I forced myself to nod.
"Yes, we... shared a lot of things in common."
"You know what, Clarke?" Max returned to the crying man, putting his hand on his shoulder. "Why don't we pay for the detective? It's the least we can do to help find Lilly."
"You would do that?" Clarke looked at him as if Max owned the world, and he was giving him a piece of it. Max smiled smugly and put his whole arm around him, leading him away.
"Of course. Call me suspicious, but I have some theories of my own as to where she's gone. Why don't you come over to my house for a drink? We can discuss the details there."
Chapter 58
Daisy
"Oh,Daisy, I bought a new dress for you. It should be in your room. Go put it on and add a little makeup to your face," Max demanded as I passed by the living room. I paused in the doorway.
"A dress, why?" I raised an eyebrow. Relaxing on the couch were Max and Clarke, both dressed in tuxedos, sipping on drinks.
"We are having a dinner party. I've hired a private chef just for tonight."
"You just had a party last night," I protested. It'd been two weeks since he'd befriended Clarke under the guise of trying to help him find Lilly. It’d been five since I’d killed her and Gatsby covered it up. While he hadn't come out and said it, Max knew she wasn't going to be found just as much as I did. Still, he faked concern for Clarke, and almost every day the man was in our house, filling his belly with liquor and food. If it were anyone else, I wouldn't care. I'd enjoy Max being distracted. However, this particular guest felt like he was taunting me. Almost as if Max knew I had something to do with Lilly's disappearance.
"So, who cares?" Max laughed. "A little party never hurt anyone. Plus, we're competing with the asshole on the other side of the lake."
I shook my head. "Why?"
"Why?" Clarke stood up suddenly and wobbled some, sloshing his drink over the rim and onto his hand. "Because we're pretty sure that bastard had something to do with Lilly's disappearance, and he's living it up with all these parties, thinking he's the biggest thing in town. Max tried to have him locked up, but his money makes him untouchable."
My eyes shot to Max. He seemed highly amused by Clarke's drunk ramblings. He sipped his drink and said nothing.
"Why would you think that? And how does throwing parties here mean you are competing with him?"
Clarke plopped back down and drained his glass. He reached for the bottle beside him and refilled before answering me.
"Max explained it all. He's the owner of the Theater. Lilly told me that Gatsby offered me a job for her to keep quiet on something, and that so long as I didn't show up drunk, she'd keep her word to make sure I kept the job. What do you think he wanted her to shut up about?"
I raised my shoulders.
Clarke leaned forward, his face taking on a look of annoyance. "She was having an affair, Daisy. Don't you understand? The new clothes, bags, shoes. She was gone all the time, claiming it was for work. Sheesh." He sat back and put his feet up on the coffee table. "What a dumbass I was, not seeing it. I thought we had the perfect marriage. I guess not."
"Anyway," Max interrupted. "We have reason to believe that she may be staying over at his green palace across thelake. She seems to think that the grass is greener over there, so we are showing her that it's not. That Clarke here is just as sophisticated and fun as the other guy."
"Interesting." I narrowed my eyes at Max. He was using Gatsby as his scapegoat. Every day, I became more and more disgusted with him.
"So, go get dressed," he ordered, and I stomped upstairs to do so. I couldn't believe it, and yet, I could. He needed a way to make Gatsby the bad guy, and he found it. If the police wouldn't touch him...
After I showered and dressed for another one of Max's dull, rich people parties, I paused to stare across the lake. Gatsby's mansion was lit up from another party. Since he'd been arrested, he'd been throwing them more often. Not just on weekends, but on weekdays as well. Jules and the rest of his staff must be exhausted, I thought. What was he trying to do exactly?
I called Tuth and insisted they be my guest this evening. They arrived in a slick, burgundy tux they'd had fitted, with their hair slicked back.
"Gorgeous," I admired.
"Thanks, I needed something nice for Ga—" they started and quickly shut their mouth. "For occasions like this."
"We'll revisit this later," I said.
We went to dinner, where we made boring small talk with the wives of Max's friend group from college, along with a dozen other men with large fortunes. None of them had anything interesting about them other than their bank accounts. Having Tuth beside me helped get me through the night.
During the party, I stepped outside for some cool, crisp fall air. It was just beginning to turn seasons, and I loved thesmell of the dying leaves. I stood on the deck and inhaled deeply.
