The invite, p.20
The Invite, page 20
“We can’t just stand here,” Remy retorted. “This might take hours. And at least we’ll be warm and there will be coffee.”
“I could eat,” Richie said with a shrug.
“God, what is it with you two?” Angelina cried. “Vince is dead. Do you not even care?”
“Not eating won’t bring him back,” Remy pointed out reasonably. “If you don’t want to eat, maybe we can find a library or a park where you can wait in noble solitude. We’ll pick you up on the way back.”
“Fine, I’ll come,” Angelina exclaimed. She was angry and frustrated but didn’t feel righteous enough to sit by herself in the library or freeze her ass off in some park. “Does anyone have their car keys?”
“Right here,” Richie said, and dangled his keys before her. “Remy, give me the phone. I need the GPS.”
“You may as well hand the phone over,” Mia said. “You know they’ll find it now that Richie called the police.”
“I’m not handing it over till they make me,” Remy said and passed the phone to Richie. “Come on, let’s go.”
Noah hadn’t said a word, but, when Richie got in the Jeep and slammed the door shut, he suddenly pivoted on his heel and vomited into a nearby bush. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then silently got in the car and turned to stare out the window.
FIFTY
ANGELINA
No one spoke during the drive to the diner. Only the perky female voice of the GPS could be heard guiding Richie toward the Corner Café. Angelina tried to hold back tears as she sat in the front seat next to Richie. Noah and Remy stared out the window, and Mia sat with her head bowed, her hands folded in her lap, clearly unable to look at any of them.
The diner was near the town center and looked like something from the 1950s, but, whereas some places intentionally recreated the retro vibe, this place had probably remained frozen in time from when it had been trendy and new. The diner resembled or actually had been a train car, and there were the obligatory red vinyl stools at the counter, matching booths whose seats were faded and cracked, and a black-and-white checkered floor. A few old-timers sat at the counter, nursing bottomless cups of coffee and chatting up the woman behind the counter. Two short-order cooks could be seen through the opening behind the counter, and two middle-aged waitresses moved up and down the length of the establishment, delivering food, pouring coffee, and exchanging news with the customers.
Everyone turned to gawk when the group walked in, the patrons’ glances ranging from curious to hostile. This was a small town, and the locals must have heard what had happened at 4 Lake Drive. It took a moment for the woman who had to be the owner to decide whether she wanted to serve them, but her business sense prevailed and she sauntered over to the group, a smile of welcome stretching her thick, red-painted lips. She could have given the Joker a run for his money, especially since she’d completed the look with green eyeshadow, Angelina mused distractedly.
“Good morning. Will it be the five of you, or are you expecting one more?”
She wouldn’t have heard about Vince’s death, but she clearly knew who they were and where they’d come from.
“Five,” Angelina said. “Can we take the booth at the back?” She couldn’t bear to sit in the middle, where everyone would keep looking at them.
“Sure, honey,” the woman said. “Go on. Your server will be with you in a minute.”
The woman retreated behind the counter, but her gaze followed them as they walked toward the back and settled in the booth. Mia, Noah, and Angelina sat with their backs to the room. Richie and Remy sat facing forward. One of the servers, a tired-looking woman with faded bleach-blond hair, approached as soon as they were settled and set down menus that were sticky with use.
“Coffee for everyone?” she asked, looking around the group.
“Please,” Richie answered, and everyone nodded.
The woman nodded and walked away, leaving them to peruse the offerings. She returned with a fresh pot of coffee, filled their cups, then left again, presumably to set down the pot before she returned to take their orders. Everyone pretended to be deeply absorbed in reading the menu, but they closed their folios and set them on the table as soon as the waitress came back. For a group of people who were grieving and in shock, they ordered a lot of food, and settled in to wait once the server stalked off, everyone intensely focused on fixing their coffee to their liking.
“Noah, did Serena keep in contact with Vince?” Mia asked, finally breaking the silence after several long minutes.
Noah shrugged. “I don’t think so, but I’m clearly not the right person to ask.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Angelina said. “You couldn’t have known.”
“Known what?” Noah asked belligerently. “That Serena knew Lexie was dead? That she might have been involved? That she lied to me for years? Or that she did everything in her power to drive the knife a little deeper with every post and every revelation about Lexie’s new life?” His gaze shifted from one sad face to another. “The question is, what did Vince know?”
“Maybe he didn’t know anything,” Angelina said. “Sometimes people just die. They have conditions they’re not aware of or an allergic reaction.”
Noah turned to stare at her. “Are you seriously suggesting that two days after Serena was murdered, Vince suddenly suffered an allergic reaction that killed him?”
“I really don’t think we should speculate until we find out the cause of death,” Richie interjected.
“Why?” Noah demanded. “So you can decide whether you should distance yourself? It’s okay. I get it, Richie. You need to look out for number one.”
“Noah,” Richie began, but didn’t finish his thought since the waitress approached their booth, somehow carrying all their orders at once. She set the plates before them, asked if they needed anything else, then retreated behind the counter, where she muttered something to the owner. The woman nodded, her gaze sweeping over them, before she made a point of looking away.
“Guys, can we not make a spectacle of ourselves?” Mia asked quietly. “Everyone is staring at us.”
“So, let them stare,” Noah said. He turned to look at Remy. “Enjoying that omelet?”
“It’s fine. Why don’t you just eat, Noah,” Remy replied coldly. “This is neither the time nor the place to talk about this.”
“And what would be the right time, Remy?” Noah snapped.
“If you want to get into it, we can do that once we’re back at the house, where we can at least speak in private.”
Noah nodded and stared at his plate, which contained two slices of whole wheat toast, two packets of butter, and two plastic containers of strawberry jelly. He took a bite of his dry toast, then set it down again, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to swallow. It was obvious he couldn’t get it down, so he took a sip of coffee and turned toward the window, looking out over the parking lot with that vacant stare that was becoming so familiar. It seemed his anger had burned out and now he wanted to be left alone.
In the harsh light streaming through the window, Noah looked pale and gaunt, his three-day beard making him seem unkempt rather than sexy and his weight loss suddenly obvious. He’d hardly eaten anything since Friday night, and his hands shook slightly as he set down his coffee cup. Seeing Noah’s suffering made Angelina uncomfortable, so she turned to look at Remy and Richie, who looked unperturbed as they applied themselves to their breakfast.
FIFTY-ONE
REMY
Remy could feel the tension swirling around him. Noah shut his eyes and leaned his head against the wall, too depleted by his outburst to engage with anyone. But tortured as he might feel, his initial shock was beginning to wear off, and he was entering the anger stage of the grieving process. It was probably happening sooner than anyone would expect, but, given everything he’d learned in recent days, it was perfectly natural for him to feel hurt, betrayed, and angry. Remy could only hope that, when Noah finally did lose it, it would be in a controlled environment.
Mia was avoiding making eye contact with Remy, and Richie, who could always be counted on to break the ice in any situation, was inhaling his breakfast burrito and not speaking to anyone. Angelina was openly staring at Remy, the question right there in her eyes. Did you kill Vince, and by extension Serena? Remy could ask her the same question. In fact, he could ask it of any of them. Someone at this table had killed at least once, but who? Remy had known these people since he was eighteen. There were times when he really liked them and times when he’d hated their guts, but he couldn’t accept that one of them was a remorseless killer.
And why Vince? Were revelations about what he’d been up to forthcoming? Was there more than had met the eye to mild-mannered, soft-spoken Vincent? Or had Vince figured it all out? The only person he would have shared his suspicions with was Angelina, but Remy saw her go up last night, and then Vince went up to his room nearly two hours later. What happened after he went to bed? Remy guessed the autopsy results would tell them more, but at this point they were all fucked one way or another. DeVries was not going to let them leave, not now that there had been another death. They were trapped, sharing an isolated house with someone who might feel driven to kill again.
Remy didn’t often pray, but he was praying now. He prayed he’d make it out alive.
FIFTY-TWO
MIA
Mia ordered pancakes, but couldn’t manage to swallow more than a few bites. The dough was sticking in her throat, and she felt like she was going to be sick. Her hands were sweaty, and her heart was racing. She needed to speak to Sheriff DeVries, but she didn’t have a phone and couldn’t approach him in front of the others. She had to tread carefully, or she might be the next one they zipped into a body bag.
Mia could tell Angelina thought Remy was somehow involved. She might be right. Remy and Vince were alone together for at least an hour last night. Remy must have said something that had tipped Vince off, and now Vince was dead. Poor, sweet Vince. Mia thought he’d loved Angelina. Not in that crazy, let’s throw caution to the wind and ride off into the sunset kind of way, but in a quiet, dignified manner that lasted a lifetime, not a few sexually charged months or several volatile years. Vince had been a keeper, the sort of guy any woman would be lucky to meet.
What had Vince seen or heard that had suddenly made him a threat? Mia felt terrified, and didn’t know whom to trust. She didn’t think she could trust Richie. She was certain she’d seen him outside, giving Vince a small plastic bag, and there had been something watchful and stealthy in his manner. And then Richie came inside and went upstairs. A few hours later, Vince was dead.
How do I get to Sheriff DeVries without attracting the attention of the others? Mia thought desperately.
FIFTY-THREE
RICHIE
When the waitress brought over the check, Richie said, “I got it,” and handed her a credit card, but she shook her head.
“You have to pay at the front, dear, but all the tips are in cash.”
Richie tossed a twenty onto the table and stood. Everyone followed, walking like zombies toward the door. He thought it was probably too soon to go back to the house, but they had sat over breakfast for as long as it was bearable, and wanted only to be in a place where they could be safe from judgmental looks and whispered comments. At least at the house they could all hide in their rooms or go for a walk if they needed to be alone. Although, given the current situation, being on one’s own could be detrimental to one’s health.
Richie stopped by the register and handed his card to the hostess, who’d followed their progress to the door and had come out from behind the counter to take the payment. It was just as Richie replaced his credit card in his wallet that a police cruiser with the siren blaring pulled up before the diner. Everyone froze for a moment, then looked around, but no robbery was in progress, and no one was engaged in an altercation.
“They’re probably just hungry,” Mia said a tad sarcastically.
“That hardly requires a siren,” Angelina replied. There was a tremor in her voice. This didn’t bode well, and they all knew it, since all eyes were now fixed on them.
Noah silently walked through the door. The rest of them followed. Sheriff DeVries was already out of the car, and an officer they hadn’t met was getting out of the driver’s side. Nunes was by herself in a second car that had just pulled up.
“Gentlemen, I’d like a word down at the station,” Sheriff DeVries said.
“Which gentlemen?” Richie asked.
“Mr. Durant and Mr. Paulson, and you as well, Mr. Vaccaro, as Mr. Paulson’s legal counsel.”
“I will not be representing Noah Paulson,” Richie said. “I feel it would be a conflict of interest.”
“You don’t say,” DeVries said, his lip curling with sarcasm.
“What is this about, Sheriff?” Richie asked. He tried to appear unperturbed, but it wasn’t hard to see he was concerned.
“I think we should do this down at the station, don’t you?” DeVries replied.
“What is it that we’re doing, Sheriff?” Remy asked.
“Are you rearresting me?” Noah asked woodenly.
“Not yet, but I do have questions for you.”
“I’ve already answered your questions, and I will not answer any more without an attorney present,” Noah said.
“Fair enough. We’ll be happy to call a public defender for you, Mr. Paulson. Would you care to represent Mr. Durant, Mr. Vaccaro?”
“I think it’s best if I recuse myself from this case entirely,” Richie said.
“Very wise decision,” DeVries said with a nod.
“Look, what is this about?” Remy demanded. He pulled himself up to his full height, his stance defiant. He shot the sheriff a look of righteous indignation, which clearly irritated the man.
“All right, if you insist. Agent Singh requested further DNA testing, and the results have just come back,” DeVries announced. He appeared to be enjoying himself, especially since he had a live audience that wasn’t limited to his suspects. Diners were looking through the windows, their food forgotten as they watched the drama play out before them.
“And?” Richie demanded.
“You really want me to answer that in a parking lot?”
“Why not?” Richie replied. “Everyone may as well hear what you have to say, since what happened concerns us all.”
DeVries nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Some of you more than others, it would seem.” He fixed his gaze on Remy, who appeared to be trying to work out how additional DNA testing might relate to him. “It seems you are the father of Serena’s baby, Mr. Durant. So you can come voluntarily, or I can arrest you. The choice is yours.”
The shock was unanimous, everyone staring at the sheriff as if waiting for the punchline that surely had to come. Noah made a sound that was difficult to classify, but had to be a combination of shock, pain, anger, and unimaginable betrayal. Angelina’s hand flew to her mouth as she turned to look at Noah, and Richie shook his head in disbelief. He’d asked DeVries to share the news, but the fact that he had, and so publicly, was still as inappropriate as it was incendiary.
Remy stood stock-still, his mouth partially open and his gaze reflecting his incomprehension. He was so distracted, he did not notice Noah lunge toward him. Before anyone could react, Noah slammed into Remy, his roar of agony so raw and laced with such visceral pain, it had the power to chill anyone within hearing distance. And then Remy went down, his head hitting the asphalt with a dull thud as Noah threw himself on top and punched him in the face again and again. Remy gasped for breath as blood poured from his nose and mouth. He tried to protect his face, but the gesture only seemed to infuriate Noah all the more. He punched Remy on the side of the head and then, when Remy’s hands jerked away, Noah hit him squarely on the nose. The impact slammed Remy’s head against the ground again. There was the crunch of breaking bone, and bile and blood spilled from his injured mouth. He managed to turn his head sideways to avoid choking on his vomit.
Richie and the nameless cop finally sprang into action and dragged Noah off Remy. The cop attempted to restrain him, but Noah was completely unhinged. He tried to free his arms and spewed obscenities at the policeman, who’d grabbed him from behind, all the while trying to kick Richie. The cop finally managed to cuff Noah and push him up against the sheriff’s car. Richie, who’d taken a punch to the stomach, was bent over, panting as he rested his hands on his thighs.
“Noah Paulson, I’m arresting you on a charge of aggravated assault,” Sheriff DeVries intoned.
He read Noah his rights, then pushed him into the back of the cruiser, while Officer Nunes radioed for an ambulance. Looking horrified, she fell to her knees next to Remy, who was gasping for air. Nunes laid her hands on Remy’s shoulders and urged him to calm down, but Remy didn’t appear to be paying any attention to her.
“The ambulance is on its way,” she told him softly. “Try to breathe through your mouth. In and out. In and out.”
Remy’s chest heaved with the effort, and his legs jerked, but after a time he seemed to grow quieter, then went completely limp. His eyes fluttered shut and his head rolled to the side. His face was a pulpy mess, and his sweatshirt was covered in vomit and blood.
“He’s passed out,” Officer Nunes cried. “Where is the ambulance?”
It was another ten minutes before a siren pierced the air, and then an ambulance with the name of a local hospital on the side pulled into the parking lot. The paramedics jumped out and went to Remy, and checked his vitals before they strapped an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth and lifted him onto a gurney.
“Can I go to the hospital with him?” Mia cried as she lurched toward Sheriff DeVries. “He’ll need someone with him.”
