Page 134

“Yep,” I confirm. I roll my lips, contemplating doing something very stupid now that I have her on the phone.

“Hey, uh, Mom?”

“Hmm?” she hums, a note of impatience laced in her tone.

“Can I ask you a few questions about Gigi’s murder?”

Daya’s eyes widen almost comically, and she mouths, “What are you doing?”

She knows as much as I do that Mom might not take well to us investigating Gigi’s murder. But I have to ask.

She might have some valuable information, and getting in an argument with her might be worth it if there’s a possibility of learning something new.

She sighs. “If it’ll convince you to move out of that place.”

I don’t deign her a response to that, letting her believe what she wants if it gets her talking.

“Did you know Grandpa John’s best friend? Frank Seinburg?”

She’s silent for a beat. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time,” she says. “I didn’t know him personally, but your Nana spoke of him.”

“What did she say about him?”

She sighs. “Just that he was around a lot up until Gigi was murdered, then he kind of disappeared.”

I roll my lips. “Do you know about Grandpa John’s gambling habits?" I push, incapable of keeping the hope out of my tone. Unfortunately, she detects it.

“Why are you asking, Addie?” she deflects with a tired sigh. She’s always weary when it concerns me.

“Because I’m interested, okay? I met Frank’s son,” I admit. “Mark. He talked to me about Gigi. He remembered her, and he brought up some interesting things about John’s gambling.”

I don’t admit that I’m investigating her case myself. I’d prefer she assumes that we happened to have a connection and spoke on it, nothing more.

“How did you even come into contact with a man of that social standing? God, Addie, please tell me you didn’t sell yourself to him.”

A fly could buzz into my mouth, and I wouldn’t notice. My mouth hangs open, and all I can feel is hurt.

“Why… why would you think I’d ever do something like that?” I ask slowly, the heartbreak evident in my tone. I can’t keep it hidden—not when my mother just accused me of being a prostitute.

She’s silent again, and I wonder if she realized she went too far. “Well, then how did you meet him?” she finally asks, deflecting a question I’d really like to know the fucking answer to.

I sniff, deciding to let it go. It doesn’t matter why she thinks it, just that she does.

“Daya has friends in high places. We met at a dinner party and he said I looked familiar, so I told him who I’m related to, and he connected it from there,” I lie, working to keep my voice even. Daya quirks a brow but doesn’t comment.

It feels like an arrow has been shot through my chest—the sensation tight and sharp.

“Your Nana said that John put them in a dangerous situation with his gambling, but not too long before Gigi’s death, it all seemed to go away. He stayed out late and came home short-tempered just to fight with Gigi about whatever he was

pissed off about that day.

“Frank was a sponge for their relationship. With their marriage failing, I think he was put in the middle of it a few times. Nana spoke of one incident sometime before Gigi died where she and Frank got in a fight. Nana didn’t remember much about what happened, just that Frank had grabbed Gigi and pushed her on the ground and said something about a betrayal. That’s all I know,” she explains stiffly, as if reciting a verse from the Bible.

That was her apology. And though the tightness in my chest hasn’t receded, I take it anyway.

I mull that over, curious as to why Frank was so upset because Gigi was cheating on John. Maybe because Frank was often put in the middle, he grew tired of it. John’s behavior was steadily declining, and it seemed to start when Gigi’s attitude changed towards him after she began falling in love with Ronaldo. It’s possible Frank blamed Gigi for John’s behavior and the fact that he was losing his friend to a dangerous addiction.

“Just one more question,” I barter, sensing her need to hang up. She called to ask about Thanksgiving dinner and got roped into an honest conversation with her daughter. “Do you remember Nana going up in the attic all the time? Do you know why she did?”