in amusement.

“Be reasonable, Steve,” Dad says. “Let’s get you settled first. We have a number of legal matters to work out. This is new for everyone.”

“Ella’s seventeen, which means she’s still under her parent’s authority, isn’t that right, Halston?”

The lawyer tips his head. “That is correct.” He rises and shakes out his pant legs. “It sounds like all of you have private matters to work through. I’ll get out of your way now.” He stops when he’s halfway to the door and frowns at me. “I assume I don’t need to tell you to stay away from the funeral on Saturday?”

I frown back. “What funeral?”

“Brooke’s,” Dad says tightly, before glancing at Grier. “And no, Reed won’t be attending.”

“Good.”

I can’t stop a bite of sarcasm. “What happened to your whole stand-united-as-a-family thing?”

Grier’s response is just as biting. “You can stand united anywhere but that funeral home. And for the love of God, Reed, keep your nose clean. No more fights at school, no bullshit, all right?” His eyes fall to Ella with an unspoken warning.

My biggest weakness? No way. Ella’s the steel in my spine, but Grier only sees her as evidence of my motive. I step closer to her.

He shakes his head and turns to Dad, adding, “Let me know if you want me to arrange another meeting with Delacorte.”

“There’s no meeting,” I snap at them.

Dad pats the lawyer on the back. “I’ll call you.”

Frustration jams in my throat. It’s like I’m not even here. And if no one’s going to listen to me, then there’s no point in
being
here.

“Let’s go,” I tell Ella.

I pull her out of the study without waiting for her agreement—or anyone else’s.

A minute later, we’re upstairs, and I throw open her bedroom door and hustle her inside.

“This is stupid!” she blurts out. “I’m not moving into some hotel with Steve and that horrible woman!”

“Nope,” I agree, watching as she climbs onto her bed. Her uniform skirt rides up and I get a nice view of her ass before she sits down and draws her legs up under her chin.

“And you’re being stupid, too,” she grumbles. “I think we should take Delacorte’s deal.”

“Nope,” I say again.

“Reed.”

“Ella.”

“It would keep you out of prison!”

“No, it would keep me in that bastard’s pocket for the rest of my life. It’s not happening, babe. Seriously. So get the idea out of your head.”

“Fine, let’s say you’re not taking the deal—”

“I’m not.”

“—then what do we do now?”

I take off my white dress shirt and kick off my shoes. Wearing my pants and a wife-beater, I join Ella on the bed and draw her into my arms. She snuggles up against me, but only for a brief moment. Then she’s sitting up again, scowling at me.

“I asked you a question,” she grumbles.

I exhale in frustration. “There’s nothing for us to do, Ella. It’s Grier’s job to deal with everything.”

“Well, he’s not doing a very good job of it if he’s recommending you make deals with shady judges!” Her cheeks redden with anger. “Let’s make a list.”

“A list of what?” I ask blankly.

“All the people who could have killed Brooke.” She jumps off the bed and hurries to her desk, where she grabs her laptop. “Other than Dinah, who else was she close to?”

“Nobody, as far as I know,” I admit.

Ella sits on the edge of the bed, opening the laptop. “That’s not an acceptable answer.”

Exasperation shoots through me. “It’s the only answer I’ve got. Brooke didn’t have any friends.”

“But she had enemies—that’s what you said, right?” She pulls up a search engine and types Brooke’s name into it. About a million results pop up for a million different Brooke Davidsons. “So it’s just a matter of finding out who those enemies are.”

I rise up on my elbows. “So you’re, what, Lois Lane now? You’re going to solve this case on your own?”

“Do you have a better idea?” she counters.

I sigh. “Dad’s got investigators. They found you, remember?”

Ella’s hand pauses over the mouse, but her hesitation lasts only for a second before she clicks on what appears to be Brooke’s Facebook page. While the page loads, she throws me a thoughtful glance.

“The funeral,” she announces.

“What about it?” I ask cautiously. I don’t like where she’s going with this.

“I think I should go.”

I sit up in a rush. “No way. Grier said we couldn’t go.”

“No, he said
you
couldn’t go.” Her gaze returns to the screen. “Hey, did you know Brooke had a BA from North Carolina State?”

I ignore the useless tidbit. “You’re not going to that funeral, Ella,” I growl.

“Why not? It’s the best way to get an idea of who was close to Brooke. I can see who shows up and—” She gasps. “What if the
killer
shows up?”

Closing my eyes, I try to will up some much-needed patience. “Babe.” I open my eyes. “Do you really think whoever killed Brooke is going to waltz up and say, ‘Hey guys! I’m a murderer!’”

Indignation flashes in her blue eyes. “Of course not. But haven’t you ever watched those crime documentaries on TV? Those FBI commentators always talk about how killers will return to the scene of the crime or attend the victim’s funeral as a way to taunt the police.”

I stare at her in disbelief, but she’s already focused on the laptop again.

“I don’t want you going to the funeral,” I grind out.

Ella doesn’t even look my way as she says, “Too fucking bad.”