Chapter 6: What Lunar Means
The Lancaster Foundation office was on the twelfth floor and it didn't look like a charity. It looked like a law firm that had tried to look softer with art. Gray carpet, glass walls, a reception desk with a fresh flower arrangement that must have cost more than my first apartment's rent. Deputy Alvarez held the elevator for me and I could feel how cold the air conditioning was against my arms. I was still in the clothes they'd given me at the house, not my pajamas. My pajamas were in an evidence bag.
The coordinator's name was Diane Cho. She was maybe fifty, neat bob, navy blazer, the kind of woman who answered emails at 5 a.m. She stood when we came in and her eyes went straight to the bag in Alvarez's hand, then away.
"Ms. Lancaster," she said. "I'm so sorry this happened. We're cooperating fully."
Alvarez nodded. "We need to clarify a term. Your lunar suite."
Diane's mouth tightened. She pulled a binder off a shelf and opened it to a tabbed page with a floor plan. The paper was heavy, glossy. At the top it said Lancaster Foundation Gala - Donor Experience Package - Lunar Suite.
"It isn't anything," she said, then corrected herself. "It isn't what it sounds like. It's a room."
She turned the binder toward me. The plan showed the ballroom on the main floor of the foundation building, and off the north side, a small annex with its own bathroom, a sitting area, a private entrance from the service hall. It was marked LUNAR SUITE in neat caps. Next to it were photos: a marble floor I recognized, a large multi-pane wooden window with late-afternoon light coming through. My chest went tight.
"That's my room," I said. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to. "That's where I was."
Diane looked down. "That space shares a wall with the foundation's historic wing. For the gala we stage it as a private dressing suite. For our $50,000 and up donors, we offer it as a perk. Quiet place to take calls, store coats, freshen up. It's listed in the benefits sheet."
Alvarez leaned over the floor plan. "Who had it for gala night?"
Diane slid out a printed assignment sheet, dated two days before the incident. There was a column for Suite, a column for Guest, a column for Notes. Lunar Suite was assigned to House Lancaster - E. Lancaster. My initials.
"I assigned it to you," Diane said to me. "You were supposed to have a place to change before the donor photos. It wasn't supposed to be overnight. The overnight line was a mistake."
She pulled another sheet underneath. It was an email thread, printed out. At the top, an inquiry from a donor liaison: Mr. Voss asked about overnight use as discussed. Below that, Diane's reply: Lunar suite not available overnight, day use only. Below that, a forwarded reply from someone higher: Hold for Voss discussion Friday, see what we can do.
Alvarez tapped the name. "Which Voss?"
"Jace Voss," Diane said quietly. "And his brother. They pledged fifty thousand in March. Jace asked specifically if the suite could be included for the night of the gala. He said..." She hesitated. "He said, 'If I get to have the lunar suite for the night, we're in for next year too.'"
The fragment clicked into place and I felt my hands go cold. If I get to have the lunar. That was what Jace had started to say when he was inches from my face, his teeth bared, his leather jacket creaking as he leaned in. He hadn't been talking about the moon. He hadn't been talking about anything supernatural. He'd been talking about a room. My room. A perk he'd been told he might get, and entitlement that came with it.
"So he thought he'd bought it," Alvarez said. Her tone didn't change, but she made a note.
Diane swallowed. "We never confirmed overnight. But the assignment sheet went out to security and catering, and someone wrote in pen—" She pointed to the margin where in ballpoint someone had written Voss - late hold? with a question mark and an arrow pointing at the Lunar Suite line. "Night security may have thought it was his."
I stared at the floor plan, at the little box that was supposed to be a dressing room and had been my bedroom for that night because my usual room was being painted. The warm low-key light through that window, the white marble floor I'd sat on while they stood over me. It was inventory on a benefits sheet.
"Who wrote that note?" Alvarez asked.
"I don't know," Diane said. "I didn't. I'll pull the camera for the office."
I finally looked up at her. "Did anyone tell Jace he didn't have it?"
Diane didn't answer right away. She looked at the email where her own words said day use only, and then at the forwarded hold message.
"I don't think anyone told him no clearly," she said. "I think we left it open because we wanted the pledge."
Alvarez closed the binder. She looked at me and I knew what she was thinking. Motive wasn't just that I'd hit him. Motive was that he'd walked into that room expecting it to be his for the night, and found me in it, in pajamas, on his floor.
May you like
She logged the binder and the assignment sheet into her file with photos on her phone, and Diane signed a release form with a hand that shook a little. The flower arrangement on the reception desk gave off a faint, sweet smell that made me feel sick.
Outside the glass walls, the city was bright and normal. Inside, the paper trail made it official. The lunar suite was a real place, my room had been listed as that place, and two men had decided that meant I was part of the package.
