In the bathroom she’d escaped, the first thing he noticed was the open window. Its opening would have been too small for most people to fit through. He certainly couldn’t make it.
The second thing he noticed was what had been written in soap on the mirror above the sink. A single star, followed by:
Dirty and unsafe. Definitely not worth the $30,000 tip!
SIXTY-ONE
CARA
Cara couldn’t have killed Karl. He was her soulmate. My friend is innocent.
—Sworn testimony of Stephanie van der Lind
If the not-so-safe house had taught Cara anything, it was that she needed to hide in a place where $30,000 was only enough to buy a low-end Birkin bag. While she still had to be wary of everyone’s hunger for fifteen minutes of fame, she would be safer in Beverly Hills.
At least, that’s what she told herself as the bus dropped her off at the corner of Sunset and Canon Drive.
Her oldest friend lunched on sunny Tuesdays and Thursdays in the Cabana café at the Beverly Hills Hotel, where she always ordered the McCarthy salad and an iced tea with two Stevia. Being seen by the localladies who lunchhad led to multiple listings. Even if Stephanie didn’t speak to anyone but the server during a given meal, she firmly believed the (maximally tweaked) face time would lead to her star turn inThe RealRealtor of Beverly Hills,a reality show she pitched to anyone who’d listen.
Both their husbands had viewed their careers as useful tax deductions, but Karl seemed to take a genuine interest in what Cara was doing—she hated to think it was because he actually needed the money—while Noel van der Lind didn’t seem to care that Stephanie rarely sold a house. He was more than willing to foot the bill to keep her occupied. Cara believed this was not only because Stephanie was a lot to deal with but because Noel preferred to spend his free time with his “best friend” Timothy.
It was true that Stephanie was dramatic, pandering, and the ultimate opportunist, but Cara loved her anyway. She’d always been loyal to the best of her transactionally oriented ability.
Could she be discreet? It wasn’t her forte. Not in sixth grade, when she bragged to the class they’d smoked one of Cara’s mom’s cigarettes. Not in high school, when Cara mentioned that Richard Margolin was kind of hot and Stephanie invited him to the Sadie Hawkins dance on her behalf, without asking her first. And certainly not when Cara met Karl and Stephanie found out he was a plastic surgeon.Well done! Free work for both of us!
Stephanie was, however, utterly predictable, and there was no one more capable of helping Cara do what she had to do next.
Cara entered the hotel from the back and made her way down the winding pathways, past the iconic pool. The Beverly Hills Hotel staff were no strangers to the unconventional sartorial choices of their clientele, and had for decades provided unflinching, first-class service to the filthy rich, whether they slummed it in punk leather, heroin chic rags, or I-don’t-care tracksuits. Even so, Cara’s weather-beaten Golden Goose sneakers were the only part of her wardrobe that didn’t look like they had come straight off the racks at Goodwill. To reduce her risk of being noticed, she stopped behind a pillar to scan the peach-and-green cushioned chairs.
Even if Stephanie’s hair hadn’t been the same honey-blond shade as half the female diners, and she hadn’t been at her usual table in the center of the patio, wearing a multicolored, striped Pucci statement dress, there was no way anyone could miss her.
Cara guessed the plain-looking young brunette sitting across from her was merely her latest assistant, whose duties included having lunch with the boss so she didn’t look desperate enough to eat alone.
Feeling a light tap on her shoulder, Cara turned around. She knew the server’s name was Rolf without glancing at his nametag because he’d waited on her before.
“May I help you, ma’am?”
Avoiding eye contact, she attempted a Southern drawl. “I have an important message for my boss. She’s having lunch here and she’s not answering her phone.”
“If you can point her out, I’ll be happy to relay the message.”
“It’s... secret. I can’t tell anyone but her. But it’s the lady in the striped dress.”
Rolf narrowed his eyes, clearly wondering if this was a drug deal. “I will let her know you are here, behind this post, waiting for her.”
Cara’s heart thumped as he walked elegantly over to Stephanie and whispered in her ear. Stephanie looked Cara’s way first with confusion and then disapproval before she stood up.
She arrived in a cloud of Black Opium perfume.
“The server said you have a message for me?”
“Steffi, it’s me,” Cara whispered.
Stephanie’s blue eyes (enhanced by colored contact lenses) widened. Cara was the only one who ever dared to use her high school nickname.
“Oh! My!” Stephanie gave her a once-over, stopping at the shoes. “God!”
SIXTY-TWO
