The Masterpiecers (Masterful #1) (29 page)

“Good evening, everyone. I will be acting as Miss Ivy Redd’s council this evening,” the lawyer says, taking out a massive number of files. She thumbs through them until she finds a particular sheet of paper. “I believe this meeting will only take a minute. Here.” She gives the paper to the female detective who glances down at it. I can’t see what it says, but it looks like a photocopy of a ripped note.

“This only proves that Miss Redd didn’t tamper with Mister Martin’s pictures,” Clancy says, wetting her ultra-pale lower lip. I’d forgotten how her mouth blended right into her face. “It doesn’t prove she didn’t kill him.”

“Nor that she wasn’t under the influence,” McEnvoy adds.

“Oh, come on!” Dominic throws his arms in the air. “What is your obsession with our contestant?”

The lawyer holds out her hand to calm him down. “I’ve spoken to the bartenders catering the event and to each waiter working last night. They’ve all testified to never having come in contact with Miss Redd. Underage drinking might be punishable by law, but I do believe it’s below your pay grade to worry about Miss Redd’s alcoholic intake.”

“Maybe someone gave it to her,” McEnvoy says. “The gift of alcohol is illegal.”

“Could we return to the matter at hand? Miss Redd’s alleged involvement in Mister Martin’s death.”

McEnvoy’s mouth opens, but Clancy speaks before he can. “Ivy, a source tells us you got in a fight with Mister Martin shortly before his death. Is that true?”

“You don’t need to answer that,” the lawyer tells me. She glances at the door, then at her watch.

“I have nothing to hide,” I say. “Yes. We had a fight.”

“What about?” McEnvoy asks, bobbing in the chair.

I don’t tell them I made fun of his sensitivity; I don’t think it would look too good for me. “He stole something from my room.”

Dominic blinks. “Are you sure?”

I nod.

“What was it?” he asks.

“A piece of jewelry.” I don’t clarify it was a diamond, because if it surfaces, and it really is
dirty
, I can always say that I was talking about a ring or a necklace.

“Why didn’t you come to me with that? Or to Brook?”

Brook’s eye twitches.

“Can you pull the camera footage?” Dominic asks him.

“There’s no camera in the hallway.”

“The angle of the one in the living room should be wide enough to see if anyone went into her room.” Dominic’s forehead glistens with a thin layer of sweat. “This is just absurd! I swear, the show’s cursed this year.”

“Can we get back—” Leah begins, but Dominic interrupts her.

“When did you notice the theft, Ivy?”

“The night Kevin arrived,” I lie.

“And you’re sure it couldn’t have happened before he got there.”

“I’m sure. It was still in my bag when I left for the pool party.”

Dominic slaps his thigh. “Absurd, I tell you. Brook, pull the footage of that day.”

Brook’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down in his throat. “I’ll phone Jeb.”

“What were you doing in the ocean last night?” Leah asks me, her voice sharp.

“In case you didn’t notice, there were a lot of people in the water,” I say.

“Yes, but what were
you
doing?” McEnvoy asks.

I’m about to tell him I was swimming when a knock echoes on the door.

“Come in,” Dominic says.

The door opens, and Chase comes in.

Detective Clancy frowns. “Why is this boy here?”

“Mister Jackson is here because he’s Miss Redd’s alibi,” Dominic says. “And since you don’t seem to believe a word that comes out of my contestant’s mouth, I asked him to testify. Chase?”

He heaves a deep breath. “Ivy was in the water last night because I asked her to come in with me.”

“And why should we believe you?” McEnvoy asks.

“Because I brought proof.” Chase fishes a picture from the back pocket of his khakis. “Here.” He gives it to the female detective first.

She studies it.

“Will that do, Detective? Can I be dismissed?” he asks.

She lifts her gaze back up to his face. Her eyes are as round as billiard balls.

McEnvoy rips the picture out of her hand and ogles it. Then he repeatedly flicks his index finger against it. “How do we know this hasn’t been doctored?”

The vein in Chase’s forehead throbs.

“Shut up, Austin,” Detective Clancy mumbles, eyes flashing over the room. “Thank you for your time, Council, Mister Bacci, Mister Jackson. Miss Redd, I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

“Why would we?” I ask.

“Just a hunch,” she says.

Goose bumps scatter over my skin, because I can tell it isn’t “just a hunch.”

“Let me walk you out,” Dominic suggests, ushering the lawyer and the two detectives out of the bedroom.

Chase leaves right after them. Before Brook can follow them out, I call him back. He seems reluctant to stay behind.

“I have a paper to give to Dean. It’s for Aster’s trial.” I fish the signed form from my pocket and hand it over.

“Okay,” he says, stuffing it in his pocket. “So you and my brother, huh?”

“There is no
me and your brother
.”

“But the picture—”

“Pictures lie.” I think of Kevin and the picture that got him disqualified.

“Kevin’s personal effects are being packed up as we speak. I’ll have the cleaners check for jewelry. What was it exactly that was stolen?”

“A necklace,” I finally say.

“Can you describe it for me?”

“It was a diamond pendent. I kept it in a porcelain box.”

“Why weren’t you wearing it?”

“Because the show lends the jewelry. I thought my stylist would make me take it off.”

“You should’ve left it at home then.”

“I don’t have a safe at home.”

Brook stares at me, but then his eye twitches again, and he lowers his gaze.

“Sorry to interrupt, Mister Jackson, but we need to get Ivy ready for dinner,” Leila says.

“Already?” Sure enough, the light has softened outside.

Brook gives a jerky nod.

After he leaves, Leila shuts the door and points to the chair McEnvoy occupied just minutes ago. “Sit.”

Even though she makes up my face, her kohl-lined gaze never once grazes mine. Perhaps I owe her an apology—or rather I owed her an apology. Now, it’s too late. Amy feels like she needs to fill the silence with chatter. She talks about everything, from the latest clothing trends to the newest weight loss cleanse. She switches from one topic to the next so swiftly that her skin purples from lack of oxygen. Strangely, I find her babbling soothing.

Leila puts the final coat of gloss on my lips and repacks her stuff. Once she’s left the room, Amy unhooks the rollers from my hair and brushes them out to soften the rich curls. The effect is beautiful. I pull off my T-shirt and shorts, and yank on the electric blue frock laid out on the bed. The top is loose and gauzy, unlike the bottom, which is made of tight, overlapping bands of fabric.

“If I could keep one outfit, it would be this one,” I tell Amy as she folds the garment bag.

“I’m sure Mister Bacci would allow it. You should ask him,” she says. “It looks really pretty on you. Then again, is there anything that doesn’t?”

“That zombie get-up,” I say. It feels like it was a lifetime ago that I wore it.

“Even
that
you pulled off.”

“You’re way too kind, Amy. And very talented,” I tell her. “You’ll have to leave me your card.”

Her cheeks turn as pink as her hair. “Of course! Here.”

She fishes a business card from her box of pins and elastics. It’s totally tacky: gold with swirly pink lettering. “Can you leave it in my room?”

She nods so many times that it looks as though she’s pecking the air.

As I walk out of the bedroom, I feel lightheaded—perhaps because my stomach is near empty, or perhaps because of how resilient I’ve grown since arriving in New York. The Masterpiecers has transformed me. I think of Aster and wonder if prison has changed her too. I hope it’s hardened her, made her more able to cope with life in society, to deal with her insecurities without having to fabricate stories about aborted pregnancies. And then, I think about the dead man and the tear in my quilt, and my sympathy for her dries up.

When I step out onto the terrace, the sky is streaked peach and pink and gold, like a Monet painting.

“Ivy, you’re here, next to me,” Dominic says, pulling out my chair.

To my right, I have Brook and in front of me, Chase. Lincoln and Josephine are on either side of him. I glance at Lincoln, pleased that I foiled her plan. Her face is blank, like a child who’s been reprimanded.

Dominic starts dinner off with a toast. He closes his eyes and lifts his glass. “To Kevin, who we hope has finally found peace.”

“Amen,” Josephine and Brook say.

“
And
, to the most eventful, and surely the most memorable, competition.” He says this with a soft smile. “And to the last two tests! We’re raising the stakes.”

“Sh…Dom,” Josephine says, setting her glass of white wine down. “Don’t give it away.”

“And to Chase’s birthday…a happy one this time,” Dominic adds as servers bring out little glass bowls of chilled tomato soup topped with teeny, golden croutons.

“I’d also like to propose a toast.
Plus de drame
. No more drama. Okay, Brook?” Josephine asks, giving him an oblique smile that doesn’t create a single crease on her face. Even her forehead stays perfectly smooth.

Brook’s smile washes off his lips, and as dinner progresses, he becomes more and more restless, jostling his knees, toying with his fork, drinking more than he should. I count five refills. When Josephine excuses herself, telling us she needs an early night, Dominic pulls Brook aside. They talk quietly and then Dominic leaves and Brook returns. He sits down even though the table has been cleared and the camera crew is packing up.

“Dom has agreed to let all of you hang out a while longer. To decompress,” Brook says.

Chase eyes his brother. “Is that what
you’re
doing?”

“If you were under the stress I was under, little brother, you’d—”

“I just think you should quit while you’re ahead.”

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Brook answers dryly.

Chase presses away from the table and walks over to the opposite side of the terrace to lie on one of the lounge chairs.

“Well, this isn’t awkward,” Lincoln says. “I’m going to go powder my nose.” She rises and heads inside Brook’s bachelor pad.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” I tell Brook once it’s just the two of us.

He twirls his glass of wine between his long fingers. “Josephine doesn’t like me.”

“I don’t think she likes anyone.”

“Yeah, but she really has it in for me.”

“Why?”

He glances at his brother who’s staring up at the starless night sky. “Because she’s afraid Dominic’s going to promote me.”

“So what if he does?”

“I’d be taking her place.”

“Ah. I can see how that would be a problem.”

“Remember that day at the airport, when you arrived at the same time I did?”

“Hard to forget when someone treats you like dirt,” I say.

He doesn’t react to my comment. “Josephine orchestrated that.”

“If you have proof, there’s not much she can do with it.”

He leans in closer. “Exactly.”

Plumes of stale alcohol hit my nose. Before leaning back, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“You shouldn’t do that,” I say.

“Do what?”

“Touch me. I’m a contestant.”

He drops his hand back to his lap. “Right.”

In the corner of my eye, I spot Lincoln. She smiles her dark, bright smile.

“Crap. Now she’s going to tell the press that you and I are hooking up,” I whisper in his ear.

His dimples appear as a grin spreads across his face. “Watch me take care of that.” He stands, walks over to her, and tells her something. At first, she looks startled, but then she nods. “Anyone else up for a midnight dip?” Brook asks loudly, so that his words reach his brother, the only other person on the terrace.

“I think I’m over midnight dips,” I say, thinking of Kevin.

Brook winks at me before tugging Lincoln into the apartment to change into swimsuits.

I stroll over toward Chase, shake off my shoes, and lay down on the lounge chair next to his. His cologne is faint tonight, yet I can still smell the pine needles and the grass in the dark air. “At some point, you’re going to have to talk to me,” I say.

“Why?”

“Because we’re on the same show. Anyway, I just came over to say thank you,” I tell him.

“For what?”

“For stepping up for me earlier with the detectives.”

The ligaments in his neck stretch and tauten. “I didn’t have a choice. Dominic was going to show them the picture.” His words sting. I’m about to leave, when he adds, “I’ve been meaning to ask how you knew Dean Kane.”

“Your brother introduced us last night on the beach.”

“Why?”

“For my sister. Brook offered to have him defend her.”

“You should pass up on his offer.”

“Why?”

“He’s famous for getting some of the worst people off death row.”

“That’ll work in my sister’s favor.”

“I wouldn’t trust him, Ivy.”

“You don’t trust anyone.”

He turns to look at me. His eyes are dark, yet I can detect emotion in them, grief, disappointment, anguish. I feel the urge to stroke his cheek and comfort him, and begin lifting my hand when he turns away.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some hurt little kid.”

I let my arm drop back to my side just as Lincoln and Brook cannonball inside the pool.

“Are you going to join them?” he asks. “Or are you going to pretend you don’t know how to swim?”

Tears laminate my eyes and blur his pale profile. “You’re a dick,” I murmur, turning my face upward, toward the blackness, to guide the stupid, wasted emotion back into my eyes. I’m about to ask Brook if I can return to the museum when I see him locking lips with Lincoln. As I walk by, he catches me staring and winks.

Inside the dark and deserted apartment, I find the house phone on the marble kitchen counter. I swipe it from its base and carry it into the bathroom. I lock the door and dial a number I know by heart.