“Nope. Not even a little bit.”
Noah shook his head at me. “Once a socialite, always a socialite.”
“Hey, I’m moving into a place with yellow linoleum. Kayla will attest that fact strips away any socialite heritage I may have once possessed.”
“Fine, princess. Let’s go get the dogs.”
THE WALKwas simple enough. No new articles or gossip blogs about me had been posted in the past couple of weeks. It didn’t mean we weren’t getting distasteful looks or that people weren’t talking, but at least they were giving us our space.
It also didn’t mean people were calling for photography sessions either.
Not a one.
However, the Travazza shoot ended up pretty amazing, if I say so myself. Both the family Christmas picture and Charlotte’s wood nymph spread. I bet once those went out for the holidays, people would start calling once more. Surely.
If not, it truly was a good thing we were moving into Noah’s hideous apartment.
It was a mindfuck to have stood on the precipice of your dream career and have it stripped away. And as soon as the movers were gone, all my wounds and petty disappointments were forgotten. Noah made sure of that.
He did such a good job of it, that when we stumbled into the kitchen for ice cream after, the yellow linoleum had a pretty glow about it. Almost.
THE NEXTmorning, after Noah once again made certain a typical job was the furthest thing from my mind, I checked my phone. I had a message from Kayla, same as almost every morning. Only this one was not a picture of Bailey.
I’m meeting the investigator this afternoon. I’d like you to be with me.
Chapter Thirty-Three
TRUTH BEtold, in all the drama with Dustin and then the move, I nearly forgot Kayla had hired an investigator. Part of me wondered if she had forgotten as well. Otherwise, surely she would’ve told him his services were no longer needed.
Kayla and I met at our typical Starbucks about twenty minutes before the PI was scheduled to come. Kayla was sweating.
I’d never seen that before.
“Are you going to be okay?”
She flinched as if we hadn’t just been talking. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
I cocked my head toward her drink. “You got a venti white chocolate mocha, honey. Without any special instructions. There’s probably four hundred calories in that thing, and you’re sucking it down like it’s coconut water.”
“There’s six hundred and twenty, actually.” Kayla glared at me. “And don’t look at me like that. Of course I know the calorie count. And I also know how many meals I have to have only carrot sticks and how many hours of cardio I’ll have to do to make up for it. And I don’t care.” She took another large swig to prove her point.
I stretched out my hand and stroked the top of her arm. “Kayla, it’s going to be okay. Whatever he tells us. Besides, at this point it’s routine. We already know what he’s going to say.”
Her lip trembled. “But what if we don’t?”
“Oh, Kayla, we’ve been through this.”
“I know we have. But still, what if we’re wrong? What if Dustin is telling the truth?”
I’d played that scenario out several times in my head as well. To my surprise, I desperately wanted it to be true. To not have to admit that my brother would truly doallof this to me. That it had been Stewart all along. But it wasn’t. At that point, I couldn’t have even said why I was so certain it wasn’t Stewart; I just knew it wasn’t. I couldn’t hold back a sigh before responding. “He isn’t, but let’s say we find out that Dustin is telling the truth. Why are you stressing about that? Won’t you be glad?”
“Of course I will. You know that. I’m just….” Her lip trembled again, and I thought she was going to cry. She didn’t. “I’ve enjoyed not being bossed around this past week or so, but I also have to admit, as weak as it sounds, I love him. I’m just terrified that the detective is going to say that Dustin did do it. That he’s lying. And then there will be nothing left. I’ll have no choice. But at least there’s been a little bit of doubt, something I could hold on to, you know?”
There was nothing else I could say, at least that I could think of. We just held hands and drank our skinniness away.
WHEN THEinvestigator finally showed up, eight minutes late, he looked nothing like what I expected. Tom Selleck he most definitely was not. He was more like a great-great-grandfather than an investigator. He greeted Kayla warmly and then held his hand out to me. “You must be Randall Morgan. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Roger Amick.”
I took his hand. “Nice to meet you, and I hate to break it to you, but everyone’s heard a lot about me. That’s kinda the point of this whole thing.”
