But then, in his sixties, a new leaf. Sobriety. Retirement. A permanent move back to his hometown of Seattle. A new marriage. And then, after a viral joke during the election put him back on people’s radars, he signed a thirty-million-dollar deal with Quan, a new streaming service comparable to Netflix and Hulu.
“Jacqui watched his comedy special, and she said it was really funny,” Belinda says, and Drew nods. “And there’s a second one coming out soon. Did you know his wife is going to inherit something like forty-six million dollars? Oh, and did you know she’s Filipino?”
Ruby Reyes did mention that.
“Look,” Belinda says, pointing to the TV screen, where a woman wearing a bloodstained tank top, sweatpants, and pink slippers is being led out in handcuffs. “She sure looks guilty. And she’s so young. Compared to Jimmy Peralta anyway.”
Drew looks up at the screen. His heart stops. He blinks. Then blinks again.
Holy shit. There she is. Betty Savage. On TV.
It’s Mae.
He grabs the remote and attempts to pause the TV, only to remember that his mother’s television doesn’t have that function.
“What is it?” Belinda asks, concerned.
“Hang on,” Drew says, reaching for his phone instead. “I just need to look up something.”
If his spine has been tingling the past few days, it’s vibrating now as his mind flies back to his earlier conversation with Ruby. Somehow, the Ice Queen must have figured out that Mae Ocampo is alive and married to a rich celebrity. Only someone like that would have the money to pay Ruby enough to buy a house. Here in Toronto, even a little one that needs work would cost well over a million dollars. Ruby must believe that Mae had something to do with the fire that killed Joey. And if she’s blackmailing Mae, she must know she can prove it.
Any normal mother with a dead daughter would want justice. But it’s the Ice Queen. What she wants is to get paid.
He’s googling jimmy peralta wife when his screen suddenly goes black. He has an incoming call. Shit. Letting out a grunt of frustration, he’s about to decline it so he can get back to his google search, and then he realizes it’s Hannah McKinley calling. He jabs the green accept button.
“Hey, Sergeant. Can I call you—”
“This won’t take long, mate,” McKinley says, barging right in, as usual. “I missed something about Mae that I wanted to tell you about. I know you said you no longer wanted to search for her—”
I think I’ve found her.
“—but there was something noted on her last arrest report that I didn’t catch. I know I might be sending you right back down the rabbit hole you so painstakingly climbed out of, but remember how Mae had a minor drug arrest? Well, it was during her time as a dancer at the Golden Cherry, though it didn’t happen at the club. The charge didn’t stick—”
Hurry up. Drew keeps his gaze focused on the TV, where they’re still talking about Jimmy Peralta’s murder.
“—but on the arrest report, it notes she has a tattoo on her thigh. I checked all the previous reports, and it’s not mentioned anywhere, so the tattoo must have been new.” McKinley clears her throat. “It’s of a butterfly, and it was photographed when she was booked. I’m going to text it to you now. Can you pull up the picture that shows Joelle’s tattoo? I think they look quite similar.”
The TV has gone to commercial. His mother is watching him questioningly.
“Hold on,” Drew says. “I still have a photo of it in my phone.”
He puts McKinley on speaker, and pulls up his photo app to take another look at the pictures he snapped of the photos Cherry gave him. He selects the picture of Joey dressed as Ruby reading a book in the dressing room, her legs up, and zooms in on her thigh.
“The butterfly is maybe four inches by three inches, and it’s blue, purple, and pink,” he says. “It’s like a side profile, as if the butterfly is in flight.”
McKinley exhales. “Check the photo I just sent you.”
Three seconds later, his Messages app receives a photo. Drew enlarges it. McKinley has sent him a close-up of Mae’s tattoo. It is, indeed, a butterfly. Blue, purple, and pink, side profile, midflight.
It’s not just similar to Joey’s. It’s identical.
“Holy shit, they had matching tattoos,” Drew says, more to himself than to McKinley. In his peripheral vision, he can see his mother’s frown at his use of a curse word.
How did he not catch this earlier? He swipes to the next photo, where Joey is standing with Mae and another dancer. While Joey’s dress is so short it shows both her thighs, Mae’s dress is longer, with a slit on only one side. Joey’s tattoo was on her right thigh. Mae’s would have been on her left.