Chapter 8. Is Drowning the Worst Way to Die? #2
I feel a bit sick, searching around for Oli to make sure he hasn’t overheard anything Vicki just said. He’s still talking to the man who must be from his small group and blissfully unaware.
Not so for Connor, who, it turns out, is disturbingly close to where I’m standing and is smiling at me like he overheard our entire conversation.
He should come with a warning bell.
Or a klaxon.
“I should mingle,” I say to Vicki.
“Course.”
I walk away from her feeling seasick. Is Vicki right? Did I suggest to Oliver that we write a book together to help his career?
Okay, okay, yes, I did. But he’s an amazing writer who deserves more recognition.
And I’m not just saying that because he can do things with his mouth that make me blush even now.
He has better reviews than I do, even if his sales are lackluster.
It’s hard being in the same business as your lover, and I should’ve kept my mouth shut because I didn’t want to know what I asked Vicki.
So why did you ask, then, El?
I should probably tell him. Secrets between us are never a good idea. But I’ll do that later. Right now I need to put things right with Elizabeth without blurting out that I know her career might be over. So, this is going to be tricky.
I gulp my drink to steady my nerves.
Oh, wait, wasn’t I supposed to stop drinking? I guess that’s a tomorrow problem.
I make my way through the crowd to her table. Harper and Sandrine are still there, even though Elizabeth looks bored AF about whatever they’re talking about.
I stand there, waiting for her to notice me as a sense of betrayal works its way through me. What’s Harper doing hanging around with Sandrine? They’ve known each other almost as long as I’ve known Sandrine, of course, but she’s supposed to be on my side in all things, including broken friendships.
“El,” Sandrine says. “Whatever are you doing standing there like that? Lurking.”
Something in me snaps. “Laissez-faire, Sandrine.”
She reacts the way I hoped she would. She knows that when I speak to her in French, it’s the equivalent of a parent using a middle name.
But will she play along?
She appraises me for a minute, then gives me a slight nod of the head. “D’accord.”
Sandrine doesn’t want to mess with me right now. Not if she doesn’t want me spilling some of her deep, dark secrets to her spouse.
Yeah, I would go there. If pushed.
Sandrine stands, and Harper follows suit. It’s my turn to give her a confused look as she shrugs and follows Sandrine.
I’ll deal with that later.
“Do you mind if I sit?” I ask Elizabeth.
“Be my guest.”
Was that sarcastic? Hard to tell over the din of the party. Elizabeth speaks in one of those voices that easily gets lost in ambient noise.
But in for a penny.
I sit next to her. “I wanted to apologize.”
“Whatever for, my dear?”
“I owe you a blurb. I don’t know how I forgot, but—”
“You’ve been very busy these last six months.”
God, she knows about that? I shouldn’t be surprised, though. Feels like everyone does.
“It’s been a lot. But it’s no excuse. You did me the honor of asking me to blurb your wonderful book, and I spaced. But I’m going to make it up to you. I’m going to blab about it all over the internet.”
She pats me on the hand. “Thank you, dear, but that’s not necessary.”
“It’s the least I could do. I still remember how nice you were to me at the beginning of my career.”
“Was I?”
“You were. You took the time to tell me all about the business, and you must get asked to do that all the time. I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for that properly either. So thank you. Thank you so much.”
“This business,” Elizabeth says with a glint in her eye. “It makes liars of us all.”
“Oh, I … I was telling the truth.”
“I know you were, my dear, and it is very endearing.” She stares off into the middle distance for a moment, then returns. “Tell me … Did Abishek suffer?”
“Pardon?”
“When he died … You were there, weren’t you?”
My throat goes dry remembering. “Yes, I was. You knew him?”
“I did.”
“Of course. I knew that. We even all met at the same conference.”
She gives me a tight smile. “So long ago, when I still felt young.”
“You are still—”
“No.” She stops me, then pats my hand again like I’m a puppy. “Time comes for us all. Now run off and find that extremely attractive man of yours.”
“Oliver can take care of himself.”
“I meant Connor.” She suggestively raises her eyebrows.
“We’re not together.”
She pats my hand again. And she doesn’t have to say it.
Whatever you say, my dear.
I pick up my drink. “Can I get you anything?”
“A time machine perhaps.”
“Whatever for?”
“You’ll understand when your best days are behind you.”
Tears spring to my eyes, and there’s nothing I can say to that. So, instead, I kiss her on the cheek. Her skin feels papery, dried out. She smells like the same perfume my grandmother wore.
“What was that for?” She touches her cheek.
“You can do whatever you want. Still. You’re the best there ever was.”
“Don’t flatter me, girl.”
“I’m not. If you know me at all, you know I’m bad at dissembling. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. None of us would.”
“Thank you for saying that. And now do run along. You wouldn’t want to miss the next part.”
I’m not quite sure what she means, but I leave anyway.
As I weave my way back through the crowd toward a drink I shouldn’t have, it occurs to me that I haven’t found whoever it was Cathy said was looking for me.
My eyes travel the room again. Officer Rolle isn’t here.
Neither is Inspector Tucci. I still need to talk to him.
Just to dot the i’s and cross the t’s about how he got here.
Not that I think Inspector Tucci would leave me threatening notes.
Not grammatically correct ones, anyway.
But before all of that, it looks like I have to have a little meetup with Ravi Botha. He approaches me like a shark moving through a flat body of water.
“I’d watch your back,” he says as he grazes past me without stopping.
And despite the heat in this room, I shiver.
Shit like this is why I’m still drinking.