The pasta arrives, and though it smells and tastes delicious, my appetite is nearly nonexistent. How could I have thought I’d enjoy a meal here with so much going wrong? Maybe I’ll never be able to learn what happened to Jamie. His family will despise me forever. And Sam’s kiss has roiled my emotions more than I thought possible.
I manage to eat about half the fettuccine before pushing the bowl aside. As I take a sip of pinot grigio, now far too warm, I catch a glimpse of someone walking in the direction of the restaurant and realize after a few seconds that it’s Vic’s agent, Dan. He spots me a split second later and lifts his hand in a wave.
“Kiki?” he calls out.
“Yes, it’s me. Hi, Dan.”
He approaches the table with a pleasant smile, carrying a small white plastic bag in one hand. He’s dressed in khaki pants and a pink-and-white-checked button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows.
“How are you doing?” he asks, reaching me.
“Getting by,” I say, forcing a smile. “I heard you were in the area, but I didn’t expect to see you in New Burford.”
“The pharmacy closest to Vic didn’t have my allergy meds, so I had to stop by the one here. Mind if I sit for a moment?”
“Please,” I say, surprised. “Want something to drink—or to eat?”
“Thanks, but I’m expected back at the house soon. I’d just love to chat for a few.”
He slides into the chair across from mine and drops the drugstore bag on the table.
“How was your dinner with Vic last night?” I ask. “I ate at the club with Ava, and she said you two were headed out somewhere.”
“We ended up scrapping that plan,” he says. “Vic was exhausted from his Boston event and wanted to turn in early, so I grabbed a bite on my own in town. Listen, I mainly wanted to apologize to you for not expressing any sympathy to you that night. I only recently learned that you’d been engaged to Jamie. This whole thing must be devastating for you.”
“Yes, very rough,” I say quietly. “I appreciate you saying that.”
There’s no hint of the bossiness that had bugged me that night. Maybe it was simply a manifestation of the stress he was under.
“Do you have family around here?” he asks. “Is that why you’ve come back?”
“No family in these parts. I just thought that being someplace Jamie loved might ease my grief a little.”
“I get that,” he says, offering a wan smile. “I didn’t know Jamie well, but it’s been harder than I expected.”
“You and Vic found the body. That must have been incredibly difficult.”
He nods. “And it still feels so unreal. My wife told me that when she heard the shot, she thought it was a firecracker, but I knew right away it was gunfire. I’d gone up to Vic’s office, and I came tearing down the stairs, thinking someone at the party had shot someone else there.”
I remember Dan on the steps now. He’d been looking for Vic upstairs, though it had turned out Vic was in the kitchen.
And earlier Dan had eaten dinner at the same table as Jamie. Is it possible he heard or saw something he doesn’t even realize is significant? Since he’s sitting across from me, I decide not to let the opportunity slip away.
“Was there anything about the night that seemed off to you?” I ask. “I mean, before you heard the gunfire?”
He grimaces. “You mean anything worrisome about Jamie’s behavior?” I nod. “No, not in the least. Since my wife and I were staying over, we’d been there since midafternoon, and Jamie showed up for dinner on the early side. He seemed to be in good spirits. It’s unbelievable how people can hide their pain.”
He obviously hasn’t questioned the purported cause of death.
“What was the mood at the table like? You sat with him, right?”
“Yeah. And everything was pleasant. Jamie had read an advancecopy of Vic’s book and so had my wife, and we shared some of the highlights with the others. There did seem to be a little issue with the woman he’d invited. She was clearly in a bad mood, and he pretty much ignored her—and then she left the table before dessert, never to return. But he hardly seemed upset by it.”
“Anything else, Dan?” I say, a pleading slipping into my tone. “Anything that seemed strange to you?”
He shakes his head, his expression clouding even more. “Nothing, and trust me, I’ve gone over it again and again. I played doubles with Vic and Jamie a couple of times when I’ve visited, and though I wouldn’t have been able to call him a friend, I really liked the guy. I just wish I’d noticed some warning signs that night—or had engaged with him more. Maybe it would have helped.”
“Dan, there was no way you could have made a difference,” I say, deciding at that moment that I had nothing to lose by telling the truth. “I’m almost positive that Jamie didn’t kill himself.”
