by L. C. Warman
“Do you live here all alone?” Lia blurted, as Lucas popped coffee beans into a small black grinder. Lucas grinned.
“Bought it three years ago,” Lucas said. Lia couldn’t help calculating that this meant he had been twenty-five or twenty-six at the time, and groaned internally. “I wanted to buy in the city, but my parents offered to—well, I was incentivized to stay here.”
“I wish I was incentivized to stay anywhere.”
Lucas blushed and pressed down on the coffee grinder, focusing his attention on the little whizzing machine. Lia inspected some of the framed art hung about the kitchen, giant blooming flowers and abstract watercolors that made her feel that Lucas had some parental help in choosing his apartment fixtures.
“Did you come back here for Harry?” Lucas asked bluntly, as he handed Lia a coffee cup a few minutes later.
“Sorry?”
“It’s not my business, I know. But—well, I have a reason to ask.”
It was Lia’s turn to blush. “No, of course not.”
She could feel Lucas’s eyes on her, weighing her reaction.
“You want to talk to me about Harry,” Lia guessed.
A pause. “Yes. Kind of.”
“Okay.”
Still Lucas was silent, watching her, deciding. He had left only a vague impression on her in high school: he had taken up less space both physically and vocally, speaking rarely, and only then with deliberate slowness, almost as if he wished to disappear. Lia had thought him a little full of himself, obviously smart but keeping his own company most of the time. He and Harry had been close friends, and even then Lia had seen little of him. And now? Lia blushed. She wished that he was still the Lucas of high school, not this taller, good-looking, successful version of his high school self, that contrasted so sharply with her own wasted promise.
“I don’t know if it’s relevant, and I feel kind of stupid for bringing it up,” Lucas said.
“Can I guess first?”
“Sure.”
“I just heard that Harry was arrested once. I’m not sure how long ago.”
“Oh!” Lucas said. “That—no, I don’t think that’s relevant.”
“What was it?”
“He might…well, it really could have happened to anyone,” Lucas said. “Look, I don’t want to embarrass him more, but…it’s public knowledge, I guess. He was, ah, urinating in public. After a night out. And happened to pick a spot behind a police car.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Yeah. The cop was in the car, and it was public indecency, and—well, he was pretty embarrassed about it. That was four years ago. They kind of threw the book at him, to make an example, or something.”
“Do you think that’s what Paulette is worried about getting out?”
Lucas smiled at this. “No. Definitely not. Because it did come out. It was in the police blotter. Harry went to Europe for a few months. And he was a lot more serious when he came back, too. Stopped drinking as much. It’s not important to anything happening now. Why, who told you?”
Lia briefly related her conversation with James and Mariel, including her suspicions about their failed art shop. Lucas looked impressed.
“So you think they’re blackmailing Paulette?”
“It could be anyone,” Lia said. “Except me. I’m certain of that.”
Lucas half-smiled. Maybe he didn’t really believe her, but Lia did get the feeling that he wanted to.
“So not the arrest, then,” Lia said. “What did you want to tell me?”
Lucas sighed. “I mean, who knows if it matters, but…if you’re being accused of blackmail, you might as well know. I guess you’ve figured out that Harry and I had a falling out.”
“You did?”
Lucas laughed. “And you had just convinced me that you had the makings of a great P.I.”
“Sorry—like I said, I really wasn’t paying much attention to Harry. So what happened?”
Lucas shrugged. “It wasn’t about us, really. My uncle and his dad…they used to do business together. Private equity stuff. They had a falling out a few years ago.”
“Lot of falling outs.”
“Yeah—they’re related. You’ll keep this between us? Seriously. You can’t tell Harry. He hasn’t heard this version, and I don’t know what version he was fed.”
“I promise.”
Lucas swallowed and nodded. “My uncle found out that Harry’s dad was skimming off the top. Pocketing some of the funds without telling the other partners. My uncle confronted him and had him resign—otherwise he was going to tell the others. He also wanted Harry’s dad to pay back what he had taken, which he agreed to, but…” Lucas shrugged. “From the way my uncle talks, I don’t think that ever happened. And then he passed away, and it wasn’t like my uncle was going to go after his widow and kids to pay.”
“You think Paulette knew about it,” Lia said. “And that maybe—maybe that’s who’s blackmailing her?” And wouldn’t, a voice in her head added, that make you one of the suspects?
“I have no idea, honestly. Maybe? Though I can’t figure out why a husband would tell his wife he was stealing. Or why he would steal in the first place.”
“Maybe she suggested it.”
Lucas lifted an eyebrow. “I take it you aren’t Mrs. McKenzie’s biggest fan.”
Lia shrugged. “But who knows? What do you think?”
Lucas considered. “I think…I think it’s possible someone told her after. Maybe one of the other partners figured it out and confronted her. If she found out like that—well, she’d be embarrassed, for one thing. Probably deny it. Probably be very motivated to keep it all quiet.”
Lia bit her lip. “But then who would be blackmailing her? Were any of your uncle’s partners there that night?”
“Well…no.”
“Then who?”
Lucas shrugged. “I don’t know. Someone with a motive, who had figured it out. Maybe one of her kids. You already proved that James has a reason to want some money.”
“You think Harry and James know about the money? The—accusations?”
“It depends. To be honest, I have no idea. But it’s possible, sure. If Mrs. McKenzie was going to confide in anyone, it would be her family, right? And Harry and James—maybe they confided in other people. Friends. Significant others.”
The image of Mariel and Alyssa flashed across Lia’s mind. Alyssa—no. It couldn’t have been Alyssa. She seemed too enamored of her new lifestyle with Harry, of the world of St. Clair. She wouldn’t try to blow it all up with some scheme like this. Mariel…Mariel was a tougher one to crack. She seemed like a woman who could keep a secret, who wouldn’t shy away from doing what she needed to ensure her family’s survival.
“You think someone in her family is blackmailing her.”
Lucas held up his hands. “Look, I’m not an expert in blackmail. To be honest, this is the first instance I’ve encountered in my short life.”
“Shocking.”
“I know, right? I just think that you have to know someone really well to try something like this. Really well.”
Lia nodded. It made sense. And it meant one thing.
She had to see Harry.
Lia finished her coffee in a few more sips, thanking Lucas as she rose. “You’re going to talk to him,” Lucas guessed.
“It seems logical, at this point.”
Lucas nodded. He looked uncomfortable.
“I promise I won’t repeat anything you said to him. Really.”
“I believe you.”
Lia hesitated. Lucas seemed suddenly distant, unreadable. Part of her wondered, paranoid and mistrustful, whether she was being played. “Was there…anything else you wanted to tell me?” she asked. “Anything else I should know?”
Lucas blinked at her. “Be careful,” he said finally. “People keeping one secret are generally keeping many.”
And how many, Lia thought, are you keeping?
Chapter 22
“Satisf
ied about your kumbaya mission?” Julia said, with a sardonic smile, as Atul picked her up to play squash the next morning. It was a weekly ritual between the two of them, one Atul had insisted on after Julia’s hospitalization and which had naturally grown into a pleasurable morning where the two could trade stories of the week and decompress.
Right now, though, Atul thought it would take a lot more than squash to decompress him.
“Very satisfied,” Atul grunted, taking the scenic lake road towards the club. “Glad to know we can count on each other when the time comes.”
“Oh, don’t start with that. We can count on each other—Lia is different. Lia left us.” Her voice was bitter enough that Atul glanced sideways at her, the whisper of a question darting through his head. Would she possibly…? He shook himself.
“It doesn’t matter,” Atul said. “Let’s talk about something else.”
They filled the rest of the car ride with chatter about their respective weddings, Atul’s a three-hundred-person monstrosity at a golf club up north, Julia’s a beachside getaway with a guest list maxing out at twenty. Atul was openly jealous of Julia’s plan; Julia made a sincere effort to at least seem envious of his.
They split up at the club to change and rejoined each other at the bar outside the court, where patrons could enjoy old-fashioned or glasses of wine or (for the health-conscious) green juices while waiting the inevitable thirty-plus minutes for a court to open up. Julia and Atul sat at a table near the back after putting their names down on the waiting list, tucking their thin rackets beneath their seats.
“I can’t wait to get out of here,” Julia muttered, crossing her arms. Atul looked around but could see nothing that overtly gave away the cause of her animosity: there was a blonde mother with a gaggle of sweatband-covered children, a man with slicked-back hair and a gold watch who kept checking out his reflection in the court glass, and an older woman reading a newspaper near the back.
“St. Clair really isn’t that bad,” Atul said. “Namita likes it.”
“I’m sure she does,” Julia said, not unkindly. “But I don’t. I hate it. You know what? Lia is probably the smartest one out of all of us. She got out, and early.”
Atul didn’t know what to make of the mention of Lia. They had avoided the topic of their missing best friend for years now, and Julia certainly hadn’t been thrilled to see her recently. He decided to play it safe and change the subject.
“So when do I get to meet your elusive fiancé?”
Julia gave him a sideways glance. “Maybe never.”
Atul laughed, but stopped when he realized Julia wasn’t smiling. “What, Julia? Seriously? I’m invited to the wedding, at least?”
“I told you it’ll be small. Family only. I’m not sure I’m inviting any friends at all. Oh, Atul,” Julia said, face breaking into a smile, finally, “don’t look like that! It’s nothing against you of course. If I did invite a friend, I’d invite you, no question.”
“It seems a little odd that I’ve never even met him. You’ve never even shown me a picture.”
Julia’s face darkened. “Some things have to be kept sacred,” she said. “Away from St. Clair.”
Atul was silent; Julia had sometimes repeated such cryptic statements after her release from the hospital, but he was usually successful in lifting her mood. That mood had considerably lifted two years ago, when Julia declared she had met someone, though she had been tight-lipped and secretive, so much so that Atul had given up on asking about the man until Julia had declared, with exuberance, that she was engaged. The cloak-and-dagger nature of it all troubled him—how did he know if the fiancé was any good for her? What if he wanted to take advantage of Julia in some way—of her sadness, of her kindness, of her wealth? The only piece of it that comforted him was that Julia’s parents had met the fellow and had declared, with secretive exchanged smiles, that they were “entirely in favor of the match.” Julia’s parents certainly weren’t gullible people, and for now, Atul thought, their approbation would have to suffice.
“Tell me more about your wedding,” Julia said.
“What do you want to know? At this point, I could be airlifted down from a helicopter and I don’t think the cost would change by more than a fraction of a percent.”
Julia grinned. “You could always put your foot down, you know.”
“Not against my mother. Namita and I are victims of her planning.”
“That bad?”
Atul just shook his head, laughing. The truth was, the wedding was getting out of control, even for his mother. The guest list had grown exorbitantly over the months, and then there were all the little add-ons and specializations at the club—costs to have more than one dinner option, costs to upgrade the liquor package, costs to have every little appetizer added to the bill. And then there was the coffee station and dessert bar, plus the carving station that the wedding planner “highly recommended.” And that was not to mention the pre-dinner drinks, and the post-dinner after-hours table, and the extra champagne toast at the ceremony itself (and said ceremony required the renting of special chiffon chairs from an outside venue, since apparently it was too much to expect a wedding venue to have their own).
The biggest problem was that Atul’s mother was under a gross misconception about Namita’s family’s wealth. It had been just a little white lie he had told early on, referencing an obscure inheritance from Namita’s engineer father, embellishing a little on her mother’s pedigree. His mother, to put it bluntly, was a snob, or had rather grown to become one ever since she moved to St. Clair with Atul’s father. Naturally, assuming that Namita was a rich heiress, she had expected Namita’s family to pay for the wedding, as was usually the (rather outdated) tradition. Except, Namita didn’t know that Atul had told his mother this, or that she was expected to pay for the lavishness of the ceremony. She expected, naturally, that Atul’s mother would be paying for every little add-on that she so casually picked for her son and future daughter-in-law. The result was that the two women fed off of each other, each delighted with the other’s nonexistent generosity, each building up more and more fantastic ideas for the wedding because they could see how much it pleased the other, because they thought themselves only the recipient and not the giver.
Meanwhile, Atul had depleted a good portion of his savings to pay for all of the deposits. The rest, he had put onto credit cards. It was an embarrassing state for him, when he had been so careful about debt and leverage in the past. But he had a good salary, and he had always found a way out of such problems before—why shouldn’t he believe himself to be just as lucky in the future? He was in too deep, now, to fix anything. His own little secret was eating away at him, just as fast if not faster than it was eating away at his bank accounts.
“You seem pensive,” Julia said, and Atul roused himself.
“Hmm? No. Just wedding stuff. You’re sure I can’t come?”
Julia smiled at him, a little sadly. “I’ll let you know.”
“Is there some major secret I’m missing? Is he half-ogre? Maybe a first cousin? Or—he’s short, isn’t he?”
Julia snorted. “I’ll tell you if you tell me what you were just thinking about,” she said.
Atul blinked, looking up. “I think it’s our turn. Court’s empty.”
Julia said nothing, her gaze fixed on him.
Chapter 23
Katie paced the length of Bella’s living room, biting her nails. The pale wintry light streamed into the two-story townhouse, lighting up the cream rug and dusty coffee table, rimmed with wine glass and coffee stains.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Bella said, leaning back on the sofa, eyes still puffy from her latest face mask—Bella always seemed to be allergic to something in them, but it never put her off. “Seriously, Kat. Calm down.”
Katie shook her head. In two days she’d be back at work, with no time to think through any of this. She had to fix this problem, and fix it now. She had enough on her plate without another s
ecret to worry about.
“No one is going to help Lia,” Bella said. “You heard Julia. And Atul won’t do anything if Julia’s not doing it.”
“I’m not worried about Lia,” Katie said. She came to a stop finally and flopped down on the sofa next to Bella. She could smell the stale coffee grounds mixed with lemon cleaner that was always so familiar in Bella’s home. They had spent many nights in their twenties here, pregaming an evening out or watching trashy reality shows in the evenings over a glass of wine. She had grown closer to Bella ever since high school; surprising, since they had grown apart from everyone else. Julia and Atul were the exact same way, as if something had fractured their core group the second they left for the real world—whatever that was.
Funny—Bella had seemed rattled the night of the blackmail, and was calm and collected now. Katie was the opposite; she had been uneasy at most, and was now downright concerned. A woman like Paulette McKenzie wouldn’t stop when it came to persecuting her enemies—real or otherwise. And who knew what would come out in the wash?
“She’ll ruin Lia’s life,” Katie said.
“Who cares? I thought you said you weren’t worried about her.”
“Bella.”
Bella shrugged, reaching up to scratch her upturned nose. She was never one to be described as delicate or dainty: she was built like an athlete, with a smatter of freckles across her cheeks, a square jaw, and eyes spaced close together. Her laugh was deep and contagious, and she could drink most boys under the table. Many times, over the years, Katie had envied Bella’s easy confidence.
Now, she wished her friend had a little less.
“I couldn’t care less about Paulette, and I couldn’t care less about Lia,” Bella said. “If anything, I feel bad for Harry, being in the middle of them.”