“Yes, of course,” Spears assures me. “Would you like to take a break?”
A short break is unlikely to make me verbal, and it would just prolong this, so I shake my head and reach for a sheet of paper. At least that way, he can take it with him.
I don’t remember anything like this happening. I haven’t met anyone called Mary and I don’t get a lot of fan mail.
Spears reads it, lips pursed. “Okay. Let’s talk about the card. You said you don’t get a lot of fan mail, so this was uncommon?”
I nod emphatically.
I hardly get any mail at all. I recognized her name and was going to throw it out, but Kyle wanted to keep it.
“Can you think of any other time in the past month, aside from that email and card, that Mary might have tried to contact you? Have you run into someone in a public place who seemed chatty? Or gotten an unusually high number of telemarketer calls?”
I’m shaking my head before he even finishes, and point at Griff, then Calla.
“Phil doesn’t answer the phone to unfamiliar numbers,” Calla explains. “And this past month, I don’t think he’s gone anywhere without one of us or our friends. He’s been spendinga lot of time at Griff’s place, because…” She shrugs. “It’s the honeymoon phase.”
My face goes hot.Thanks, Cal.
Griff’s soft smile settles some of my embarrassment as he reaches over to take my hand.
Spears looks deep in thought for a minute, then sighs. “Were you aware that the parcel you received Saturday had a note in it?”
I nod.
“Has anyone discussed the contents of that note with you?”
I shake my head. I almost asked Griff about it yesterday, but I didn’t want to ruin our day.
“I have a copy here. You don’t have to see it, but?—”
I hold out my hand even though my anxiety claws a little higher. It might be scary, but at this stage, not knowing would be even worse.
Spears passes me a clearly photocopied sheet of paper, and I take a deep breath before I look at it. Griff’s grip on my hand tightens.
Every word feels like a needle stabbing into me. I can’t believe there’s someone out there who feels this way about me.
I read it again. Why does she think I’m tearing down “the style of mature women”? I design for mature women all the time, and I’ve never been accused of being insensitive to their style. And why mention Mar?—
Gasping, I wave the letter at Calla, then lay it on the desk and jab my forefinger at Margaret’s name.
“What?” Griff asks as they all crowd closer. “Margaret? What abou— Fuck!”
“Could someone please tell me what you’ve all realized?” Spears asks. “If it’s that this person likely learned about you because you’re designing for Margaret Haywood, I’ve thought of that.”
“Yes, but no,” Griff explains. “All knowledge of Margaret’s gown is embargoed. I’m not just talking about the design itself, I mean even the fact that it’s being designed by Phallacy. The only people who knew—before Saturday, anyway—that Margaret is collaborating with Phallacy are under NDAs.”
He perks up. “It hasn’t been announced?”
“Not to anyone,” Calla assures him. “Until Saturday, not even our best friends knew, and we trust them implicitly. Our industry runs on secrets and leveraging the most impact out of every announcement.”
I nod emphatically.
“So you’re telling me it’s extremely likely that Mary is someone who is connected to one of you or Margaret Haywood.”
A cold chill chases down my spine. That’s an unpleasant thought.
He leans over the desk to read the note again. “Do you mostly design for a younger clientele? Mary seems to be implying that the gown Phil’s designing for Margaret is some kind of attack on older women.”
