Chapter Thirteen
Thirteen
To: ProfJArtler@Yale
From: Jennifer Smith
Dear Professor Artler,
I’m a journalist writing a piece on Bertram Casimir. It’s my understanding that he’s a former student of yours. He’s cited you as a big inspiration. I would love to set up a time to chat, if you’re available.
Sincerely,
Jennifer Smith
I send the email at three a.m., when I’m sure I’m the only one awake. I’ve sent the same email to half a dozen professors at Yale. It’s desperate, but one of them must have worked with Bertram while he was a student there.
Never overlook a lead, no matter how small. While Elodie chases Bertram’s love life, I’ll dig into his academic one. He may be a reclusive billionaire now, but he was a run-of-the-mill upper-class college boy just a few years ago.
CEOs, millionaires, and tycoons pay big bucks to scrub their past lives from the internet, but if you look, there’s always a crumb left behind.
—
“So, was Waylen mad?” Elodie asks.
“What?” I realize only now that I’ve been staring off into space, my mind numb.
I’m exhausted. I slept horribly last night, disturbed by weird dreams of Bertram Casimir throwing Annie’s body from a jagged seaside cliff.
In one bizarre dream, as Annie’s body fell in slow motion, he offered his hand to me to tango along the edge.
“When you told him that you had to work on December first.” We’re in Elodie’s car, about to turn onto the block of Erin’s condo complex.
“Oh, that,” I say. “No, he understands.”
“Really?” Elodie says. “That’s great. Todd is being a miserable son of a beach because the twins are such a handful. I said: You think playing Roblox is a handful? Try pushing them out your vag like you’re a human water slide, and then come back and tell me about hard.”
I laugh, but she glances at me as she pulls into a parking space. She can smell gossip from a million miles away in a snowstorm. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I say. “Just—thinking about how we should handle this. You did all the talking last time. Maybe I should try. She doesn’t seem to like how friendly and open you are.”
“You mean she’s got a stick up her butt.”
“Exactly,” I say. “I can see how she’s related to Bertram. They’re both so serious about things.”
“I meant to ask how that’s going,” Elodie says. “You’ve spent more time with him. Anything stand out?”
“It’s a dead end,” I tell her, though I’m not entirely sure that’s true. “I think Skylar is a better lead.”
Elodie smirks. “You can tell me, you know.”
“Tell you what?”
“If you sleep with him.” She says it without her usual flair for the dramatic, which somehow makes it worse because I know she’s being sincere.
“I’m not going to sleep with him,” I say, not giving her any emotion to play off of.
“But have you ever? You know, for the good of the cause.”
“Nope. Look, we’re here.” I unbuckle my seat belt and reach for the door.
“Wait,” she says, her harried tone so uncharacteristic that I freeze with my hand on the lever. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t appropriate. Todd is always on me about that, you know?”
“It’s fine,” I say. I can sense another buddy-cop bonding moment, and I’m desperate to end it before it begins. Let it go, Elodie. Let me be surly and quiet and unapproachable in peace.
“No.” She locks the doors just as I pull the lever.
“Please listen. I know what you meant earlier about not having enough to say to all of those other parents at the girls’ school.
None of them knows about my…brief stint with law enforcement.
Mr. X promised to purge it from any public records when I agreed to work with him.
And it isn’t much—clearly, you’ve been doing this a lot longer than I have—but I wanted to say I admire your ability to stay so calm. ”
The words surprise me. After years of hearing Waylen beg me to quit, I realize this is the first time someone is telling me I’m good at what I do.
“Thank you,” I say.
“But also,” she goes on, “I wanted to say that doing this work is lonely. You’re allowed to have a friend.”
I can tell by the bright, eager look in her eyes that she’s inviting me to partake in a brand-new mission, one much messier and more difficult than trying to catch a billionaire murderer.
Navigating a friendship is something I haven’t done since I was a child.
Being easy to like, showing up with a good casserole, and heading a riveting discussion on that month’s book club pick?
Those things I can do. But a real friendship is too terrifying a thought to entertain.
So, I do what I’m best at: I give Elodie a friendly smile, and I nod. Later, I’ll bake her some cookies and recruit Collette to have a playdate with Finnegan. And I’ll hope that’s enough to satisfy whatever it is Elodie wants from me.
“I’d like that,” I say.
“Really?” Elodie is beaming.
“Of course. But we’re here, so let’s get to work.”
She scrambles to keep up with me as I stride to Erin’s front door, determined not to miss out on even one precious second. It helps, having something to do today. A clear task: Explain our next steps to Erin. Get her on board. Try to wring out a few more details that can help us.
And do not—absolutely do not—think about Waylen and what happened yesterday.
I knock assertively on Erin’s door, and I swear I’m only a little bit satisfied that Elodie is breathless when she finally catches up to me. She busies herself with straightening her hair, smoothing out the faux fur that trims her winter coat.
A few seconds pass and no one comes to the door.
“That’s odd,” Elodie murmurs to me. “Her car’s here.”
I knock again and ring the bell. It’s nine thirty. Still early, if you’re unemployed and don’t have any young children. Maybe she’s sleeping.
Elodie pulls out her phone, but I touch her wrist to stop her from dialing Erin’s number. “Wait,” I say. “This feels wrong.”
For a second, I allow myself to entertain the thought that’s always at the back of my mind, which is that my radar is off, my instincts are wrong, and Bertram could be the greatest liar I’ve ever met.
Despite his anxious front and his soft, smooth way of speaking, he’s actually hiding a violent side.
He killed Annie. He’s figured out that Erin has sent me to investigate him, and he’s killed her, too.
My stomach drops. Shit. What if that’s what happened? I peer at the window, but the interior is well concealed by the curtain inside.
This is why I need Mr. X. He knows everything that happens in this town, and he would be the one to warn me when I’m about to step into danger. Whether or not I listen is on me.
Elodie takes a step back. Despite her nettling curiosity, self-preservation wins out. “Do you think—”
The door creaks open, making both of us jolt. It opens just enough for Erin to peer out at us. Despite the sunny winter sky, the inside of her condo is dark.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, clearing her throat.
I open my mouth to speak but stop short when I get a better look at her. She’s set back, as far as she can stand from the door so that she won’t be spotted by her neighbors.
“Erin.” My voice is hushed. “Is someone in there with you? Are you in danger?”
“No, thank you,” she says, suddenly loud. “I’m not interested in donating to the ASPCA today, but I appreciate you stopping by.”
She tries to slam the door, but I jam it with my foot. She scowls but quickly hides it. Is that bruising on her skin?
“If you’re in danger, blink twice.”
She only shakes her head. “Everything is fine. Please don’t stop by unannounced again. You may call me when you have updates about my brother.” She pushes on the door so hard that I feel my shoe starting to bend, and I withdraw before she crushes my toes.
The door closes and then there’s the click of the lock.
Stunned, Elodie and I make our way back to the car. I direct her to park around the block, at the top of a parking garage that will allow us to see Erin’s complex but keep us out of her view. I suspect that Erin is watching for us.
“What the hell was that?” Elodie rasps. “Do you think Bertram was in there? Do you think he’s going to kill her?”
“He wouldn’t be that stupid,” I say. From up here, Erin’s condo looks like a dilapidated little dollhouse.
But it’s identical to all the others in its row, nothing amiss.
“He would be seen. And besides, if he attacked her and we intercepted, she would be thrilled to have him arrested. And if he was there to intimidate her, then she would have told us to stop the investigation. None of this adds up.”
“Speaking of things not adding up,” Elodie says, “what did you mean when you said ‘this feels wrong’?”
“You didn’t find all of that suspicious?” I ask.
“Yes, I did. But you said it before Erin opened the door.” Her bubbly demeanor is gone now, replaced by an unsettling soberness. “You know something.”
“I know as much as you.”
“Bullshit.” She kills the engine on the car. “You’ve been spending a lot of time investigating Bertram while I’ve been pursuing other avenues. I’ve told you all my leads. What aren’t you telling me? Why is Mr. X suddenly only communicating through you?”
I knew Elodie was smart. She presents herself as a shallow, self-obsessed PTA mom, but she’s proven her intelligence more than once. It’s my fault for not having good answers to her questions, for not being able to pull up a little white lie that satisfies her.
I’m just so tired. Mr. X’s doctors have been forthright with me, and they’re not optimistic. Collette is starting to pick up on the fact that I’m not all I seem. Waylen— No, don’t think about that, Margaux, there aren’t enough hours in the day and you have enough to do.
My shoulders drop, and it’s as though my whole body is a deflating balloon. “Please, just trust me.”
Elodie wraps an arm around me. She’s taking the sympathetic confidant route. A thinly veiled and yet effective tactic.
“You don’t have friends,” she says.
“Thanks a lot.”