Nora gasps.
I ask, “You were planning to get married at a gym?”
Just as I’m realizing I should probably have latched on to a different part of the story, he says. “I own this place. Well…technically my family owns it, but I’m the one who operates it. I came up with the name too.”
He points the camera toward a logo painted onto the wall—Palace of Pain—with a frowning stick figure holding up a set of barbells. It looks like it was created by a depressed firstgrader.
“Huh, wow,” I say.
Nora nudges me.
“It’s…” I try to think of something nice to say and settle on, “Did you draw that yourself?”
His glow dims. “Pansy did. That’s how we met. I commissioned her to paint this mural. She’s so damn talented. She’s, like, one of those bright lights, you know? Nothing can compare.”
He seems like he means it, so he must have really loved her.
“I think of her every time I see it,” Bradley continues.
I rub the back of my neck. “Do you know anything about Micah? Something that might help us track him down?”
He’s already shaking his head. “No. But I’d tell your friend to be careful, man. Pansy’s heartless. She didn’t even return the ring I gave her. It was Meemaw’s. That ring’s worth more than my whole gym.”
Nora and I exchange a look. “Is there anything else you can tell us?” I ask. “Anything that would help us convince him she has bad intentions?”
“Bro, she broke up with me on our wedding day with a Post-it note. Isn’t that enough?”
Actually, yes. I nod, going for a sympathetic expression.
“Thank you,” Nora says. “Sounds like you have a good therapist.”
“Hey,” he says, his sullen expression lifting into another square-toothed smile. “How about you and I?—”
I thump the red button to end the call.
Nora grins at me. “Really? You thought I was going to give him my number?”
“It wasn’t worth the risk.” I set the phone down on the coffee table, but not before I notice a textfrom my dad.
Son, can we have a private word at your earliest convenience? There’s something we need to discuss.
Nope. Not right now.
“Can you believe this?” Nora asks. “Pansy used the exact same message that Berger used to break up with Carrie on a Post-it note—just like inSex and the City. Do you think she’s an actual psychopath?”
“Carrie dated a burger?”
She tosses a throw pillow at me. “The significance is lost on you.”
“You’re right. Should we make another video call so we can tell your friends? Maybe I can accidentally flash more people.”
She starts laughing, and I grin back at her, feeling a deep sense of contentment.
“Sorry,” she says through her laughter. “It’s just…wow, that guy is really a douche.” Her eyebrows shoot up, and suddenly she’s laughing harder.
I can’t keep my hands to myself anymore, so I pull her onto my lap. “Let me in on the joke, Nora.”
She smiles at me, her lips inches from mine. “Bradley Ruche is a douche.”
