“It was fine. Spoke to your grandparents. They told me what the first years of their life were like.”
“Any discrepancies in the story?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not really. I guess it seems like the normal first years of married life, when you have kids, and there’s just a lot going on.”
“Let’s not talk about them right now. I’m sure we’ll get to them later.”
“I’m sure we will. So, what did you do after I talked to your grandfather?”
“I went into town. Paparazzi were there again. Yay for me.”
“I’m sorry. That must be a miserable life.”
“When I was in New York, I didn’t really care about it. It was just something that was constant, and being an eligible bachelor is not the worst thing to be known as. But then life changed, and well… I don’t want to have them in my face constantly.” I so badly want to ask him what changed. So very badly. But another part of me doesn’t want to know. Not until I figure out what I’m going to do.
“Do you enjoy being a ghostwriter? I know this is your first time.”
“It’s fine. I mean, I like writing. It’s something I’ve done my entire life, and this is a way to do it differently than I normally do.”
“Oh?” he asks. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I pause. This was a perfect segue into me talking about being a reporter, but it doesn’t feel right. Especially not after the paparazzi conversation the other night. It had felt natural then. We were in our cocoon, naked and close. Now I don’t feel that same connection. I don’t not feelaconnection—but it’s not the same connection that you feel after you’ve just been intimate with someone. Now I just feel like a horrible person. I’ll tell him later.
“I thought we could go swimming after we eat. Or before we eat. Whichever one you prefer.”
“Swimming?” I say. “But I didn’t bring my bathing suit. You didn’t tell me we were going to go swimming.”
“Who needs a bathing suit? It’s a private beach. You’ve never been skinny-dipping before, Gina?”
“No. I’ve never been anywhere where there’s been a private beach or a private pool.”
“So, there is a first time for everything, right?”
“Did you ask me to this picnic so we could make love again?” I grin as he grabs my hand.
“I mean… I didn’t not ask you on the picnic because of that.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Anyway, I was narrowing down the list of people I think could have a connection to Patrick,” he says. “And I’m thinking it could be one of those college students.”
“Oh? You think so?”
“I mean, no one really knows them. I can’t even think of their names right now. Can you?”
“Oh, you would ask me this.” I groan. “I feel horrible. I should know their names. I’ve been in so many group meetings with them, but they don’t really speak much. Wait. I got it. Sally and Quincy. They go to Whisper Cove Community College, and they’re in the creative writing program there. I mean… do you really think they could steal?”
“I’m not saying I think they could steal. I don’t know them,” he says matter-of-factly. “But Patrick seems to have his way with wooing women, and… well, Sally seemed like the impressionable sort.”
“You’re right. And to go to your point, you know what I’ve noticed? She’s always reading romance pieces. She wants to write romance books. And I think all her romance books have age gaps.”
“And Patrick seems like he’s older than her, right?”
“Yeah. Shit. Did he seduce Sally so he could get an in, and she stole the necklace?”
“I mean, my grandma always has people all over the house.”
