Page 74 of In the Bones
It was sheer luck that Davina, with whom Nicole had worked years ago, still ran the front desk, strands of silver now threading the hair at her temples and side part. “Nicole!” she exclaimed. “Holy crap, what happened to your face?”
“Bad fall.” The words were rote, Nicole’s tone hollow, but there was no time to worry about that now. She’d tried to obey her sister’s request to stay home, really she had, but Nicole had a shot at identifying the man the police were looking for—the man who was now a threat to Blair—and she intended to take it.
“Listen Davina,” she said in a hushed tone, “I need a favor.”
Armed with Mikko’s room number, Nicole took the elevator to the second floor and hustled down the hall. Her knuckles stung when she rapped on the door.
It was Stacy who opened it.
“What the fuck?” The sight of her friend barefoot in Mikko’s room was jarring, like she’d stumbled upon a gateway to a parallel world.
“Nic.” Stacy’s color was up, her mouth downturned as Mikko stepped out from behind her. “What are you doing here?”
“My God, your face,” said Mikko, his voice awash with distaste.
Nicole pushed past them into the room. “Molly,” she said. “The woman who was hiding in the house? She just got stabbed at the Rivermouth.”
“Oh no.” Hands tucked in his pockets, Mikko hiked his shoulders up to his ears. “Is she OK?”
“No, she’s not fucking OK. She might die just like Angelica did, and whoever did it is still out there. It was someone who went to that party.Yourparty.” Nicole fixed Mikko with an icy stare. “You know who was there that night—you both do. You have to know who did this.”
“It’s like I already told the police,” Mikko said. “I didn’t know most of those people who came.”
The man’s idle movements rose her hackles, but Nicole managed to tamp down her rage. “The police think this guy was your friend.”
“My friend?”
Nicole swung around to face Stacy. “I’m actually glad you’re here.” Her breath was coming so fast that she felt lightheaded. “Where’s your boyfriend, Stacy?”
“What?” Stacy’s lips hitched into some semblance of a smile, but her eyes were tapered, her pupils huge.
“Maureen says the detectives have a lead. A guy who works in construction. Does that sound familiar?”
“Construction?” Mikko had stepped back and was studying the women with interest, as if their performance had been devised for his own entertainment. Lowering himself onto the bed, he braced his hands on his knees. “What am I missing here?”
“Stop.” Stacy’s fingers were on Nicole’s wrist, nails piercing the tender skin. “Just stop, Nic. It’s not the time.”
“Not the time?” Swatting the hand away, Nicole gaped at her. Stacy’s short, white-gold hair was tousled and her makeup had shifted ever so slightly, drifting under her eyes and onto her philtrum. The woman before her was blurred, a photo slightly out of focus, like an image captured at the very moment when the camera moved. Stacy, but not.
She doesn’t want Mikko to know. The realization knocked Nicole sideways. Stacy didn’t want Nicole to bring up TerryMartino. But Terry was why Nicole was here. The guy owned a construction company that likely employed dozens of people. He knew Mikko, had worked with him for months. If Stacy had been invited to the party, Terry would have been too. And maybe he’d brought a friend.
A trill sliced through the room. Mikko’s phone was going off. He didn’t even glance at the screen, just clicked the button to silence the call and returned his attention to Stacy and Nicole. Beyond the room’s large window, the St. Lawrence River was a blue smear.
Why wouldn’t Stacy want Mikko to know she was seeing Terry? They’d both worked with him in relation to the house. What difference would it make to Mikko if they were a couple?
For that matter, why not tell Nicole? Instead of confiding in her friend, Stacy had hidden the relationship for months. She’d outright deceived her, griping about the dearth of hot single men her age even as guy after guy hit on her at The Brig. Nicole couldn’t remember Stacy ever giving out her number. This was why.
But right now, she was with Mikko. Holed up in his hotel room together while the police searched for Angelica’s killer. A shudder rolled across Nicole’s shoulders. “Stacy?” she said. “Why are you here?”
Mikko answered first. “We’re worried about the publicity,” he said, hiking his ankle onto the opposite knee. There were tattoos there too, concealed under the fair curls of leg hair. Spiraling around his calf. “No offense, but all of this negative attention on Woody? It’s not helping us.”
Nicole shook her head. “What do you mean by us?”
“Us,” Mikko repeated. “The partners.”
When Blair was about a year old, Nicole had developed a recurring nightmare. She was sure it came from the day she and Woody took their daughter on her first boat ride. It was shortly after they’d splurged on the Grady-White, and they’d outfitted Blair with a life jacket, squeezing her arms into inflatable floaties for good measure. She’d beamed the whole time, relishing the speed and her weightlessness on the water. Back at the dock, when Woody and Nicole were tying up, Blair hadtoddled to the gunwale. Spotted a fish down below, and reached too far.
In the dream, Nicole’s precious girl had sunk like a rock to vanish into the weedy, silty gloom. In reality, she’d wailed about the cold while bobbing on the surface, showing no signs of trauma at all, but after that, Nicole couldn’t stop imagining her kid flailing in the deep.
