Her exaggerated grin doesn’t erase the fear in her eyes. “Julie’s always been loyal to Bobby W. I know she wouldn’t do anything to harm the Killer Body family.”
Killer Body family.The wrong combination of words said to the wrong person, a person whose family is one person less, possibly because of someone at Killer Body.
I swallow my anger and ask, “So, you don’t think she just took off?”
“Of course not. She’s not like that.”
“But she’s missing. Gone. How do you know her, anyway?”
Tania Marie gulps down the rest of the glass. For someone who claims alcohol isn’t her thing, she is demonstrating an amazing capacity.
“What business is it of yours?”
I swallow a little liquid fuel of my own. “Everything about this story is my business. I don’t want to hurt you or anyone else, but I have to know the facts.”
I expect her to flip me off. Instead, I can see from her eyes that she buys it. I start to feel guilty again, start to question what I believe about the whole Marshall Cameron Tania Marie Camp scandal.
“It’s personal. But what happened—it made us close, in a way.”
My fingers tingle, but I don’t dare try to write this down or do anything else to derail her fragile thought process. “You met through Killer Body?”
“No.” Innocent little-girl eyes, eyelashes like gold-tipped black spikes. “That’s all I’m going to say. Can I go now? I’m supposed to meet my bodyguard here.”
She is asking me for permission to leave. A nauseating wave of guilt damned near fells me. “I didn’t know you had a bodyguard,” I say, a bit too shakily.
“Virginia, my mom, just hired him. I don’t even know where he is. The whole thing is ridiculous, but if you knew Virginia, you’d understand that some things you just don’t argue.” She shrugs, feigning more happiness than either of us can possibly stomachat this moment. “Let me know if you see a short guy in cowboy boots walking around. I hate short men, don’t you?”
That strained, breathless tone in her voice makes me feel put off, as if she’s asking about the bodyguard to distract me.
“Must be tough for you having a famous chef for a mom,” I say.
She tosses her head. Her gelled hair doesn’t move.
“Virginia’s cool.”
“Do you always call her by her first name?”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
I get the point. Virginia Camp, like Oprah, Elvis, Madonna and God, doesn’t need a last name. Icons seldom do.
“This guard of yours—does he work full-time for your mother, or is this a special assignment?”
She shoves her hands, champagne flute and all, to her hips, and I can see the true, top-heavy form the expensive ensemble almost conceals. It isn’t pretty, and witnessing it doesn’t make me feel any better about myself.
“He works at her San Francisco restaurant, okay? I don’t even know the man, and I don’t need him or anyone else for backup.”
“What’s he supposed to do, exactly?”
She gives me a bleached-white grin—good, even teeth—reproach, maybe even disappointment, in her eyes and voice.
“Protect me from people like you, for starters.” With that, she turns her back on me and disappears into the body-to-body crowd. I get the feeling she’s fighting tears, and it bothers me more than it should. For a moment, I wish I could run after her, take her arm and tell her to get the hell away from Killer Body. But I’m a reporter on assignment, a reporter who’s promised her aunt she’ll uncover the truth. And I will.
The woman walking away from me has been exploited by the media more flagrantly than anyone in a long time, but I don’t dare allow myself to dwell on that now. Tania Marie is a source. That’s all she can be.
SIX
Rikki
