Page 24 of Perfect Order
Carys’s heels tap on their wood floors before she pokes her head into the living room. “David, I can catch you up later, but I really need you in the office this morning. Angie’s already there, and she said she’s under siege.”
He nods. “That’s my cue.” He comes closer and holds out a hand. I take it automatically. “Leanne, we’ll see you again.”
I drop his hand without saying anything. The only thing my mind is capable of doing is screaming,Lee? Lee? Where are you? You can’t possibly be gone!The impact of the lack of response has me sluggish. I think it would be easier if a limb had been severed from my body. It’s David who gently nudges me back onto this plane when he murmurs, “Unless you’re planning on a family-only event, Carys and I would like to attend the service. We would have been there for your sister even if…”
My shoulders droop. “I know she’d appreciate it. Somehow, I have to manage to drive to New Hampshire to make those arrangements.” I have to bury my twin.Maybe they can make room for me to lie down right next to her.
“Don’t worry about that. I’m arranging for a car,” David says smoothly.
Confusion muddles my brain. A car, why? I have a perfectly good one. I voice as much. It’s Carys who steps in. “Come on, Leanne. I’ll explain it along the way.”
Like a robot, I put down the coffee and grab my handbag after checking my computer is tucked safely inside. Carys said she’d have my clothes cleaned and sent to her office by the time we’d finished our business there. We step into an elevator, where we’re the only two in it. “I can’t thank you enough for being here for me, Carys.”
“Of course. I hate that you’re about to face what I had to after Ward and I lost our parents.” She shudders. “There should be a law about the paparazzi giving you time to mourn.”
We get off the elevator, and immediately, phones and cameras are stuck in my face. There are so many I’m momentarily blinded by the flash. I fumble in the pockets of the cardigan for the sunglasses Carys provided, along with the rest of my ensemble. Slipping them on, I mutter, “I wholeheartedly agree.”
“Thank God for small favors,” Carys mutters as we push toward the blinding lights.
“There’s something to be thankful for?”
“Yes.”
“What’s that?”
Her face is ferocious. “You’re more likely to listen to my suggestions than your sister would be. When we get out there, don’t lift your head. Don’t say a word, no matter how obnoxious the comment or question. Just head straight for the car. I’ll be right behind you.”
I feel my insides quiver. “I got it.”
The doorman acknowledges Carys’s nod before he opens the doors, and the muted shouts become full-fledged.
Erzulie, what happened to your sister?
Was she meeting someone to score some drugs to ease off the pressure?
Were you aware she was coming to see you yesterday?
What about her government contracts? Do you know anything about that?
Was she meeting a lover?Followed by,Do you think she got involved with someone?
Stock price of Castor has dropped by twenty percent; do you have anything to say?Oh, the urge to turn around and answer that one is real until I feel Carys’s sharp nail poke my back. Right. Keep moving.
Was she jealous of your success?
I freeze up. Just behind me, I hear Carys mutter, “Shit. Don’t do it.”
But I can’t let this pass. I whirl around and face the mob surrounding us. “I loved my sister. She was a part of my soul before we could comprehend what that meant. Since some of you don’t even have one of those, you might not appreciate what that means. But I speak for me and for my family—we’re in pain. Leave us in peace.” With that I turn, yank open the door, and slide to the far side.
The paparazzi flashes try to swarm the far side of the car with their cameras, but Carys is too quick. She slams the door hard. I pray she got some of the maggots’ fingers caught in the door. After I say as much, she quirks a brow. “What happened to not speaking to them?”
I burst out with, “Maybe I have a little more of my sister in me than I thought.”
Her smile is slow. “Good. That might work well in our favor.” Leaning forward, she directs the driver to Rockefeller Center before we both recover from that onslaught and prepare for the next.
We’re safely ensconced in her office. Carys’s receptionist—a knockout redhead named Angie—has already brought coffee and sworn no one will be able to get by her. “Not even Becks,” she vows.
That draws a reluctant smile from Carys. “If you weren’t aware of your sister’s friendship with Beckett Miller, they are—were—close friends.”
