“At the very least, they needed to know about the person who called me. It was so strange. On the phone she made it sound as if she was on the premises, but when I arrived ten minutes later, only this girl Sara was around.”
He’s only half listening now and glances at his watch. “Brent made a surprise appearance in the office today and he wants to see me at noon. I better get down there. Do you want to wait here for me and then we can head home afterwards?”
Fatigue has finally reared its head, and my body feels as if it’s been filled with wet sand. All I want at this moment is to collapse on the daybed and melt into the cushions.
“I think I need to get back to the house sooner than that. Why don’t I meet you there.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Just shaken.”
“Give me a half hour to meet with Brent and then I’ll take off.” He hugs me good-bye.
But the hug does nothing to comfort me. As I exit into the parking lot a few minutes later, I’m still bothered by what Guy initially lobbied for, that we keep the police in the dark for the time being. He’s hardly a goody two-shoes, but he’s always come across as someone with an overall respect for authority, the kind of person who might at times let the speedometer in the car sneak up near eighty on the highway but would never act belligerent if pulled over by a trooper.
Deceiving the police today would have been stupid, no matter how much damage control seems necessary for his job.
His job. For the first time I ask myself if Guy’s feeling more under the gun than he’s confided to me. I think of his concerns about the transposed numbers, the whole reason he’s spending Saturday ensconced at the office. It certainly can’t be pleasant dealing with a man as mercurial as Brent.
I wonder, too, if playing nursemaid to me these past months has distracted Guy from what matters most in his work.
Crap, I think. I’m just raining death and destruction down on everyone.
Halfway to my car I realize to my dismay that I’ve left my messenger bag in Guy’s office. I trudge back to the building and retrace my steps down the wide dark hall. Guy has already left for the meeting with Brent, but Miranda is still there, standing behind her desk and staring into space. My presence startles her.
“Sorry, I forgot my bag.” I scoot into Guy’s office to retrieve it.
When I reemerge, Miranda, her brow furrowed, steps from behind her desk, reaches out, and touches my arm. I’m closer than I’ve ever been to her, and I can see the freckles on her lovely, creamy skin.
“Guy told me the news,” she says. “That the caterer we use was murdered.”
I wonder if this is part of Guy’s damage control, to sprint out ahead of the situation by announcing the news around the office himself. I doubt, however, that he’s divulged that I was actually at the crime scene.
“Yes, it’s awful.”
“You met her, right? When she did those parties at your house?”
I stop, snagged by the question. Eve was only at our house the one time.
“Parties?”
“The dinner party the other night. And the cocktail party a few weeks ago? The one for the new director in residence.”
What? I think, but quickly try to hide any sign that I’m taken aback.
If Eve Blazer catered another party at our house, it had to have happened before I arrived.
And Guy never said a word about it.
Chapter 8
I don’t like what I’ve just heard. Why wouldn’t Guy have mentioned the party to me?
“Yes, I met her,” is all I say. The last thing I’m going to do is probe Miranda on the subject and arouse her curiosity. After offering a quick good-bye, I hurry out of the office and back to my car. I’m winded and panting by the time I slip behind the wheel.
As I drive home, I try to replay my initial encounter with Eve on Thursday night. I’m positive that when I asked if I could show her around the kitchen, her blunt reply had been something like, I think I can manage. No hint from her that she already knew the lay of the land.
And then later, when I informed Guy that Eve had rebuffed my offer for a tour, he’d made a comment about caterers being able to find their way around unfamiliar kitchens. Not Well, she won’t have a problem because she’s been here once before.
It’s not a glaring, horrific omission, not on the same plane as forgetting to mention you have another wife and kids stashed away in Buffalo, but it’s weird. And it bothers me.
The second I step into the house, my unease spreads without warning. I realize that if one of the waiters killed Eve over the money, he’d be in a rage against Guy and me. I bolt the kitchen door behind me and check that the other two doors to the house are secure as well.