Dark Shadows (Gia Santella Crime Thrillers Book 11) Read online

  Even through my closed window I could hear the others out at the pool until late, talking. Even knowing one of them might be a killer, the murmur of their voices was strangely soothing. I’d obviously been alone too long.

  Finally, my mind settled from all the possible scenarios and thoughts of murder, and I fell asleep.

  When I woke, the house was silent, and the sun was just starting to flood my bedroom. The first thing I did was throw open the French Doors and go stand out at the balcony rail, looking down on the pool.

  There were no bodies floating in it this morning.

  The others had cleaned up any remnants of their occupancy from the night before. Towels were neatly folded on a lawn chair. No empty cups or bottles. No trash. Even the ashtrays were emptied.

  For some reason, I felt uneasy.

  The police would be here soon to arrest Amanda.

  But was she guilty?

  I took a quick shower, pulled on some baggy sweatpants and a tiny camisole top, and headed downstairs to make some coffee. Not for the first time, I regretted not staying in a hotel where I could order room service.

  I walked past the other bedrooms on my way to the stairs. All the doors were shut.

  Downstairs, I jumped and nearly screamed when I passed by Owen sprawled in a big leather armchair in the living room. I froze until I heard him snore loudly.

  A bottle of some brown alcohol lay on the Persian rug at his feet. His head was thrown back and his mouth was wide open. Even so, he was sort of sweet-looking in sleep. But he might have killed Lucas. Had Amanda suspected it and kicked him out of her bed last night, sending him to drink himself into a stupor down here?

  In the kitchen, I grabbed a large chef’s knife and put it on the counter between me and the entrance to the living room, just in case. I wasn’t afraid of him. But I also didn’t really trust anyone in the house at this point. Might as well anticipate any possible scenario. It was what a warrior would do. It had been much too long since I had to think like that.

  Even the last attack on my family had been handled by Rose.

  A lunatic had gone after Nico, and Rose had taken her down.

  Thinking of Rose made my heart suddenly clench. I missed that girl more than I could say. It seemed like every minute, she was drawing further and further away from me. The more intent she became on finding and killing her enemy, the less she wanted to do with me.

  On some level I understood. It hurt her too much to have a close relationship with me. I’d been there. I got it on a deep level. But that didn’t mean I had to like it.

  Once Nico no longer recognized her, she’d fled.

  I was lucky if she responded to my calls and texts once every two months.

  As I thought all of this, I ground the beans for the coffee while the hot water heated in a kettle on the stove. I glanced into the living room to see if all the commotion had woken Owen. But his head was still thrown back, and his eyes were closed.

  Soon, the water was ready, and I poured it into the French press. I pushed down slowly at first but then impatiently plunged it all the way and poured my first cup, which was about half the pot. I missed my Moka pot, but this still made a damn good cup of coffee.

  Taking my coffee cup and the French press pot, I slipped out the back door and settled into a chair near the pool, watching as the sun poured over the edge of the tall wall and lit up the white marble patio and backyard.

  I knew I should enjoy the peace before all hell broke loose. I wondered when the detective was going to arrive with his dark news and arrest warrant.

  I finished my first cup, dusted off the second, and then headed back into the kitchen. I dumped the cup and pot and walked past Owen again. Out cold. Still.

  Upstairs, I was suddenly compelled to talk to Amanda. I didn’t know why. I just honestly didn’t think she was a killer. I wanted to hear what she had to say before the detective arrived. Maybe, just maybe, if she convinced me she was innocent, I could intervene before her arrest.

  I knocked softly on her door. As I did, it slowly swung open a few inches.

  “Amanda?” I said in a low voice.

  There was no answer.

  “Amanda?” I said again. Then I pushed my head inside. I saw a leg. Where it shouldn’t be: on the floor. I stepped all the way inside. It only took a quick glance to see the plume of blood that flared out on the carpet around Amanda’s midsection. She was face down, her head turned away from me. She wore tiny athletic shorts and a T-shirt that was pushed part way up her back. As I drew closer, I saw her face. It was a ghastly color. Even so, I raced over and knelt down to check for a pulse I knew wouldn’t be there.

  13

  Standing in the doorway of Amanda’s room, I dialed Commissaire Boucher.

  He answered on the first ring.

  “Bad news.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath and then he asked, “Who?”

  “Amanda.” I said the name in a whisper because I’d heard some noise downstairs.

  “I’m on my way.”

  I hung up and turned to see Owen standing there behind me.

  “Jesus,” I said, startled.

  He was holding a butcher knife down by his side.

  His eyes grew wide when he saw me take in the knife.

  He started to say something, but I’d already wound up and kicked his wrist. The knife clattered to the floor, but I wasn’t done. I yanked his arm and twisted it, bringing him to his knees, and then jutted my knee up into his solar plexus.

  Then he was on the ground, and I was on his back while he moaned.

  “You got it wrong,” he gasped out.

  “Oh, yeah? Why did you come at me with a knife?”

  “I heard something upstairs and grabbed the knife in case it was an intruder.”

  “Really?” I said sarcastically.

  “Swear to God.”

  I lifted my knee off his back.

  Then I leaped off of him and stood a few feet away, kicking the knife further down the hall behind me before I whirled to face him again. I watched as he pulled himself to his feet. I stood with my legs wide, staring at him and leaning forward in case I had to attack again.

  “Amanda is dead,” I said, without preamble.

  His mouth dropped open in shock.

  He hadn’t known.

  “What? How?” He turned toward the bedroom door.

  “Stay here,” I said. “The detective is on his way to process the scene.”

  “I need to see her,” he said in a choked voice. I shook my head.

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “You can’t stop me,” he shouted in a strangled voice and charged me.

  At first, I got ready to do a throat stab, but I didn’t want to really hurt him, so I went with a temple punch. He slumped to the ground.

  I looked up to see that the noise had brought everyone out in the hall.

  I stood there over Owen’s body panting, my hair flopping in my eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Amanda’s dead. The detective is on his way. I need someone to let them in while I make sure nobody else goes into Amanda’s room.”

  Sabine’s face grew sheet white, then she burst into tears.

  “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t. I just can’t. I want to go home,” she said.

  Hannah just stared at me for a long moment and then abruptly turned around, marched into her room, and slammed the door. I heard the deadbolt slide shut.

  Conner was at my side. “Are you okay?” he looked down at Owen, who was moaning and starting to stir.

  “I had to stop him from going in there,” I said, jutting my chin toward the room where Amanda’s body was. “He wouldn’t listen. He should be okay in a few minutes.”

  I felt guilty for knocking him out, but not that guilty.

  Kneeling down, Conner helped Owen sit up. “You okay, buddy?”

  “Will you take him to your room and maybe lock the door?” I asked.

  He looked at me and
frowned at first but then nodded. “Sure.”

  Owen finally noticed me and glared. “You’re a crazy bitch.”

  “You have no idea,” I said. Conner led Owen to his room, and I waited until the door closed.

  Then I looked over at Sabine and Clint. “Why don’t the two of you go to your rooms, as well. I think everyone should just stay locked in their rooms until the detective arrives.”

  Sabine looked at me, tears streaming down her face. “Someone is killing us one-by-one.”

  I didn’t respond.

  She wasn’t wrong.

  Once I was alone, I glanced at Amanda’s door.

  I wasn’t sure how to lock it from the outside, but I would figure out a way to make it hard for someone to sneak in undetected. There was a large bureau at the end of the hall that held candles and extra bedding. I pushed it over in front of her door. It made a loud screeching noise and was probably scratching the beautiful wooden floor. At this point, I didn’t give a shit. I figured getting any deposit back was ludicrous. I was surprised the owners hadn’t heard about the murders already and come to kick us all out.

  Once the bureau was in place, I felt comfortable going back downstairs. Anyone would be able scoot it aside, but it would be an obnoxiously loud process that I would hear.

  I went to the front door, disarmed the alarm, and propped the door wide open. Then I went into the kitchen and started the kettle. I was going to need some coffee to get through this morning.

  As soon as the water was boiling, I made another French press pot of coffee. I poured a cup and headed back toward the stairs. I sat at the top of the stairs on the landing with my back to the wall that once held the bureau and waited for the detective and his crew to arrive.

  I was about half way through my cup when I thought to call Ryder.

  “I’m on my way.”

  “One of these days you’re going to have to tell me your hook-up with the police department here.”

  He sighed.

  “Is it bad?”

  No answer.

  “Are you really a cop? Private eye? Career criminal working as an informant? Spill it, sailor.”

  “Boucher is my brother-in-law.”

  “You have a sister?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  He was married. For some ridiculous fucking reason, I found this disappointing.

  “You’re married?”

  I found I was holding my breath waiting for him to answer.

  When he answered, it was in a very quiet voice. “No.”

  “So he’s your ex brother-in-law?”

  “I guess.”

  “Huh.”

  “I was married to his sister.”

  His responses were very confusing. I didn’t get it.

  “But you’re not married to her anymore?”

  The silence seemed to stretch on, and I suddenly got an inkling of what he was about to say. Horror shot through me. But it was too late.

  “She is dead.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Then he hung up.

  I stared at my phone. Fuck. Way to be an insensitive prick, Santella. I pushed him and pushed him until he said it. And all for what?

  That last question was one I wasn’t ready to answer. Not right then. I wasn’t about to admit to myself why I was so eager to find out if he was married or not.

  Twenty minutes later, I heard someone downstairs.

  “Hello?”

  It was the detective.

  He was followed by three officers. He made his way up the stairs, and I stood, stretching.

  “I had a tough time keeping her boyfriend, Owen, away,” I said. “We sort of got into a fight, and I knocked him out. I told them all to stay in their rooms until you got here. I had him go in someone else’s room in the meantime.”

  “I’m assuming this is her room?”

  The detective stood in front of the bureau. He nodded, and the men with him lifted the dresser and moved it to one side.

  He pulled on gloves and reached for the door handle. I swallowed, knowing what he was about to find inside. He entered, two of the men followed him and then the door shut, leaving me and one of his officers in the hall staring awkwardly at one another.

  “Do you want a cup of coffee?” I asked.

  The officer shook his head. Didn’t even crack a smile.

  “Okay. I’ll be in my room if the commissaire needs me,” I said.

  I was relieved to be off guard duty and quickly went down the hall to my own room.

  Once inside, I slid the deadbolt and flopped into bed.

  I squeezed my eyes shut tightly. I had a pretty good idea who the murderer was.

  But I didn’t think the detective thought the same thing.

  I went into the bathroom to shower and dress in something more presentable than short shorts and a tank top.

  Digging into my suitcase, I found a cute orange sundress and threw that on before I made my way back downstairs. The door to Amanda’s room was still closed, and the officer still stood guard in front of it, so I was surprised to see the detective in the kitchen talking to Ryder.

  For some reason I was embarrassed to see them together. Probably because now, thanks to my prying, I knew what their relationship stemmed from.

  They drew apart when I entered the kitchen.

  “We have made an arrest,” Boucher said.

  Owen was in custody for killing Lucas and Amanda.

  The hand pouring my coffee froze in mid-air.

  “Really?” I said without turning to face them.

  “It was a sordid love triangle.”

  The detective said that Lucas had drowned after being hit in the head by Owen and that Amanda had been shot to death. With my gun, it appeared. The gun had been found in Owen and Amanda’s room during the initial search.

  “It seems certain it was the murder weapon,” Boucher said. “There were no fingerprints on the gun.”

  He was watching my face very carefully.

  “Really?” I said. “Not even mine? That’s odd.” And should make me a suspect.

  “You seem surprised.”

  I turned before he could read the expression on my face.

  “You have a lot of evidence indicating it’s Owen?”

  “Enough.”

  That was a strange answer. I turned back around. Boucher was looking at Ryder. But when I turned my attention toward him, he looked away and wouldn’t meet my eyes. What the hell?

  There was some commotion by the door, and both men exchanged a look. “The coroner is here to retrieve the body.”

  “What about contacting the ambassador? Lucas was just sitting here for hours.” It was crude, but true.

  The detective sighed loudly. “It is sad, but now that we just went through the process, we know how to do it more quickly. I will tell the others to remain in their rooms. We have already taken Owen into custody. As soon as we leave, you may tell them to come out.”

  “Me?”

  He frowned.

  “Okay, fine,” I said.

  I wondered where Conner was. I also wondered how they had arrested Owen so quietly without me hearing him protest. I couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t have screamed and shouted and fought them tooth-and-nail.

  But instead, I watched them walk to the door and greet the coroner and his staff.

  I wasn’t interested in seeing them carry Amanda’s body down the stairs. It was just too damn sad. I took my coffee cup and went to sit out at the pool. As I settled into a lawn chair, I looked up at the balconies facing the pool. There was mine. Next was Conner’s room. Then Hannah’s and then Amanda’s and on the far end, Sabine and Clint’s. As my eyes flickered over Hannah’s balcony, the curtain fluttered. I didn’t know if it was a breeze or if she was watching me. A few seconds later, Conner was out on his balcony. He leaned over the edge, his elbows on the railing, and lit a joint before he glanced over and saw me.

  I lifted a hand to greet him, and he gav
e me a slight nod.

  We stared at each other for a few seconds before I turned away and leaned back in the lounge chair. I closed my eyes, letting the morning sun beat on my face.

  Some vacation.

  Now all I wanted to do was escape from this luxurious villa and these people.

  But I knew it wasn’t over yet.

  14

  Conner was escorting Hannah to the film festival.

  I didn’t ask, but I overheard them discussing it.

  We’d been basically stuck in the house for three days while they continued to investigate both murders.

  Hannah was sobbing and Conner was speaking to her in a low soothing voice.

  “Hannah, you need to go. I need to go. We need get out of this house or I’m going to go crazy. You have to go. Amanda would have wanted you to go.”

  “I was so awful to her,” Hannah said. “I’ll never forgive myself.”

  I paused and despite myself kept listening.

  “Listen, we all know Amanda was difficult. She was terrible and beautiful and fucking irresistible.”

  There was a loud sniff.

  “And you were a wonderful friend to her, but she could’ve been a better friend to you, right?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And Lucas, he was a good guy, but he could’ve been a better boyfriend to you.”

  Another sniff.

  “I miss them both, too. I’m sad as fuck, too. But I think you should go. I’ve thought about it a lot. I don’t think it’s disrespectful to them or their memories.”

  “You don’t?”

  Conner was quiet for a few seconds.

  “No,” he finally said. “I think we should go. Go put on that red dress you bought and I’ll meet you by the door in an hour. I’ll talk to Gia about taking the Rolls. It will be good for us to get out of the house. I promise.”

  I couldn’t hear Hannah’s response, but heard footsteps.

  A few seconds later, Conner was bounding down the stairs. He jumped, startled when he saw me at the bottom.

  “Hey, I’m taking Hannah to the festival. I think it’ll be good for her. We’re going early. She has tickets to some pre-showing party with Coppola.”