The detective took some clean paper towels from the pile next to me on the floor and replaced the bloody ones. I didn’t mind sitting there while he took care of me. As long as I wasn’t looking at those pictures anymore.

“It shouldn’t need stitches,” he said.

The other cop came in with a Hawaiian Punch and a bag of animal crackers. The detective popped the top on the can and held it to my lips. “Small sips, Charlotte. Good. You’re all right, you’ll be fine.”

He lifted the towel from my face and said, “Your color’s coming back. Put your arms around my neck. I think you can get up now. Ready? I’ll help you.”

I leaned into him. He smelled like rain and skin with sharp spice underneath. He eased me into the chair, took my hands, and placed them in my lap.

“You hit the table on your way down,” he said. “Drink.”

I took another sip of punch.

“We’ll get you home soon, all right? You faint a lot?”

“No.”

“If you feel dizzy, lean over. Rest your head between your knees. Don’t get up so fast next time.”

“Okay,” I said.

“I’m sorry about the pictures. You all right now? Enough to talk?”

I nodded.

“Okay. You haven’t seen Danielle lately, until Sunday.”

“Yeah.”

“Why Sunday?”

I took a deep ragged breath and began.

CHAPTER TWO

Detective Ash listened as I told him what happened Sunday. Danielle’s mother Sally had called me that morning and insisted that I come by her office. I was surprised to hear from her. I didn’t even know she had my number. But I heard the urgency in her voice and agreed to meet. I was curious, I guess. That, and I had nothing else to do. It was my day off from the coffee shop where I worked, and I’d thought I’d spend it with Michael, but he wasn’t answering my texts.

Sally always was hard to say no to. I drove to her office building, a glass tower that rose in the Houston sky. Sally stepped outside and waved. She was dressed in tailored shorts, low mules, and a printed jersey blouse. Even in casual clothes she looked intimidating, rich.

“Hi, Charlotte,” she said. “Thanks so much for stopping by.”

“Sure,” I said. I had always felt awkward around Sally. “It’s no problem.”

Our footsteps echoed over the polished stone surfaces to a bank of elevators. We went to her floor and she led me past a set of double doors, a reception desk, and a pair of leather couches. On the wall hung a series of photographs depicting various stages of the Rice Hotel revitalization project. Years ago, downtown was a deserted wasteland after five o’clock. No one believed that people might live there or go there at night. Sally’s company had pioneered the downtown gentrification, changed the city, and made millions. Now urban lofts sprouted everywhere, even in the suburbs.

The air-conditioning froze my sweat, and goose bumps rose along my arms. We walked down the hall to her office. A huge window overlooked the building’s atrium, filled with large leafy plants, ferns, and birds of paradise. Filtered sunlight fell in patches on the sleek office furniture. “Have a seat,” she said, indicating a pair of plush chairs. We each took one.