Page 9 of The Bridesmaid
He smiles fondly, opening the briefcase a crack and removing a sheaf of print-outs. ‘It’s true, Adrianna really is quite something. But it wasn’t her charisma I was referring to. I imagine you’ve seen her platform?’ His face glows briefly with pride.
‘I’m not really into all that side of social media,’ I explain apologetically. ‘Hair, and … stuff.’ I sweep an explanatory hand. ‘I’m more a dark fantasy gaming-type girl.’
‘Were you aware Adrianna has a stalker?’ He looks anxious now. On edge. I catch a glimpse of the papers. They’re newspaper cuttings. Old ones, from Adrianna’s infamous twenty-first birthday party.
‘Well, yes,’ I say, pointing to the documents in his hand. ‘Adrianna was kidnapped. It was a huge story, a few years ago. Even I couldn’t really have missed that.’
I hesitate, not sure what else to say. The dark details of the kidnap would stick in anyone’s mind.
‘It was three years ago,’ he says. ‘Before she and I met. At the time, Adrianna was receiving sinister letters and texts. Police didn’t take it seriously despite the fact the messenger seemed to always know exactly where Adrianna would be.’ He pauses to let that part sink in. ‘Then she was snatched from her twenty-first birthday party. Adrianna’s stalker held her captive for three days. Youmusthave read that story.’
‘I remember parts of it.’ I say carefully. ‘The party was held on the family’s private island, right? In the end, Adrianna had been held captive in the family panic room.’
‘Correct.’ Mark nods, apparently pleased with my accuracy. ‘It was huge international news. Leopold Kensington flew out to the island to join the search. Poured millions into a global manhunt. But while the whole world was searching, Adrianna was being held in that room, by some … sick individual wearing a Halloween mask.’ His mouth twists in the first recognizably emotional gesture I’ve seen him make.
There’s an awkward silence. Everyone knows what was done to Adrianna in that room. The pictures of her emerging from captivity were splashed over every newspaper in the world.
Mark clears his throat. ‘There was a lot of speculation that it must have been one of the party guests. Adrianna invited her entire prep school, and relations between those girls are incestuous to say the least.’ He straightens his blazer. ‘But the stalker was never caught.’
I swallow. ‘Is this why I’m here, Mr Li? You think the person who kidnapped Adrianna, three years ago, has returned?’
He nods tightly. ‘Adrianna’s stalker is back. But they’ve graduated from kidnap to murder.’
A ripple of shock shudders through me. I wonder what Simone has made of this.
‘Is Simone already here?’ I ask Mark, ‘Because—’
Mark spins on a shining hand-made heel, ignoring the question.
‘Follow me,’ he says shortly. ‘I’m going to take you to the scene of the crime.’
Chapter Seven
HOLLY
I follow Mark in, through the high Art Deco doors of the New York Plaza, my feet sinking into the deep carpeted steps as we ascend. He swings his strange little briefcase as we walk.
Since Simone isn’t here in the lobby, she must already be at the scene, I realize. She’ll be immaculately dressed, in her subtle take on the latest New York fashions, short hair blown out perfectly, ten thousand dollars of bling at her throat, fitting into the luxurious hotel like a hand in a glove. She has a confidence so blazing you could heat your dinner off it.
‘Listen,’ I tell Mark, ‘if you want me and Simone to work together … That could be a little awkward.’
‘When did you last speak with Simone?’
‘Um. A few weeks maybe. I’m not really taking her calls right now,’ I admit. ‘She left for a trip to Elysium with Leopold Kensington right after a fight we had last week. Sent me a couple of messages the day before yesterday.’
We’ve reached a doorman uniformed in jet-black with gold accent braiding standing behind a red rope. When he sees Mark, he draws it back with a smile. Mark nods his thanks and standsback to let me through the door first, passing the doorman a bill that looks suspiciously like a twenty.
‘Did you just tip the doorman twenty bucks?’ I whisper as we move through the grand doors.
‘I didn’t have any fifties,’ says Mark.
I’m distracted from a reply by the sheer scale of the lobby interior. Long windows, framed by velvet curtains in a subtle burnt-orange shade, cast portals of morning sun across the marble floor.
My eyes can barely take in all the gold filigree. ‘It’s like someone detonated a stack of bullion,’ I tell Mark.
‘I favor this hotel for meetings and lunch appointments,’ he says, striding along. ‘That was why Adrianna and I—’ He stops, suddenly. Grief? Or something else? I can’t tell.
‘It was why we chose it for the demo,’ he says, collecting himself.
