security code, but as soon as she touched the keypad it came back to her: 0924.
The gate opened without a sound. On the other side, the smooth green expanse of lawn was empty.
She walked across the lawn to the back steps, and up to the veranda, where the white wicker chairs were still arranged as she’d seen them last. A pale pashmina had been abandoned on one, and the wind lifted it, making it flutter like a wounded bird.
Despite the chill, the back door had been left ajar, and Harper stepped tentatively into the grand hallway.
“Hello?” Her voice echoed off the walls as if the house were abandoned. For a moment, she thought nobody would answer. That they’d all gone. Then a voice came from down the hallway.
“We’re in here.” It was Hunter.
She followed the sound to the living room. With each step, she breathed in the scent that pervaded the place and that, for her, most defined it: the smoky, exotic mixture of patchouli, sandalwood, and tobacco. It was so distinctive she’d have known where she was blindfolded.
When she stepped into the living room, they were all there. Hunter in the same chair he’d sat in the first time she came here. Long, skinny legs sprawled in front of him. On the sofa, Cara, the ice queen, who kept her angry eyes on Hunter. Allegra sat across from her, her face red and blotchy, as if she’d been weeping.
The air sizzled with the tension of an unfinished argument. It felt like walking into the aftermath of a fire.
Harper noticed no charcoal smudges of fingerprint dust on the doors or windows. No missing boards or pieces of furniture. That was puzzling. Surely the forensics team had torn this place apart? And yet it all looked perfect.
“How have you been holding up?” she asked, to break the silence.
“We’re getting through it.” Hunter’s voice was as tight as a wire. Nobody else spoke.
“I understand the police were here for hours last night,” she tried again. “That couldn’t have been easy.”
“It was fucking terrible.” Cara fixed Harper with a blue stare of absolute fury. “It was like having our skin ripped off and salt rubbed into the raw wounds by a bunch of knuckle-dragging hicks.” She thrust a finger at the spiral binding of the notebook peeking out of Harper’s jacket pocket. “Write that down,” she ordered. “Go on. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? To watch us and then go write it all up for your stupid little paper.”
“Cara,” Allegra said, sharply. “Stop it. She’s trying to help us.”
Cara’s brittle laugh shattered in the air. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. She doesn’t want to help us. She wants to use us. Write about us. Make money off us.”
“Did I write something that upset you?” Harper asked.
Cara gave her a withering look. “God, I’m so sick of fake Southern politeness. Everyone’s so nice and then they rifle through your underwear drawer with their sweaty fingers, looking for anything they can use…” Her voice broke, and she turned away.
Hunter picked up the pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, and threw the pack down savagely on the table.
“Why don’t you go back to LA if you hate it here so much.”
She stared at him, blue eyes shocked.
“Look,” Harper interrupted, trying to calm things down. “I know exactly what the cops would have done here yesterday. But they had to do it.” Cara flashed her an angry look but she continued, steadily. “I’m so sorry you had to go through it. I know it’s awful.”
“They went through all of our rooms,” Allegra told her. “Every single drawer. They turned over every mattress. Stuart kept threatening to sue them.” She drew a breath. “They handcuffed him.”
Mindful that the manager would not like this conversation, Harper asked casually, “Where’s Stuart now?”
“He went to meet with the record company’s lawyers in Atlanta,” Hunter said. “Personally, I think he just wanted to get out of here.” He drew on the cigarette, his final words coming out in a cloud of smoke. “I wish I could.”
“They wouldn’t tell us anything,” Allegra said. “They treated us like criminals. We don’t know what’s happening. Or why they did that. We hoped you could help. Do you know what they were looking for?”
“A gun or blood,” Harper said, bluntly. “If Xavier was killed here and dragged down to the beach there would be blood evidence left behind. Short of that, bloody clothes. Or the murder weapon.”
“That’s sickening,” Cara said. “How could they suspect us?