The Thomas Blume Series

Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

For a moment, the world froze, and my brain wouldn’t work. I found myself looking at a woman who had no business there…a woman whom I’d already seen once today, missing a face.

Perhaps the ghosts of my past had finally caught up with me.

Darcey was on the floor in front of me, alive and well. She was crouching down, leaning over a cardboard box.

She turned with a start as she spotted me. “Jesus!” she spoke. “You startled me.”

My voice was broken for a moment, and my nerves froze my legs in place. This made no sense.

How…?

“You…Darcey?” I stammered.

She only regarded me with wide, blue eyes. A sad smile touched the corner of her lips, and for a moment, I wanted to be anywhere else.

But some demons couldn’t be outrun.

“Thomas, right?” she said. “Can you please put the gun down?”

She raised an eyebrow, and this time, there was something different about her. My brain caught up, my heart slowed, and my body unlocked. I holstered the gun, feeling like a fool.

“Zoe,” I said, as it all fell into place.

“I heard that you might be coming here,” she spoke softly.

Even when I had been dating Darcey, I’d heard that people had a hard time telling the twin sisters apart. Now, meeting Zoe for the first time, I saw why. Same facial features, same build, hell, they even had the same voice. Only a difference in hair color and personality separated the women.

Darcey’s sister climbed to her feet and embraced me. Her hair brushed my face and I smelled a gentle fragrance of lilac and something like rose water. As she stepped back, I fully took in her appearance.

Zoe Holland was painfully attractive. I was forced to admit it. Like an exaggerated reflection of Darcey, every feature was perfectly sculpted. Dark hair gently cascaded over her slim shoulders framing crystal blue eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips, while her athletic body would be the envy of a woman half her age. Even in this casual setting, Zoe carried herself as though she was born with a natural rhythm, the kind of beat no man could ignore.

Darcey had once mentioned the modeling contracts her sister had been offered as a teen. Even twenty years later, I could see why. Her looks were only slightly tainted by the bloodshot eyes that indicated she had been crying.

“Why…why are you here, Zoe?”

She waved a hand all around her, and I took notice of the boxes and the packaging tape. A handful of candles flickered on the table. The sound I’d heard seconds ago suddenly made sense. It had been parcel tape being stretched out and cut.

“Packing up some of her things for storage,” Zoe said. She reached behind an open box and revealed a tall glass of red wine. “And undergoing some liquid therapy.”

As the initial shock receded, my brain started to work again. Aside from the slight physical discrepancies, the sisters were a world apart in personality. Zoe was famously confident, flirtatious, and always got what she wanted…often at the expense of others. Darcey had been much more muted, a soft-spoken and considerate woman with a genuine desire in her heart to help people. For me, there had been no contest.

“I was sorry to hear about Darcey,” I admitted.

“That’s why you’re here in New York, isn’t it?” Zoe stated, folding her arms. “You’re investigating her death.”

“Not really. Well, sort of. It’s complicated. Just as complicated, I’m sure, as why you’d be here in her home.”

“It’s in her will,” Zoe said sadly “My lawyer cleared it with the police. You’re free to call any of them if you like.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t believe her, but something seemed off here. “No, that’s not necessary,” I said.

“So are you working?” she asked. “On the clock?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then have some wine with me,” Zoe moved over and pressed a hand against mine, raising her glass with the other. Her touch was electric.

I’d never been a fan of wine, but the prospect of anything to calm my nerves and scratch the drinking itch was enticing. Still…I knew Zoe’s reputation—Darcey had told me often enough. She knew she was good-looking and had always used it to her advantage. She’d traveled the world, leaving a string of broken hearts in her wake.

“I’ll pass for now,” I said, swallowing hard. “Look, at the risk of seeming insensitive, do you have any idea what happened to Darcey?”

Zoe shook her head as she stared absently into one of the boxes she was packing. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and when she did, I was struck by the curve of her jaw tapering down to her slender neck.

Get a grip, Tom.

“I already spoke to the police but…well, I’m pretty sure it’s going to be ruled a suicide,” Zoe said.

“Why do you say that?” I asked, bringing myself back to the moment.

“Oh well, you know. I mean Darce’ and I never really saw eye to eye. She was a bit of a tree hugger, a save the world kinda girl, and I never went in for all that stuff. But over the last few years we became even more distant, she was getting paranoid, weird. I don’t know. I just know she wasn’t happy.”

“But you don’t know why she would take her own life?”

“No,” she said sadly. She followed this by another gulp of wine, and God help me, my mouth seemed to dry up. I noticed the streaked smears of lipstick along the rim and was ashamed that my pulse quickened.

Something else caught my eye though; I spotted another glass sitting on the coffee table behind her. It had the tiniest trace of claret in the bottom. Unlike the glass that Zoe seemed to have glued to her hand, this one had no lipstick smears on the rim.

Interesting.

“So, you say you’re not exactly working,” Zoe said. “What’s that mean?”

“It’s complicated.”

She nodded, fixing me with a wide gaze. “You might be wasting your time with looking into this Darcey thing, I’m afraid. Suicide…it’s so sad.”

“It is sad,” I replied absently as I scanned the room for any other clues. Nothing else seemed out of place.

“So,” she said as she finished off her glass, and then blinked rapidly, as if the wine was suddenly going to her head. “Will you be attending the funeral?”

“Yeah, of course,” I replied, though in truth I hadn’t even considered it.

Zoe looked back towards the kitchen. She waved her empty glass at me and frowned. “I’m going to get a refill. You sure you don’t want some?”

“I’m sure. Thanks.”

I waited for her to leave the room, and when she was out of sight, I acted fast, crossing over to the coffee table. A plan in mind.

“Nice tune,” I commented, as I worked quickly in secret. The beautiful melancholy track piping from Zoe’s phone was somehow familiar. “Sounds like Portishead.”

Zoe came back into the room ten seconds later with her refill. “Alessia Cara,” she replied. “A cover, maybe? She has a beautiful voice, though.”

“She does,” I noted, thankful my ruse had gone unnoticed. “Were you packing anything in particular?” I asked, nodding towards the boxes.

“Not really,” she said. “I guess it was just helping me move on.”

“Well, do me a favor,” I said. “If you think of anything that could be helpful, you can reach me through the Midtown precinct for the next few days. Just ask for the desk of Detective Sanchez.”

“Leaving already?” she asked. “Sure you won’t join me for a glass? I don’t want to finish this all alone. Last chance.” And with a smoldering look that would have melted a lesser man, she offered me a mischievous smile.

“Yeah…look, I’ve gotta go,” I replied quickly before I could change my mind.

“Let me give you my number at least,” she said. “Maybe I can help when I’m not so…emotional.”

She meant drunk, of course, but who am I to judge? I’m the poster boy for bad decisions based on alcohol.

Zoe wrote down her number on a torn scrap of cardboard and handed it to me. Her hand brushed mine and as the soft music, lingering scent of wine and gentle touch of her skin filled my senses. At that precise moment, I understood how she had managed to break so many hearts over the years.

Any ordinary man would have fallen for her charms about two exits back.

Lucky for me, or perhaps unlucky depending on how you looked at it, I am no ordinary man. My heart had been torn out eighteen months ago and all that remained in its place was an aching emptiness. A hollow place of loss and grief.

And it would take more than a pretty girl and some cheap vino to fill that.

I pocketed the number without looking at it, said my goodbyes to a disappointed-looking Zoe and started for the door.

I found myself pausing in the hallway outside. Standing for a moment, processing what had just happened. It seemed off. Every man wanted to believe a beautiful woman like Zoe flirts with him out of sheer attraction, but I knew better. Something else was going on here. Something she was doing her best to distract me from.

Speaking with her had done little beyond stirring my libido and making me want to drink, but I had picked up one clue. When Zoe had gone to the kitchen to fetch more wine, I had made my move on the mysterious second wine glass.

I had torn a piece of packing tape free and run the sticky side along the rim of the empty wine glass. At the time, I really had no idea why I was doing it. I was going off of a gut feeling. But now, in the hallway, carefully grasping the tape and the faint fingerprints on it, I had a feeling that the evidence in my hand would give me the first solid lead.

A lead Zoe Holland didn’t want me to find.