Twisted Palace by Erin Watt Page B

hanging over our heads.
    I’m in a weird state of satisfaction and anticipation. Reed’s giving me nearly everything, but it’s not enough. Still, I know that if our situations were reserved, he’d totally respect my wishes. So I have to respect his. Which sucks.
    When we arrive at the funeral home, Callum is waiting for us at the entrance. He’s wearing a black suit that probably cost more than my car, and his hair is slicked back away from his face, which makes him look younger.
    “You didn’t have to wait for us,” I say when we reach him.
    He shakes his head. “You heard Halston—we need to show family unity. So if we’re going to be here together, then everyone will leave believing we’re a happy, non-guilty group.”
    I don’t say it out loud, but I’m pretty sure no one in there is going to be impressed with a Royal show of strength, considering we’re all members of the alleged murderer’s family.
    The three of us enter the somber-looking building, and Callum leads us to an arched doorway to our left. Inside is a small chapel with rows of polished wooden pews, a raised area with a podium, and…
    A casket.
    My pulse speeds up at the sight. Oh my God. I can’t believe Brooke is actually in there.
    As a morbid thought occurs to me, I stand on my tiptoes to whisper in Callum’s ear. “Did they do an autopsy on her?”
    He responds with a grim nod. “Results haven’t come back yet.” He pauses. “I assume they’ll conduct DNA testing on the, ah, fetus, as well.”
    The thought makes me sick, because for the first time since this all started, it suddenly occurs to me that two people died in that penthouse. Brooke…and an innocent baby.
    Swallowing a rush of bile, I force my gaze away from the sleek black box. Instead, I stare at the huge framed photograph that sits on an easel beside it.
    Brooke might have been an awful person, but even I can’t deny that she was beautiful. The picture they picked shows a smiling Brooke in a pretty patterned sundress. Her blonde hair is loose and her blue eyes are sparkling as she beams at the camera. She looks gorgeous.
    “Shit. This is depressing,” Easton mumbles.
    It totally is.
    I was so poor growing up that I couldn’t afford a funeral for my mom. The memorial service was twice the cost of the cremation, so I decided not to have a service. No one would’ve attended it anyway. Mom would’ve liked it, though.
    “Coming?” Easton prompts, nodding his head toward the front.
    I follow his gaze to the casket. It’s open, but I refuse to go up. So I shake my head and find a seat near the middle while Easton ambles up the center aisle, hands tucked into his pockets. His suit coat strains across his broad shoulders as he leans forward. I wonder what he sees.
    Glancing around the room, I’m a bit surprised by the turnout. Or rather, the lack of turnout. There are fewer than ten people in attendance. I guess Brooke really didn’t have any friends.
    “ Get out !”
    I jerk at the sound of Dinah’s high-pitched wail. Well, Brooke had one friend, at least.
    It takes a second to register that Dinah is speaking to us . She’s glaring daggers at me and Easton, who’s just coming back from the casket.
    “This is shameful!” she screams, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so unhinged before. Her face is one red splotch, her green eyes wild with outrage. “You Royals don’t belong here! And you— ”
    She’s talking to me now.
    “—you’re not even family! Get out! All of you!”
    I don’t know what not-guilty looks like, but I’m putting Dinah at the top of my suspects list. A woman who’d blackmail some poor guy into her bed is a woman who’d do other terrible things.
    Callum stalks over, a hard look in his eyes. Steve, who’s in a similar black suit, tails him. Steve’s gaze flicks at my black sack of a dress that I found on the first sale rack at the mall department store. It’s two sizes too big, but the only other black dress I have