**hello everyone!! Soo, I'm finally back on the ball and posting this. Way later than I said I would. I'll get back to you about a regular posting schedule a little later this week, but until then, enjoy this chap!**

Chapter 3:

They wouldn't let anyone in the house.

Not after the cops evacuated everyone in the vicinity— now Lucie stood on the enormous driveway of the Vandeweghe's mansion, surrounded by jabbering people and the red-and-blue blinking lights of police cars. Two men in black were entering the house now, slipping latex gloves on their hands. Forensics.

Lucie thought about all of the times she'd been jealous of Lane because she never had to work for her naturally fast metabolism. All the times she'd despised her for being superficial and depressing.

Now she was dead.

Lucie felt like she was going to throw up again. She'd vomited in the bathroom during the party and pretended like she was fine, but she wasn't. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Lane's pale limbs, swaying back and forth in the autumn wind like a swing in a playground-

"Miss Montes."

Lucie blinked out of her haze. The officer in front of her raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. There was a shiny pistol in the holster at her hip.

Lucie pulled her coat up higher around her. It hung loosely from her shoulders like a cape, the empty sleeves dangling at her sides so she looked like a queen bee-yotch at a preppy highschool.

"What?" She said, trying to sound irritated.

"You were the first to find the body. Can you confirm that you saw nothing suspicious before you walked outside?"

Lucie's insides felt frozen and numb. She had never lied to a police officer before, not even when they caught her going 70 in a 40 mph zone. "I didn't, I told you before."

But she wasn't technically lying. She hadn't seen anything. Anxiety crawled up her limbs like ants, then. That nosy detective, he looked too young to even be there, had probably told someone that she knew something. They would call her into questioning, and then-

"Alright." The officer in front of her nodded, moved on to her friends. Lucie let out a breath. He hadn't ratted her out, after all. She'd been lucky.

Lucie let Diana and Violet do all the talking while she sullenly glared at the ground. The officer asked them a few questions about what they saw, scribbling pensively on the back of a Cafe Nero receipt.

Inwardly, Lucie could hardly keep it together.

The detectives would be searching for signs of suicide, right now, but someone had murdered Lane. Lucie knew it. Felt it. There had been anger in that room— white-hot fury and fleeting passion and a powerful, nearly overpowering urge to strike and hurt and kill-

Lucie shuddered. Her entire body wanted to collapse on the hard concrete, to cave in on itself in fear and exhaustion. She'd never experienced an emotion this strong. It frightened her. She brushed her cheek with her index finger and brought it back damp.

The cop was folding up her notebook, sliding it into her back pocket. "Are you okay, Miss Montes?"

"I'm fine," Lucie said numbly.

"We can refer you to emotional counseling should you need it. That goes for any of you."

"We'll be fine, officer," said Violet. Her hand fell to Lucie's shoulder. "Thanks."

"Do you need a ride, Lucie?" Diana was saying.

"Go on ahead. I'm sure Christian is around here somewhere."

Diana slowly nodded and followed Violet out to their limousine. One of them said something about calling her later. The door flashed as they opened it, long acrylic nails on the sleek black surface.

Lucie shuddered again.

Diana and Violet had good intentions, she supposed. They wouldn't have stuck with her this long if her father wasn't a billionaire— that was for damn certain. But Lucie knew she wasn't exactly a pleasure to be around. One time, one of the city gossip columnists had written something nasty about her in an article ("Lucie Montes is a stuck-up bitch"), so she'd paintballed him while he was crossing the street.

Lucie gave a choked, hysterical little laugh at the thought. A few of the guests around her edged away. They all looked the same to Lucie; each with equally jeweled eyes and lips that looked like someone had smeared blood on them, saps of wealthies who nodded their heads dazedly all the time like sheep. Sheep. I live in a city filled with sheep, Lucie thought with a half-mocking panic as she worried her tongue between her teeth.

Lucie was freezing, and it seemed like it was going to rain. She stormed to the front of the house, her heels throbbing into the cool pavement. She could feel the unforgiving stone through her shoes.

A policeman stopped her at the door. Predictably.
"Excuse me, miss, but no one is allowed in the vicinity."

He was younger, a little less sure of himself, and he looked a little sorry to be telling the beautiful socialite 'no'.

Lucie picked up on his hesitance. "My friend is in there."

"Who?"

"Lane."

He winced. Visibly. Sympathy for her swelled within him, pity for the young, rich heiress in distress. He started to re-explain the rules, with much more hesitance, and Lucie tuned him out.

As she looked past him into the house, where orange light spilled out to reveal the scene, she felt the barrage of a million different emotions at once. Anguish, confusion, pain... Lane's parents were probably still in there. Lucie bit her lip and took a step back.

The moustached police chief she'd seen earlier was standing by the staircase and yelling for someone named 'Brooks'. As if sensing that someone was staring at him, his frown swung to her.

Whoops. Lucie ducked her head. "You know what, never mind."

"If you need to talk about anything-"

"I'm fine. I think my boyfriend is waiting for me. Thanks." She spun around, tottering back down the steps, just as the police chief stormed back out of the house. He was not someone she wanted seeing her snooping about the crime scene.

Nearly everyone had left. Run from the scene as quickly as they could. The next day the entire city would be buzzing. Lucie pictured the headlines; Boston Socialite Found Dead in Family Mansion at Twenty-One, and sank shakily down onto an outcropping of stone in the Vandweghe's garden. The smell of gardenia and soil drifted through the breeze.

Lucie's head sank like a rock into her hands, her fingers shakily threading through her curls. What the hell was she going to do?

"Lucie!"

A slick black car had rolled up to the curb. The window was down, a tanned forearm dangling over the side.

Lucie soured her expression. "What the hell do you want, Danny?"

The tall boy's too-blonde eyebrows drew together. "You shouldn't stick around here, Luce. I'll give you a ride."

"I'm staying here," she said stubbornly.

Danny's friend Patrick leaned over him from the passenger's seat.
"Come on, Lucie, Christian wanted us to take you home."

Then where was he? Lucie thought.

"I'm fine," she called back eventually. "Shouldn't you be cheating on your girlfriend or something?"

She watched the headlights of Danny's car as it puttered slowly back down the street. Douche.

After a few moments, Lucie stood up on shaky legs. Tottering in her heels. She'd tried to cry, but nothing came out. She felt numb. And cold.

She'd been lingering too long— another cop was approaching her now. Offering her a ride. It was much too dangerous for a girl her age to be walking home alone right now.

Lucie accepted with not so much as words as a brief nod as she let the officer lead her towards the blue and red lights. The drive back to her father's house was silent, penetrated by crackling sounds of the police radio and the rumbling of wheels on the road underneath her.

Christian was probably at her house with her father, tearing his hair out with worry. He'd wonder why she'd been dropped off in a cop car. Lucie was too tired to face their barrage of questions. Her head was still stuck at the colonial mansion, mulling over endless possibilities of equal dread.

What had happened to Lane Vandeweghe?

-

Lucie had no idea what she was doing here.

She wasn't a detective- hell, she wasn't even Lane's friend. Not really.

Diana and Violet had both left her messages. Something about what they should wear to the funeral. Christian was at work, so at least he couldn't stop her— he would have. No doubt.

The streets seemed emptier today. Gray.

Lucie scanned the tundra of skyscrapers again, tugging her coat further around her body. When she thought she'd seen a shadow slip behind a looming alley, she let out a soft, embarrassing mewl and scampered towards the police station.

"Hello?!" Her voice echoed acidly against the tile as she pushed the doors open, spilling over to where a man at the front desk contemplated a cheeseburger. Startled, he swiveled around in his black spinny chair. Surprise fluttered into interest as he surveyed the visitor.

Lucie was a fairly noticeable figure, and not only because she was a socialite. She stood at a medium height, with pomegranate lips that curved down naturally and a softly shaped face. Her cropped ringlets were an ashy chestnut, tumbling about her face like a Shetland pony. She didn't carry herself in a way that could be described as sultry or imposing. However, there were prominent components about her that demanded notice. Her brown eyes were shrewd and perceptive, her nose raised slightly with the confidence of someone who knew she was important.

She didn't want to draw too much attention to herself when she came to the station asking questions. Lucie didn't often dress flashy; the rich kids in Lucie's neighborhood rarely did. It was an unspoken rule— to have wealth was fine, but to flaunt it was tacky and white-trash. They wore oversized designer sweaters and beat-up three hundred dollar jeans and even round-rimmed thrift store glasses perched on their noses. But then, they were all beautiful enough that it didn't really matter what they wore. Lucie could walk outside wearing a Trader Joe's bag and someone would still laud it in the papers.

Today, however, Lucie was wearing pajamas. Soft pink ones, with the buttons unevenly done. Because she was an idiot.

"Yes?" The man at the front desk leaned forward, dark eyes darting and gleaming with a new interest. "How may I help you?"

Lucie lifted her chin. "Who is the detective in charge of the Vandeweghe case?"

This cued a raise of eyebrows from Mr. Cheeseburger. "May I inquire who is asking?"

He knew who she was. Pink pajamas and all.
"A friend of the family," Lucie barked. "I want to know what happened to her."

"We're not releasing details of the case."
Tapping pudgy, stocky fingers on the sticky marble, the receptionist slipped a black phone from the receiver. "I understand your concern about your friend, Miss Montes. I assure you, we at the BPD are working overtime to resolve-'

"I know the Vandeweghe's hired a private investigator before the party last night," Lucie interrupted him. "What was his name?" It was Brook, something. Brooks...

"Miss..."

"May I have his contact information?"

He put the phone back down with a click. "I suggest you allow the police to do our jobs."

The other officers in the building were beginning to stare, now.

"Fine!" Lucie snapped. "Enjoy your burger. You know that's probably, like, eleven hundred calories."

The elevator dinged, and she took the ride back down alongside a police officer, crossing her arms across her chest in silent fury.

Outside, the air was brisk and nippy. A gust of wind pulled at her sleeves as a car hurtled past. The sky was pale, swelling with clouds whose tips darkened like burnt marshmallows. Red and gold leaves winked at her from the freshly trimmed lawn. The shops across the street sported tiny jack-o-lanterns and fake webbing in their display windows.

Lucie had always liked holiday decorations. She had long since stopped putting them up in her father's house, but she supposed the dimmed candles, wine-colored walls flickering with rare splashes of golden vintage lighting, and lurking atmosphere of his mansion gave off a bit of a Halloween aura all on its own.

Anyway, that wasn't important. This trip had been majorly out of her way. Now, not only was she no closer to finding out anything about Lane's murder, but she was stranded.

So Lucie phoned her driver for a ride. In her pajamas.

**next chapter is Milo's!! What do you guys think happened to Lane??**