She sipped her rapidly cooling tea, the sweet scent of chai filtering up her nose, the warm liquid soothing.
There was nothing in the files to suggest that Carolina had used her municipal influence to save her kid’s reputation.
Anyway, Alvarez was definitely getting the cart before the horse. First, the department had to have a confirmation that a homicide had been committed.
She flipped through the computer images, pictures of the rotting body in the creek, pale hair floating around a decomposing face, then an earlier yearbook shot of a blonde girl with wide, ingenuous blue eyes, a turned-up nose, and a timid smile.
What happened to you? Alvarez thought, setting her cup aside to study the image of the girl who appeared so innocent. So far, she didn’t have a profile on the girl, didn’t understand her relationship with her parents, family, or friends. She’d just begun to scratch the surface of Destiny Rose Montclaire’s life.
Why, she wondered, would anyone want this nearly angelic-looking girl dead?
CHAPTER 6
Pescoli opened a bleary eye and saw that it was ten o’clock and sunlight was streaming through the cracks in the blinds to stripe the foot of her bed. Santana wasn’t with her; he’d probably gone to the Long ranch to oversee the daily routine and, it seemed, he’d taken the dogs with him or at least moved them from the room. There were now three canines, a pack in Pescoli’s groggy mind. She envied her husband’s energy; he’d been up as late as she, filling her in on the trip to the hospital before he’d fallen asleep. Fortunately, Bianca’s injuries were minor, and she was only supposed to wear a splint to stabilize her foot for a week or two to make sure she didn’t tweak it again.
She threw back the covers but continued to lie in bed. The bedroom was warm despite the fan moving the air slowly overhead and the summer breeze that wafted into the room from the open sliding door that led to the deck.
She closed her eyes for what she thought was less than five minutes, but as her gaze focused on the bedside clock she realized it was now nearly eleven. Great. Every muscle in her body ached from lack of sleep, and she felt as if she could just grab a few more minutes.... She closed her eyes again.
Get up!
She’d never been a morning person, but today was worse than ever. She was so tired, and a headache from lack of sleep had started to bang at her temples. At that moment, the baby kicked. Hard. “Okay, okay,” she grumbled. “You don’t have to nag me, too.” The kicking continued and she sighed. So it was going to be that kind of day.
Terrific.
With an effort she pushed herself up, waddled to the bathroom, used the toilet, and turned on the shower. She peeled off her nightgown and stepped under the spray as it began to warm, her skin goose-pimpling at the shock. Any remnants of sleep were chased away as the water heated, pulsing jets throbbing over her body, steam rising. That was more like it.
As she lathered, she thought about the night before, the party, the dead girl, Bianca’s weird story about being chased by a hairy monster.
Big Foot, my ass.
Just kids messing with each other.
Except that a girl is dead. Most likely murdered.
As the warm water flowed over her, she brushed her teeth in the shower, a trick she’d learned from Santana, rinsed quickly then turned off the faucet and grabbed a towel from its hook. Her headache had lessened, but now she was ravenously hungry. Eyeing the scales across the room as she towel-dried, she frowned, cast a look in the mirror, and decided to forgo the morning routine of depressing herself by checking her current weight.
In less than ten minutes, she was fully dressed in gawd-awful maternity slacks, a T-shirt, and a light jacket, her hair twisted into a loose, wet ponytail, what little makeup she bothered with, lipstick and a brush of mascara, applied.
“Ready for the day,” she muttered as she pulled on lightweight boots that were getting tight. Just like everything else.
Pushing open the door of the master bedroom, she started down the hallway, then heard Bianca’s voice through the nearly closed door of her room. Pescoli rapped softly, then pushed on the door to find her daughter in a pool of pink blankets, cell phone pressed to her ear as she sat, cross-legged on her bed, a purple splint visible over her ankle.
As in Pescoli and Santana’s bedroom, bright Montana sunlight was piercing through the curtains, illuminating Bianca’s room with its stark white walls, accented by every shade of pink imaginable. The light fixture was a small chandelier, the carpet a silvery gray, curtains, bedding and art bright splotches ranging from bubble-gum pink to almost lavender, nothing Pescoli would have ever chosen.
Santana and Pescoli had built this cabin in the last year and had decided to allow Bianca to decorate her room to her taste, create her own space. They’d thought it would help her adjust to the fact that her mother had remarried, Bianca now had a stepfather, and yes, on top of all that, she, nearly finished with high school, was soon to become an older sister.
So far, the plan had worked—even if all the girly touches were the antithesis of everything Pescoli had ever believed in and, unfortunately, an homage to Michelle, Bianca’s ever-irritating high-maintenance stepmother. Pescoli had grown up a tomboy and athlete and had never had any interest in princesses, castles, fingernail polish, or jewelry. Not so her daughter.
“Yeah . . . I know . . . I’m okay . . . I know! Really scary. Freaked me out . . . umhmm,” Bianca was saying into her cell. She glanced up at her mother, and even from across the room, Pescoli noticed the two tiny stitches that held the skin beneath her chin together. “Yeah, that would be nice. Tell Michelle thanks,” Bianca was saying. “I’m just glad I don’t have to go to school. I look awful. Like something out of The Walking Dead . . . oh, yeah. Seriously freaked me out . . . What? Sure . . . of course. I will . . . Love you, too. Bye, Daddy.” She hit a button, disconnecting the call, then started immediately texting someone.
“Hey,” Pescoli said. The room smelled faintly of fingernail polish. Clothes were strewn over the floor, desk chair, makeup table, and window seat.
“Hey.” Bianca didn’t look up, her fingers flying expertly over the phone’s smooth surface.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Not great.”