The press is no longer camped out in front of the hospital, and I wonder if that’s because they’re forced to leave or they just realized they weren’t going to get any information about the attack so they decided to cut their losses and go. I’ll have to watch the news this evening to find out if they put their own spin on the story, anyway.

  “Celeste Brewer,” I say to the nurse behind the information desk.

  It isn’t the same woman from earlier, so she would have no reason to recognize me.

  “Are you family?” she asks.

  “No,” I say. “But I’m a good friend.”

  “Name please?” she asks.

  “Dean Steele.”

  “Give me just a moment,” she says and picks up the phone. She hits a button and waits a moment for someone to pick up the other line. “Hey, Debbie. I have a visitor for Ms. Brewer. Dean Steele and…”

  She lifts her eyebrows toward Xavier.

  “Xavier Renton,” I tell her.

  “Xavier Renton.” She pauses. “Okay. Thanks.” She looks up at me. “They’re going to check with her and see if she’s up for a visitor.”

  “So, she is awake?” I ask.

  She nods. “Yes.”

  My shoulders release tension I didn’t realize they were holding, and I let out a breath of relief.

  “That’s good.”

  “Okay, great. I’ll send them to the door. Thanks, Deb.” She hangs up and gestures to the side toward the large double doors leading to the emergency department. “Go on over to those doors. They’ll open in just a second.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  Xavier and I go to the door and wait until they slowly swing open. A woman on the other side in pink-and-blue scrubs gives me a warm smile.

  “You’re here for Ms. Brewer?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “She’s still here waiting for a bed to be ready for her upstairs. But she said she’s happy to have you back,” the nurse says.

  “Great, thank you,” I say.

  “She’s just up here in room 6.”

  She leads us along the brightly lit hallway past frosted glass sliding doors of the individual treatment rooms. The emergency room has come far from when I was young and you were nothing but a flimsy curtain away from the next patient. That could make for some truly miserable visits.

  The nurse knocks lightly on the door to room 6 and waits for Celeste to invite her in. She opens the door and steps back to let Xavier and me through.

  “Can I get you anything, Ms. Brewer?” the nurse asks. “Do you need a drink or anything?”

  “No, I’m all right,” Celeste says.

  “All right, well, we’re hoping to move you upstairs soon. Just relax, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to use that call button,” she says.

  “Thank you.”

  The nurse closes the door, and I go over to the side of the bed.

  “Hey, how are you feeling?”

  “Not the best I’ve ever felt,” she says. “But better now that they have my pain medication figured out.”

  Her face is swollen, and the bruises have deepened to dark red and purple.

  “They’re admitting you?” I ask.

  “Just for a day,” she says. “The doctor just wants to keep an eye on me for a little while to make sure that I’m all right. They want to move me upstairs, but I figure they might as well just keep me right here since I’ll be here for such a short time. But what do I know?”

  “Speaking of which,” I say, “what do you know? What happened?”

  She shakes her head, a darker expression coming over her face. She rests back, her eyes sliding up toward the ceiling.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t remember anything?” I ask.

  “When I first woke up, I didn’t remember anything at all. I like to drink my coffee out by the pool in the morning and usually do laps. I remember going out there this morning just like usual, and everything was fine. Then I woke up here in the hospital, and they told me you’d found me in the pool and it looks like I was attacked. I couldn’t remember anything else,” she says.

  “How about now?” I ask.

  “There are little snippets that are coming back to me,” she says. “I’m not really sure what they are. I know that I went out to the pool like I do every morning, and everything seemed perfectly normal. I was waiting for you to get there, so I wasn’t going to do my laps yet. Then I got this strange feeling. I remember feeling like someone was watching me. My front doorbell chimes outside too, so I knew if you’d rung the bell, I would have heard you, but that wasn’t it. Then there was a flash. That’s the only way I can describe it. Just a flash of movement from behind the pool shed. After that, I can remember something hitting me, but I don’t remember anything else. Just that one hit and then waking up here in the hospital.”

  “So, you didn’t see anyone?” Dean asks. “You couldn’t describe who did this to you?”

  “No,” she says, shaking her head. “It happened so quickly, and all I saw was something dark coming at me. They must have been wearing a mask or something. I hate not knowing. That makes it so much worse. It could have been anyone, and I have no idea.”

  “Why did you want me to come over this morning?” I ask. “You told me that you wanted to talk to me and couldn’t do it over the phone. What’s going on? Can you tell me now?”

  She looks toward the door. Xavier inches it fully closed, then he stands in front of the seam like his presence there will further prevent anyone from listening in.

  “Ever since we talked the other day, I’ve felt like something was wrong,” she tells me. “Like something’s off. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s like someone is watching me all the time. I haven’t seen anyone or anything, but I can’t shake the feeling. Now this happened.”

  My mind immediately goes to The Board and the strange interaction I had with them before Celeste warned me to be careful around them. I have no evidence that they had anything to do with what happened to Celeste, so I can’t bring it up to the detective, but I know I need to keep them in mind as I continue to dig into what happened to Scott Russo and Joseph Palmer.

  “We’re going to figure it out,” I reassure her. “You’re safe here. And when you get out, I’ll make sure you stay safe. Just rest and focus on getting better.”

  “Have you found out anything else about the murders?” she asks.

  “Still working on it,” I tell her. “But I’m not giving up. It’s there. It’s right there. I just have to figure it out.”

  I stay with Celeste a bit longer before the pain medication starts to make her sleepy, and I leave her dozing off. Seeing her like that makes me even angrier, even more determined to find out what’s happening in the seemingly idyllic town of Twilight Cove. There are secrets here—tangled, dark secrets that I’m just beginning to uncover. And I’m determined to reveal them all.

  “Hey, Dean,” Detective Bronson says when he answers my call as I’m leaving the hospital.

  “Hey. Do you have the contact information for Seth Powers?” I ask.

  “I think so,” he says. “Why?”

  “I need to get in touch with him. I want to find out what type of footage he has of the parade. I’m headed back to my hotel now, but I’d like to set up a time to see him in the morning. Would you set something up for me and give me a callback?” I ask.

  “Sure,” he says.

  “Thanks. I moved to the Twilight Inn, so it will be easy for me to get to him whenever it’s convenient for him in the morning,” I say.

  “Sounds good,” he says. “I’ll let you know what he tells me. Why don’t you get in touch with him yourself? I can give you the contact information.”

  “He and I had a little bit of a run-in earlier at the hospital, and I think it would be better if he spoke to you first. Just to make sure he understands how important it is to continue to cooperate with the investigation,” I say.

  “That makes sense,” he says. “I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  By the time Xavier and I are back at the hotel, I already have a text message from Detective Bronson letting me know that Seth Powers would be available at his apartment the next morning. He has sent me the address, and I shoot back a quick thank-you before tossing my phone onto the nightstand for what I hope is the last time today. I need to get some rest, and I’m hoping there aren’t any more emergency phone calls, at least until morning.

  After a long, hot shower, I sit on the bed with all my notes spread out around me. Everything for Marcy Basinger’s murder is on the other. Juggling both feels somewhat overwhelming, but I’m not willing to give up either case. I’m going to see both through to the end.

  Xavier has already gone to his room to go to bed, but even though I’m completely exhausted and intent on turning in early, I can’t get my brain to stop spinning. Thoughts, questions, and ideas race around, bouncing up against each other and overlapping until I can barely tell one word from the other. I keep going back to my notes, reading through everything I’ve written down over the course of the investigation, hoping that something’s going to stand out to me, something I might not have pieced together yet but that has meaning now.

  When nothing comes to me, I get up and move over to the other bed so I can focus on Marcy. I go back to the very beginning of her case, when I was first brought in by Clayton to search for his missing mother. That seems like so long ago. So much has happened, so much has changed. Taking out a clean piece of paper and pen, I create a timeline to organize everything as it unfolded, from the time I got that first phone call until the conversation I had with them earlier today. I stare at it, feeling like I’m looking at something significant, but I can’t place it.

  My alarm suddenly wakes me up. I didn’t even realize I had fallen asleep. I’m stretched out on the bed surrounded by my notes, the TV still playing and the lights still on. I barely feel like I’ve slept at all, but I force myself out of bed and into another shower to try to jostle myself awake and get my blood pumping. When I come out, I find Xavier sitting at the table with coffee. He gestures at it proudly.

  “Good job, X,” I tell him. “I told you that coffee maker was no match for you.”

  “Technically, that was the one at the other hotel,” he tells me. “But similar concept. I like this one better. It has those pods rather than the weird little paper pouches.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t have to deal with weird little paper pouches,” I tell him, taking a sip of the coffee.

  Drinking coffee at hotels always makes me more appreciative of mugs. No matter how good the coffee is when it starts, drinking it out of a paper cup freshly unwrapped from hotel housekeeping plastic doesn’t do good things for the flavor. But that doesn’t stop me from finishing off that cup and making a second. I have a feeling I’m going to need the extra boost today.

  Xavier and I get to Seth Powers’s apartment, and he opens the door barefoot with tousled hair and a long-sleeve T-shirt over sweatpants. It looks like he might have been asleep when we arrived, but then I notice a laptop open on the table and a notebook sitting beside it, along with his camera. I realize he just opts for lounge clothes—that being one of the perks of working from home.

  “Come on in,” he says, walking into the open living room space. “Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea or anything?”

  “That would be great,” I say, aware of the tension between us and wanting to mend bridges by taking him up on his hospitality.

  I’m still angry about him coming to the hospital and trying to make a story out of Celeste’s attack, but I need something from him, and I would rather things be good between us. I have to let go of my personal feelings and accept that he sees this as his career, so I can’t really blame him for wanting to jump on something that could give him a bump in his ratings.

  “Tea would be good,” Xavier says.

  “Sure,” Seth says. “Just give me a second. Make yourselves at home.”

  We settle on to the couch diagonal from the chair where he seems to have been working, and I glance at his notes. He seems to be preparing for a story on upcoming Easter festivities on the island. I can’t imagine the events will be nearly as well attended or festive as they were in the other years.

  “Getting a head start,” he says when he comes back into the room and catches me looking at the notes. “I have a few other things in the works, but I figured I would start ahead of time with the next holiday celebration. I have a feeling things will be quieter this year, but you never know. Maybe people will be determined to not let what happened on Mardi Gras ruin the island and the events will be even more popular.”

  “I guess you can only hope,” I say. “Look, I want to say that I’m sorry for the way that I acted at the hospital yesterday. There was a lot going on, and I might have overreacted to you being there and wanting to do the story.”

  “No, I understand,” he says. “I didn’t realize that the victim was a friend of yours, and I’m sure you were upset about it. Sometimes I forget that while I’m looking at things as news, people are actually living through them. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “I appreciate it,” I say.

  “How is she doing?” he asks. “Is she doing any better?”

  “She’s better,” I tell him. “Thank you.”

  A timer goes off in the kitchen, and he leaves. Returning with our drinks, he sets them down on the table and takes a blue mug for himself. My mug is the same plain design, but Xavier’s tea is in a white novelty cup with a picture of a frazzled-looking black cat and the words “I’m fine” written across the front. The mismatched mugs remind me of my cousin Emma, who can never resist a good mug and, as a result, has dozens that she religiously fills with black coffee throughout the day. The thought gives me a craving for one of her cinnamon rolls.

  I sit on the corner of the couch while Seth sits back in his chair.

  “What can I do for you this morning?” he asks, sipping his coffee and then putting the mug down beside his notes.

  “I was hoping that you had some footage of the parade or, even better, of the preparation going on in the warehouse beforehand,” I say. “That seems like something really interesting that you would want to cover. Did you get anything from then?”

  “I have some footage,” he tells me. “But unfortunately, not a lot. I had done a lot of filming in the days leading up to the parade, so most of what I have is actually interviewing people and showing off the floats and stuff during that time. I knew it was going to be really busy on the actual day of the parade, so I didn’t want to get in the way. I have a little bit from the warehouse, but I decided to get a good spot to watch the parade instead of lingering around there too much.”

  “But you have some of the parade, too?” I ask.

  “Some, yeah,” he says. “You want to see it?”

  “That would be great,” I say.

  “Let me get it up here for you.”

  He messes with his camera and the computer for a few moments, then turns the screen so I can see it better. There’s an image of the warehouse.

  “This is from the day of the parade?” I ask.

  “Yeah. It’s basically just me walking around showing off everybody getting their floats and other props ready. I was planning on doing voice-over to talk about what I saw and to hype up the parade footage. The whole story was going to be about the different events of the day, so there wasn’t going to be a huge amount of any one activity or event. The footage I got before the actual day had the businesses getting ready, places talking about the specials they were running and what they were offering their customers, tourists talking about their first impressions, just stuff covering the entire festival as a whole.”

  I watch the footage he shows me of the warehouse. I can see now why the people I spoke to said they didn’t retain a lot of what was going on around them. Even getting the footage early in the morning hours well before the parade stepped off, Seth is seen in the midst of chaos. There are people everywhere, music so loud his voice wouldn’t have been heard even if he was trying to talk while he was recording, and so much to see and take in it’s impossible to focus on any one thing.

  “There’s the king’s float,” I point out.

  “And the masks,” Xavier says.

  I see the table of masks sitting out beside the float. There are several of them in different colors and styles. It looks to me like the designer knew some of them wouldn’t be chosen even as they were being designed because of their colors or size, but she was eager to have as many of her pieces available for future parades as she could.

  One of the masks catches my eye. Bright blue with feathers surrounding the molded satin face. I remember what Detective Bronson said about the CSU investigating the float and finding the blue feather. I tuck that observation aside and continue watching. Seth seems to have done a couple of laps around the warehouse to look at everything but doesn’t stop to talk to anyone. The footage ends, and the next image is of the parade itself. It does look like he got a good spot, and I wonder if he leveraged his vlog to get it or if he just happened to stake it out well.

  He cheers along with the rest of the crowd as the first performers appear along the route. They were the troupe that came out ahead of time to warm up the crowd and keep them entertained while they waited for the parade itself to start. His hand shoots out into the frame to catch a strand of beads, and he laughs, the camera wobbling like it’s moving as he’s putting the beads around his neck. He records the initial troupe for a bit, then the footage cuts and starts recording the parade itself.

  My heart starts pounding in my chest as I see the king’s float down the street. It looks like Seth was leaning into the road as far as he could pull off without the police stopping him so that he could record the impending float. He wasn’t in one of the prime locations that would have allowed him to be right there when the king came up out of the float, but he was close enough. I know what’s coming, and my palms feel sweaty. It’s a horrific feeling, watching something like this unfold, knowing what’s going to happen and having no recourse. I can’t reach into the screen and stop the float. I can’t go back and go into that float before the parade to save Scott Russo.