Page 26 of The Wicked

My head throbbed with the beginnings of a migraine. Hearing other perspectives left me more confused than ever. Nine-year-old me had believed the monster was Satan himself, and the beast who visited me in my dreams every night had taken on an aura of immortality. But Blue’s cold logic chipped away at the wall I’d built around my feelings. Fear still dominated, but now anger was nipping at its heels, fuelled by a team of women who refused to take no for an answer.

The realisation that they wanted to help me, even if it meant putting themselves in peril, made my chest swell. Either this was what hope felt like, or I was having some kind of cardiac episode. What were the symptoms of a heart attack?

“So, that’s settled.” Blue clapped her hands together. “Addy can help you pack, Brooke will make up a bed, and I’ll go nose around the hotel. What does this guy look like?”

If I told her, who knew what trouble would be unleashed? Right after the incident, I’d stayed silent because I was scared, but as the years went by, I’d come to understand the bigger picture. Whoever had killed my parents was powerful. Powerful enough to cover up their crime. A doctor had staged a second autopsy, and the results of the first one quietly disappeared. The police had barely investigated. And the man who’d pulled the trigger was free to hang out at the Peninsula while my parents lay in a cemetery overlooking the ocean a mile from here.

Grandpa always said that he’d “brought Peter home.” But Baldwin’s Shore hadn’t been home to my father. He’d left for college when he was eighteen and returned as infrequently as possible, just for holidays, the occasional celebration, and Grandpa’s ever more frequent health scares. Even Dad’s grave was an insult. The Baldwins had only put half of his surname on the headstone.

Yes, I wanted the man who’d taken so much from us to pay, but at what cost?

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea…”

In fact, I knew for definite that it wasn’t. It was a terrible idea. More terrible than the time one of my stupid, dumb cousins had tried to exact revenge on Blue and ended up getting arrested. At least it was all but certain that Easton the Third wouldn’t meet his inheritance conditions—he was spending most of his savings on lawyers’ fees now.

“Sara, Sara, Sara…” Blue wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “I became a PI because I’m a big fan of justice, and people shouldn’t be allowed to get away with murder. If you’re right about this man, then he’s dangerous, and he was in our town. Maybe he still is? You can help or you can run, but I’m not going to sit back and wait to end up as collateral damage again.”

Brooke took my hand. “If you need to leave town, we’ll understand, but can you at least tell us what you know first? I don’t think Blue’s gonna drop this.”

No, she wasn’t.

I hadn’t known Blue for long, but in some ways, she reminded me of my mom. Determined, confident, and a little too impulsive. She’d always stood up for what she thought was right. Of course, my own memories of Mom were hazy, but I’d read more about her online as I grew older. Claire Baldwin-Forlani had spearheaded the movement for equality among staffers on the Hill, even if speaking out had made her unpopular in some circles.

Me? I’d taken after my father. I preferred to avoid confrontation.

Run, don’t fight.

But Blue was waiting expectantly, and she’d go wading into the mess whether I talked or not. If I pointed her in the right direction, perhaps I could prevent the ripples she made from turning into a tsunami?

I swallowed hard, and for the first time since the worst night of my life, I spilled.

“He has dark hair. Dark eyebrows, and the left one has a thin scar running through it. Close-set eyes that are such a pale blue they’re almost silver. Thin lips. A square face with a sharp jaw, and the bottom of his face is kind of…wider than the top.” I took a deep breath. “It’s the eyes I’ll never forget.”

Dead, emotionless eyes with no warmth in them whatsoever. When he scrambled down the bank to kill my mom, he’d angled his car so the headlights bathed the wreck in an eerie glow. And him. I’d watched from the mangled back seat, hidden beneath a blanket and the belongings that had tumbled around the car as it careened to its final resting place. At one point, a flash of lightning had illuminated his face, and that was the frame frozen in my memory. The monster lit by nature’s wrath before he fired.

“If I can get hold of a security video, could you identify him?” Blue asked.

I nodded. “Just promise you’ll be careful.”

“Cross my heart.”

8

GARRETT

Garrett,

I could tell you that the shoes are only sold in three boutiques, but I’d be lying. Riya de Leon’s pumps are sold in ninety-seven stores in the USA, not including online retailers, plus more stores carry them overseas (I called her to check). Plus they sent out another fifty pairs to models and influencers. I’ve attached a list of the stores, but Riya can’t give out the names of the individuals—she says she’s sorry, but she has to respect their privacy.

I can tell you one interesting thing, though—that’s not an original Riya pump. The style is called Gigi, and it’s been customised. Someone stuck all of those crystals on. I can’t find a stylist doing that commercially, and Riya doesn’t know of anyone either, but if you find out, she’d like their number because she thinks it’s hot.

Why do you need to know, BTW? Have you finally found a girl to buy shoes for? You realise I offer a family discount, right?

The Original G

It wasn’t the news I’d wanted to hear, but at least Gracie had given me several leads to follow up. If Cinderella had bought the shoes online, I was shit out of luck, but I could check out retailers in Oregon. If she’d shopped in person, somebody might remember her.

Plus there was the customisation angle. Either a craftsperson had glued all of those crystals onto the shoes, or Cinderella had done it herself. I lifted the shoe up to the light. Since Saturday night, it had been sitting on the desk in my home office, taunting me as I tried to work.

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