“I’m speaking to you off the record right now,” I say. “I don’t want to have a conversation if any of this is going in the podcast.”
“Do you have something you want to tell me?” He plays with the edges of the notebook paper, like he’s itching to turn it over and write something down. His fingers are long, the nails neatly trimmed, and I quickly look away.
“No, nothing in particular. I just wanted to make it clear that this isn’t me consenting to an interview.”
“Okay. Off the record.”
“Okay.”
“I heard you were in town. How’s your mom?”
“She’s fine, thanks. I heard you were in town too. Why?”
“Because you’re here.”
I cock an eyebrow. At least he’s honest.
“Thought I might change my mind about an interview once I saw your charming face in person?”
The edges of his lips twitch. “Maybe.”
“You’ve already gotten some good ones.”
“You’ve been listening?”
“Yes.”
“What do you think?”
“Riveting.”
“Thank you.” He apparently didn’t notice—or chose to ignore—my sarcasm.
I slouch down in my seat, propping up the soles of my shoes on the booth next to him. “So what’s the verdict? Did I do it?”
He rubs the edges of the notebook paper more determinedly, giving me an amused look. “I’ve heard you’re direct.”
“It’s one of my many charms.”
“I’m collecting evidence and presenting it, not making judgments.”
“Bullshit, you totally weigh in with your opinions eventually. I’ve listened to the first season.”
“Thank you for that. And eventually, yes, I’ll bring my own opinion into it, but not right now.” He leans forward, both arms on the table. “Let me interview you. No one ever gets your side of things.”
“My side of things is just going to be a fucking disappointment to you, Ben. I still don’t remember anything.”
“Not that. I mean, yes, if you suddenly remember what happened that night, by all means, call me right away—”
“You’ll be my first call for sure,” I say dryly.
“—but you can give your side of things on so many other issues. Your relationship with Savannah, Matt, what happened at the wedding…”
“I am not putting my relationship with Savvy out there for everyone to judge again. I hated doing it the first time and I’m not doing it a second time.”
I glance over at the counter. The teenager has disappeared.
“I enjoyed your books,” Ben says.
My gaze snaps back to his face. “What?”
“Your books. The Eva Knightley books.”
I drop my feet from the booth and straighten. He looks smug again.
“How did you even?” A pit begins to form at the bottom of my stomach.
“Let’s kill, let’s kill, let’s kill—”
“My PI is very good.” Smug, smug, smug.
“Listen, those books…” I clasp my hands together, cracking my knuckles. “I can’t write under my own name. I mean, no one wants to read romance novels from the girl who allegedly bashed her best friend’s head in.”
He looks startled by that.
“And I’ve managed to keep that name a secret so far, and I would really appreciate it if you—”
“Relax, Lucy, I’m not going to tell anyone.” He smiles. Smugly.
I hesitate. “If I give you an interview?”
“What? No. Jesus, Lucy, I’m not blackmailing you. I really did like the books.”
“You read romance novels?”
“Well, no, these were my first, but maybe I should read more, because they were very exciting. I liked the one with the couple that pretended to be married best.”
“Why?”
“Apparently I enjoy a good fake-marriage trope. This is something I’ve just discovered about myself recently.”
I barely resist the urge to laugh, but my lips twitch. Fuck. “No, why did you read my books?”
“I was interested. And I did consider putting it on the podcast, honestly. Read some passages. But I can’t really see how it’s relevant. Paige—my assistant—said that putting it on there would just be a dick move, and I have to agree.”
“I like your assistant.”
“She’s smarter than me.”
“Ma’am?” The teenage boy at the counter has reappeared, and he’s talking to me, holding a large plastic bag full of takeout containers. I know that everyone calls women ma’am here, no matter their age, but it still makes my eye twitch. I’ve been in Los Angeles too long.
I start to slide out of the booth.
“Just one question.” Ben reaches forward like he’s going to touch me. He doesn’t. He presses both palms flat to the table. “Off the record.”
“You can ask, but I may not answer.”
“How well did you know Colin Dunn?”
I sigh. Colin Fucking Dunn.
“You think Savvy’s boyfriend did it. How original. Why didn’t anyone else think of that?” I deadpan.
Literally everyone has thought of that. It’s always the boyfriend or the husband.
Except, in this case, it wasn’t.
“How well did you know him?” he asks again.
“Not well.” Colin’s face flashes through my mind—he had a great face. A strong jaw, and a slightly crooked smile. Savvy loved his smile.
“You really think Colin went straight home that night? Why’d you guys leave him and Matt at the wedding?”
I slide out of the booth. “This is more than one question, Ben.”
“I never was a rule follower.”
God, he’s the worst.
He grabs my hand and presses a card into it. “Call me if you want to talk about Colin after tomorrow’s episode.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LUCY
“Grandma, what the fuck?”
I drop the takeout containers on the table and turn to face my grandmother, who is sprawled out on the couch in the center of her tiny house, watching one of the Avengers movies.
She blinks at me with wide-eyed innocence. “What?”
“You sent me to the diner because you knew that podcaster bastard was there.”
“Well … yes.”
“Please…” I pause, closing my eyes briefly as I gather myself. “Please tell me that you didn’t plan this entire party just to get me here to talk to that podcaster.”
“I don’t know why you’re asking. It’s pretty obvious that’s exactly what I did.”
“Oh my god.” I drop into a chair and put a hand on my forehead. “Why would … what in … Why?”
She stands, adjusting the bun that’s wobbling on the top of her head. She walks over to the table and pulls the food out of the bag. “Have you seen him?”
“You sold me out to a podcaster because he’s cute?”
“He’s not just cute. My god. He even looks better than that—that guy, who is that?”
I drop my hand from my forehead to see her pointing at the television. “Chris Evans.” I roll my eyes. “He is not cuter than Chris Evans.”
“Well, agree to disagree.” She puts my burger and fries down in front of me. “But, no. I did not sell you out because he’s cute. I’m just saying that it might have helped when he showed up at my door with that smile.”
“Smug smile,” I mutter.
“Oh yes, very smug. That boy is extremely impressed with himself.” She laughs and walks to her minifridge. Her loose green dress swishes around her calves. “Do you want a beer?”
“No, thank you.”
She cracks one open for herself and then sits down at the table. She pops a fry into her mouth. “I think that he’s your best shot.”
“Best shot at what?”
“At figuring out who killed Savannah. We spoke for a long time, and he was very straightforward with me. He wants to find out the truth, not just hang you out to dry like everyone else.”
I take a bite of my burger to avoid having to reply to that. I don’t want to tell her that the idea of Ben finding the truth terrifies me.
She points at me. Her fingernails are bright pink, the color chipped at the ends like she’s been picking at it. “Don’t get that look.”
“What look?”
“Like you’ve decided you’re guilty and have something to hide.”
“Let’s kill—”
I take another bite of my burger.
“I told him I’d convince you to let him interview you,” she says.
“Bold of you to think you could actually do that.”
“Lucy, let’s not pretend that you’re not going to do this for me.” She pats my hand.
Dammit.
“You need him,” she continues.