Bibi gestured behind her. “Come,” she said, and God, I hoped she hadn’t brought a dog I’d have to have security come remove, but no—trailing behind her was perhaps the most handsome man I’d ever seen. He seemed to be in his late thirties or early forties, significantly younger than her but not so young as to be creepy, with cheekbones and a jawline that had clearly been sculpted by a god. “Pom, I hope you don’t mind me bringing a guest. This is Frédéric.”
“Charmed,” Frédéric said in a light French accent.
Though I was in an extremely happy and healthy relationship, I still flushed as those plush lips graced the back of my hand. “Charmed, indeed.”
Bibi linked her elbow through Frédéric’s and the two of them glided into the ballroom, leaving my dad staring after her slack-jawed and my mom’s forehead vein pulsing with barely repressed rage.
You know, good for Bibi.
Denise Ryan came next, no handsome man following her in, dressed in the same black bodycon dress she’d worn to the first gala, as if she was hoping for a repeat of the night. “Thanks so much for the invitation, Pom. I know we still need to sit down and hash the donation out. Believe me, we’ll do that soon.”
“Oh, sure,” I said. She launched into a speech about how she was no longer flying via private jet because of the environmental impact—notthat she was judging me, not at all, rest assured—and because the money could do so much better elsewhere, but it was almost impossible getting anything done on a commercial flight, and she spent so much of her time on commercial flights these days, flying back and forth between Seattle and the East Coast, where her kids were in college, and—
I interrupted her with a warm but firm pat on the shoulder. “We both know that’s not true.”
She paled. “What?”
I leaned in, lowering my voice so that nobody around us would be able to hear. “How long do you think you’re going to be able to keep this up?”
She cleared her throat. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“So the prenup you signed when you and your husband got marrieddidn’tprevent you from receiving half the wealth of his company?” I asked. All the muscles in her jaw clenched. “From what I hear, you received a sizable payout, but nowhere near what you’ve been alleging. How long till it runs out?”
One of those clenched muscles twitched. “I’m fighting it in court and have been talking it through with my friends who really know my financials.” Friends like Jack Wohl and Kevin Miller. “It wasn’t my fault that a reporter asked me what I wanted to do with my half of the money without knowing the facts. What was I supposed to say? Tell her that I’d been screwed over?”
“Everybody’s going to find out soon that you lied.”
She drew back, frowning hard. “He wouldn’t have been able to build that company without me! Whatever that stupid paper says, I deserve half of it.”
“I’m sure you do,” I said. I was dead serious. “But anyway, I invited you to be nice. You can stop pretending you’re going to donate, though. It’s a waste of both our time. Why don’t you go in and find your seat?”
With one more annoyed look, she hustled in, followed by Jack Wohl, who greeted me with a surprisingly limp handshake, and a fluttering crowd of second-tier socialites, who it was painful for me to greet while most of my new crowd were no-shows. But I needed to fill out the space, and their money was as good as anyone else’s, I supposed, even if there was less of it.
Once they’d cleared the entrance, Kevin and Persimmonwaltzed in, her clinging to his arm as if she might fall over without it. (Which might have been true, considering how high and narrow her ivory silk heels were. A bold choice for New York, where even a few moments on the sidewalk between car and door could turn anything white the color of smog.) “Pom,” Kevin said, smiling broadly, holding out his hand for a shake. As opposed to Jack Wohl’s, his was perfect, strong and firm without being crushing. “When are you coming back to the island? Or to our new bed-and-breakfast?”The one your brother and I bought together with the plan to turn it into an Afton, he didn’t say.
I smiled enigmatically. “We’ll have to see.”
He didn’t follow up on that, fortunately. Persimmon leaned in for our customary cheek kisses. Up this close, I could tell the skin around her eyes was a little swollen, though any redness had been deftly hidden by her makeup. “Are you okay?” I whispered.
“I will be,” she whispered back, I guess deciding that tonight’s theme was being enigmatic. She pulled back and moved inside, tottering gracefully to her table. She extended her arm for Kevin to help her sit, but it took him a few seconds to notice, because of his tablemates: Denise, my parents, Cora, and her husband (the artists were in the back of the room. I didn’t want them in the inevitable photos).
I greeted a few more stragglers, and then the doors slammed shut, the lights going dark. No, they didn’t—the doors closed gently and hardly made a noise, guided by the expert workers of the hotel, and the lights still shone golden from their chandeliers. A slam and darkness just suited a dramatic reveal.
Showtime.
CHAPTER
Twenty-Six
Again, I was being dramatic. It wasn’t quite showtime yet. Trying to expose a murderer to a bunch of hangry guests was a recipe for disaster—I wanted people sitting on the edge of their seats to see what would happen next, not to peek toward the kitchen doors in hopes the salads were coming out. So instead I sat there on the edge ofmyseat, on pins and needles, mixing metaphors because I wasthatnervous. At least I had Gabe and Vienna on either side of me. Vienna even managed to pick at her salad despite her nerves, though I’m not sure much more than a couple of pieces of lettuce actually made it into her stomach.
I was glad I didn’t have any lettuce in mine as I stood and made my way to the podium, because it probably would’ve come right back up in neon green. “Greetings, everybody,” I said, surveying the crowd. They twinkled with diamonds, shimmered with well-done plastic surgery. Was this my future? To sit among them year after year, eating a few bites of overcooked chicken as I tried to give my money to worthy causes?
No. There would be more.Iwould be more. I was already more, really. How many of these socialites could say they’d solved not one, but two murders?
Okay. I was gettingslightlyahead of myself. I wouldn’t know if I’d solved this second one for real until this was over. To beentirely honest, I wasn’t completely sure I’d still be alive when this was over. I was about to take some pretty major risks, because you know what they say: big risk, big reward.
And I was never one to settle for something small.
