“Of course,” he said, but his voice was just a little bit too loud, his eyes just a little bit too jumpy. He’d never been this nervous before an interrogation before.
“We don’t have to go down right away,” I said. “We could hang out up here for a little while. Take a relaxing bath.” I knew from experience that the tub was great—not only did it overlook the sea, but it had about a thousand jets and was lined with at least ten different bottles of bubble bath scents, from lavender to bacon (which I was almost intrigued enough to try).
He shook his head, already moving toward the door. “Let’s go down. Don’t worry about me.”
I hadn’t worried about him. Not until this moment. Which was really selfish of him to make me do right now, honestly!!! We had a murder to solve and multiple reputations to save. How was I supposed to do those things when my stomach was twisted into a full-on knot?
CHAPTER
Eleven
If there was one thing I was good at, it was my fake smile. And also choosing the perfect outfit for an occasion. And also solving murders. Okay, I was good at a lot of things, and they were all relevant as I picked my way down the stairs of Kevin’s private resort, clad in the perfect flowy white sundress that screamedinnocent young womanand the bright yet calm smile that screamedinnocent young woman who you really want to spill secrets to.
A quick scan of the stretch of beach behind the resort showed that Cora and her husband were not yet among the few people hanging out enjoying the view—it was getting close to sunset—or sipping a drink by the bar. Gabe and I decided to divide and conquer—I’d chat up a few of the people near the bar, while he’d go down to the sand. We recognized some of the guests from my gala, though most had alibis from the photos; still, maybe someone would be able to tell us something useful. “Don’t get too sucked into anything,” Gabe told me before heading off. “I really want us to go for a walk on the beach at sunset.”
I didn’t have much time to worry more about how weird he was being, because I was accosted by Denise Ryan the moment I wafted over toward the bar. She was nearly at the bottom of something fruity; at least three cherries floated in what was mostly iceby now. “Pom,” she said, smiling. Her teeth were tinted pink. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Oh, it was kind of a last-minute thing,” I said. “But it’s so nice to see you!”
“Is that handsome hunk of yours here too?” She said it with a self-conscious grin, making fun of herself. At least partially. Or maybe she wanted to take a bite out of my handsome hunk.
“Yes, he’s down at the beach. He wanted to rest for a bit by the water.”
“Can’t blame him,” Denise said, taking one last sip of her drink. The ice rattled as she set the glass down and pushed it away. I looked longingly at the cherries. “So annoying to take a ferry ride after a flight.”
I blinked. “You didn’t fly direct to the airstrip?”
“He has an airstrip suitable for a jet?”
I nodded. Poor Denise. Her assistant was totally going to get fired for this. “You’ll have to tell your captain to pick you up from here directly.”
“Oh my, I definitely will.” She raised her hand, signaling the bartender for another drink. I raised my hand, too, indicating that I’d have whatever she was having. It looked good, in that I liked my alcohol to contain a surplus of cherries. “Anyway, Pom, how are you? I’ve been thinking of you, after everything that happened.” She gave me gooey eyes. I had to look away so I wouldn’t get all sticky with her sympathy. “Your very first gala, and there’s a murder. It’s enough to make you never want to be charitable again, huh?”
That was an odd thing for her to say, considering she’d made it her life’s work to give away all the money she’d gotten from her ex-husband. But I didn’t want to ruffle any feathers, at least not when they weren’t filling out a gloriously soft mattress. “For real,” I said. The bartender slid our drinks in front of us. To my great pleasure, I saw he’d put not one, not two, not even three, butfourcherries in mine. “Not going to lie, I’ve had a hard timewith it. But not as hard a time as the people who loved Conrad Phlume, right?”
Denise barked a laugh. It had an edge hard enough to leave a bruise. “Wasthere anyone who loved him?”
Probably a callous thing to say about a murder victim, but also probably true. “Maybe a mistress or two?”
She cackled. “He used to ‘tease’ me for being a former bartender, and by ‘tease’ I mean he’d constantly bring it up as a way to invalidate whatever I had to say. Funnily enough, it was never in front of my ex-husband. Not like it mattered.” Something dark glittered in her eyes. “It wasn’t as if my ex ever reminded people that the reason I’d bartended was so that he could focus full-time on his start-up that wasn’t making any money.”
Old Pom would’ve just asked, with genuine puzzlement, why their parents didn’t help them out. New Pom nodded sympathetically and wondered if she could drop a hint about how, if Denise had been able to take advantage of a living grant from the Pomona Afton Foundation, she wouldn’t have had to work two jobs. It would probably be crass.
But what the hell. My reputation had taken a dive into the toilet anyway. “By the way, we never got to finish our conversation from the gala. These kids deserve the world, and you can help give it to them.”
“Of course they do,” she said. “But, Pom…”
“What?” I tried not to snap.
“To be frank with you, my ex-husband and I are locked in a battle of reputations. If I’m involved with anything that has even a whiff of scandal attached to it…”
“Of course,” I said flatly.
“I’m so glad you understand,” she said, taking another sip of her drink. The bartender had somehow refilled it without my even noticing. A true genius at his craft. “But come now, we’re at a party. We’re supposed to be having fun.” She leaned back, so now I was flooded with the smell of salt and sand, brine andocean. Music strummed softly in the background. I thought it was a speaker, but then I noticed the trio of string players set up on the beach. “You and that handsome hunk of yours, when are you getting married?”
Was this her trying to feel out how serious we were? “We’ve discussed it,” I said vaguely. “It’s in the cards.”
“Oh, really?” The response hadn’t come from Denise; it had come from behind me. Freaking Peach—no, Nectarine—no,Persimmonsashayed around me, all dolled up in a floral maxi dress that was appropriately floaty for the occasion but whose pastel colors washed out her pale hair. “Then where is he? He didn’t have to stay home andwork, did he?”
