The invite, p.12
The Invite, page 12
Two officers got out of the car. The driver was a woman of about forty with frizzy dark hair pulled into a bun and a make-up-free face. She was what Richie’s nonna would call an apple, someone who carried all their weight in their torso and had disproportionately narrow hips and thin legs. The unflattering uniform didn’t help, but there was something kind in the officer’s face, and Richie thought she looked maternal and empathetic.
Her passenger, who was clearly the sheriff, was the full melon. Everything about him was round, from his buzzed head to a belly that strained against the buttons of his shirt. He had wide hips, short legs, and a combative stance that didn’t bode well for the upcoming interview. He was sure to distrust young, up-and-coming urban dwellers.
“Good afternoon,” Richie said politely as he stepped onto the deck and descended the steps. He held out his hand to the sheriff. “Richard Vaccaro, assistant DA, Manhattan District Attorney’s Office.”
Angelina and Mia followed him outside and stood near the steps. Remy and Vince hung back, remaining close to the sliding door.
“Sheriff Alan DeVries and Officer Nunes,” the sheriff replied.
It was clear he didn’t want to shake Richie’s hand, but it would have been rude, not to mention antagonistic, to snub him, so he gave a brief and very aggressive shake, then yanked his hand away.
“DeVries?” Mia asked behind Richie.
“That’s right. Have we met before, young lady?”
“No, it’s just that we were talking about the story behind the name of the lake…” Mia’s voice trailed off.
“My family has lived in these parts for centuries,” the sheriff replied dismissively. “So, what happened here?” His gaze went to the lake, where Noah still sat cross-legged next to Serena’s body.
Richie decided to give DeVries as little as possible and keep his suspicions to himself. For one, the sheriff would probably not welcome his insights, and for another, Richie was curious to see how much the man would deduce for himself.
“We came up last night for a long-overdue reunion,” Richie said. “We had dinner, enjoyed a few drinks around the firepit, and went to bed. Angelina was the first one up this morning.” Richie gestured to Angelina, who gave a shy wave. “She was going to go for a walk when she spotted something in the water. On closer inspection, she realized it was the body of our friend, Serena Paulson.”
“Who’s he?” DeVries asked, and jutted his chin toward Noah.
“Her husband, Noah. Noah Paulson,” Richie amended.
DeVries turned to Officer Nunes. “Start taking down their contact details. I need to look at the body.”
The sheriff’s gaze was narrowed and hard as it swept over them, but Officer Nunes smiled sympathetically as she came up the steps. “Shall we go inside?” she asked politely, and gestured toward the sliding door.
Richie went first, and she followed him in, the others trooping in behind her. Officer Nunes wrinkled her nose in disgust when she saw the stacks of dirty dishes and must have got a whiff of the rotting food coming from the dining room. Despite the open window, the house stank of rancid meat, and the smell of alcohol lingered in the air.
“We were going to clean up, but then Richie told us not to touch anything,” Angelina explained, and smiled ruefully.
Officer Nunes’ gaze sharpened, and she shot Richie a questioning look. Angelina seemed to realize that she shouldn’t have said anything, and looked at Richie apologetically.
“You don’t think it was an accident,” the policewoman said.
“I thought it prudent to leave things as they were,” Richie replied. He wasn’t about to spout that he thought Serena had been murdered and put any more attention on himself.
“Smells like coffee in here,” Officer Nunes said as she walked into the kitchen.
“Would you like some?” Angelina asked, obviously glad to have something to do.
“I wouldn’t mind. It’s been a hell of a morning. And now this. Milk and two sugars, please.”
Angelina made the coffee, while the rest of them crowded around the island, not sure what to do. Officer Nunes took a sip of coffee, sighed with contentment, then turned to the group. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting in the other room. I’ll speak to you one at a time.”
“Do you want our statements?” Mia asked.
“Not yet. For now, just your name, address, cell number, and email. Once Sherriff DeVries comes back, we’ll have a clearer idea of what’s required. Ladies first?”
Mia remained in the kitchen, and Richie followed Vince, Remy, and Angelina to the living room, where they settled in to wait their turn. Richie couldn’t sit still, so he walked over to the window and looked on as Sheriff DeVries squatted next to Serena. He couldn’t think of Serena as a corpse, even though he’d referred to her as a body. That would surely come later, but for now, she was still a person, a woman he’d had some strong feelings about only yesterday. Had anyone noticed that he’d been snarky towards her? Would they mention it to the sheriff?
There were a few things Richie had noticed last night, like the fact that Mia wouldn’t look at Serena after she’d come down with her jacket, or that Serena had barely looked in Noah’s direction all night. And there was the moment when Serena had stepped out onto the deck, wearing that distinctive green jacket, and she’d looked really angry. Remy had asked if she’d like something to drink and she’d nearly bitten his head off. And then there was the way she’d treated Vince.
Vince hadn’t risen to the bait, but Richie knew just how he must have felt. There had been a kid in high school who’d kept calling Richie names. Kevin had been smart enough to make sure no one else ever heard or he’d get suspended for bullying, but he’d say stuff under his breath so only Richie could hear. Guido, goombah, Dante, and he didn’t mean the poet. He was referring to Dante from The Sopranos. Having learned his lesson about fighting, Richie had pretended not to hear, but he’d been raging on the inside, and if he could have got away with it he would have shown Kevin just what a capo would do to someone like him. Was Vince capable of violence? He was a likable guy, but everyone had a breaking point. Vince was currently trying to blend into his surroundings, but Richie knew from experience that he’d be the first person DeVries would look at, and he felt sympathy for the guy. Why had he even come?
It had to be because of Angelina, but Angelina wasn’t interested in Vince. Of late she’d been sliding into Richie’s DMs and texting him with increasing frequency. Then she’d asked him for a ride to the reunion, and had openly flirted with him all the way up. Angelina had cooled it once they’d arrived, but she’d been there for the taking, whenever and however he wanted. And even now she was watching him, gauging his every reaction. With her soulful brown eyes and long dark hair, Angelina was pretty, and he did prefer curvy girls, but he had no interest in dating her, and it wouldn’t be right to hook up when he knew she wanted more. Angie was a friend, and Richie respected that and wouldn’t cross the line. He should never have fucked Serena. He wondered if it was going to come out now that she was dead, or if DeVries would find out that Serena, who hadn’t called him in years, had suddenly called him two days before she was murdered.
Richie watched as DeVries leaned over Serena. He couldn’t bend too far, his belly was in the way, but since he wasn’t very tall he probably got a good look anyway. His lips were moving, so he had to be speaking to Noah. After a few moments, Noah pushed to his feet and headed back toward the house. He looked like an old man and stared at the ground as he walked. He had to be chilled to the bone after sitting out there for so long, but getting warm would have to wait, especially since DeVries had pulled out his cellphone as soon as Noah had walked away and was talking into it urgently.
“What did he ask you?” Richie demanded as soon as Noah walked into the room. He kept his voice low so Nunes, who was speaking to Remy now, wouldn’t hear him.
“He just asked what happened.”
Noah was shivering, his skin had a gray cast, and his eyes looked glazed. Shock, Richie thought as he studied his friend’s stony face. He’d seen it so many times, both at home and in the courtroom. Noah was still processing what had happened, and then the grief would come and level him like a steamroller.
“What did you tell him?” Richie asked.
“The truth.”
“Did he ask any leading questions?” Richie tried again.
“Like what?” Noah was totally out of it, his eyes unfocused as he sank onto the couch and wrapped his arms around himself.
Vince grabbed a chenille throw from the love seat and tucked it around Noah, who muttered his thanks without looking at the other man.
“Like if you and Serena were happy, or if maybe you had a fight last night,” Richie probed.
“No.”
“Did he say anything about the cause of death?”
“No. He was pretty tight-lipped.”
“Okay. Let’s see where he takes it from here,” Richie said.
“Where do you think he’s going to take it?” Angelina asked.
“That all depends on how cocky he is.”
“What do you mean?” Angelina pressed.
“I mean, if he thinks he knows it all, he’ll jump to conclusions and then try to fit the facts into his theory.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Vince asked carefully.
“If he doesn’t, then he will do things by the book.”
“Suddenly, I’m not sure which is worse,” Vince said under his breath.
“Unless you have legitimate reason to worry, you’ll be fine,” Richie replied.
Vince gave him a look that nearly made Richie cringe with shame at his arrogance. Vince had every reason to worry, and they both knew it.
“I got you, man,” Richie said.
Vince nodded and looked away, probably embarrassed by his vulnerability and resentful of having to depend on Richie to defend his civil rights if it came to it.
DeVries came inside about ten minutes later. He looked grim and asked everyone to gather in the living room, even though Nunes hadn’t finished taking down their details. They all sat down, but DeVries remained standing, his back to the window. His nearly colorless gaze swept over each person in turn and paused on Vince just a beat longer than on anyone else. He wasn’t hostile, but neither was he friendly or sympathetic.
“The coroner will arrive shortly to collect the body. I have requested a postmortem.”
“Don’t you need to ask Noah for permission?” Mia asked.
“Not in the case of suspicious death,” DeVries replied. “I have also called for a crime scene investigation unit. They will get here when they get here since they’ll be coming from Kingston, or more likely Albany. In the meantime, I will ask you all to remain inside. Officer Nunes and I will take your statements.”
“Can we leave after you do that?” Remy asked.
“We will not keep you any longer than necessary,” DeVries promised.
Richie had to admit that he was impressed by the man’s demeanor. The sheriff was calm and professional without giving in to annoyance or unsubstantiated suspicion. That was a good sign that he would be thorough and unbiased, but things could go to hell very quickly if someone became belligerent or started to make unreasonable demands.
DeVries turned to Angelina. “Since you discovered the body, I’d like to start with you, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Angelina said, her gaze flitting toward Vince for just a second. His attention was fixed on DeVries, but there was no challenge in his eyes, only resignation.
Richie would do whatever he could to help his friends, but at this point he wasn’t sticking his neck out for anyone. At least not yet. Unless someone had come onto the property last night, one of the people in this room had murdered Serena, and, until he figured out who it was, he was looking out for number one.
THIRTY-ONE
REMY
The questions seemed to go on forever, interrupted only by the arrival of the coroner. Sheriff DeVries went to speak to the man in person, and they stood over Serena’s body for a few minutes before the coroner returned to his van. Everyone watched in solemn silence as the body was bagged and deposited on a folding gurney, which went into the back of the van. Remy blinked away tears, embarrassed to be seen crying, but he wasn’t the only one. Everyone was sniffling and blowing their noses, except for Noah, who stared straight ahead, his gaze unseeing.
Remy stepped out onto the deck, turned a chair to face the lake, and sat down. The sun was warm on his shoulders, and the lake shimmered in the afternoon sun. Today would have been perfect, a day filled with laughter, silly banter, and the usual jokey snark. They might have gone into town or for a walk. There were probably some great antique shops in the area, and these little towns always had quaint diners and places that sold homemade ice cream. That night they might have ordered pizza and watched a movie, or sat outside and looked at the stars. Instead, they woke up to tragedy.
It had been a shock to learn Serena was dead, but this morning there was still room for them to hope that her death had been a tragic accident. Now that her body was on the way to the morgue and would undergo an autopsy, shit had just got real, especially since they had been told they couldn’t leave. They hadn’t been officially detained, but they were all suspects, and the thought was quite frankly terrifying. Who would point the finger at whom, and how far would someone go to divert suspicion from themselves?
How far would he have to go? Remy had been discreet, so much so that he’d kept his distance from Mia and Angelina these past few months. Guys were usually clueless when it came to the subtle undercurrents within the group, but girls could smell subterfuge a mile away and might have caught on that he was keeping something to himself. Remy never meant to get involved in Serena’s plan, but she’d asked him to do her a favor, and he had agreed. He never imagined his well-intentioned help would backfire so spectacularly. And now, if the truth came out, he’d be implicated in Serena’s murder, so all he could do was pray that she had deleted the incriminating file from her computer. He certainly had.
But the police would have no reason to look closely at him. It was always the husband, wasn’t it? And who else would have reason to hurt Serena? Maybe that was why Noah was catatonic. He couldn’t believe what he’d done and probably hoped this was just a bad dream and he’d wake up and find Serena in the kitchen, complaining that no one had bothered to buy almond milk or that the steak had been too rare.
When Officer Nunes came out to get him, Remy sighed heavily and stood up. It seemed it was his turn to make a statement, but how honest did he want to be? And how much of the truth had bearing on the case?
Just as Remy was about to step inside, the CSI team rolled up, the individuals who got out of the van looking like aliens in their white coveralls. They wordlessly separated, each going in a different direction, metal cases in hand. It seemed the real investigation into Serena’s death had officially begun.
THIRTY-TWO
ANGELINA
Sheriff DeVries and Officer Nunes questioned everyone at length and jotted down contact information for Lexie, whose phone was still turned off. She hadn’t replied to any emails or texts, and, from what Angelina could gather, the others were beginning to think that maybe Lexie really did have something to do with Serena’s death, and this had all been some elaborate setup meant to get Serena to this isolated location.
A timeline of events, starting with their arrival at the Airbnb, had been established, but no one could be sure what had happened after they’d all gone to bed in the early hours of Saturday morning. The sheriff spent a long time with Noah, who seemed to be on autopilot. Through the closed door, Angelina heard him speaking in a quiet monotone that was punctuated by periods of raw emotion.
Mia’s tip that she’d seen a face in the attic window sent the CSI techs to the attic, but all they found was a mannequin wearing a black dress, along with a dressmaker’s dummy and several storage boxes filled with cuts of fabric and crafting supplies. The owner of the house clearly liked to sew and had turned the attic into a craft room, complete with a sewing machine, a long table covered with dress patterns, and tiny plastic drawers filled with buttons, sequins, zippers, and grommets.
The techs took everyone’s fingerprints for the purposes of elimination, which was perhaps the most sobering moment of all. They were now on the police database, their names forever linked to a murder investigation. Richie explained that this was routine and wouldn’t show up if a potential employer ran a background check, but no one seemed to feel particularly reassured, especially since they weren’t allowed to leave and hadn’t been given an estimate of when they might be able to return home. They were trapped in this house until further notice, and one of them could be taken into custody.
Desperate for something to occupy her once the techs were done with the first floor, Angelina cleaned the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, and took out the trash. She then went to work on the dining room, which resulted in another bag of trash and a second load of dishes. It would have been nice if someone had offered to help, but the rest of them just huddled on the deck, talking quietly and coming up with endless theories about what must have happened. Even Vince kept his distance.
Angelina didn’t care to speculate with them. She found it all extremely stressful and asked Sheriff DeVries if she might get her earbuds from her bedroom so she could listen to music while she cleaned. He had no objection. But once she’d finished, she felt isolated and alone inside the house and went outside to join her friends on the deck. They’d run out of theories by then and were just sitting around in near silence, their gazes fixed on anything but each other.
It was after six o’clock by the time the police and CSI techs finally left. Once the last of the daylight faded, a dense, choking darkness settled over the clearing. The moon and the stars were completely obscured by thick, low clouds, and the lake gleamed, slick as congealed blood, the black water surrounded by the hulking shapes of the trees that swallowed the neighboring houses in looming shadows. Despite the dropping temperature, no one wanted to go back inside. The house was silent and dark, except for the track lights Angelina had left on in the kitchen. The doors and windows were covered in black fingerprint powder, and the rooms had been searched for anything that might prove incriminating. An unpleasant smell lingered in areas where the techs had sprayed luminol, clearly searching for traces of blood, even though Serena did not appear to have bled.
