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“I’ve been going through the posse’s lists of Facebook friends,” Reynolds continued, referring to the core group of Spencer’s buddies. “I’ve been able to narrow down a short list of names of guys who’ve opened their accounts in the past year and who they’ve all friended for you to look through.”
“You really think that Spencer would be so dumb as to go on Facebook, what with the US Marshals and who knows who else looking for him?”
“Yeah. I do. It was always clear from Spencer’s now defunct Facebook account that the guy was almost obsessive about staying in contact with his buddies even if to rag on the other or brag about some new acquisition.”
“I was married to the guy. I’m quite aware of how codependent they all are,” she said, sounding resigned.
“That need doesn’t just go away,” Reynolds continued, “and I’m betting that after being on the lam for the past few months, he’s needing that connection again, a connection that he can get through social media by creating a new anonymous account and profile.”
Setting down her dinner, Waverley accepted the laptop from him, settling it at the edge of her lap so as not to disturb Mouse. She scanned the faces in the profiles. “None of these faces look familiar.”
“It’s easy enough to find some photo on social media and make it your own. I’m more interested in patterns. Comments they may have made to each other, bits in their posts that that sound like Spencer.”
Sighing, she skimmed the bios again while Reynolds took a bite of the savory-smelling food. Hmm. Pretty good. He took another full bite of the tuna casserole that she’d filled with peas and topped with potato chips. He didn’t think he’d had this since he was a kid, and instantly it brought good memories of sitting around the dinner table with the whole rowdy family as everyone tried to outtalk everyone else.
Next thing he knew, he was scraping the bottom of the bowl. Waverley glanced up at him with a slight smile. “There’s more in the kitchen if you’d like.”
He nodded and got up to get more, leaving her to study the screen. “I noticed they’re all talking about some upcoming trip,” he said from the kitchen that was at least clean but hopelessly outdated and in disrepair. “Any ideas what that’s about?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Since college, Ronnie Jackson has hosted a spring break party at his parents’ house out in the Florida Keys. It coincides with his birthday, so it’s always been a convenient excuse to be out there along with all the young coeds. Spencer and I have been almost every year.”
“Aren’t they a little too old to be scoping out college-aged girls?”
“You’d think,” she said in a way that reminded him that it was a college-aged cocktail waitress who had been at the root of the end to her marriage.
“And their wives go for that?”
She shrugged. “When the wives are invited, they’re not above getting a little action with the young college guys themselves. This year it’s going to be a bigger party than usual as Ronnie’s celebrating his thirtieth birthday.”
“The Bahamas aren’t that far from Florida,” he said thoughtfully as he scooped up a healthy portion of the casserole, trying to leave some for her. “You could get there by plane in less than an hour. Two or three hours by boat. Does Spencer sail?”
“Does he sail,” she said sarcastically. “I thought you looked through his old Facebook account. Didn’t you pick up on the dozens and dozens of photos he posted showing off his sailing skills? Three years ago, he and Ronnie raced in the Caribbean 600 Regatta in Antigua, nearly placing. I never heard the end of that.”
Reynolds’s spidey senses were going off. “When is this party again?”
“Next weekend. Two days of drinking, partying, and bragging about each other’s accomplishments. I’m just glad that, without Spencer, I don’t have to make up some lame excuse for not going.”
Reynolds reappeared next to her, his mind in overdrive thinking about the possibilities of what she was saying. After a minute, Waverley looked up. “What?”
“Are you saying that you’re invited to this party?”
She shrugged. “Technically, yes. Probably more as a pity invite from Tracie, Ronnie’s wife. I don’t think anyone’s actually expecting me to come, not without Spencer.”
He came to join her on the couch again. “Then they’re going to be pretty surprised to hear from you, especially when you tell them you’re coming.” He shoved in a forkful of food and watched her reaction.
“Wait, what?” She sounded and looked horrified. “Why would I put myself through that torture? Not having to hang out with him or his friends is one of the highlights of not being married to the jerk.”
“You’re going because this might be the break we need to track him down. I’d bet my right nu—kidney that wherever he’s hiding out, one of those guys knows exactly where that is. I might even go so far as to bet that there’s a pretty good likelihood that Spencer’s not far away.”
She blinked as she tried to understand what he was saying. An array of emotions crossed her face, from pain to rage then apprehension.
She raised her gaze to his again, asking quietly, “You think Spencer mi-might be there?”
“Possibly. With the money he’s accumulated, he could very well have bought himself a sailboat—hell, maybe even a yacht—and could be sailing the Caribbean right now, putting in at different ports with a fake passport. He could grease whoever’s palm needed greasing to make sure his presence goes undetected. And this party? A chance to see his friends and be a part of the group again, even if only on the periphery? It would be too great of a draw for him to miss.”
Her face was turning paler than usual. “I just don’t think I could do it, Reynolds. I couldn’t face those people again, not on my own.” It wasn’t hard to see that Waverley was as traumatized by the possibility of seeing her ex again as she was by those people who Spencer called friends. He’d seen their Facebook posts. He couldn’t blame her.
“Hey,” he said, softening his tone. “You wouldn’t be alone. You would be accompanied by your dashing new boyfriend, RJ Reynolds.”
