Chapter 11 #2
Sienna nodded. “It was disgusting, is what it was. The entire thing. Like one of those godawful reality shows but in our foyer. If we’d had any other guests, I don’t even want to being to think of how that would’ve gone.
Bad enough already we’re down a room right before the Weems check in next week.
” She glanced back to make sure Carmel wasn’t listening before adding, “That Ms. Terhune, she had a quiet word with Tubbs after. I don’t know what she said to him but he took off like the hounds of hell were on his heels.
If I had to guess, she got on him about how he was treating Ms. Sommers. ”
I thought of Pamela’s quiet, removed grief at the tea shop the other day, her worry that Tubbs had been alone when he’d died. How Gwendolyn had been so firm that he’d been alone...
How would she know?
Maybe I’d been looking in the wrong direction. Or maybe she just knew more than she wanted Pamela to know.
Anmorata Blue wasn’t the only person missing.
Where was Nate? I thought of the profile I’d seen passing me after leaving the tea house.
Had that been Nate after all? Skulking around waiting for.
.. what? For the ladies? Then why hadn’t he gotten them into the car and driven away?
Why had he been just waiting there like a creeper?
It reminded me of some of the paps and super fans Max had to deal with, parking in front of his house and the hotels he’d been known to stay at, waiting for a glimpse.
Wait... Had he taken the pictures? He’d been in a position to at the cocktail party...
"Thanks," I said to Sienna. "That might change things a bit I think." Maybe, maybe...
She grunted, annoyed. "If I could change things, I'd resurrect that asshole and make him pay for his room and damages."
She saw me out onto the porch, Carmel rushing after us to press a box of homemade coffee cake into my hands.
"For Ben," she said with a small smile. "His birthday's coming up and that's always been his favorite.
Tell him I tried to make it as good as his mom used to, but even with her recipe it's not exactly the same. "
"It's his birthday?"
My startled tone made her smirk. "Oh, not yet! Next week, though, and I don't know if he'll be back in town for it so I wanted to make sure he had that before heading back to Boston."
I stared at the box in my hands for moment before giving her a small, polite smile. "I'll tell him. Um. It's next week you said?"
Sienna snorted softly. "The twentieth."
I nodded. "Yeah. I mean. Yeah, that's right. I was thinking it was the nineteenth for some reason."
Carmel and Sienna exchanged knowing looks before Carmel offered, "He'll say he doesn't want anything, but I can guarantee you he'll be thrilled as a puppy with two tails if you get him anything fantasy related."
"He really likes that series about the elf wars," Sienna offered. "Always has. Even when we were kids."
"Leaves of Home," Carmel offered. "Remember in eighth grade, when he wore—"
"Shhhh!" Sienna scolded, though she wore the tiniest of smirks. "Bridge too far, Carmel. Bridge too far."
"I forgot you've all known each other for so long," I said quietly, feeling outside again.
"And now we know you," Carmel said, giving my arm a squeeze. "And we're filling you in on all the Ben secrets we can."
As we were talking, a pale blue sedan pulled up to the curb and idled for a moment. Sienna swore under her breath. "Here we go again. I'll get back to the kitchen. It's your turn to handle them, Carmel."
Gwendolyn and Pamela emerged from the car, Gwendolyn from the driver's side and Pamela from the back passenger side.
No Nate.
Both women paused mid-conversation and stared up at me and Carmel on the porch. "This is my cue to get out of here," I muttered. "Be careful."
She shot me an uncertain look. "More than usual?"
"Can't hurt."
Pamela broke away from Gwendolyn and strode towards the steps in her kitten heels, clutching her handbag to her front, giving me a wide berth as she hurried past. Gwendolyn lingered by the car, pulling bags out of the back.
A few from a boutique in Fish Head that specialized in artisan-made knitwear and a large, carefully packed one from Bull's China Shop.
"Hello," she said brightly, her tone very affected Katherine Hepburn. "I'm so sorry to hear about your arm."
I glanced at my arm, the bright green cast covered by the long sleeve of my sweater. "Word gets around fast, apparently."
"Small towns. You know how they are. I left mine at fifteen and never looked back for a reason. And your little pap follower sent pictures to Tea and Tinsel,” she added with a vinegar-sour smirk.
“Hard to see, really, but apparently you were pulled out of the drink by some passer-by?” She pulled one more bag out of the back, pausing to look over her shoulder at me.
"I wasn't aware you were friends with the Moon sisters. "
"Small towns. You know how they are."
She smirked. "Touche."
I was next to her then, about to give her the tight-lipped nod and smile that said I'm walking away now and done with this conversation and I win because I get to leave first when I saw the inside of the car's trunk.
A thick, puffy jacket was stuffed beside a cardboard banker's box. The jacket had a visible tear in the sleeve showing.
A brief dizziness washed over me but I kept my expression fixed.
I'd had years of experience pretending to care or not care, depending on who was paying me.
I could fake it for another few seconds, I told myself.
My gaze met Gwendolyn's and that dizziness hit again, bringing its friend nausea.
"How's Nate?" I asked. "I haven't seen him since Friday. "
"I don't know why you would," she remarked coolly, shutting the trunk with a slam. "And he's gone back to New York to handle business matters. His work doesn't stop just because I'm on vacation."
I nodded slowly. "Well. Makes sense. Before I forget, I want to apologize for our interaction the other day. I feel like we were wrong-footed."
Gwendolyn blinked, her expression momentarily blank before she pasted a fake smile on and waved one hand airily, clutching one of her plastic shopping bags in the other.
"Oh, I'd put it entirely out of my mind. If anything, it was my fault! So stressed about everything and, well, dealing with all of the messy details that come with death.”
“Are you Tubbs’ executor?” I asked, honestly curious. “Doesn’t he have an attorney or family or something to handle it?”
Gwendolyn’s expression quirked between amused and annoyed. “I mean the speeches for the memorial, dear. And the absolutely unending list of interview requests we’ve been fielding.”
“You and your agent?”
“Hm?”
“You said we’ve been fielding. You and your agent, I’m guessing?
Rory, when I have to deal with interviews that is, is absolutely venomous with some of those pubs, you know?
He’s always got an eye out for which ones are trying to make me look bad.
” I paused, offering a small, wry smile. “Well, worse.”
“Pamela and I,” she offered stiffly. “We’re the ones fielding them. This is our duty as... Well, as people who’ve had Gerald in our lives for so long. It’s not for publicity.”
Liar. Everything was for publicity. It’s one of the first things you figure out in the business.
If it can be commodified, packaged, labelled, it would be.
You didn’t just go get a coffee, you got this brand and made sure the logo was visible.
You didn’t just go on a grocery run, you went on one with designer clothes gifted by stylists to grocery stories with ridiculous prices and purchased ingredients you definitely couldn’t eat on your strict diet.
But it sold aspirations. It sold glam. And so would interviews about the tragic death of a dear old friend—how to grieve classy, how to be the right kind of sad.
And the articles would all have a little footnote about what Gwendolyn and Pamela were wearing in the curated photos used for the publications, down to the cream they put on their faces.
“Of course," I said, then amped my smile up to a thousand watts.
"I'll let you get on with your day. How long are you in town again? "
She bared her teeth. "Long enough."
I didn't sprint down the walk but I may have speed walked a bit.