Sorry I’m not there. Not feeling too well. I have my period, so Carol’s giving me emotional support and a girlie night.
I call her immediately, and she picks up.
“Come home. I’ll run you a bath.”
I love the little gasp she makes. Is she even aware?
Every time I tell her to take a bath, it’s loaded with meaning. It’s deliberate, of course; I’m certain she’s learned that. Doesn’t mean it’s not effective.
There’s a pause before she replies, and I switch my phone to my other ear, watching her dot on the map.
“That’s really sweet of you, but I’ve already had one and we’ve broken out the ice cream.” Her voice lowers. “We’re already a quarter of the way intoBridget Jones’s Diary, and Carol would be devastated if I left now.”
Shit.I really wanted to see her.
But there’s no way in hell I’m sitting through that drivel.
“Very well. I suppose I can go one night. But I’ll miss you.”
“Do some work?” she teases, voice sharp. “You won’t even notice I’m gone.”
“I can’twork.” I look at my screen. At the finance sheets I have up, none of them to do with Northbridge. All of them my own personal accounts. Public securities. Private investments. PE funds.Figuring out what I can liquidate, in how long. “Not without knowing you’re home, and safe.”
“Uh… that’s sweet.” She sounds almost surprised. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
That’s a bit abrupt. Maybe the movie is distracting her. “And I’ll spoil you rotten then. Call me if you need me?”
“Sure. Good night.” That was terse too. She must really not be feeling well.
“Feel better.” I kill the call and frown at my phone.
I can’t remember the last time Vicky got her period.
Then I shake my head, dismissing it.
Why would I know? I’ve not been around.
That’s all about to change.
Twenty-Nine
Vicky
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Carol asks.
It’s Monday, and we’re sitting in Carol’s living room, me on one sofa, her on the other, the coffee table between us strewn with papers and empty mugs. I’m grateful she’s working from home, but Alex is still an asshole for assuming she’d be here. Even though she is. That’s not illogical, right?
“It’s harmless,” I say. “I’m only accessing public records.”
“Yeah, but on Van Wyk’s late wife.” Carol chews her lip. “It’s just a suggestion, and you can totally ignore me, but from everything you’ve said—”
“That’s a lot of hedging.”
“—why don’t you just drop it?”
“Because I don’t drop cases. You know that.”
“Yeah,” Carol mutters. “I know that.” She gets up, collects her work laptop—I’ve commandeered her personal one while Alex hasn’t come good on the replacement for mine—and sits down next to me on the sofa. “Okay, what have you already done?”
