It was a brief message. But it was also as long as it needed to be.

Brandy got up and passed by the mirror as she went to the bedroom. She barely glanced at herself. Seeing her reflection in the afternoon light was so unforgiving, and it made her feel even more bitter.

The bedroom was in complete disarray. The bed was unmade; the nightstands were littered with the obvious remnants of a party for two. A pair of Diesel jeans, a black T-shirt, and Armani Exchange underwear were scattered by the door to the bathroom. Brandy wasn’t alone, but it dawned on her that being with someone didn’t mean an end to loneliness.

Chapter 12

DESPITE THE LATE AFTERNOON DOLDRUMS and a protein energy bar that was doing flip-flops in her knotted stomach—like the tasteless snacks always did—Annie Garnett offered a sincere smile when she looked up from her desk and saw Mindee Larsen shoehorned into dark-green razor-cut jeans and a black leather top with four buckles that was part motorcycle chick and part purse. Mindee, with her shock of too-too-blond hair and exaggerated slash of red lipsticked pouty-mouth, definitely knew how to dress for attention. No doubt about it. Mindee succeeded in being a halogen light among a world of incandescent bulbs. No one ever looked away from her without blinking.

Or gawking.

Annie believed in redemption and giving people second chances. She even continued to go to Mindee at the salon when many of the other women of Port Gamble dropped her for another stylist. Mindee never made Annie feel self-conscious about her size or her not-so-great hair. Annie was never sure if it was because Mindee embraced all people, or if it was that she was so completely self-absorbed she didn’t care about anyone else’s backstory.

Only her own.

“How’s Teagan doing?” Annie asked, caring but really more interested in the murder case at hand than the accidental electrocution that had shocked everyone in Port Gamble. It was a death for which Mindee’s son, Teagan, took responsibility.

“Fine,” Mindee said, applying lipstick and blotting with a tissue from the chief’s desktop dispenser. “He’s learning how to manage his disappointment and anger. Most of it, if not all, is caused by his absent father.”

Annie resisted saying something about the boy’s mother and her role in the boy’s situation.

“That’s good,” Annie said. “I’m happy to hear that. Teagan will come out of this all right.”

“I know,” Mindee said, fishing a Tic Tac from the depths of her purse, a wet-look leather satchel that was so shiny, she occasionally used its glossy surface as mirror. “He and I are a lot alike. We’re both deep. We care so much about everyone and everything.”

Again, Annie held her tongue.

“I understand that you’ve done a great job with your community service, Mindee,” she said.

Mindee checked her makeup. “Don’t call it that. That makes it sound like I’m a criminal.”

Too easy.

Mindee snapped her purse shut. “I’m not here about me. I’m here because I saw something that was very disturbing and it is my civic duty to tell you about it.”

“Your civic duty, yes,” Annie said. “What’s it about?”

Mindee tilted her head as if she was about to say something she didn’t want anyone else to hear, though, of course, that wasn’t much of a worry. No one else was listening.

“Brianna Connors and the murder of that beautiful girl, Olivia Graham.”

That was one response Annie hadn’t expected to hear.

“Olivia Grant,” Annie corrected. “What do you know?”

Mindee leaned forward, revealing cleavage in major need of a push-up bra. She wanted to make sure that all of what she was about to say was completely understood.

“Okay,” she said. “You might want to write this down.” She pointed to a pad.

Annie nodded and picked up a pen. “All set,” she said, halfway humoring Mindee, but also intrigued.

Mindee cleared her throat. “I’m not a gossip, and you know that. You know from sitting in my chair at the salon that I never, ever speak badly about anyone.” She stopped when she caught the look of disbelief in Annie’s eyes. “Not unless it’s true, anyway. Here’s the deal. Yesterday I was at Victoria’s Secret at the mall and I saw Brianna and Drew carrying on like they were completely oblivious about what had just happened at her party. They were practically making out by the thong bins. Something’s wrong with that girl.”

Annie thought of the yoga poses Brianna did the night of the murder. That was strange too.

“Wrong?” she asked. “Just what do you mean by that? Be specific, Mindee.”

“Who carries on like she was shopping for her honeymoon when her girlfriend was sliced like a Benihana hibachi steak the night before?”

“That isn’t fair. People handle shock in different ways.”

Mindee nodded. “I know. But I Googled it. She’s a sociopath. You should Google it too. And besides, it isn’t just me,” she said. “Others think something’s up with her too.”

“Others? What others?”

Mindee shrugged. “I’m not sure. Just others. You know, kids at school.”

“Did Starla tell you something?” Annie asked.

Mindee looked away for a second. “Starla isn’t talking to me right now,” she said. “Not much. You know, we’re so close that sometimes we just don’t get along.”

Annie nodded. “Right. So what others told you things, and what things?”

“Just people,” Mindee said, clearly backpedaling.

Annie looked down at the pad. She hadn’t written a word.

“You should go to Victoria’s Secret,” Mindee said. “Investigate or something.”

ANNIE GARNETT HAD NEVER been inside a Victoria’s Secret store, though she’d always dreamed of doing so. It took a criminal case, not desire, to get her inside of the Pepto-pink store at the Kitsap Mall. She made her way past the displays of the things that would never, ever fit her right. Look. Don’t touch. This isn’t for you. The big-boned police chief longed to feel silk on her skin, not the stiff weave of polyester, staticy granny panties that she had to buy from Penney’s on the other side of the mall.

It took a murder and a visit from Mindee Larsen to bring her into this lingerie dream/nightmare.

Doralee, the manager, was a pretty, 40-ish woman with soft curls, a sugar voice, and a name to match. She set up Annie in her office to watch the video surveillance tape from the time Mindee had said she’d been shopping.

“Chief,” Doralee said, “you’ll want to watch this tape here. Counter numbers actually match the time stamp.”

“Thank you,” Annie said as she settled in.

“If you see something you want to keep, let me know. You’ll need a subpoena for that, but no worries. I’ll guard the tape with my life.”

The tape was HD-clear, which surprised Annie. She expected it to be as fuzzy as one of those black-and-white convenience store films that made it on to the evening news whenever there was a holdup in Tacoma or Seattle. After ten minutes of searching, right there in living color Annie spotted three familiar faces. Mindee was lurking off on the edge of the frame, looking a bit like a crazed stalker (doing her “civic duty”). Nuzzling each other like they couldn’t wait to get a room were the stars of the tape: Brianna and Drew. They were kissing. Laughing. They didn’t appear to have a care in the world.

As her heart sank lower into that PowerBar-churning stomach of hers, the word Mindee had uttered, had Googled, came to Annie just then: sociopath.

They’d just come from being questioned by the police about a murder in Brianna’s bedroom, but it didn’t faze them a bit. Olivia was . . . what was it that Mindee had so indelicately said? Benihana-ed to death.

A few minutes later, Doralee returned carrying a big pink shopping bag. She put it on the table next to the video player and set it in front of Annie.