Tippy’s eyes widen with the thrill of being in the know. “Technically, we’re not supposed to say anything while the investigation is ongoing—”
As if that’s ever stopped anyone here—especially Tippy—from doing anything. There is no crowd more lawless than the country club set.
Right on cue, she adds, “But did Marcus tell you she quit the other day?”
“Gemma quit Lemon & Fig?” I’m too quick to respond. Too interested. The way Nora takes in a long breath tells me she notices, too, but she doesn’t say anything. “Sorry.” I recover. “Gemma and I were friends. I helped her prep for a job interview downtown, and she never mentioned that.”
“The night she died was supposed to be her last shift.” Tippy nods, and I can tell from the way her smile brightens, she’s happy to know something I don’t. “And I guess it was.”
The flippancy of her words makes me narrow my eyes.
Does anything matter to anyone around here?
While I’m giving Tippy a dirty look, though, I think back to Gemma’s empty apartment.
Did she quit her job because she was leaving town? Why? She had a job interview lined up. She had plans.
Tippy schools her face, trying for serious. “Makes you wonder if she was tangled up with someone here.” Her eyes scan the dining room like she’s sniffing for drama. “I heard Autumn was very unhappy about the news.”
“Why would Autumn care about—”
“Tippy,” Nora cuts in, cool and sharp. “Be careful. That’s a dangerous thing to say.”
Tippy waves her hand. Police procedure is some paltry excuse to her. I want to press, but Nora’s already shut the topic down.
Tippy shrugs. “I’m ready for things to go back to normal.”
“Well, Gemma diddie,” I say.
Every time I speak the words, they splinter through me, jagged and sharp, until my heart aches. Suddenly, I’m in wool socks again, and Aunt Delia’s on her way to get me. It shouldn’t stun me like this—remembering how people can be taken. I know about the razor’s edge. How control is a lie. Still the edge feels so close now. Closer than it should feel after all these years, after building a life so careful and privileged. I’m balancing right on the edge again. One turn from being split wide.
I wanted to build a fortress.
But it’s not enough.
“Right.” Tippy tries to sound sincere, but the moment is fleeting as she adds, “Anyway, I’ve been thinking. We should all have dinner. Shep and I live so close, and y’all are so fun.”
I’d rather gargle glitter.
“What do you think, Nora?” I say. “My place? Tonight?”
Nora almost spits out her champagne, but I kick her under the bar. Tippy coming to my house might be my best shot at hearing what else she knows. And hosting dinner at my place with Nora will give me a home-court advantage.
“Oh.” Nora frowns, looking nervous. “Okay.”
“Well, then,” Tippy says cheerily. “We’ll bring the wine.”
“I’ll see if Marcus can cook,” I offer. “He’s been tinkering with new recipes for the restaurant. We’ll have a test kitchen.”
“Oh, perfect.” Tippy claps. “See you at seven!”
Tippy air-kisses us both and flounces away.
Nora sputters a laugh. “Now we have to have dinner with Casa de Tequila? Why didn’t you say we had plans?”
“Because you and Marcus are always avoiding each other. It’s time for a family dinner. Like old times.” It’s a lie, and I don’t know why I’m telling it. My matchmaking days are on the back burner until I can figure out what happened to Gemma. But I’m not ready to say, “Because I’m trying to figure out if these weird texts and calls, my dead friend, and the blood on my husband’s pocket square are all related.”
So I go with the lie.
