SCORNED EX WIFE Queen Of Ashes (Camille and Stefan)

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

ROSE'S POINT OF VIEW

The shoe sat on Detective Ramirez's desk between us. A woman's size seven pump, once black, now gray-

green from three months underwater. The heel had broken off, but the designer's red sole remained visible. Louboutin. Unmistakably Camille's.

"Is this your sister's shoe, Ms. Lewis?" Detective Ramirez asked, his tired eyes watching my reaction carefully.

I reached for it with trembling fingers, a calculated tremord practiced that morning. "Yes," I whispered, breaking on cue. "She wore these the last time I saw her. A gift from our parents for her birthday." The lie slid out smoothly. In truth, I'd given Camille those shoes when she

landed her first job, playing the generous big sister while privately mocking her pathetic excitement over my hand-

me-downs.

"Does seeing this personal item bring up any new thoughts about your sister's state of mind before her disappearance?"

An Interesting question. Not "accident" or "drowning," but "disappearance." The detective's word choice revealed his lingering doubts.

"Your parents mentioned Camille kept journals," he continued. "Have you had a chance to read them?"

So Mom had spoken to the police about the journals. This was worse than I thought. voice

away as if overcome. "Too painful. Mom mentioned she found

have found comfort in our shared grief," I said carefully. "We were friends before he

Greene, the family's trusted fixer. "I need everything you can get on Detective Ramirez. And I need to know exactly what my mother told the police about Camille's journal Then I headed to my parents' house. Mom was at her weekly therapy appointment, an engagement I'd encouraged to

antidepressants.

but an empty space. Mom's private sitting room,

"Looking for something?"

from the doorway froze me in

months.

and alert than I'd seen

forcing warmth into my voice.

September 14th, ten years ago: 'Rose told Jason I stuffed ny bra before the dance. Now he won't

I'd spent weeks helping her get his attention, only to whisper that carefully crafted

I said dismissively.

journal. "April 2nd, eight years ago Got my Stanford acceptance today. Rose says it's probably a mistake.

me."

to protect her from disappointment," I

called the admissions office to 'confirm' they wanted her. They thought she was having a mental health

none of us understood. The last time we spoke, she said things that frightened

"What things?"

lies flowed smoothly, tailored to match symptoms I knew Mom feared. Her own mother had suffered from paranoid delusions. "That's not possible," Mom said, but doubt had crept into her

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