“He’s around here somewhere.” I spoke through clenched teeth. I really wanted another sip of my drink, but I wasn’t sure the liquid would make it through. Besides, I was getting enough ice from my new nemesis that I might end up with brain freeze. “I didn’t realize you knew Kevin.” I did, of course, but considering I’d learned it through social media research, it would be a faux pas to admit it. Besides, I didn’t want her thinking I’d looked her up.
“You don’t realize a lot of things, it seems!” she said, and tittered, though we both knew she wasn’t joking. She slithered her way neatly between Denise and me to signal the bartender for a drink of her own. Denise took the hint and wandered off to another cluster of people closer to her age. “I was Kevin’s date to your gala. I’m sure you were so busy, you didn’t even notice me.”
She sounded kind of hurt. Though, to be fair, she could have made sure I noticed her by, like, saying hello to me or something? This definitely was not entirely on me. “So he’s your… boyfriend?”
She tittered again, covering her mouth with one dainty hand. Orange polish gleamed on her fingernails. “You could say that. I do hate the word, though. ‘Boyfriend’ sounds so… juvenile, wouldn’t you agree?”
I might not remember her at the gala, but I did remember introducing Gabe as my boyfriend at the art gallery. I didn’t let my smile falter. “Oh, I’m sorry. You wouldn’t want to be juvenile when you’re dating such a… distinguished fellow.” Aka old man.
She didn’t let hers falter either. “We’ve been discussing marriage. That’s one perk of seeing someone older—they don’t want to waste any time.” Ouch, that was a dig at me. “I haven’t decided how I want him to propose yet. If I want something small and intimate, like a dinner flown from my favorite restaurant to a remote mountaintop, or something big and splashy, like a surprise yacht party.”
That was also a dig at me. And Gabe. That I was dating a poor.
But there was no chance I was going to let her think she’d won. Besides, grimacing gives you wrinkles, or so said the part of my internal monologue that sounded scarily like my mother.
“You know, we’ve also been discussing it,” I lied. “I’ve always dreamed of a proposal on my favorite private island. Not one in the Caribbean—there’s nothing wrong with the Caribbean, of course, but I feel like I’m here so often it’s not special.” Hopefully my host wasn’t in earshot. I had no grudge with the Caribbean, I just had something against Persimmon. “A family friend has an island in the Maldives that’s the most spectacular place I’ve ever been. I’m imagining us going snorkeling on our private reef and that’s where he’s hidden the ring. He proposes at sunset, while the water is sparkling with the colors of fire—not on one knee, of course; the coral will shred your knees and also it’s bad for the environment to touch it—and then we swim back to the island only to find that all of my friends and family are there for a giant party and they’ve actually seen the entire proposal from afar, with a professional drone operator having taken photos and video from above.”
Persimmon raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Sounds lovely. Though I imagine you can’t hide a very big ring in there.”
That wasn’t what she was saying, unless she knew absolutely nothing about coral. She was shading Gabe—I imagine your teacher boyfriend can’t afford a very big ring.
I tossed my hair, throwing all caution into the wind along with the perfume of my new favorite conditioner, which smelled of an oil extracted from a flower that only grew on a vine in a tree somewhere in the Andes cloud forests. I hoped it hit her smack in the face. The scent, not the hair. Though I wouldn’t be mad if the hair did too. “Actually, you can hide a ring of any size in coral. At least any size that fits on a human finger.” I raised my eyebrow, which was, honestly, not quite as sculpted, back at her. I’d simply been too busy with the whole murder thing to worry about making a threading appointment. “And, while I haven’t seen the ring yet, I’m pretty sure it’s going to make it hard to lift my hand. Because it’s so heavy. And big. I wouldn’t be seen in anything less. What wouldallof my followers say? You’re lucky you don’t have to worry about disappointing so many people.”
Nailed it. She wrinkled up her nose like I’d accidentally purchased the conditioner made out of the oils extracted from the fur of a small marsupial that lived in the remote Australian outback (while I’ve heard the smell is not great, it does apparently leave your hair the softest and shiniest it could possibly be). “I’m sure.”
Someone cleared their throat delicately behind me. I girded for battle with one of Persimmon’s friends—Plum? Pineapple?—but, to my surprise, turned and found Gabe standing there, all dewy in his salmon Hawaiian shirt and white shorts, an outfit that positively screamedbalding douchebag on a golf course on his third divorce. It was shocking how well he was pulling it off. “Oh, hey,” I said. “When did you come over here?”
“Just now,” he said. Good. Hopefully he hadn’t heard any of my lying. He liked to get on me about lying.It’s wrong, Pom.Okay, sure, Gabe,youtell me a better way to get out of things you don’t want to do without hurting anyone’s feelings or causing any international incidents. “Persimmon. Hi. Nice to see you.”He sounded a little like he was being strangled, which, understandable.
“Oh, you, too, Gabe,” she purred, literally batting her eyelashes. “I was hearing the most—”
“We’ve got to go,” I broke in, tucking my arm through Gabe’s elbow. “I see our friend over there. Nice seeing you, Persy!”
From the way her face darkened, I would definitely be paying for that off-the-cuff nickname later, probably through her telling her boyfriend to pay someone to hammer stuff all night in the room below us and toss bowling balls on the roof above. But that was okay. I had great earplugs. I steered Gabe away from the bar toward the beach, leaving my drink behind.
It was cooler on the beach, with the breeze coming in off the water. Damp sand squished between my toes. I’d always loved sand: building castles out of it; digging up little crabs; lying down on it during a hot day and soaking in its warmth. I even liked shaking off the dried bits that clung to every part of me after a long day at the beach—it was like bringing home a thousand little reminders of the beautiful outdoors. And I liked listening to the rattling it made when my former housekeeper (and current employee of the foundation), Lori, would vacuum it up the next day.
I had time to get through all that in my head because I was waiting for Gabe to ask who I’d seen, but he must understand enough of my interactions with girls like Persimmon by now that he realized I’d been making it up. Right?
Quick glance over at him. He was staring up at the sky in the direction of the setting sun. That wasn’t great. He wasn’t even wearing sunglasses. “Hey, Gabe,” I began, but his eyes widened. That was even less great.
“Isn’t that Cora?”
I spun around, the health of Gabe’s eyes forgotten. Glasses existed. He’d be fine, as long as I made sure he got frames that suited his face. “Oh! Yes! Okay. Good. Do we have a strategy?”
He didn’t respond. He was looking at her off in the distance. Irritation tickled my stomach. “Hello? Gabe?”
“Right. Sorry.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Do you want to handle her on your own? It’s probably best for… optics and things.”
Optics and things? What did that evenmean? (Yes, I knew what both the words “optics” and “things” meant, so don’t go running and submitting any blind items about how stupid I am.) In thiscontext. I was about to confront a potential murderer who, even if she hadn’t murdered the victim in question, probably wanted to murder me. You’d think my loving boyfriend would want to be there to throw himself dramatically in the path of the bullet or the knife or whatever. Maybe he’d think he was dying, even though obviously he would only have been grazed, and realize there, lying on the floor all bloody and sexy, that he wanted to give me everything I wanted (an autumn wedding in Tuscany).
Because nobody else ever chose me like that. My family made it clear often how they were stuck with me. Andrea had been paid to raise me. Opal had been a secret murderer. Gabe was… Gabe was…
Gabe was gone. I blinked. On my right there was only surf and sand, on my left a growing crowd that did not include my boyfriend.
I hadn’t even seen where he’d gone.
Okay. Fine. Whatever. The best state of mind to conduct an interrogation was a fragile and slightly panicked one, right? Right. It was probably a great sign that I was answering my own questions. I squared my shoulders and forged off across the sand, strong and resolute, except not strong or resolute at all, really. Unless “strong and resolute” meant “wanting to cry,” and yes, anonymous leakers, I knew it didn’t.
