18. BIRTHDAY BASH
The week dragged on with no sign of the Blooming Orchid guestbook pages, no more texts from Jax’s goons, and no further leads on the missing persons case. The most challenging thing in my life became keeping Maggie fed, which made for a lot of late nights spent trolling the highway for roadkill.
By the time Holland’s birthday party rolled around, I was in no mood for festivities and considered skipping it. It aggravated my latent guilt to think about celebrating with Maximus’s daughter while he languished in a dank cellar on the other side of town.
I resigned myself to going because Holland made a point of inviting me, and because Grimm’s mention of Nash had weighed heavily on my mind for days. Not that it had convinced me to bring him along as my date. I didn’t even tell him about the party. He was at the bar, and Donovan was at the houseboat, both of them far away from the firing line that was my life .
Checking my hair in the Porsche’s rearview mirror found it slicked back and gelled in place. It was also a few inches shorter, courtesy of a last-minute barber visit. I rented a suit for the occasion, burgundy with a black shirt and tie. Add polished shoes and a spritz of cologne, and I was as ready as I would ever be.
Stepping out of the car, I joined the line of people funneling toward the front door of Maximus Lyle’s house. It proved impossible not to recall the last time I’d been here, standing on the porch threatening the old man’s life. Now Grimm was in Maximus’s place, welcoming guests with grand gestures and open arms.
I worked my jaw while shuffling along with the party guests. The ladies wore cocktail dresses, and the men sported suits. Only an adventurous few had donned a color other than black. It took a few minutes to reach the entry where Grimm—Maximus to everyone else—clasped my hand and flashed a winning smile.
He had on a tailed coat with a cummerbund and bowtie, stealing Maximus’s clothes like he’d stolen everything else in his life.
“Mister Farrow, aren’t we looking dapper?” He peered past me, searching for the guest I hadn’t brought. “Yet unattached?” he added. “Pity.”
“No pity at all,” I replied and gave his fingers a squeeze. “There’s plenty of fuckable people here. Come with nobody, leave with somebody. Isn’t that how it goes?”
I could tell he was swallowing back a reprimand about watching my language in front of his company. But would Maximus feel at liberty to scold me ?
Grimm must have decided not because he concluded with the same tight smile, “Enjoy your evening.”
Nodding, I pulled away from him and made room for the couple in line behind me to approach.
Grimm wasn’t able to suppress all his urges, though, and caught my elbow as I passed. He leaned in close. “Oh, Fitch?” he said in a low voice. “Mind your manners. And no smoking in my house.”
I gave him a grudging thumbs-up, then shrugged off his grip and ventured ahead into the home.
Even the Lyle mansion struggled to contain this crowd. Every room was cluttered with guests chatting and sipping wine, and each hallway was lined with people commenting on the hanging art. Waiters milled around offering hors d’oeuvres that smelled divine but wouldn’t sit well on my nervous stomach.
My plan for the night was undefined. Make an appearance, wish Holland well, and leave early? Or get drunk enough to endure till the bitter end, overstay my welcome, and end up puking on the lawn? I wanted to believe there was a middle ground, but I also knew me.
Ducking out sounded like the better option. I didn’t want to be in the same building with Grimm any longer than I had to, and events like this made me uncomfortably sentimental. Everything was nearly right, yet wrong. Familiar enough to have stepped right out of the pages of my memory but missing all the best parts. It left me feeling lonely.
Thinking of ghosts from my past seemed to summon one. Willem Briggs and his wife loitered at a junction in the hallway ahead. Briggs must have seen me coming because he turned toward my approach and met me halfway.
Like Grimm, he thrust out his hand to clasp with mine. Unlike Grimm, I sensed no hidden meaning in his words when he smiled and said, “Nice to see you, Fitch.”
I returned his firm shake and smile. “Likewise.”
“Come say hello to Nancy, won’t you?” He gestured to his wife a few feet away. “She’s been asking about you.”
Nancy Briggs wore a conservative skirt suit and looked much the same as I’d last seen her, though a bit grayer in the hair. She was Briggs’s second human wife, after his first died of old age. It struck me how much Nancy had aged in the past twelve years, and I wondered how my mother would look if she were alive. How old would she be now?
“Of course,” I replied and let Briggs lead me to where Nancy waited.
I feared she would recoil at my approach. I didn’t often elicit positive reactions in people, certainly not matronly, middle-aged women who knew who I was.
When I got within reach of her, I offered a tentative hand before noticing the wet sheen of her eyes. I started to withdraw, but she opened both arms wide.
“Don’t be silly.” She laughed, and her face crinkled into smile lines. “Handshakes are for businessmen and acquaintances. We’re old friends.”
Without hesitation, she wrapped me in a hug that was soft and warm and smelled of the same perfume she wore a decade ago. I wanted to reciprocate but found myself unable to do more than stand awkwardly while she held on.
Briggs chuckled. “I don’t think he’s much of a hugger anymore, Nan,” he said.
“It’s fine, really,” I rushed to say as Nancy pulled away.
She smoothed my jacket lapel with a swipe of her hand, then stepped back and skimmed over me with a smile. “My goodness, you’re handsome. Always such a good-looking boy. I’ll bet the girls are all over you.”
Briggs shook his head. “Please, Nan, next you’ll be asking when he’s planning to have kids.”
“Oh, you should , Fitch.” Her eyes widened with delight. “Imagine a whole passel of little ones like ducklings in a line. Blonde-haired beauties.” She laughed, melodic, then leaned around me in an obvious search for a plus-one. “Do you have anyone special? I’d love to meet her.”
Him, I thought to correct her, and the immediacy of that impulse struck me like a gut punch.
“Don’t rush him.” Briggs sidled up to his wife and draped his arm across her shoulders. “He’s a young man. Let him revel in his youth a bit.”
It was remarkably normal. No questions were asked about the years that stretched between the boy they had known and the man I was now. No comments made on my reputation, widely publicized court hearing, or right to be here tonight. Not a hint of condemnation or fear.
In my peripheral, a waiter bustled by. Briggs snagged a glass of wine from the offered tray and tipped it to his lips. Worry spiked about the poisoned champagne from the gala a few weeks back, but Ripley wasn’t here or anywhere I could find, and Grimm had no reason to start trouble tonight. He already had everything he wanted. The battle was won.
“So, how are you liking Capitol work?” Nancy asked after a pause. “Will tells me you’re helping the investigative team with a big case.”
A big case that I’d been tasked with sabotaging for the sake of my own survival. I had Grimm to thank for that.
“Not sure how much help I’ve been.” I shrugged. “But yeah. I’m there.”
Nancy’s light brown eyes glittered through another smile. She looked like she wanted to hug me again but settled to clasp her hands together instead. “I wanted you to know I’m so proud of you,” she said, holding my gaze intently. “It must be hard to face all that down. Very brave.”
Did she believe I was innocent? Surely, she wouldn’t look at me this way if she knew the truth.
Briggs swirled his wine glass while nodding along to everything his wife said. In the pause, he spoke up. “I probably shouldn’t say anything, but I heard Maximus talking earlier this week about bringing you on as an investigator.”
The pit that had been deepening in my stomach dug down another layer, dropping weight into my feet.
“What an honor,” Briggs continued. “And the opportunity to carry on your father’s legacy after everything that’s happened?” He shook his head. “Never thought I’d see it. But I’m glad.”
The air felt suddenly thick and stifling. My forehead beaded with sweat, and I tugged on the knot of my tie. “Yeah,” I muttered. “Me, too.”
What began as something wonderful had taken a turn into praise I didn’t deserve and a reminder of everyone and thing I was betraying by carrying out Grimm’s agenda. I wanted to tell Briggs the truth. I’d heard that confession cleansed the soul, and mine felt black and bottomless right now.
When Holland mentioned me working as an investigator, it had seemed like a joke. How would they ever trust me? And why, when I’d proven over and over that they shouldn’t?
“I need to step out,” I blurted, searching my memory of the home to find the nearest exit. “Sorry.”
I imagined their surprised expressions as I stepped away, unbuttoning my suit coat and pulling out the cigarettes inside. My hands shook as I plucked a cigarette from the pack and pinched it between my lips, then put the pack away. People blurred past in my hurry on a weaving path toward the back of the house and the deck beyond. I could walk around to my car from there and drive the hell away from here. Holland would have to do without a happy birthday from me. I doubted she’d miss it.
The home’s finery and added party décor were wasted on me. I moved as though in a tunnel, not caring about the stares I must have been getting or the waiters and party guests dodging my path.
By the time I reached the wall of French doors that led to the deck, I held my Zippo and a glass of wine, drinking past the unlit cigarette tucked in the corner of my mouth.
When an arm shot out in front of me, I stopped so suddenly I almost sloshed cabernet onto the Oriental rug underfoot.
Grimm—Maximus—stood beside me. His narrow, gray eyes targeted the cigarette. “ Not in my house, I said.”
I yanked it out, pinning it alongside the lighter in my hand. “I’m leaving your fucking house,” I hissed, trying to avoid attention from those standing nearby.
Grimm’s expression darkened. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Home.” Stepping around his barred arm, I polished off the wine and set the empty glass in a potted plant beside the back door.
Whatever effort I’d put into keeping this interaction discreet was undone when Grimm grabbed my jacket collar and pulled me to another abrupt halt.
“You are a guest at this party,” he seethed. “So, at this party you will stay, and you will behave, no matter how greatly that must pain you.”
People were definitely watching, maybe listening, but I wasn’t the one here with the most to lose.
I spun around, jerking my coat straight and fixing him with the most venomous glare I could muster. “Briggs says you’re gonna make me an investigator?”
He dipped back, failing to mask his surprise. “I am considering it.”
“Well, don’t.” My fingers curled around the cigarette, crushing it so that tobacco tumbled into my palm. “I don’t want it.”
Grimm’s mouth flattened into a hard line. “I don’t care what you want.”
“Don’t I fucking know it,” I muttered.
“Dad?”
I wasn’t sure when Holland had approached or how much she’d seen and heard. I almost hoped she got wise to the whole thing—saw through Grimm’s sham of a disguise and freed me from having to play along. The charade was becoming too painful.
Turning toward her found a vision in shimmering satin. Her white hair was twisted into a braid that spilled over her bare shoulder. The silver gown she wore fell to the floor, shapeless besides hitting the curve of her hips and plunging between her breasts. There were no sunglasses tonight despite the lights in the house. I caught the pinch between her slim brows and wondered if it was due to eye strain or the sight of her father arguing with me.
“Fitch?” She looked at me next. “What’s going on?”
I forced a smile. “Great party, Holland. Put me down for next year. I was just leaving.”
“Already?” she asked. “Stay for the toast, at least.”
I cast a side eye at Grimm. “You giving a speech, Max?”
“Preston is,” Holland supplied.
Ah, Preston. Holland’s racist human boyfriend. Or would it be speciesist? Generally, not my favorite person because he liked himself too much, and Holland didn’t like him enough.
Since the human ambassador had missed his big moment at the one hundredth anniversary gala, saying a few kind words about Holland tonight would have to do. I wasn’t committed to staying until a waiter slid by, passing out flutes of pink champagne.
I took one under Grimm’s expectant gaze and held it, scanning the room I hadn’t paid much attention to before. As the home’s main living area, this was one of the biggest spaces. The usual couches and chairs had been replaced with cocktail tables and areas for mingling in between. The fireplace wall had been transformed into a photo op, bedecked with dried floral sprays in the thematic colors of beige, white, gold, and silver.
Preston stood in the middle of it, holding a champagne glass aloft and wearing a new American flag pin on his lapel. Always on duty. I could relate. He scanned the crowd until he found Holland and waved to her.
“Come on up here, Holly,” he said.
She blushed faintly and left to join him. Across the crowd, I spotted Tobin, Vesper, and Felix gathered and watching. Everyone else took the hint to turn as well, and others funneled in from adjoining rooms.
Grimm pressed in beside me and threw an arm across my shoulders as though he feared I would bolt.
“Ladies and gentlemen, dear friends and family.” Preston waved the champagne toward the crowd with one hand and hooked the other around Holland’s waist. “Thank you all for coming to celebrate the life of this incredible woman. I have known Holland for three years and am continuously impressed by her work ethic, strength of character, and her vision for the future of this city.”
A scan of the room found everyone eating it up. But anticipation hung in the air, and I began to suspect there was more at play than a shower of compliments.
“This is a birthday party,” Preston continued, “but I wanted to make it a bit more special.” He turned toward Holland and lowered his chin to meet her eye-to-eye. “Holly, it has been a pleasure growing close to you. You brought a renewed sense of purpose to my life and a common goal that I can’t wait to see through together.”
Reaching into the pocket of his slacks, Preston produced a black velvet box. He hinged it open, revealing something metallic and sparkly inside.
Holland gasped.
I did, too.
Preston smiled. “Will you stand by my side as a partner? An equal? A wife? Will you marry me?”