“No thanks.” I shake my head and hold up my glass. It’s starting to gather condensation, becoming slippery in my hands. “I think Izzy’s had too much already. I want to make sure one of us is sober enough to lock up.”
“Good idea. I just saw her heading to the bathroom,” Noah says, closing the fridge. I groan. Izzy is a known spewer.
“Do me a favor?” I point to the oven. “I’ve put some pizzas in. Will you keep an eye on them while I check on her? It should beep if I’ve put the timer on right.” Noah nods. “Thanks. Just pass them out if I’m not back.”
“Will do.”
The second I step into the hallway, I know something’s wrong. The bathroom door is ajar, but the light is off and there’s no sound coming from in there, let alone retching. I push open the door anyway and pull the little string light, but the room is empty, the shower curtain around the bath neatly folded away, just like I left it earlier.
“Izzy?” I call, as if she’s hiding in the space between the sink and toilet. I shake my head and turn off the light, heading back to the living room. “Izzy, if you’ve been sick on the sofa…” I mutter as I approach the sliding doors. The music has shiftedto the type of eighties rock that conjures the image of men with long hair wearing stonewashed denim jackets, but only Jen is in there, scrolling on her phone. She smiles up at me as I enter. “Have you seen Izzy?” I call over the music.
“Everyone’s outside,” she says, looking back at her phone.
“Great,” I sigh. The last thing we need is one of Dad’s neighbors telling him there were a load of drunk teenagers and an underage girl spewing into the hedges when he was away.
A smoky smell tickles my nose as I approach the open front door, and I speed up. They better not be doing what I think they’re doing out there. “Izzy!”
“Nope,” a voice giggles as I pull open the door and look out. “Just us.” Scarlett doesn’t even try to hide the blazing joint in her hand, handing it to Ford instead. He at least has the decency to look ashamed as he hands it to Jake, who takes a long drag. I bet Detective Romig doesn’t know her son is a pothead.
“Have you seen her?” I ask Ford, ignoring Jake as he offers the joint in my direction.
“She went to the bathroom.” Ford shrugs apologetically. “Said she wasn’t feeling good.”
“Well, she’s not there now.” I try to keep the fear out of my voice, but it seeps in anyway. I hope she hasn’t gone wandering around outside on her own.
Jake takes a deep drag and holds his breath before turning his head my way and letting out a huge plume of smoke.
“No one else has come out.” He passes the end to Ford. Is this how they know each other? “She seemed pretty drunk. Maybe she went to bed?”
Of course. My shoulders relax immediately.
“Do me a favor and smoke that somewhere else, will you? I’ll get in so much trouble if someone sees you guys.”
“It’s done now.” Ford chokes out the words through a lungful of smoke. “Sorry, Fliss.”
I wrinkle my nose against the pungent smell and go back inside to collect Izzy’s glass of water. If my hair smells like that tomorrow, I’ll go mad.
“Iz?” I knock on my bedroom door gently and twist the handle, but it’s still locked.
I try Dad’s room, just in case, and relief floods me when I see the key in the lock. She’s drunker than I thought if she got the rooms mixed up. I test the handle and push the door open. The room is dark, but I don’t turn on the light in case she’s still not feeling good, letting my eyes adjust instead.
“Izzy,” I stage-whisper, “if you have vomited on Kim’s wedding dress, I swear I’ll kill y—” I stop short as the shadows in the room begin to make sense. “Izzy?” The glass slides from my grip in slow motion and hits the floor, exploding into a million tiny shards that sting my feet.
Izzy lies motionless, face down on the bedroom floor.
TWENTY-FOUR
“Fliss?” Noah’s voice is muffled,like he’s talking to me through layers of cotton wool. “You need me to get a broom?” He comes closer, but I’m glued to the spot, staring at the floor. “Fliss?” he repeats before taking a sharp breath that cuts through my stupor.
“Izzy?” I manage to say as I take another step into the room.
I drop to my knees next to her, ignoring the slivers of glass that cut through the thin fabric of my trousers. Images of Helen flash through my head. Every case I’ve ever encountered is telling me that something has happened to Izzy while I left her alone, that somehow the killer followed us here and hurt her, and if that’s happened then it’s all my fault for bringing her back to Blackwood in the first place. Noah bends down and helps me roll her onto one side as I try not to hyperventilate. I almost sob with relief when she groans and tries to bat us away.
“She’s okay, just passed out,” Noah says. “Let’s get her onto the bed.”
“Good idea. Iz?” She doesn’t answer but sort of grunts at me, which I take as a good sign. “We need you to stand up, can you do that?”
“Mmmm,” she says, or something like it, anyway. That’s enough for me.