Chapter 8
Eight
“So you’re engaged to your sister’s ex,” Elliot asks Jen, “Brian.”
Jen nods. “That’s right.”
“And how long have you been engaged with this Brian?”
Jen turns to me. “Why does this feel like an interrogation again?”
I rub my brow. “Before he became a P.I., Elliot used to be an insurance fraud investigator. He’s naturally inquisitive.” I let out an impatient sigh. “Really, Elliot, let’s drop this obsession with Brian. Nobody cares about Brian.”
“And yet Brian was at your party,” he says, “your sister’s fiancé, who just so happens to be your ex?”
I’m fuming in my seat. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to mention Brian.
Everyone automatically assumes the worst about this situation,” I say.
“‘Did Jen steal your boyfriend?’ Or ‘Jen’s used to getting her big sister’s hand-me-downs.
’ Give me a break…” I pluck a piece of lint from my shoulder and let it flutter in the air.
“Nothing can be further from the truth.”
“Brian is a person, Holly,” Jen snaps. “Not a hand-me-down.”
Elliot arches his eyebrow at Jen’s anger. His poker face is still intact, but he’s clearly enjoying tapping into a nerve.
“So what is the truth?” he asks.
“The truth is rather boring,” I say. “I dated Brian ages ago. Three years ago—”
“Five years ago,” Jen corrects.
“And then we broke up. Brian and Jen found each other. Fell in love… blah blah blah… the wedding is in April. Did I miss anything, Jen?”
Jen hunkers down, silently grumbling. “Thanks for ‘blah-ing’ over our relationship. Nice.”
“That’s the way it happened. If you don’t like the way I told it, maybe you should tell your own story.”
“I would’ve of,” Jen says, “if I could only get a word in.”
Elliot gets busy taking notes. “Who broke up with who?”
“I dumped him,” I say.
“Ha!” Jen says. “Brian dumped you.”
This is the first I ever heard of ‘Brian dumping me.’
“No…” I blink, dumbfounded by Jen’s version of the story. “I broke up with him.”
Jen rolls her eyes. “That’s not what he says...”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You were so clingy,” Jen says. “It’s embarrassing. And then all that calling and stalking… He almost got a restraining order—”
“That lowlife!” I leap to my feet, nearly toppling my chair. “Is that what he told you?”
Jen folds her arms across her chest, smug. “What are you going to do? Flip the table?”
“Holly!” Paige’s hand clamps down on my shoulder. “Please sit down. You’re causing a scene.”
Taking a deep breath, I sit back down. “I hate to break it to you, Jen,” I say between clenched teeth, “but I actually had to take out a restraining order on Brian. He’s the stalker, not me.”
“If that’s the case,” she says, “why am I hearing about this restraining order for the first time?”
“It’s not the first time.” I drag my hands through my hair. “I have a copy in my office. I’ll be more than happy to show you.”
Jen stands up. “I don’t need to listen to this. I’m outta here.”
“Jen!”
“You can count yourself uninvited to the wedding!” Flinging the doors open, Jen stomps out of the cafe and hops into the passenger side of a silver Prius with blacked-out windows. She flips me off before the Prius peels away from the curb.
I blink, confused. How did Jen conjure up a ride out of thin air?
Did she forget that her Honda is double parked in front of the cafe?
Now she’s going to get a ticket, probably be towed, and then have to ask me for help paying the fees.
This is what I mean when I say Jen is irresponsible.
She’s cavalierly impractical because I’m always there to bail her out.
No more. Not this time. I’m not paying for her parking tickets and her car can just rot in the impound lot. I wash my hands of her.
Even as I fume, I know I’ll cave eventually. Jen will whine to Mom and Mom will nag me until I give in. It’s just easier to fork over money if it means a little peace in my life.
I’m furiously texting Jen about her abandoned car even as she’s making a dramatic getaway in another car.
She replies: “Chill, Bitch. Honda’s out of gas. Pay meter for me, plz. Luv U.”
I slam my phone down on the table. “That’s it. She’s dead to me.”
“What happened?” Paige asks.
I show her Jen’s reply.
“Jen’s been calling everyone the B-word lately,” Paige says, running defense for my delinquent sister. “She called me that the other day, but affectionately. I kinda like it. Maybe I’ll start using it.”
I look to Elliot for a comment, as I’m sure he’ll have one.
Ignoring us, he dashes to the window to get a better look at the driver. “That man! Brian?”
“The one and only,” I say, following close behind him.
We watch the Prius loop around the traffic circle before speeding off.
“I’ll need to talk to him later,” Elliot says. “And I’d like to see this restraining order, if you don’t mind.”
I shrug, defeated. “Happy to.”
“It’s public record,” he says. “I plan to cross check it with the court, just so you know. Not that I’m accusing you of forgery, but…”
“You’re just being thorough,” I mumble. I don’t even have the energy to be offended anymore. After my encounter with Jen, I feel like I’ve survived a battle with an alley cat. My head hurts. My back hurts. Even my skin hurts.
“I love my sister,” I mumble feebly, “but sometimes I really hate my sister.”
“Question is,” Elliot says, “how much does she hate you?”
“I think we found our culprit then,” I say. “Jen hates me so much that she’s obviously the one.”
“You have a point,” Elliot says, “but I wouldn’t rule out the others just yet.”
“What culprit?” Paige asks, causing us both to jump.
Somewhere in the middle of our conversation, she’d crept behind us on little cat feet.
Paige was so quiet I’d forgotten she was there. Once Paige and I, along with a few college friends, were driving back from a girl’s trip to Atlantic City when I glanced at the backseat of our rental mini van.
“Where’s Paige?”
Turns out she had overslept and we just…
Left her behind at the hotel. So we had a mini Home Alone situation there. It’s not our finest friend moment. In our defense, we were slightly hungover.
We turned back, of course, and found her patiently waiting for us in the lobby.
She wasn’t angry or irritated, just climbed into the back of the mini van as if being left behind happened to her all the time, which, sad to say, it probably did.
Sometimes Paige is so soft-spoken and wears an inordinate amount of beige that she just disappears.
“What culprit?” Paige presses.
Elliot watches her carefully. Clearly he’s not forgotten her presence. “Tell her about what you found after the party last night, Holly,” he orders.
I frown at Elliot, trying to read his expression for cues on how to proceed. No one knows about the crime. How do we play our upper hand without revealing our entire hand? “Help me remember…”
“Last night,” he began, “you were cleaning up after the guests, when you found… three lumps of coal under your Christmas tree…”
“You found actual coal under your Christmas tree?” Paige sounds genuinely shocked, not a ripple of familiarity or guilt on her round, milkmaid face.
“Not actual coal,” I say. “It was poop. I found three spiteful turds under my Christmas tree.”
Paige’s eyes widen into hazel saucers. “Poop? Real poop? Not joke poop?”
“Real shit,” Elliot says. “And now Holly thinks Jen did it.” He assesses Paige’s poker face. “What do you think, Paige? Do you think Jen is capable of pooping under Holly’s tree? Or do you think someone else did it?”
“I-I don’t know,” Paige stammers. “Jen was in the bathroom all night.”
Elliot heads back to our table, beckoning us to follow. He retrieves his notebook. “And where were you, Paige?”
Paige takes a step back. “Me?”
“You were at the party, weren’t you? Surely you must have seen something untoward happen in the Christmas tree nook. Holly’s house isn’t very big. From her story, all the guests congregated around the living room.” He narrows his eyes. “Where were you, exactly?”
Paige gulps. “I was manning the coffee bar,” she says, licking her dry lips. “Just as Holly asked me to.”
“Because you’re a professional barista?”
“I make coffee,” Paige says, her shoulders slumping a little.
“You make coffee for you day job,” Elliot adds, “but yesterday was Thanksgiving.”
“Yes,” she nods.
“Your day off…”
“That’s right.”
“You don’t get many days off, do you?”
Paige turns to me, pleading a silent message: Rein in your boyfriend. “No,” she says meekly, “no, I don’t.”
“And yet, you were forced to make coffee on your rare day off… Just when you thought you could relax, she pulls you back in. Back to grinding those goddamn beans.”
“Hey!” I slap Elliot lightly on the arm. “What are you driving at here? Paige loves making coffee, don’t you, Paige? She volunteered to man the coffee station.”
Elliot arches his eyebrow. “Did you, Paige?”
“Of course she did,” I answer.
“I asked Paige,” he cuts me off. “Did you volunteer? Or were you just too nice to tell Holly ‘No.’”
Paige shakes her head, but can’t or won’t answer.
“Do you even like running this cafe, Paige?”
“Well,” Paige begins, “to tell you the truth, it’s a bit overwhelming…”
The door dings and a group of college students in puffer coats and scarfs pile in.
“Excuse me, I have to see to the customers,” she says, then bends down and whispers in my ear, “can I have a word with you? Alone?”
“Er…” I glower at Elliot. “Sure. I’ll help with the orders.”
“Oh,” Elliot acts surprised, “you can make coffee, too?”
“Oh shut up,” I grumble.
“I’ll take another espresso.”
“I think you’ve had enough,” I say, then add under my breath, “jerk.”
“I love you too.” And then he winks at me.
God help me, did my knees threaten to buckle! Bards will write about the charisma of that wink throughout history, but for me, it made me dislike him a little less.