Page 24 of The Wicked

“I heard a rumour. She was an aide to Senator Colvin, wasn’t she?”

“His chief of staff.”

The words slipped from my tongue in a whisper. What was the point in lying when Blue clearly knew the answer already? I was beginning to discover that there were definite downsides to having a private investigator in your circle of friends.

One of my earliest memories was sitting on Senator Colvin’s lap in his office, the two of us spinning around in his chair while I waited for my mom to finish working. He’d kept a supply of candy in his desk drawer, and he used to slip me pieces when Mom wasn’t looking. Back in those days, he’d been a state senator in Texas, and when he got elected to the US Senate, we’d all upped sticks and moved to DC—well, our home had been in northern Virginia—because Mom loved her job and didn’t want to lose it. Our new life had been an adventure. Dad was an artist who painted watercolours in between taking me to school and dance lessons. Even while I was practising with Marcin, he’d sit at the edge of the room, sketching ideas in a notepad to transfer to his easel later. As for Mom, she’d worked long hours, but Sundays were always family day, when we went hiking and ice skating and watched movies and baked and planted flowers in our tiny yard.

The end had come suddenly. First, Senator Colvin had passed away, and just a month afterward, the monster had shown up.

“So, last night…?” Blue prompted.

“Why did you research my family?” The thought that she’d been digging into my background, deep enough to find out the truth about my mom’s cause of death, made me very uncomfortable. “It’s…it’s invasive. I don’t ask questions about your history.”

It was Brooke who answered. “Blue didn’t research your family. Some stuff about your mom came up when Brie’s team background-checked pretty much everyone in town. I guess they paid extra attention to you because you’re a Baldwin.”

“I’m not one of them.” My words surprised even me, especially the anger they contained. “I’m not a Baldwin. They changed my freaking name.”

“Really?” Now Brooke’s voice held undisguised curiosity. “What was it before?”

I’d said too much. Far more than I intended. And my name—my real name—was for nobody but me. It was the last thing I had left of my old life. I’d come from Virginia with nothing, no clothes, no toys, no keepsakes, and I’d never again set foot in my home. It had been in negative equity, my grandfather told me when I was old enough to understand what that was. The whole of my parents’ estate had been signed over to the bank to pay the debt.

Marcin was the only person who still called me Saralisa, but someday, that would change. Someday soon. Now that I no longer had a reason to stay in Baldwin’s Shore, I could become Lisa Forlani and hide someplace far away where nobody could find me. A fresh start was exactly what I needed.

“It doesn’t matter, not anymore.”

“Of course it does. Would you prefer if we called you something else?”

“No, really, it’s fine.”

“Did your grandpa make you change your name?” Addy asked. “Was it some weird kind of power play? Like, he didn’t think the town had enough Baldwins already?”

“No, it was Justine’s idea.”

“Figures. The whole way through school, she thought my name was Abby. Do you remember the time I put dish soap in the fountain? Abigail Berger got the blame, so I know that Justine was the person who reported me to Principal McArdle.”

“All the bubbles? That was you?”

“Yes, but Abigail pushed Jennie Martins over in the hallway and told everyone it was me, so she totally deserved the punishment.”

Blue had gone quiet. In hindsight, she’d gonetooquiet, and that meant her mind was working overtime.

“He was there last night, wasn’t he? The man who shot your mom?”

Ever felt all the blood drain out of your body? It started as a chill, then I felt dizzy, and I knew that if I looked in the mirror, I’d have been as pale as my mom was after she died in that car.

“Please, just forget everything.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

Blue’s expression was smug. It should have been scared.

“You can’t get involved in this.”

“Are you serious? Someone shot your mom, and you don’t want him to go to prison?”

“Of course I want to see him in prison! But it’s never going to happen, and I don’t want anyone else to die.”

“Well, I’m not planning to die.”

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