I whistle under my breath. “Ouch.”
“That would obliterate Gigi’s social standing,” Carlotta says, oddly somber. “In this crowd, that’s like social death, tax audit, and bad haircut all rolled into one.”
Dolly nods miserably. “Gigi’s been paying Vivi to keep quiet. Donations to a certain legacy fund that Vivi controlled. But Vivi took the money and was going to out her anyway. She said she owed it to historical accuracy.”
“Of course, she did,” I murmur.
Percy clicks his beak. “Mother Vivi did love a dramatic reveal.”
“So, you see,” Dolly says, looking me dead in the eye, “I’m not the only one with a motive. I’m just the one who shouted about it in a parking lot.”
“Hey.” I touch her arm again. “Thank you. Really. This helps.”
“It helps me not be the prime suspect, you mean,” she says wryly.
“That, too,” I offer. Although at this stage in the game, I’m not ruling out anyone.
Dolly takes off. Carlotta hits the dessert table, and Percy floats to the ceiling to take it all in with a bird’s-eye view that he deserves to have.
I look back toward Gigi, who is rearranging a vase of carnations, and then to Midge, who is laughing a little too loudly by the punch bowl.
Vivienne Pemberton-Clarke wanted to host a retrospective.
Instead, someone gave her a permanent retirement.
And standing here in a salon full of hairspray and history, surrounded by women in pearls who would rather die than have their secrets exposed, I get the sinking feeling that Dolly is right.
Vivi built a bonfire.
Now I just have to figure out which of these perfectly coiffed women struck the match.
NOAH
Iborrow the squad car once again from the station with a smile that saysno, absolutely, I will not be using this for anything emotionally motivated and possibly ill-advised.
The desk sergeant doesn’t ask questions. I suspect he’s afraid the answers will involve Lottie.
By the time I pull into Everett’s driveway, the sun is already gone, and the sky over Honey Hollow looks like it’s been bruised—dark purple, low clouds, that damp chill that says we’re in for another long, cold night despite the fact it’s May.
Everett steps out of his house in his usual uniform of black suit and permanent irritation, his jaw tight, and his shoulders stiff. He spots the squad car and gives an approving nod.
“Look at you,” he says as he climbs in, buckling up like the responsible lawman he is. “You finally joined the dark side.”
“I just wanted the cage in the back,” I say, pulling out of his driveway. “In case your self-control starts acting up.”
“Cute.” He shifts in his seat, looking all too comfortable in a vehicle built for hauling criminals. “You sure you’re okay to do this tonight? Lemon is going to find out, you know.”
“She already knows,” I say. “She told me not to kill anyone.”
“That’s funny,” Everett says. “She told me not toburyanyone.”
“See?” I nod. “Checks and balances.”
He grunts, but I catch the edge of a reluctant smile. For once, we’re perfectly aligned. Two men, united by a shared disdain for juvenile delinquency and dried egg.
If this doesn’t count as male bonding, I don’t know what does.
We turn down the Pickens’ street, and the air gets thicker somehow, like even the atmosphere knows we’re headed into a bad decision.
