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“What are you doing, hiding out here?”
“Don’t think I’m hiding out.”
He glanced over at Zora and Delta. “Then why aren’t you with your old friends?”
“Why are you with yours?” she countered.
“ ’Cause I like ’em. Don’t you like yours?”
“What do you want, Penske?” Bailey asked, through with the chitchat.
“Do I have to want something? Aren’t we friends?”
We never were before.
He waved a hand, slapping that away. “This reunion got me thinking a lot about high school. Probably the same for all of us. Reminded me of the pig roast and all. Your friend Carmen and everything that happened . . .” He trailed off, his gaze on her.
Bailey nodded and then, under his harsh eye, said, “I’ve tried to put it behind me.”
“Bullshit, Quintar. You were really upset, understandably so, but you were really mean. Really, on all of us, like it was our fault.”
It was your fault. All of you. Led by Tanner.
“You still feel that way,” he added. Bailey was deciding whether she would cop to that or not, when he put in, “I talked to Greg.”
She felt her insides go cold. Carefully, putting on her “cop face,” she said, “I didn’t know you knew Greg.”
“We’re both in real estate. We see each other around.”
“Greg works for Cipole Industries, Internet security, and—”
“And Cipole has commercial properties they’re trying to sell. I’m their guy. Hey, it’s you who introduced us.”
Ah, yes. It had been one time, when Penske had wandered into a Portland restaurant and spied Bailey, who’d inwardly groaned. Yes, she worked in West Knoll, and yes, she’d rented an apartment there, but she really tried to keep her personal and business lives separated.
Greg never told you he knew Penske. Never even mentioned his name. “Is this friendship fairly new?” she asked.
“Guess it’s heated up the last few months. Why? Jealous?”
Bailey knew everyone thought she’d gone a bit mad and maybe still felt that way about her. She figured it was time to end this conversation and made as if to move away.
“Okay, wait, wait . . .” Penske held out his hands when she took a few steps to go around him. “I’m not trying to yank your chain. Greg just said you’d . . . well, that he’d seen your journal.”
“My journal,” she repeated coldly.
“The one you were writing that summer, right after she died.”
“She was Carmen.”
“I know, Bailey. And I know how you felt about it that summer. . . maybe how you still feel about it.”
“Yes.”
“It’s good that you’ve . . . calmed down,” he added lamely.
Is that what I’ve done? Bailey bristled inside, but she kept a stony outward demeanor.
He glanced back to the group of guys. Tanner was saying something in a low voice, and all the guys were leaning in. Whatever it was had them all reeling back and guffawing. A couple of them looked around the room at the women. Brad Sumpter’s wild gaze settled on Amanda, who’d shown up in a gray dress with a plunging neckline, a silver medallion on a thin silver wire nestling between her breasts. Her husband was with her, but he seemed out of place among the classmates. As if finally unable to take it anymore, he suddenly headed for the bar.
