“First of all, I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were guilty. Still, it does seem a little strange that not only is your dress the state’s most valuable piece of evidence, but now you know the code to her gate?”
Layla remained rooted in place, beginning to regret her decision to come without taking the time to properly think it through. It wasn’t like her to act so impulsively. And yet, somehow she knew Aster wasn’t the killer. Though that didn’t mean she couldn’t do with a little more proof.
“Seems like a topic we could’ve discussed earlier.” Aster tapped her foot impatiently against the shiny white floor and struggled to contain herself. “But fine, whatever. For the record, I left the dress in the trash in that strange apartment I woke up in, and it certainly wasn’t bloodstained then. Clearly, I was set up and someone purposely planted it in the W laundry. As for the code—” Aster fought back the anger creeping into her voice. “I lifted it from Ryan’s phone. I’m not proud of it, but there it is. I’d been obsessed with Madison for a really long time—long before I hooked up with Ryan, but not in a creepy way or anything like that. Mostly, I admired her. She had everything I wanted to achieve for myself. So one time, when Ryan wasn’t looking, I looked up her contact info and forwarded it to myself, then erased the trail before he could notice. So, yeah, I did that.
And if you think it makes me guilty, then fine, you’re free to leave.” Aster was shaking with a mixture of fury and fear, and Layla could relate. She’d feel exactly the same if she were the one being falsely accused.
“So—” Layla gazed around the luxuriously appointed space. “Where do we start?”
It took Aster a moment to process Layla’s intention to stay. But once she had, she sprang into action. “I think it’s better if we split up. We want to be thorough, but quick. We’ve wasted enough time already, don’t you think?” She shot Layla a pointed look. “I’ll take the upstairs, you check down here. Text if you find anything, and I’ll do the same.”
Without another word, Aster made for the staircase, as Layla headed out to the garage, figuring she’d start there and work her way in.
Compared to the quaint Venice Beach bungalow Layla had grown up in, Madison’s house seemed far too big for just one person and a medium-sized dog to inhabit. Though compared to current Beverly Hills, Bel Air, Holmby Hills, Platinum Triangle standards, with their penchant for thirty-thousand-square-foot giga-mansions, it seemed downright modest. Still, Layla couldn’t help but wonder if Madison ever got lonely or scared living single among so many unoccupied rooms.
She moved into the four-car garage, also considered small by the new subterranean twenty-car standard, and with Madison’s car still missing, the empty space seemed almost eerie.
There was a stack of clear plastic bins piled against a far wall, but a quick check proved they were filled with used, discarded items that were marked for Goodwill. There was a supply of dog food and other assorted dog accessories neatly arranged in the corner, but other than that, the space with its unmarked walls and clean tiled floors made for the most uncluttered, immaculate garage Layla had ever seen.
A moment later, she let herself back inside, planning to poke around the kitchen and den, when she heard Aster scream, and Layla raced for the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Aster screaming could only mean one thing—they weren’t as alone as they’d thought.
When the screaming abruptly stopped, Layla feared the worst but quickened her pace. Landing at the top of the stairs, she rounded a corner and shot down the hall, where she stopped in the entry of an elaborate bedroom she guessed to be Madison’s and grabbed the first thing she saw, a large and surprisingly heavy candlestick. With the makeshift weapon clutched in her fist, she heard the muffled sound of a struggle in progress and sprang into the closet, where she froze in place, gaping in fright at the unimaginable scene unfolding before her.
FIFTEEN
ALL APOLOGIES
Aster had first read about Madison’s massive walk-in closet in an InStyle magazine profile piece, where the normally cool and reserved Madison had exhibited a rare and palpable excitement as she went into great detail describing the inspiration and intricate craftsmanship behind it. At the time, Aster had gazed in envy at the pictures of the luxury dressing room/retreat. With its soft neutral tones, hand-knotted rugs, and rows of lighted shelves displaying a seemingly endless collection of designer handbags and shoes, it was every girl’s dream, and Aster, who was no stranger to luxury, had found herself practically salivating.
Her in-person reaction was no different.
Until Ryan Hawthorne attacked her.
She fought hard against him, bucking, kicking, and biting at the hand he’d clasped firmly over her mouth, despite his pleas begging her to stop.
“Let her go.”
Layla loomed in the entry, brandishing a candlestick she clearly intended to use. Still, they were no match for Ryan. If he wanted, he could easily take them both down.
“Seriously?” Ryan groaned at the sight of her. “This is escalating way out of control, and someone’s gonna get hurt. Put that thing down and let me explain.”
“Let her go,” Layla repeated. She had no intention of folding, much less retreating.
Ryan surveyed the room and considered his options. “Fine,” he relented. “But just—nobody scream, okay? Nobody do anything stupid.” He removed his hand long enough for Aster to start howling again, as Layla raced menacingly toward him. But Ryan reacted by flashing his palms in surrender and sinking onto the couch. “For the last time, ditch the candlestick, and try to convince your friend to power down.” He shot Aster a worried look.
Aster was frantic, fumbling for her phone as she shrieked, “We need to call the police! Ryan killed Madison, and now he’s living in her house!” She kicked Ryan hard in the shin and smirked in satisfaction when he clutched his leg with both hands in a mix of surprise and pain.
“Was that really necessary?” Ryan regarded Aster through bloodshot green eyes.
He looked like hell, but that was nothing compared to what he’d look like when the cops were done with him. She was punching the final digit into the keypad when Layla snatched the phone from her hands.
“Are you kidding me?” Aster glared accusingly. “Whose side are you on?”
“Mine. I’m on my side.” Layla stuffed the phone in her pocket where Aster couldn’t get to it. “I really don’t need a B and E on my record, and neither do you.”
“But he . . .” Aster motioned toward Ryan, who, at the moment anyway, was in no position to harm anyone. Sitting with his head in his hands, he’d clearly run out of steam. And if the scent in the room was any indication, he’d been well on his way to getting high when they’d interrupted him, which explained the bloodshot eyes.