Chapter Fifteen
Fifteen
By the time Tony and I arrived in Gloucester, I’d learned a lot about Natalie Blythe.
I’d learned that, like me, Natalie had gone to Boston U.
I’d learned that she’d come from a “large and welcoming” Irish family in West Roxbury and that she’d fallen in love with acting after playing the Virgin Mary in her third-grade Christmas pageant.
I’d heard that her mother’s untimely passing from cancer had broken her heart, but that she had found solace in self-help books by Louise Hay and Eckhart Tolle—and by the romances her mother had loved.
“She claimed she’s read all of Melanie Joan’s books,” Tony had said. “A few of them more than once.”
But as he also pointed out, the word claimed was doing a lot of heavy lifting.
“I only know all of this because it’s what Natalie told Melanie Joan and the other producers during the casting process,” Tony said now, as I pulled into a public parking lot overlooking Wingaersheek Beach. “So it’s not exactly sworn testimony.”
“The motive was obvious,” I said.
“Right,” he said. “And actors tend to be great liars. It’s part of their skill set.”
I refrained from telling him that I’d also heard that said of Hollywood agents. “You ever see her reading?” I asked. “Or listening to an audiobook? Did she talk about books with you or with anybody?”
“I didn’t see much of her at all,” he said. “She started pissing off Melanie Joan one day into shooting. She was gone, I think, within the first week.”
I turned off the car. “Melanie Joan’s memoir makes it sound like a much longer time.”
“I was as surprised as anybody when I read that prologue,” he said. “I barely even remembered that there had been another Cassandra before Meredith took over, and out of left field, Melanie Joan’s talking about how Natalie retraumatized her.”
“By rewriting her character.”
“Yep,” Tony said. “You do not fuck with Cassandra.”
“Clearly.”
“Hey, what should I do about this dog?”
Rosie knew the word dog. It woke her up. She shook her head vigorously. Tony lifted her off his lap and handed her to me. Rosie was small, but very dense—more so lately, thanks to Blake’s bottomless treat drawer. I found the weight of her reassuring.
“Great,” Tony said. “She sheds.”
“If Rosie stays long enough to shed on you, it means you’ve earned her trust.”
We both got out of the car. I reattached Rosie’s leash and set her down beside me.
Tony swatted at his jacket and pants. “She must really trust me,” he said.
“That makes one of us,” I said.
“Hey,” Tony said. “I’ll earn your trust.” He winked at me. Winking at me had never been the way to earn my trust.
He left to feed the meter. I stood next to the car, waiting for him, gazing out at the beach.
Wingaersheek Beach was, for lack of a less irritating word, dreamy.
Smooth white sand that was distinctly non–New England–like, and some of the clearest, calmest water I’d seen outside of the Caribbean.
I inhaled deeply. It made me remember how much I loved the smell of the ocean when it wasn’t laced with coconut oil.
My phone vibrated, breaking my reverie. I slipped it out of my purse and looked at the screen. Richie.
I put it up to my ear. “You’ll never guess where I am right now,” I said.
“No idea,” he said.
“I’m in Gloucester,” I said. “And I’m thinking of you.”
Richie knew Gloucester. When he and I were married, we used to escape here over the summer, booking a room at one of the many seaside hotels just to jump into the ocean, dry off, and go to the Seaport Grille for lobster and martinis. Then it was back to the hotel…
“Nice memories,” Richie said. Reading my mind. “Why are you in Gloucester?”
“I’m working for Melanie Joan Hall.”
“Again?” Back when he was less averse to my taking dangerous cases, Richie had helped me on my first Melanie Joan Hall assignment. It was a successful collaboration, if not the safest one. We wound up putting John Melvin in jail. “What is it this time?”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m here to talk to a spa owner to see if she gave Melanie Joan’s book one star on ReadAnon.”
“She hired you for that?”
“It’s more serious than it sounds,” I said. Then I recounted the day’s events.
“That’s a lot,” he said.
“Right?”
He cleared his throat. “Not that I’m condoning this, but my dad might be able to help.”
I winced. I wasn’t above asking Desmond Burke for help. I’d done it plenty of times. But my job was to unearth a snarky book nerd. And life-and-death as it may have felt to Melanie Joan, I wasn’t sure it warranted getting the Mob involved.
“Dad’s been branching out into tech,” Richie said.
“Ah.”
“I know, I know,” he said. “But if you’re feeling desperate…”
“Speaking of feeling desperate,” I said. “How close are you to Boston?”
I expected a sly laugh, but I didn’t get one. Instead, I heard background noise—people talking much louder than they needed to. A harmonica riff I immediately recognized as the beginning of “Thunder Road.” My heart sank. “I take it you couldn’t find coverage for tonight,” I said.
Richie exhaled. “I’m sorry, Sunny.”
I stared out at the beach, at a young couple walking along the water’s edge, holding hands.
It was a lovely image. Maybe I’d paint it tonight, after dinner, when I’d be back at my loft.
Alone. “Assistant manager went home with a stomach bug,” Richie was saying.
“She was going to cover for me. And we’ve got one server taking PTO, two others down with the same bug as the assistant manager… ”
“Jeez. Don’t tell the health inspector.”
“Summer down the Shore,” he said. “It’s so crowded, there’s always something going around. You know how it is.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I do.” I hated the way my voice sounded.
Like I was pouting or something. I cleared my throat and told him I understood.
Of course I did. My job had taken me away from Richie many times, and he always understood.
Well, he said he did. He could’ve been thinking any number of thoughts that showed a distinct lack of understanding.
But like me, he knew enough not to voice them.
“I can stand anything for three hours.” I forced out a laugh. “Even my mother.”
“Even Elizabeth.”
“Let’s not get carried away.”
Richie laughed. “I’ll make it up to you,” he said.
A seagull landed on top of my car. Rosie strained at her leash. “Stop.” I said it a little too harshly.
Richie asked if I was okay, and I said, “I’m fine. Rosie is just being annoying.”
Richie said he missed Rosie, and I said, “She misses you, too.”
“Call my dad about your case,” he said. “He really might be able to help.”
I told him I had to go. After we hung up, I picked up Rosie and hugged her tightly.
“You okay?” said Tony. The second man to have asked me that within the past minute.
I turned around. I had no idea how long he’d been standing behind me or how much he’d heard, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask him. “Let’s go to Infinity,” I said. “Before we run out the meter.”