Deconstructed(83)

Turning the radio down, I hooked a left to my street as Cricket prattled about envelopes and me writing Scott’s name. But when she got to the actual contents, I felt my heart drop. “Wait, there were pictures of Julia Kate? Like a warning or something?”

“Yes, they were pictures from her everyday life taken in the last few days. And I think it has to be directed to Scott. This Donner guy is bad news. He wears fancy suits and donates money to charity, but I think Scott is in over his head, and so am I. I can’t worry about the money right now. I have my own accounts, the store, and a lawyer who will help me sort through a mess if Scott gets in trouble for whatever the hell he’s involved in. I have to just stop fooling around with disguises and playing at being a PI. We gotta tell someone what Donner and Scott are up to.”

“But you’ll be letting him get away with it. What if he takes off with the tennis slut before the authorities can do anything about it?”

“I read somewhere you weren’t supposed to call women ‘sluts’ anymore.” Cricket sounded like she was reading a guide on how to navigate the social-justice Olympics.

“Cricket, she stole your husband and potentially your entire IRA—you can call her whatever the fuck you want to. There’s no justification for what she’s done. Yeah, Scott’s a shit, but she doesn’t get automatic absolution because she doesn’t have testicles.”

“Ruby.”

“What? I’m serious. Slut shaming is the least of your worries.”

Silence on the end of the line.

I continued, getting warmed up, my mind tripping over itself to figure out how we could right wrongs and make that scumbag pay. “Okay, I have to think. You can’t let him win, Cricket. I understand what you’re saying. That it feels, um, hotter in the henhouse, but we’re going to make him give you that money back. Don’t do anything yet. Let me do some research. What time is your appointment with the attorney tomorrow?”

“Two in the afternoon.”

“I have a test in the morning. Jade is working until two tomorrow, so if it’s okay, I won’t go in until after we figure things out. Let’s meet at Juke’s office at noon. I’m going to ask Griff to come, too.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s tough and he’s smart. And I think he has the hots for you.”

“What? No. Griffin doesn’t even like me.” She sounded shocked and maybe something else . . . pleased?

“Yeah, he does.”

“But I’m married.”

“For now.”

Cricket sighed. “Okay, whatever. All I’m saying is I’m not sure about this, Ruby. I’m not as strong as you are. I’ve been fooling myself thinking I can be some badass who makes her husband pay.”

“Bull-to-the-shit. You’re strong. Stronger than you think. And you’ve got me. Together, we’re going to figure this out. I promise.”

I wasn’t sure my words were true. But I wanted to believe them. I longed for a world in which the dickheads got theirs and those of us who had treaded water for so long, just looking for a place to rest, a hard piece of ground to build something, could win. So if I lied, it wasn’t because I didn’t want to believe my words. Women like Cricket, women like me, we deserved to come out ahead sometimes.

“I don’t see how, but I will meet you at Juke’s office. I’ll pick up lunch for all of us. Maybe Cush’s or Fairfield. I’ll text you for your order.”

Of course she would. One thing I knew about Cricket—every occasion deserved sustenance.

“Don’t worry, Cricket. We got this.”

If I put it out into the universe, the gods of justice would hear it.

Please, gods of justice, hear me and make this work.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


CRICKET

My palms were sweating. I had always thought that was just a saying, but my hands were legitimately wet, and I could feel perspiration beading on my upper lip. Oh, and I was certain that at any moment, I would vomit on the table.

A few days ago when we had come up with this plan, it had sounded easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

But that was a few days ago, on the day I had nearly bailed (and probably should have bailed) on this whole being-an-amateur-private-eye thing. Now I knew how Nancy Drew felt. Or those meddling kids in the souped-up van with the dog. I was so nervous that I couldn’t even remember the name of the cartoon. But they stuck their noses where they shouldn’t have, and so had I. Meddling kids. Meddling Cricket.

I pressed my hands against the folder in front of me. And looked back at where Griffin was nursing a beer. He winked at me, which gave me a small bump of confidence, but not nearly enough to stop the pit stains that were no doubt marring my silk blouse.

After I had discovered the threat in the pictures of Julia Kate, I’d had a near breakdown that involved three-fourths of a bottle of pinot grigio and a failed science experiment. The last one was because Julia Kate had forgotten that she had to turn in a project that involved household products being combined for chemical reactions . . . which she had to film. The night ended with me half-drunk and Julia Kate in tears because I had refused to call an Uber to take us to Kroger to get more baking soda. At this point, I accepted the fact that I had allowed my child to fail. In the grand scheme of life, a zero in physical science wasn’t the end of the world.