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“She’s deceased,” Fisher answers. “I thought you read the discovery emails.”

“Does skimming count as reading?” he quips.

“Figures.” Gardenia sighs. “I’ve gone through five rooms. They all look the same, same decor, different color. No one has been in here for a while. Tristan? I mean, Archer? Did you find anything good?”

“Hmm?” I blink to bring the view in front of me into focus. “Yes, I’ll share pictures when we get downstairs.”

“Hurry. We have five minutes tops before the Senator sends someone to check on his son.” Static crackles in my ear as she lets out a breath.

“That’s all I need.” I shut the door behind me, intrigued by the soft hues of pink around me.

Her room smells of fir and cedar-wood. The cold air rushes in from her balcony where she left the French doors wide open.

What is it Little Dove? Is it that hard to breathe in your little cage?

I pick up a crystal figurine of a swan from her vanity dresser. It fits perfectly in my hand, with its head arching over my fingers.

Congratulations, Beautiful.

With so much love,

Hunter Archibald Du Pont

I read the note aloud.

Who the fuck is Archibald Du Pont? I place the trinket in my pocket and continue to rummage through more of Paloma’s personal effects—makeup, brushes, hair ties, a pair of diamond earrings, a music box with a tiny ballerina, and her phone.

“Hunter Archibald?” Gardenia asks.

“Someone left a note for Paloma. Can you break into her phone?” I wind the music box and watch the tiny dancer twist and turn up and down.

“Yes, but I need more than a minute for that,” Gardenia answers. “Bring it to me.”

I place the device in my pocket and continue to her closet. The slinky red dress she wore to the hotel bar last week hangs from a valet rod. I bring the fabric to my nose and breathe it in. Strewn on the floor are a pair of beat-up ballet shoes, tights, and a tutu. She’s a ballet dancer, a real-life ballerina.

The Swan Queen.

Is that what Chuck was trying to say downstairs?

“Gardenia.” I snap a picture of the scattered clothes. “Find out if Paloma is with a ballet company.”

“Ok,” she answers and I swear I can see her eyes rolling.

“Oh fuck,” Jacob blurts out as his chair squeaks loudly. “Incoming.”

“Who is it?” I put my phone away and head out of the closet.

“It’s her. She’s running down the hallway,” Jacob adds.

“Thanks for the warning.” I stand in the middle of Paloma’s room, staring at her.

“What are you doing in my room?” she asks, her gaze shooting daggers at me.

Somehow, she’s already half undressed but still wearing the pink diamond. Seeing her like this makes my blood boil and not in a good way. Was she just with someone else?

“Oh no. What’s going on, Archer?” Gardenia asks.

“Go back downstairs. I got this,” I say then turn off my earpiece before she has time to admonish me.