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“Deaf,” Frankie grunts.
“Then she spread her legs for some criminal. She lives in San Remo now,” Carlos snorts. Sophie wrinkles her nose like she can’t think of anything worse. The same Sophie who loved Lana inviting us to parties over that way. I guess she only liked to visit.
The biker who punched Hank must have been Annalisa’s boyfriend. I can’t imagine Merch punching someone overme, so I don’t think it was some random hookup of Annalisa’s.
Good for her if she is dating a biker. I remember how pleasurable it was to spread my own legs for some biker. Hell, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
SHELLEY
The Arquette house is on Chuparosa. It’s one of those sprawling single-story stone houses with a circular drive and a private courtyard at the front. Mr. Arquette is clearly doing all right.
Parking my BMW in the circular drive, I jump out, pressing the buzzer on the stone pillar. I wait for the elegant middle-aged woman to open the door.
“Can I help you?”
“Mrs. Arquette? I’m Michelle Hunter. I was at Pinedale Prep with Annalisa.”
There is a pause, like she is trying to place my face. I think she’s not going to let me in for a moment, but she steps back, her eyes sweeping my outfit.
Oops. Maybe I should have worn my ‘Michelle attire.’ Her eyes dart over my shoulder, and she relaxes a little when they land on my BMW.
“Come on in. We’ll go through here.”
Here turns out to be the den. I don’t think I’ve ever been invited into a den before in Pinedale. I definitely should have worn my ‘Michelle attire.’
I smile as she sits across from me, taking the seat I'm offered. No refreshments then. Hopefully, I get what I came for. San Remo has about 150,000 people. If I don't have her contact details, Annalisa Arquette will be very difficult to find.
“So, you went to Pinedale Prep with my daughter.” Mrs. Arquette’s eyes search my face. Crap. Too young. Right.
“We were a few years apart,” I smoothly interject. “I remember her awful accident years ago and wanted to check in. See how she’s doing. Is she home?”
Mrs. Arquette pauses again, her lips pursing. The silence stretches around us, and I pray I’m not about to be thrown out on my ear.
“Annalisa no longer resides with us here. She lives in San Remo.” Mrs. Arquette says the name of the city like it’s manure.
“Oh. Would you have her phone number? I’d love to get in contact. I’m always over in San Remo.”
Mrs. Arquette’s eyes flicker over my outfit again, lingering on my ripped jeans. I silently curse myself for not getting changed. Idiot that I am.
“MichelleHunter, did you say?” she asks. “Elise Hunter’s daughter?”
“That’s right.”
“If you see Annalisa, perhaps you can convince her to attend one of the Country Club luncheons. I’m never successful, but you might have better luck.”
“I’ll certainly do my best. It would be nice to see her there.”
Mrs. Arquette’s eyes dart over me again, but she smiles, fetching her phone and supplying me with a cell number. That’s a start.
Thank god for the Pinedale Country Club. I never thought I’d say that.
Mrs. Arquette waves me off as I climb into my car, driving down the street and around the corner. I pull over, whipping out my phone, my fingers hovering over Annalisa Arquette’s contact details.
I’m about to call when I remember the whole deaf thing and grimace. Right. Probably can’t call. This is going to be fucking awkward over text, though. Sighing, I pull up my big girl panties and start to type.
SHELLEY: Hi Annalisa. It’s Shelley Hunter. I heard about an incident with Hank Delaney at the San Remo community day and wanted to check if you were all right.
Blowing out a breath, I send off the message, staring at my phone. She probably won’t respond. And if she does, it won’t be for hours while she figures out who the fuck I am. Maybe I should drive out to the desert?
