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“Call her,” Hawk said.
“I already tried that, and she’s not answering.”
Which did lend extra credence to the “hiding” theory. But no matter—as long as she hadn’t turned the phone off, I could still find her.
“What’s the number?” I asked.
“I doubt she’ll answer for you either.”
“Just give her the number,” Hawk told him.
“Fine.” Buckley read out the digits. “I need to get the staff to search.”
“Odette thinks she’s hiding out of spite because she didn’t want to wear a frilly dress.”
Buckley rubbed his chin, then winced when he drew blood. Presumably he’d managed to cut himself shaving this morning. “I suppose it’s possible. She’s done that before.”
“Recently?”
“Last year when she refused to go to Odette’s summer cookout.”
“Because of a dress?”
“Because she didn’t want to eat meat.”
“She’s turned vegetarian?”
I’d noticed Chastity picking her way around the roast chicken at dinner the other night, but I didn’t realise she’d stopped eating meat completely.
“It’s just a phase.”
I dialled Chastity, but as predicted, she didn’t answer. Instead, I got through to a generic voicemail greeting and left a message.
“Chas, it’s your Auntie Agatha. Can you call me? I have a question about ponies.”
Chas loved ponies, but she wasn’t allowed to take horse riding lessons because ever since a mule stole Clarice’s ice cream when we took a trip to a ranch two decades ago, my older sister had been terrified of all things equine. If I needed to bribe Chas into returning my call, ponies might do it.
“Told you,” Buckley said. “She’s in one of her moods.”
I didn’t bother to dignify that with an answer. Chas was a child, and she was miserable. Instead, I ran to the room I shared with Hawk and grabbed my laptop. I needed to check which cell carrier Chas used and then track her phone, and I wasn’t about to do that in front of my family because I didn’t need a lecture on the illegal use of personal data.
“Anything I can do?” Hawk asked.
“Can you sneak into the bridal suite and remove the ruffles from a flower girl dress?”
“I’m special ops, babe, not a fucking magician.”
A part of me wanted to dither because Odette deserved to suffer for a little longer—she had three extra hours, after all—but ultimately, the only person who would end up suffering was Chas. Tracking a phone wasn’t rocket science, and I got it done from scratch within five minutes. Then I stared at the screen.
I checked, double-checked, triple-checked the data again.
“Everything okay?” Hawk asked, holding up a mean-looking knife. “I guess I could try to do something with the dress.”
How could everything be okay when Chas’s phone was on the mainland, moving steadily along the road in the direction of Brunswick?
“No. No, things aren’t okay at all.”
13
