Chapter 2
You’d think I’d be hesitant to go to another cocktail party after what happened at the last one.
.. And you’d be right. But Ben Witte was charming, and had been so freaking Darcy about hinting that he’d like me to go with him.
Very Firth but with a slight Boston accent.
So off I went, dressed in an outfit Max, my ride or die bestie and international superstar heart throb Oscar winning bad ass, helped me pick out over a video call, both of us hoping against hope that I didn’t find one freaking dead body during the course of the evening.
One hour into the party and all was going well.
“You look more relaxed,” Ben noted, appearing at my side with a plate of nibbles and a glass of lower shelf champagne, offering me both.
“No bodies,” I murmured, popping one of Carmel Moon’s homemade petit fours into my mouth with a grin. Ben huffed a small laugh, sipping his own champagne rather than reply aloud.
“Night’s still young,” he said under his breath, making me gasp then choke on a bit of blue icing.
“Oh my god,” I managed around a few more coughs. “Benjamin Witte! You’re awful!”
His expression was enigmatic but maybe a little pleased with himself.
With Ben, it was difficult to tell how he was feeling sometimes.
Not that I’d had a lot of experience with him one on one.
After everything with his stepmom, he’d stayed in Lester Cove long enough to get me set up in Witte House as a sort of glorified house and pet sitter, taking over care of Margie’s little purse dog, Tony, and keeping an eye on Witte House in Ben’s absence.
I knew it was partially a pity move—I had nowhere to go and nothing to do when I got there—but I jumped on the offer when Ben made it and hadn’t regretted a moment of my new duties.
Ben came and went between Lester Cove, keeping an eye on the family’s tea shop on Buttermilk Road, and his job in Boston working for a legal firm that specialized in contract law.
Very respectable. Very... normal.
I was kind of into it.
Ben took one of the pastries off my plate and examined it with a slight frown. “I don’t get why she put lobsters instead of boats or something nautical themed.”
“Carmel said she can’t do boats, and all her anchors came out blobby.
But she’s really good at making marzipan lobsters.
” I took the pastry from his loose grasp and popped it into my mouth, grinning at Ben’s affront.
I’d spent a few hours on Wednesday afternoon helping Carmel make row upon row of tiny little crustaceans.
I hadn’t given it much thought at the time but on the walk back to Witte House I realized it’d felt comfortable.
Friendly. She had zero expectations of me outside of just being there to hang out.
No subtle jabs about stardom or questions about famous people I knew.
Just... marzipan lobsters and some gossip about Sienna possibly seeing someone in Malm’s Corner but Carmel wasn’t sure who yet.
We both suspected the vet assistant who sometimes did Muffin’s checkups.
“We all have our strengths,” he muttered, taking the last pastry.
His grin was boyish and quick, his wink even quicker.
My face heated all the way to my ears and, unfortunately, he noticed before I could turn away and pretend to be fascinated by the sheer variety of crustacean-based dips on the long table by the window.
Ben cleared his throat, moving a tiny bit closer. “Damien, I was wondering if you’d—”
“Ben Witte! I’ll be damned!”
“If I’d what?” I whispered as he winced, already turning to face the older man beelining our way. “Ben, if I’d what?”
“Ben Witte, I thought that was you! It’s been an age!”
“Lloyd,” Ben said, slipping into Lawyer Voice. “How’ve you been? How’s Carrie?”
“Amazing,” Lloyd promised in his Boston Brahmin cadence. He looked over at me expectantly, a flicker of recognition in his expression. “I don’t think we’ve met. Lloyd Weld.”
“This is Damien Murphy. He’s a new transplant to Lester Cove.”
The wattage on my smile amped up and I cut Ben a look. “Moved here from LA this past summer. I may stay a while, may not.”
Weld nodded thoughtfully, his expression assessing for a moment before it cleared and became amused.
“Oh! I remember your name! My wife loves the gossip rags. You were the former child star involved in the murders!” He paused, giving Ben a sympathetic grimace.
“Sorry to hear about Marge. Such a shock.”
Ben’s lips disappeared into a thin line and he gave Weld a short, sharp nod. “It was quite upsetting.”
“Quite upsetting?” I repeated, my brows creeping up of their own volition. Which, honestly, was kind of nice because I’d gone through a Botox phase the year before and I kind of worried I overdid it and would never be able to make an expression from the nose up again.
Ben’s smile curdled. “Quite. Upsetting.”
Ah. Ben in work mode. Like. work-work mode.
He shot me a sideways, apologetic glance as Weld started to ramble about some documents Ben had worked on for him and mutual acquaintances of theirs in Boston.
“Excuse me,” I murmured, touching Ben’s elbow so he’d know I was leaving.
“I see someone I’ve been meaning to speak to. ”
Ben’s expression clouded for a moment, but when Weld laughed, he joined in, whatever funny story the older man had relayed obviously hilarious if you knew what was what and who was who.
So I wandered a bit, giving tight smiles to the ones who liked to think I was the next Jack the Ripper and more genuine ones to the handful of folks I actually knew and spoke with.
As I wound through the room, a familiar, throaty laugh caught my ear and before I made a conscious choice to do so, I was heading for Gwendolyn Terhune holding court in front of the plate glass window overlooking the yachts.
I accepted a drink from a passing server—one of the community college aged students who helped stock the grocery, I think, a goth young woman with the most amazing purple gradient hair who had the tray balanced on one hand and was sneaking peeks on her phone held in the other—and put on Professional Smiles Number 317: Polite Interest plus I Belong Here, Do You?
Drifting between knots of people, most of whom knew one another or wanted to know one another.
I nodded and murmured about the weather, complimented outfits, chuckled a few times when people asked if I was going back to Hollywood any time soon.
Though, to be honest, I was pretty sure it wasn’t a polite interest that led them to ask but more of a go home now please inflection I heard.
Finally, I wound my way around to where Gwendolyn Terhune and Pamela Sommers were holding court in one corner with Nate fuming by Ms. Terhune’s side, tapping away at his huge smart phone and scowling at whatever he saw there.
Glancing up, he noticed my approach and rolled his eyes before murmuring something to Ms. Sommers and heading for the open doors leading to the long pier behind the yacht club.
Ms. Terhune saw me approach and broadened her smile.
“There you are, Damien! I was worried you’d changed your mind.
Gerald, you know Damien! He’s such a sweetheart! ”
A sparkplug of a man with a shock of white hair that seemed to go any way but down peered out from behind Ms. Terhune where he’d been skulking, double fisting drinks.
It took a moment for me to recognize him—he’d aged quite a bit and was thicker now, more bull-necked and broad—but when it clicked, my eyes widened and stomach dropped.
“Mr. Tubbs,” I said with a polite, stiff nod, stomach threatening to leap from my throat. “It’s been a while.” Not long enough...
“Damien Murphy,” he huffed, eyeing me like I’d look at something Muffin had just rolled in. “Thirteen years, to be exact. So you’re, what, a server now? Janitorial staff?”
Pamela Sommers made a strange, choking noise that I realized was a laugh. My neck felt hot as I regarded my one-time director and abuser with a narrow glare. “There’s a problem with having an honest job? Or do you just think that because you’ve never had one in your life?”
Another choking laugh from Ms. Sommers as Tubbs, face dangerously red, set his glasses down and drew himself up to his not considerable height.
His voice boomed when he spoke, drawing the eyes of everyone in the club.
“Last time you graced me with your presence, I said I never wanted to see you again. What did I say I’d do if I ever laid eyes on you, squirt? ”
The silence racing through the party was almost as loud as the blood thumping in my ears. “I believe you said you’d kill me.” Smiling sweetly, I added, “Yeah, that’s right. You told a twelve-year-old kid that you were gonna kill him. Very professional. Very... sane.”
“Now, boys,” Ms. Terhune said coolly, a strange look on her face.
Something between amusement and...was that excitement?
A sick feeling bubbled in my stomach, the gnawing worry that I was a joke for these people I’d admired growing heavier by the second.
“Calm down. Gerald, why are you so mean to poor Damien here? He’s such a lovely young man.
We had the best chat earlier. And,” she added with a small smile in my direction, “he’s a remarkable young actor.
I’m absolutely shocked he never took off like he so deserved. ”
The compliment, such as it was, hid a sharp barb. Setting my glass down on the nearest windowsill, I gave Ms. Terhune a tight little nod. “My apologies. I thought this was going to be a cocktail party, not a roast. I’ll be leaving.”
Tubbs shoved his drink at Ms. Terhune, motioning for me to stop. “Wait, wait. I’m an ass. Listen to me for a sec, Damien. I know you need work, yeah? We’re in similar boats here.” He grinned like he thought he was hilarious. “Boats. Get it?”
“Uh...”