Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
PHIL
I’m grateful to still be verbal by the time Detective Spears arrives midmorning.
Everyone in the workroom, including me, has been doing their best to make it a calm morning for me, but anxiety doesn’t always care that I’m in a familiar environment with minimal stress, my favorite tea, my bestie, my boyfriend, and the world’s best dog.
This one time, I wouldn’t even blame my anxiety if it decided to ride roughshod over me—no matter how hard we’re all trying, the mere existence of this situation is enough to skyrocket my stress levels.
Maybe I’m getting so used to my anxiety being at its current level that I’m functioning through it. That’s one of those things that seems like it’s good but is actually so, so bad.
After careful thought, I decided I should talk to Spears in my office.
Calla was worried that bringing stalker talk into the room would make it less of a safe space for me, but I don’t think that’s the case.
It’s where I’m the most comfortable here at work, and I need every comfort I can get if I have any chance of staying verbal through this meeting.
I’m sure the detective will step out if things get too overwhelming for me, but I really hope that won’t be necessary.
I’m standing beside my desk, Vivi in my arms and Griff’s solid, reassuring bulk at my side, when Calla brings Spears in, and I manage a smile as I extend my hand to him.
“Thank you for coming, Detective.”
His smile and the pressure of his hand are reassuring, somehow. “Phil, I’m happy to make this as easy for you as possible. If you need to take a break during the interview, please let me know.”
Griff’s grunt is approving, and I hide my smile as we all take our seats. It might be a little rude of me to sit behind my desk, but the familiarity of it is another layer of reassurance.
“Thank you,” I tell Spears. I want to ask if he’s learned anything about my stalker, but not enough to actually ask it. Words are at a premium right now.
“I won’t waste your time, so first I’d like to talk about the email and card you were sent, and then we can discuss Saturday’s package and where we go from here. How does that sound?”
I nod, wondering if he’s this gentle with all his cases. He does apparently deal mostly with celebrities, so that would make sense, but it might also be me. I hate it, but I’m also grateful.
“Do you mind if I record this interview? I’ll take written notes as well.”
“That’s fine.”
He sets up his phone to record, then says, “Okay, Phil, tell me about the email you received on November twenty-eighth from the person who signed off as Mary.”
“There’s not much to tell. It annoyed me a little. She claimed to be a new fan, but what she said wasn’t all that nice.” I shrug. “It didn’t seem important. I didn’t know her, and it was unlikely she’d become a client.”
He writes something down. “Why unlikely?”
“People who are only ‘reluctantly’ impressed by my work don’t tend to want to pay made-to-measure or custom prices.”
“Fair enough. Did you tell anyone about the email?”
I shake my head. “Not really. After the card came, I mentioned it to Kyle.”
“We’ll get to the card in a minute. Can you remember what happened in the week leading up to the email? Anything unusual?”
A huff of air escapes me. “Not unusual, but we had our first meeting with Griff about designing for Margaret Haywood, so it was a pretty special week.”
“Was that a planned meeting?”
I look over at Calla. This feels more like her area.
“Yes,” she says. “Griff called late the week before to set it up. Phil had time to put some design ideas together ahead of the meeting.”
Spears frowns. “Forgive me, how long have you two been dating?”
“Officially?” Griff asks. “Less than two weeks. We met the day I came in for the meeting.”
The frown deepens. “Does Margaret Haywood know you’re dating?”
I blink a few times. Why does that matter?
“Yes,” Griff answers, though he seems a little taken aback too. “I advised her per the clause in our contract that requires me to disclose personal connections within my professional sphere. She was happy for me.”
Spears turns back to me. “You’d never designed clothing for her before?”
“No.”
He glances at Griff. “What was your process in deciding Phil was going to design for Margaret?”
Griff snorts. “Not my decision at all. Margaret and I spoke about it during the summer—she told me she wanted a Phallacy gown for awards season even though I had reservations.” He winces and shoots me an apologetic look. “Sorry, sweetheart.”
I wave it off. No surprise there.
“Then she reminded me again in November when the Oscar buzz started getting louder. She was determined to wear Phallacy on the red carpet, so I called to set it up.”
Spears’s pen moves fast as he scribbles his notes. “Who knew about that first meeting?”
“Uh….” I look at Calla again. “Me and Calla.”
“Kyle,” she adds. “He’s diligent about keeping up with the calendar.
He likes to stock preferred snacks and drinks for our clients.
I guess everyone here could have known. They all saw Griff when he came in, and most of them have access to view the calendar.
But everyone who works for Phallacy signs an NDA.
We don’t discuss our clients without permission. ”
“What about on your side?” Spears asks Griff.
“My boss, Damian Ward. He came with me, since he’s worked with Phallacy before. Everyone at Style Me. Margaret knew I’d scheduled the meeting, but I don’t remember if I told her when it was, if that matters. Her assistant knew as well.”
Spears is nodding. “Phil, do you think you’ve ever met Mary or had contact with her before you met Griff?”
My hackles rise, and an angry sound leaves my throat. That’s it, though—just the sound. No words.
“I didn’t mean to imply Griff might be involved,” Spears assures me. “I should have said, do you think you might have had contact with Mary before the end of November?”
I sip tea from my mug, but it doesn’t matter. That surge of emotion was all it took to make me nonverbal. Vivi whines softly in my lap, probably because I’ve gone all tense.
Answering out loud is beyond me right now.
“Is it okay with you if Phil types or writes his answers?” Griff asks calmly.
“Yes, of course,” Spears assures me. “Would you like to take a break?”
A short break is unlikely to make me verbal, and it would just prolong this, so I shake my head and reach for a sheet of paper. At least that way, he can take it with him.
I don’t remember anything like this happening. I haven’t met anyone called Mary and I don’t get a lot of fan mail.
Spears reads it, lips pursed. “Okay. Let’s talk about the card. You said you don’t get a lot of fan mail, so this was uncommon?”
I nod emphatically.
I hardly get any mail at all. I recognized her name and was going to throw it out, but Kyle wanted to keep it.
“Can you think of any other time in the past month, aside from that email and card, that Mary might have tried to contact you? Have you run into someone in a public place who seemed chatty? Or gotten an unusually high number of telemarketer calls?”
I’m shaking my head before he even finishes, and point at Griff, then Calla.
“Phil doesn’t answer the phone to unfamiliar numbers,” Calla explains. “And this past month, I don’t think he’s gone anywhere without one of us or our friends. He’s been spending a lot of time at Griff’s place, because…” She shrugs. “It’s the honeymoon phase.”
My face goes hot. Thanks, Cal.
Griff’s soft smile settles some of my embarrassment as he reaches over to take my hand.
Spears looks deep in thought for a minute, then sighs. “Were you aware that the parcel you received Saturday had a note in it?”
I nod.
“Has anyone discussed the contents of that note with you?”
I shake my head. I almost asked Griff about it yesterday, but I didn’t want to ruin our day.
“I have a copy here. You don’t have to see it, but—”
I hold out my hand even though my anxiety claws a little higher. It might be scary, but at this stage, not knowing would be even worse.
Spears passes me a clearly photocopied sheet of paper, and I take a deep breath before I look at it. Griff’s grip on my hand tightens.
Every word feels like a needle stabbing into me. I can’t believe there’s someone out there who feels this way about me.
I read it again. Why does she think I’m tearing down “the style of mature women”? I design for mature women all the time, and I’ve never been accused of being insensitive to their style. And why mention Mar—
Gasping, I wave the letter at Calla, then lay it on the desk and jab my forefinger at Margaret’s name.
“What?” Griff asks as they all crowd closer. “Margaret? What abou— Fuck!”
“Could someone please tell me what you’ve all realized?” Spears asks. “If it’s that this person likely learned about you because you’re designing for Margaret Haywood, I’ve thought of that.”
“Yes, but no,” Griff explains. “All knowledge of Margaret’s gown is embargoed. I’m not just talking about the design itself, I mean even the fact that it’s being designed by Phallacy. The only people who knew—before Saturday, anyway—that Margaret is collaborating with Phallacy are under NDAs.”
He perks up. “It hasn’t been announced?”
“Not to anyone,” Calla assures him. “Until Saturday, not even our best friends knew, and we trust them implicitly. Our industry runs on secrets and leveraging the most impact out of every announcement.”
I nod emphatically.
“So you’re telling me it’s extremely likely that Mary is someone who is connected to one of you or Margaret Haywood.”
A cold chill chases down my spine. That’s an unpleasant thought.
He leans over the desk to read the note again. “Do you mostly design for a younger clientele? Mary seems to be implying that the gown Phil’s designing for Margaret is some kind of attack on older women.”
Calla’s answer is indignant. “No, we design for all ages. Phil’s very popular with middle-aged and older women because he actually listens…. Wait. Does that mean she knows what the gown looks like?”
My gut drops like a stone, my chest getting tight. Not now. Please not now. I fumble for my tea, keeping one hand in Vivi’s fur, and between sips, I try to breathe evenly. I just want to ride out this meeting. I don’t have to talk. I don’t have to participate.
When I have enough control of my anxiety to look up, Calla nods and turns back to Spears. “Very few people know what the dress looks like, even if they know the design exists.”
Griff shifts his chair a little closer to mine but doesn’t reach out to take my hand again. I appreciate the distance—I don’t think I could handle contact right now.
“Fewer than the names you mentioned before?” Spears asks, and we all nod.
“Much fewer,” Griff says. “On my end, there’s me, Damian, and one of my colleagues at Style Me.”
“Name?” Spears’s pen is poised to write.
“Adam Granger. He’s a big fan of Phil’s and has pulled garments from Phallacy before.”
“For multiple clients,” Calla confirms.
“I’ll keep that in mind. What about here at Phallacy?”
“Me, Phil, and our pattern cutter, Shane. He might have shown it to someone else, I guess, but he doesn’t usually.”
“I’ll ask that question when I’m interviewing all the staff,” Spears notes. “Is the design accessible to them like the calendar is?”
“No.” Calla’s voice is firm. “We’re very strict with designs.”
“Okay.” He nods, then glances at Griff. “What about Margaret Haywood? Has she seen it?”
“Yes. I sent it to her after our first meeting.”