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13
TAYLOR, I THINK YOU’RE REMEMBERING WRONG,”EMMAsays, trying not to sound anxious. “I mean, about that last part. Tom and I didn’t meet until I started consulting here two summers ago through Scott Munroe.”
You’re protesting too much, she tells herself, but the last thing she needs right now is someone spreading the erroneous notion that she and Tom were an item before the murder, or even the possible fact that they’d been in the same room together. She can only imagine what Detective Webster would make of that tidbit.
Taylor shrugs. “Sorry, my mistake.” Her expression still reads skeptical, but Emma decides the smartest response is to just shut up and beat a hasty retreat.
“Don’t worry about it.... Have a nice day, Taylor.” She offers a cheerful wave as she leaves the meeting room, but the conversation increasingly gnaws at her on the drive home. Once she’s pulled into the garage, she racks her memory for as many details as possible about the Miami dinner.
It had actually been part of a large, three-day convention of small, boutique-style retailers. Emma had been recruited to give a keynote breakfast address on the major differences between Gen X, Gen Y, and Gen Z, but since she was already attending the convention, Avignon, one of the sponsors, hired her to also speak at their dinner Friday night. Eric had accompanied her to Miami, assisting with the tech part of her keynote and, like her, keeping eyes and ears open for any intriguing trends that might be in the air that weekend.
Beyond that, Emma doesn’t recall much about the trip. Though miraculously her work hadn’t taken a nosedive during those last terrible months of her marriage, she was in a near-constant state of turmoil, and when she wasn’t dealing directly with clients or giving a talk, she was hopelessly wrapped up in her inner angst. If Tomhadattended that dinner, she probably wouldn’t have even noticed the gorgeous, silver-haired man in the crowd.
But it’s a moot point, anyway, because Tom wasn’t there.
After mulling it over, Emma realizes how Taylor may have become confused. Since a group from Halliday was at the convention, they probably attended several luncheons and dinners together over the three days, and Taylor obviously merged two events—the Avignon one, and another that Tom actually did go to—into a single one in her mind.
She’s tempted to call Taylor and tell her she thinks this is the case, but quickly nixes the idea. Taylor’s one of those people who has to be right, and she might end up asking others from Halliday to back her up and inadvertently perpetuating the idea that Tom was there.
Emma tries to put the situation out of her mind, but itwon’t let go, and around one she gives Tom a call at the office to ask him to clarify things. When his assistant, Janice, picks up, she explains that he’s already left for a business lunch that will be followed by back-to-back off-site client meetings. Emma knows Tom wouldn’t mind if she called his cell, but she’s not going to interrupt him over what is clearly a simple misunderstanding. They can sort this out tonight at home.
But late in the afternoon, she realizes she might not have to wait for an explanation. She and Eric have finished a final rehearsal for tomorrow’s research presentation for their new client, and as he’s stuffing things into his messenger bag to leave, she wanders over to his workstation. Dario took off a bit early for a doctor’s appointment, so they have the space to themselves.
“Hey, Eric,” she says, “can I grab you a second before you go?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“Remember that Miami trip?”
“The one last winter when I got so sunburned half my body turned into a giant blister and it hurt to even breathe?”
“Oh god, of course, your vacation. I felt so bad. But no, I mean the one we did for work a couple of Januarys ago.”
“Oh yeah, that retailer convention. You gave a dazzling breakfast keynote.”
“But I also spoke at a dinner hosted by Avignon Handbags. Do you remember much about it?”
He leans back, his gray eyes pensive. “A little. I know Avignon didn’t want to cough up your full speaker’s fee—claimed their budget was tight—but they subscribe to theHawke Report. I believe we ended up saying yes because we were hoping it would lead to other business from them.”
“Aren’twecrafty. It didn’t, though, did it?”
Eric snickers good-naturedly. “No, but they still subscribe to the report at least.”
“There’s that, I guess. There were about forty people there that night, right?”
“About that number, yeah. Why do you ask?”
“Uh, just trying to figure out if that’s where I met a woman I ran into lately. It’s driving me nuts.” She hates lying to Eric, but she doesn’t dare mention the real reason, not even to someone she trusts as much as him.
“Why not check the digital file we have on the dinner?” he suggests. “Sometimes with smaller events, the organizer includes the guest list.”
“Good idea, I’ll give that a try.”
Emma’s eyes are drawn suddenly to Eric’s desktop, and she realizes how bare it is. He’s removed all the framed photos, souvenir mugs, and little knickknacks. Her heart sinks—could this be an indication he’s ready to resign or at least toying with the idea?
Maybe after nearly four years with her, he’s itchy for a change. When she based her company above the garage in New Jersey, he commuted out there two days a week from New York and worked remotely the rest of the time, and he did the same after she landed in Westport, though he eventually decided to relocate here himself. She’s promoted him twice so far, giving him healthy raises, but unfortunately there’s really no logical next step for him. He inquired discreetly a few months ago about a possible partnership role for himself, andshe had to explain that though she thought the world of him, she’d decided from the beginning never to bring in a partner. It would just complicate things too much for her.
“You Marie Kondo-ed your desk,” she says, not wanting to put him on the spot, but also intensely curious.
