Chapter 15 #2
“Oh, right, the murder.” Crystal brightens as if we’re discussing brunch options.
She pulls out a bag of pellets, and the alpacas come trotting this way.
“If you ask me, Cooter has been plotting against Duffy for months. In fact, he made these weird vision boards. But if you ask me, they looked like murder boards. He called them strategic planning, but he may as well have had sections labeled elimination tactics for all the creative accidents he seemed to have been hoping for.”
“That seems rather incriminating,” Ree notes, still fending off Mocha, who is determined to sniff her neck. I can’t blame him. Ree holds the scent of churros and coffee. Mostly from all the churros and coffee she takes in while on the premises.
Crystal nods. “He once googled untraceable poisons at work. Human resources flagged it, but he said it was research for a segment on mystery novels. Mystery novels!” She averts her eyes at the thought.
Well, if that doesn’t reek of cyanide, then I don’t know what does.
“And Clyde?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to know. We do share children. Sure, they’re grown and in college, but I’m pretty sure they’d prefer not to visit their father at the local penitentiary.
“Clyde?” Crystal scatters the feed to the alpacas, and they dart in twelve different directions.
“That man made a whole PowerPoint presentation called Why I Should Run Everything. Slide 23 was titled When Duffy is Gone. When. Not if. WHEN. He had transition timelines, budget projections, and a new logo design for the show, featuring his face—and, of course, mine, too. After all, we’re gunning to be the station’s next power-couple. ”
“Aim higher,” I mutter.
“His face as a logo?” Georgie looks dangerously close to hysterics again.
Crystal nods. “With lightning bolts. Because, you know, Thunder Wolf.”
Georgie laughs so hard there’s no sound coming out as she lands hard on the bale of hay once again.
She’s doubled over and slapping her thighs.
Heck, I don’t know that she’ll be able to stand on her feet for the rest of the day.
Clyde is providing way too much entertainment for the entire lot of us.
“Plus,” Crystal continues, now feeding treats exclusively to Latte, who keeps photobombing her selfie attempts with his cute furry face, “Clyde was here at 5 A.M. that morning. He said he was preparing the set, but I tagged along and saw him near the refreshment station. With latex gloves!” Her eyes expand to the size of dinner plates. “Latex gloves!”
I inch back, trying to recall a time I ever saw Clyde in gloves of any kind. Not only that, but planning ahead has never been his forte.
“Maybe he has a latex fetish?” Georgie suggests from the ground as she begins to wheeze again.
“That’s a different spreadsheet,” Crystal says without missing a beat.
I’m going to need therapy after this conversation. Possibly a lobotomy.
“And you?” I nod to the blonde before me as she tosses another handful of treats to the long-necked furry beauties among us. “Why did you want him gone?” Too blunt, I know, but blunt seems to be Crystal’s love language—along with masochism. How else do you explain her attraction to my ex?
“Look, did I want Duffy’s job? Yes.” She shrugs as she admits it.
“Did I dream about him getting fired? Daily.” She gives a sideways glance at the alpacas.
“Did I maybe put salt in his coffee once? ALLEGEDLY. But murder? Way too stressful. I’m trying to lower my cortisol levels. Murder seems counterproductive.”
“In that case, Clyde is counterproductive,” I tell her.
“She’s confessing to everything except the actual murder,” Ree mutters my way.
“Oh please, ladies.” Crystal fiddles with her phone for a second. “Look, I live-tweeted everything that morning! See?” She shows us approximately seven hundred selfies from that morning. “Every minute is accounted for! Look, here’s me at 6:47, 6:48, 6:49...”
“That’s... a lot of selfies during a murder,” I point out with a wry expression.
If I can’t pin this on Clyde, I’d love to pin this on Crystal for being dumb enough to date Clyde. But as it stands, I kind of like her. She’s got it, whatever it is. And it just might be poor taste in men.
“Content creation never stops,” she says with a straight face. “Even death is content if you frame it right. How to Maintain Your Glow During a Crisis got me fifty thousand likes!”
Espresso the alpaca chooses this moment to eat Crystal’s hair extension. But she doesn’t notice, she’s too busy taking another selfie.
“Living my best life!” she chirps at her phone. “Hashtag Alpaca Love, hashtag Morning Vibes, hashtag Not a Killer!”
“Did you just hashtag not a killer?” Ree asks.
“It’s SEO optimization, hon,” she informs Ree with the flash of a smile. “I’ve gotta stay ahead of the algorithm. Speaking of staying ahead, I need to film my smoothie tutorial before the light changes. I guess I’ll see you all tonight at the Nightmare Before Networking wrap-up party.”
Georgie nods. “You can bet your blonde britches we’ll be there.”
“Great! Be sure to wear a costume! It’s going to be loads of spooky fun. Catch you ladies later!” She blows a kiss at her phone camera and click-clacks away, leaving a trail of perfume and chaos in her wake.
I help Georgie to her feet, and she’s still giggling about Thunder Wolf.
“Startled garden gnome might be my favorite thing ever,” Ree admits.
“I need to talk to Thunder Wolf,” I sigh. “Again. About latex gloves and PowerPoints and apparently his wildlife persona.”
“Can I come?” Georgie asks with far too much hope. “I have so many questions. Does he howl? Is there a costume? Does he mark his territory?”
I wince at the thought of that last one. “No way. Some things are too dangerous even for murder investigations.”
“But Thunder Wolf—”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
We head off to find Clyde, and I realize I now have ammunition I never wanted and mental images I can never unsee.
But at least if he’s Thunder Wolf, that makes me the one who got away.
From a startled garden gnome.
Somehow, that’s actually making me feel better about my life.