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“Donna said you’d taken a break but thought you were doing them again.”
Donna must have seen the leaked photos. Carrie didn’t know what to think about that.
There was a long pause. “Could I meet with you in person?” said Trish. “Say, tomorrow afternoon?”
“Of course.”
They agreed to meet at the Montreau for a late lunch.
She hung up the phone thoughtfully. A girl had to make a living. How did the saying go?
If you’re already doing the time, you might as well do the crime.
Maybe it was the memory of Donna’s confidence in her, or maybe Carrie had just reached the end of her rope. She recalled Pansy’s comment about Gibson Kyle making all the decisions at his daughter’s wedding and suddenly realized how foolish she’d been to refund that deposit, out of the kindness of her heart.
“Betcha Daddy can afford that three hundred dollars a heck of a lot better than Forever Yours Photography can,” she muttered, picking up the phone. Gibson Kyle’s accounting firm was praised for squeezing every last deduction possible for their clients – all strictly legal, of course. They were also highly regarded for their conservative, traditional values.
“Kyle Accounting,” said a carefully modulated voice.
“I need to speak with the big kahuna,” she said. “Tell him it’s his pornographer.”
If Gibson Kyle had changed his mind about having her take his daughter’s wedding photos, the least he could do was have the balls to tell her himself.
The man was blunt and to the point.
“You have some nerve, calling me at work.”
“At least I have the balls to talk to you directly,” she said. “Do you know Bethany cried when she told me? She wants the best wedding photos and you won’t let her get them. You must be so proud.”
“Like your family is these days?” She could hear the smirk in his voice. “You, girly, have gone down a bad path. I’m surprised and disappointed that Nathan Jackson stands for it.”
Carrie’s hands grew sweaty. Her face burned.
“Leave my grandfather out of this,” she said. “Expect to see my non-refundable deposit back on your credit card statement next month, Mr. Kyle. Consider it the price of prejudice.”
She hung up with a bang, her hands shaking. Good little Carrie Logan was done being bullied. It was time she looked after herself, and if that meant locking horns with those who thought they ran Cherry Lake, then so be it.
Chapter Fourteen
‡
The Montreau Hotel housed one of Cherry Lake’s most elegant dining places. Although the historic building was currently undergoing a massive renovation to bring it back to its previous glory, the restaurant remained open and boasted white linen tablecloths, fresh flowers, great food and, most importantly, wait staff who weren’t born and bred in Cherry Lake.
It was perfect for a discreet meeting.
“Here you go, luv.” The server, Becky, pulled out her chair, and then flipped a pristine white napkin over Carrie’s lap. “I’ll wait until your friend arrives to bring menus, shall I?”
“That would be perfect, thank you.”
“Right then.”
Becky had a strong down-under accent and the deep tan of an outdoors girl.
Each summer, a certain number of young people, many from Australia and New Zealand, filtered through the area, looking to refill their travel accounts for the upcoming winter sport season. The Montreau was about the only place a server could count on decent tips, so it’s where most of them ended up. Often ski and snowboard enthusiasts, many were working their way through the Rockies up to Whistler, British Columbia, staying at the Y, camping or couch-surfing with friends.
What a life, she thought, half-horrified, half-envious.
She liked her stable life, but still. To be living each day out of pocket, with no responsibilities, the only goal the next adventure sounded… pretty good.
“Are you Carrie?”
She started and looked up to find a young woman standing next to her chair, her purple handbag held in front of her like a shield. She had dark hair cut in an oblique bob, with one side tucked behind her ear and the other falling across her face. A classy, stylish way of hiding when necessary.
