Page 53 of The Bridesmaid
‘They look old,’ I say. ‘Long abandoned.’ I eye the thick iron bars, gingered with rust.
‘Who would build a prison on a remote island off Colombia?’
‘Narcos?’ suggests Fitzwilliam, matching my thoughts. ‘Leopold Kensington runs nightclubs. He doesn’t make a secret of drug use in his venues.’
We look at the tiny prison cells, barely large enough to hold a person. ‘Click off your light.’
He does. In the dark, we see another arrow, pointing out a single cell.
We follow it, and the arrow directs us to the small confines. Inside is a narrow bench, stamped with an ancient Kensington crest, barely big enough for a person to sit on. The distance to the door is so shallow, it would only allow a person to curl into a ball.
‘What are they for?’ I breathe. ‘Too small for prison cells, surely?’
‘I don’t know,’ says Fitzwilliam.
I shine the light around the rocky walls, and for a moment, there’s nothing. Then I see it. The Kensington crest on the planks of the bench has been daubed with ultra-violet paint. My light settles on it. A splash of glowing green in a dark cell.
Fitzwilliam lifts it. Underneath is a kind of compartment. A natural void where curving rock hasn’t matched the flat bench above.
Inside, pushed into the void, is a flash of deep gold. It’s a flat shape. A rectangle of card, damp-spotted and old, and foiled in what looks like real gold leaf.
It’s a birthday invitation. To Adrianna Kensington’s twenty-first birthday.
Scrawled across the front, in jagged writing, is the word‘BITCH’.
I hear Fitzwilliam make an intake of air.
‘See who it’s made out to?’ he whispers.
I read the name written on the front.
Trinity.
Chapter Forty-One
PETRA
It feels strange to be back in Fortune House after three years. It has changed. A lot. In Leopold and Athena’s day it was off-the-hook bling. Back in my early twenties, I thought it was the coolest thing I had ever seen, but I get how Ophelia’s designs will breathe new life into the place. Less old boys’ club. More fresh-faced wellness.
I slip out the cell phone I concealed inside my camera equipment and check the time in New York. I’m still good. I make the call to my magazine editor, Max.
‘Petra!’ he picks up the call after one ring.
‘There were no documents in the elevator panel,’ I say. ‘I looked. You sent me chasing wild geese.’
He’s silent for a moment. ‘I had a tip-off from a colleague. Simone wanted to shoot an episode ofWrongly Accusedout on location on Elysium. Feature length.’
I turn this over in my mind. ‘You think Simone solved the case? Who kidnapped Adrianna Kensington?’
‘Simone wouldn’t pitch for an hour slot just to rework old material. And my sources say NYPD have an undercover out on Elysium,’ he continues. ‘If Simone found something juicy out there, then we need to find it before they do.’
I’m shaking my head. ‘The only people out here are Adrianna’s bridesmaids, and there’s no way …’ I pause for a moment. Because there is someone else here, isn’t there?
Simone’s niece.
Thrift-store goth Holly Stone. And her suspiciously well-dressed assistant.
I had felt a lot of things, when Holly revealed her connection to Simone.
