Page 80 of Love and Lies

I lowered my gaze. “Carter Fields told me she used it to buy drugs from him,” I said very softly. “He sent one of his dealers to the suite, and Adam sent him away. Carter said it had been Valerie’s idea.”

“And you believe him? Carter, of all people?” Lincoln laughed bitterly. “The guy lies every time he opens his mouth, especially if it’s to save his own neck. He lied back then too, when he was asked about that night. He split an hour after the party started—said his grandma wasn’t well. When in fact he was in a suite at the Mandarin Oriental with five prostitutes, and probably a mountain of coke.”

Suddenly, I was ashamed of myself for giving any credence to what Carter had said. I knew Valerie hadn’t wanted anything to do with any drugs. I should never have allowed that idiot to make me doubt her.

“Yeah, I know he’s a liar. I think I was just afraid that there might be some truth to it.”

“We don’t know what happened,” Lincoln reminded me. “And I know you want to get to the bottom of it, Len. But finding out who she gave the money to isn’t going to bring Valerie back. Neither is proving she didn’t ask for the drugs.” He looked at his watch and swore quietly. “I have to go; my next meeting is in twenty minutes. Do you want to come with? We can drop you at home.”

“No, I’ll stay a little while.”

“You sure it’s okay to leave you?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m fine.” I smiled.

“Okay.” He gave me another hug. “Take care of yourself, Len. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you. And thanks again, Linc.”

My brother said goodbye and headed toward the exit. After he’d gone, I placed the music box on my lap and opened it, watching the ballerina, listening to the melody. I was desperate not to let Valerie down. I wouldn’t give up, no matter what I found out. Not as long as there was still a chance to clear her name. I would carry on.

Until the end.

36 Helena

On the morning of May 28 I woke up feeling agitated, unhappy, and anxious. And as though it knew exactly what day it was, my body took me on a hideous journey back in time, to the morning three years ago when I was awoken and told that my sister was dead.

I remembered it clearly. I’d caught a nasty cold a few days before and had been in bed with a fever and headache ever since. My parents obviously hadn’t let me go to Adam and Valerie’s engagement party, and after some screaming and crying, there’d been nothing for me to do but bury myself under the blankets and give in to my frustration with a tub of Ben & Jerry’s and a whole season of Gossip Girl. I’d fallen asleep pretty early, but even so it was the next morning before I was torn from fitful dreams by a knock on my door.

“Len?” My brother had come to my bedside and touched my arm. “Len, you have to get up and come downstairs. Something happened.”

It was like it was yesterday. His tone had sent a cold chill down my spine that had nothing to do with my flu; I’d pulled on my robe and sweatpants and followed him downstairs. My mother sat on the sofa in the living room, crying silently, while my father had just hung up the phone with an expression of utter agony on his face that I’d never seen before. I’d stayed in the hall, as though I could somehow keep the terrible truth from reaching me there. But then my mother got up and came over to me, pulling me into her arms so tightly I couldn’t breathe.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

“Valerie,” my mother forced out, letting me go. “She’s been found in a hotel room at the Vanity.”

“Found? What’s wrong with her? Is she in the hospital?” I was clinging to the hope that the worst I could imagine wasn’t true.

It was my father who destroyed it.

“She’s dead.” The words were hardly out of his mouth before they took the ground from beneath my feet.

Some people say bad news doesn’t really sink in at first, but that wasn’t the case for me. I understood immediately that my sister was dead. It was the worst thing I’ve ever felt in my life, the certainty with which I knew that I would never see her again.

I don’t know exactly what happened next. I vaguely remembered Lincoln appearing at my side, the thick carpet under my knees after my legs had given way. Feeling like I couldn’t breathe and was about to die. Just like Valerie. They took me to my room, and my brother stayed with me while people came and went downstairs. He brought me something to eat, but I couldn’t keep it down; he put his arms around me, but I pushed him away. It was only much later that I’d been able to find the strength to get dressed, go downstairs, and ask what had happened.

Then they’d told me that Adam had died too.

How had Jess found out?

The thought brought me back to the present. Thinking about Jess was nothing new—it happened all the time—but it was particularly painful today. The deaths of our siblings wasn’t the only thing we had in common, but it was the basis of our connection. A connection that couldn’t be. Not even today.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself out of my stupor, then pulled my duvet to one side and got up to go to the bathroom. Mechanically, I cleaned my teeth and brushed my hair, not really paying attention, as if on autopilot. That wasn’t just a today thing. Ever since the date with Edward, and the last time I’d seen Jess, I felt like I was being operated by remote control. I went to college, attended events with my parents, talked to Malia about the list of friends Valerie might have given money to. But I was emotionally checked out, and not even the investigation offered any relief.

As I got dressed, I wondered how today was going to go down. In England, I’d always spent Valerie’s anniversary the way she would have wanted—I’d eat her favorite food, go shopping for the most absurd item I could find, and then later I’d watch A Knight’s Tale, her favorite movie. I’d done it all as if she were still alive, and it had been unbelievably hard, but at the same time the pain had also helped. I didn’t know how my family had marked this day over the last three years. I’d never asked them, because I was afraid of the answer.

I heard the clatter of plates and cutlery even before I got to the bottom of the stairs. Turning the corner, I saw my mother at the dining table, along with Lincoln. For a second my heart leaped—maybe we were going to have brunch in memory of Valerie?—but then I noticed that they weren’t alone. Paige and her awful mother sat on the other side of the table, and between the crockery lay pattern books and catalogs full of wedding dresses and flower bouquets.