Unraveled (15 page)

But I was most interested in the closet's back wall, since all the shelves there were lined with white velvet, making that area its own freestanding jewelry box. Deirdre had had a
lot
of jewelry. Necklaces, bracelets, rings, earrings, watches, hairpins, tiaras—dozens and dozens of each of those perched prettily on the white velvet shelves, once again organized according to color, from light to dark stones. Black velvet bags and boxes were also lined up on the shelves, so she could transport her baubles from place to place. It looked as though Deirdre had had a different piece of bling for every single day of the year—and then some.

I moved from one side of the wall to the other and back again, carefully examining each shelf and all the jewelry on it in turn, wondering if perhaps Deirdre had stashed Sweet Sally Sue's jewels in here with her own. I also reached out with my Stone magic, listening to all the gems. Whether it was a diamond, sapphire, or ruby, the more expensive a gemstone was, the louder it would sing about its sparkling beauty.

But no loose stones were lying around, and the gems only murmured softly—if they even murmured at all. Some of the pieces were completely quiet, telling me that they were made of glass instead of precious stones. I snorted. Of course Deirdre's jewelry would be as fake as she was. She had made everyone in Ashland think that she was rolling in dough, even though she was completely broke. This was yet another of her many smoke screens.

Still, even with the few genuine pieces of jewelry that I spotted, the gemstones didn't sing all that loudly. Oh, they were nice enough bling, but not in the same league as Sweet Sally Sue's jewels. Not even close. All these shelves full of rings and necklaces, and you'd be lucky to get ten grand if you hocked everything.

So I moved on to the bathroom, which contained a variety of expensive soaps, shampoos, lotions, face creams, makeup, and perfumes, along with a whole rack of champagne bottles. Deirdre must have used those to mix her extravagant bubble baths, just like she had back in Ashland.

Looking through all her stuff in the closet and bathroom was interesting, but it was still just
stuff
. There were no computers, phones, tablets, or flash drives lying around that would tell us anything more about Deirdre Shaw than what we already knew.

“Nothing,” Finn growled, throwing down another empty beaded clutch. “There's
nothing
here. Not one bloody thing about her, the Circle, or anything else.”

He looked around at the mess we'd made pulling Deirdre's clothes, shoes, hats, and purses out of her closet and dumping them in the middle of the bedroom floor. Disgust filled his face, and he whipped around on his heel and stalked back to the living room.

“I'll go after him,” Bria said.

She walked out of the bedroom, leaving Owen and me standing in a sea of sparkling sequined dresses and stiletto shoes. Owen glanced over the piles of clothes to check if we'd left anything untouched, while I went back into the closet, knocking softly on the walls, the floor, and even the ceiling, in case we'd missed a hidden panel.

But there was nothing, just like Finn had said. No loose panels, no hidden cubbyholes, no secret wall safes, nothing but clothes and shoes and fake jewelry. Frustration surged through me, along with sadness and disappointment for Finn. He'd come here hoping for answers, and it didn't look like he was going to get a single one.

And neither was I.

“Roxy and Brody really cleaned this place out, didn't they?” Owen called out.

I went back to the bedroom and kicked a black stiletto out of my way. “What do you mean?”

He threw his hands out wide. “Look at all this stuff. There are thousands and thousands of dollars' worth of designer clothes here. Not to mention those ridiculously expensive shoes and purses and all that overpriced champagne in the bathroom.”

“So?”

“So this looks like it was Deirdre's home base. There's certainly a lot more of her stuff here than there was in that penthouse in Ashland.”

“But . . .”

Owen shook his head. “But there's not a single piece of
paper
anywhere in the suite. I have papers all over my house, even if it's just a receipt from where I bought gas on my way home. But Deirdre? She doesn't even have so much as a room-service slip in here. Roxy and Brody must have taken it all, every last scrap.”

I'd been so focused on Deirdre's clothes and jewelry that I hadn't thought about something as simple as receipts, but Owen was right. Everybody had paper. Some people, like Ira Morris, had far too much, but Deirdre seemed to have none at all.

“Anyway,” he said, “I'm going to go check on Finn and Bria. You coming?”

“In a minute.”

Owen nodded and walked down the hallway, disappearing from sight.

I looked out over the bedroom again with a far more critical eye. It wasn't just paper that was missing. There were no knickknacks, no mementos, no odds and ends of any kind—nothing
personal
. Not so much as a crumpled wrapper in the trash can that would tell me what kind of gum Deirdre had liked to chew.

Oh, I hadn't thought that Deirdre would have a collection of ceramic dolls or a secret love of macramé, but she'd had photos of Fletcher, Finn, and herself. She'd had to have kept those
somewhere
before she came to Ashland. And you would think that there would be more pictures here, even if they were only of herself.

But Owen was right, and Roxy and Brody had taken it all, probably on Tucker's orders, searching for clues about the gems. I had to admire how efficiently and completely they'd sanitized her suite of anything important. Roxy and Brody had stripped this place bare better than a pair of locusts.

Still, the longer I stared at the haphazard heaps of Deirdre's clothes and shoes, the angrier I got. This had been nothing but a gigantic waste of time. Tucker had probably told Roxy and Brody exactly what to leave behind in the suite, just to get our hopes up, just so we would think that we were finally getting somewhere. The vampire kept dangling carrots of information in front of me, and like a stupid fool, I kept trying to get them, even though he snatched them away from me every single time.

Once again, Hugh Tucker was playing a game with me—and I was losing badly.

 13 

Disgusted, I went back out into the main part of the suite where the others were.

Finn was standing by the windows, his arms crossed over his chest, staring out at the view and brooding. Bria and Owen were going through all the drawers and cabinets again, searching for false bottoms and secret panels, just in case we'd missed something. I looked at my sister, who shook her head, telling me that Finn was still upset and to give him some space. Well, he wasn't the only one who was angry, but I decided to channel my frustration into something productive. So I joined Bria and Owen in their renewed search, and the three of us left Finn to his own thoughts.

I ended up at the white Christmas tree in the corner. It was one of those artificial, pre-wired trees, so I plugged it in, just to see if it actually worked. The lights immediately flared to life, going from white to pink to green to blue and back again, and casting out pretty patterns on the glass windows. No ornaments hung on the tree, though. I supposed that Deirdre hadn't had time to decorate it—or order someone at the resort to do it for her—before she'd come to Ashland. So I sat down on the floor and started going through the boxes of ornaments, curious as to what kind of decorations she would have.

Just like with the rest of Deirdre's things, they were designer—elaborate swirls, loops, and towers of silver, gold, crystal, and stained glass, hammered into snowflakes, wreaths, icicles, and gingerbread men. They were all lovely, if totally impersonal. No
Baby's First Christmas
, no handmade snowmen, no tacky mementos from places Deirdre had visited. All the decorations were jumbled together, telling me that Roxy and Brody had already pawed through them the way they had everything else in the suite. Still, going through the ornaments was a pleasant enough pastime, so I kept pulling them out, examining each one, and then setting them aside.

In the very bottom of one of the boxes, I found a crumpled wad of tissue paper, which I pushed aside to reveal a large snow globe. Unlike everything else, the globe had obviously come from the theme park, since it featured a miniature scene of Main Street, complete with a small sign with sparkling stones that spelled out
Bullet Pointe
. I shook it and watched the tiny silver boot- and spur-shaped glitter swirl around inside before slowly settling back down.

Two more snow globes were also nestled in the bottom of the box. One featured a summer scene of Bullet Pointe Lake made out of dark blue pebbles with fish and sailboat glitter, while the other contained a winter scene of the hotel, covered with ceramic snow, shimmering red and green holiday decorations, and wreath- and tree-shaped glitter.

Bria crouched down beside me. She stared at the Main Street snow globe that I was still holding before glancing at the other two that I'd placed on the floor with all the other decorations. They all looked like unwrapped presents perched under the tree.

“I saw some of those globes down at the Silver Spur earlier today. Cute, if a bit tacky,” she said. “They remind me of all those snow globes that Mom had. Remember how you, me, and Annabella put them all on our Christmas tree that last year?”

“Yeah,” I rasped. “I remember.”

That had been such a normal afternoon, and something that I'd all but forgotten about until now. No, that wasn't true. Ever since I'd found out that my mother had been part of the Circle, I'd been thinking back, trying to remember every single thing I could about her, especially if she'd ever shown any hint or sign that she was involved with such dangerous people.

Or if she was dangerous herself.

But I hadn't been able to remember much. Just hazy images of my mother smiling at me or brushing my hair or laughing as the two of us watched Bria skip around the mansion, playing, singing, and talking nonsense to her dolls. It seemed like the harder I tried to pull those images into focus, the blurrier and more distant they became until they faded away altogether. The pain they brought along with them lingered, though, as sharp and clear as one of my knives in my hand. Because my mother was still dead—would
always
be dead—and I didn't have any clue as to what she'd been involved in that had gotten her and Annabella killed.

Being here at this hotel only made me wonder even more about my mother, the Circle, and everything else. I wondered how often Deirdre had come here. I wondered if she'd ever invited Tucker or any of her other Circle cronies to her resort. I wondered if my mother had ever been here before her death.

I wondered . . . I wondered too many damn things that I had no way of getting the answers to. The more I tried to uncover the past, the more unraveled I felt myself, like a spiderweb that was slowly disintegrating one strand at a time into nothingness.

Disgusted again, I slammed the snow globe down onto the carpet hard enough to make the boot and spur glitter smack against the side of the glass. A few of the stones adorning the Bullet Pointe sign also rattled out of their spots and
plink-plink-plink
ed against the inside of the glass before drifting down to litter the tiny street. Cheap and tacky, just like Bria had said.

I glared at the globe, my fingers itching to grab it and throw it against the closest wall, along with the other two, then stomp on them for good measure, until they were all as empty and broken as my heart.

“Come on,” I growled, getting to my feet. “Finn's right. This is pointless. There's nothing here. Let's go.”

I leaned down and yanked the cord out of the socket, killing the lights on the Christmas tree. I didn't wait for my friends to follow me as I spun around on my heel, stormed over to the door, and left Deirdre Shaw's suite behind.

*   *   *

We'd spent most of the afternoon in Deirdre's suite, but after coming up empty there, none of us felt like searching the rest of the hotel for the jewels. At least, not tonight. So the four of us ate a good, expensive Italian dinner in one of the hotel restaurants, then had a nightcap of spiced apple cider by the lobby fireplace. Once again, I was aware of the hotel staff watching us, but that's all they did. Like I'd told Silvio earlier, Roxy and Brody probably wouldn't make a move until we'd found the gems—or they decided that the stones were lost for good.

After our nightcap, we went back to our respective suites—Finn and Bria in one, and Owen and I in the other. We all took precautions to make sure that we'd be safe for the night, including barricading the doors with several heavy tables and chairs and making sure that we all had our weapons handy. No one was getting in here tonight without making a whole lot of noise and getting a whole lot of dead in return.

Once that was done, Finn and Bria disappeared into their own room. Owen and I both showered, changed into our pajamas, and got into bed. Owen fell asleep almost immediately, his soft, rumbling snores like a steady chorus beside me. But I lay in bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling, turning things over and over in my mind, thinking about my mother, Tucker, Deirdre, and especially where she might have stashed her treasure.

But the answers didn't magically come to me, so I quit glaring at the ceiling, rolled over onto my side, and snuggled down even deeper under the covers. Eventually I drifted off to sleep, to the land of dreams and memories. . . .

“You're doing it wrong,” a cross voice snapped.

I looked up from the snow globe I was tying to the Christmas tree. “What?”

Annabella, my older sister, scowled and stabbed her finger to the right. “Not you—
her
.”

She glared at Bria, who was sitting on the floor, shaking one globe after another, sometimes two at once, humming to herself, lost in her own little world.

Annabella glared at Bria again. “She's supposed to be helping us put these stupid things on the tree. Not just sitting there. After all, this was
her
idea.”

We were trimming our Christmas tree in the upstairs family room, something that I absolutely loved doing. At dinner last night, Mom had asked us how we wanted to decorate it this year, and Bria had piped up and suggested that we tie all of Mom's snow globes to the tree. I'd thought it was a cool idea, but of course Annabella had decided it was totally
lame
, just like she did everything that wasn't her idea or didn't involve her hanging out with her friends. Still, Mom had insisted that Annabella help us, especially since Mom had a meeting and couldn't come up here until she'd finished.

So for the last hour, Annabella, Bria, and I had carefully nestled snow globes in the tree and tied them down to the branches with green wire, making sure that they wouldn't slip off and break on the floor. Well, really, Annabella and I had been doing all the work. Bria had just been sitting by the tree, playing with the globes the way she always did.

Annabella huffed. “If Bria's not going to help, I'm not putting the stupid tree up all by myself.”

“But—” I started to protest that I was helping, but it was too late.

“Forget it,” Annabella snapped, cutting me off. “I'm calling my friends.”

She whirled around, her long blond ponytail flying out behind her, and stomped down the hallway. Several seconds later, I heard the sharp bang of her bedroom door slamming shut. Saying that Annabella was a moody teenager was a total understatement. Just because she was in high school, she thought that she was all grown up, and she never wanted to do anything fun anymore, especially not when it came to playing with Bria and me. That was kid stuff, and she wasn't a kid anymore, as she was so fond of reminding anyone who would listen.

I looked over at Bria, expecting her to be in tears because Annabella had stormed off, but she was still playing with the globes, and she hadn't even noticed that Annabella was gone. I let out a relieved sigh. Good. One sister's temper tantrum was all that I could handle today.

“Stay here, Bria,” I said. “I'm going to see if Mom has finished her meeting yet and can come help us.”

“Okeydokey, smokey,” Bria replied in a distracted, singsong voice.

She'd probably sit there for another hour before she noticed that I was gone, so I put my globe down and slipped away while I could.

I headed downstairs, hugging the walls so I wouldn't be in the way. Mom was hosting her annual holiday party later tonight, and all sorts of people were moving from one room of our mansion to the next. Caterers clutching cases of champagne, florists carrying evergreen wreaths, even a couple of musicians dragging around harps, getting ready to set up their instruments in the main living room.

The kitchen was on the way to Mom's office, and I stopped and peered inside. The caterers had been the first ones to arrive this afternoon, and they'd already been cooking for hours. Honey-baked hams and deep-fried turkeys rested on wooden boards, waiting to be carved, while the c
hefs worked on cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, gravy, and other classic holiday fixings. Everything smelled amazing, and my stomach rumbled in anticipation.

“Sounds like someone's hungry,” an amused, masculine voice called out.

I looked to my right to find a middle-aged man staring at me. He wore a blue work apron over his clothes, and his ­walnut-brown hair peeked out from underneath his tall white chef's hat. His eyes were a bright, merry, Christmas green, and his cheeks were red from the heat of the stoves.

“It's hours until dinner,” I said, my stomach rumbling again.

The man looked left and right, but the other chefs were busy, so he reached over and grabbed a chocolate shell shaped like a poinsettia from a tray. Chocolate mousse, one of my favorites, was piled high in the shell, topped with fresh raspberries, making it look like a real poinsettia.