Page 5 of Final Cost

Voice One:He didn’t do it, Tamsyn. You know he didn’t do it. He’s not a murderer. No matter how much he hated her and wanted to be rid of her.

Voice Two:Do I? I’ve seen him angry enough to kill her himself. Plus, he’s got the resources to hire someone to do it for him if he didn’t want to get his hands dirty.

I don’t know which voice is the angel and which voice is the devil on my shoulder. I just know that both voices are equally loud. And that I cannot process this information under Mrs. Hooper’s watchful gaze.

“I’m gonna go,” I say, backing away from her and grabbing my keys from the basket on the counter as I go.

She looks startled.“Go? You haven’t even eaten your breakfast, Tam.”

“It’s fine. I want to get out there before it gets too hot. I’ll be right back.”

“But —”

Too late. I make my escape by darting out the back door and down the steps before she can get anything else out. The air is dense and humid already, with no sign of a breeze, but it’s fresh and desperately needed. So I greedily suck it in and try to get my spiraling thoughts under control.

Ravenna is dead. And Lucien —

I don’t know what’s at the end of that thought other than a brick wall. And it doesn’t matter anyway. None of the twisted drama coming from Ackerley has anything to do with me. I need to remember that.

Feeling better and more clearheaded, I head around the corner to the front of the brownstone?—

“There she is!” someone shouts, startling me.

I whip my head around looking for both the shouter and theshein question. Every now and then, I see a horde of paparazzi following some beleaguered celebrity. That’s not unusual here in Manhattan. The last time it happened, I caught a glimpse of Lady Gaga as she strode down the street.

But this time, the swarm of all male photographers congregating on the other side of the street with their long lenses swoop in and surround…me.

Wait,me?

“Tamsyn Scott? You’re Tamsyn Scott, aren’t you?” one of them calls.

“That’s her,” another one says. “I recognize her from her graduation photo online.”

“Oh, my God,” I say with rising panic, shrinking in on myself as they press closer and click away, right in my face. There’s nowhere to hide. Every time I try to turn away, another one jostles into position on the other side of me. They bump me. I stumble. They don’t seem to notice or care. The only thing keeping me from hitting the pavement is that I don’t have enough available space to face plant. There’s like five of them and one of me and I don’t know what the fuck is happening. I just know that I’m in trouble and the brownstone’s safety suddenly seems very far away. “What’s happening?What do you want?”

All their voices rise at the same time, a chorus of shouts.

“Any comment on Ravenna Winter’s sudden death?”

“How is your boyfriend Lucien handling this tragedy?”

“Any comment on the rumors of foul play? Is your boyfriend capable of something like that? Any theories?”

By now, I’m starting to get my wits about me. I’m also starting to get annoyed. How the hell do they even know I exist? “No comment,” I say, ducking my head and trying to shoulder my way through so I can continue toward Central Park. But there’s no opening and we’re all moving down the sidewalk together, one giant mass of arms, legs and cameras. I may need to sharpen my elbows and throw a few jabs and put a little more bass in my tone. “No comment, I said.Let me through.”

“All right, that’s enough,” comes a loud new voice rising above the fray. The next thing I know, a strong hand is clamped firmly around my upper arm and steering me toward the street. “She said no comment.”

Hang on. I know that voice. I know that tall frame and that uniform of white polo shirt and khaki pants. It’s one of Lucien’s security guys from Ackerley. Hank, isn’t it?

“Oh, thank God. Get me out of here, Hank,” I say, sagging against him with relief.

“You got it, Ms. Scott.”

Using his own body as a shield, he marches me over to a gleaming black Range Rover idling at the curb. The driver hops out — it’s another one of Lucien’s security guys, but I don’t know this one’s name — and opens the door for me. The next thing I know, I’m safely ensconced in the backseat of this little cocoon of safety, zooming away from the paparazzi still shouting after us.

3

Tamsyn

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