The woman clamps her hands to her face and steps back in shock. Blood trickles through her fingers. The camera pans in closer. Her name badge can be seen clearly. She is the president of the Constellation Prize. Unaware of what she’s done, Essie swigs from the neck of the champagne bottle.

A tuxedo-wearing man appears. He places his hand firmly on Essie’s shoulder. Startled, she spins around and throws a punch that connects with his ear. The man’s head jerks to the side. Two more men arrive. They wear suits and look like bouncers. They try to reason with Essie before she shoves them both away. The champagne bottle goes flying onto an empty table.

The two bouncers take hold of Essie and march her toward the door. “I only ever loved one man and he’s dead,” she yells, back over her shoulder. The camera zooms in on her mascara-streaked face. “Grant, I’m so sorry...”

32

THE BRASS KEY

Liv doubled over. She felt like she was going to vomit. She staggered along the hallway, scraping her shoulder against the wall. Finding herself in Essie’s award room, she clenched her fists. She’d stood here so many times, gazing at all the trophies and photographs, full of admiration for Essie and her spangled life. And the author had lied to her for three bloody years.

Did her dad and Essie really have an affair? She hated Anthony for suggesting it. Her parents had been happy, but Carol’s words about their arguments wriggled in Liv’s head like maggots in old meat.

In the video, Essie said she was so sorry. But what did she have to be sorry for? Something to do with the death of Liv’s father? It had been a terrible accident.

It didn’t explain why Essie gave her the task of finishing her final book and her belief that only Liv could deliver it.

She was only sure of one thing—that Essie Starling was a liar.

With her thoughts a whirlwind in her head, Liv let out an ear-shattering cry and lunged forward. She swiped a hand along one of the shelves. The awards queued in a line before dropping off the end and crashing down. Crystal flew and smashed. It splintered and shards shot out in all directions. Thick black plastic bases bounced onto the floor.

Liv stood on tiptoes to reach the top shelf and pulled each of the awards toward her, as if using hand pumps to pull pints of beer. They hit the top of her socked feet, but she didn’t care.

On the next shelf down, she pressed her palms together and inserted them between two photographs. She flung her arms apart and a stainless-steel prize shaped like a book hit the wall and chipped the plaster. Photograph frames flew.