The Last Housewife (20)

“Anything you can tell us is worth a lot,” I said quietly. “To the investigation, and to me.”

She sighed. “The Hudson Mansion used to be one of our exclusive contracts—lucrative, because they wanted everything top-notch. The trade-off is you’ve got to be on your best behavior, which is what I tell my waiters. The day Laurel quit was the first event we’d done at the Mansion since she started. Even during setup, I noticed she kept going missing. Trust me, I get it, it’s a fancy place, and maybe she wanted to poke around, bump into a rich guy. Wouldn’t be the first. But she had a job to do. So I warned her in no uncertain terms, stay put. The event starts. The room’s stuffed wall to wall with billionaires, and at some point, I realize there’s no one serving the hors d’oeuvres. I swear to god, there she was, gone again.

“When she crept back, I confronted her. Tried to make it discreet, because obviously I didn’t want to scare off the clients. But she started yelling, defending herself, saying I didn’t understand, I wasn’t her mother—strange stuff. Then in the middle of a sentence, I kid you not, she stops and goes white as a ghost. I turned around and tried to figure out what she’d seen, but all I could see was a bunch of people in black tie, drinking champagne. Next thing I knew, Laurel’s quitting and hightailing it out of there. No one’s ever quit in the middle of a job like that. I had to fill in for the rest of the day. That’s the long and short.”

“Did you recognize anyone at the party?” Jamie asked.

Clarissa snorted. “Not exactly my crowd.”

“Okay. Well, thanks again, Ms. Barker.” Jamie nodded subtly to the door, with a look that said We have a lot to talk about.

“I hope you find whatever you’re looking for,” Clarissa said. She was looking directly at me.

“Thanks,” I said faintly, because I was already a million miles away, trying to imagine what had scared Laurel so bad she’d quit her job on the spot, never to be seen again.

***

Jamie and I fell into a pensive silence as we waited outside Cleary Hall. Edie Marlow, the Whitney girl who’d found Laurel’s body, was due out of her sociology class at 4:15 p.m. We’d catch her in a public place.

“Okay. So this glorified country club hosts a seedy underground called Tongue-Cut Sparrow at night,” Jamie said, leaning against a tree. “Laurel was interested in it for some reason. We know that from the note scrawled on the back of that photograph. But then she runs out of the Mansion during a gig. Why?”

“Why even start at the catering firm in the first place?” I asked. “Clarissa said she was desperate to work there. Laurel couldn’t have cared less about cooking. She—”

My phone buzzed; I looked down to see a text from Cal: Shay, call me back already.

The next second, his face flashed on the screen. A pang of reflexive guilt made me accept. “Hi, Cal.”

“Hallelujah, you answered.” His voice was wry, but deep and gravelly. He was a big man; he’d fit in among the football players at the charity event the first night we’d met. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” I turned my back so Jamie couldn’t hear.

“Mary Ellen says you texted her you weren’t coming back in time for her Labor Day party. I thought we were planning to go. You know I’m home in a few days, right?”

“I know, but I’m finally writing,” I lied. “Being back’s been inspiring.”

His voice softened. “Look, I’m glad your block’s gone. But I’ve been away for almost three weeks. You’ll be home when I get back, right? I told Eddie Dillard we’d have dinner with him and his wife before the holiday. Can’t do it without you.”

Of course Cal could do it without me. All it would take was making sure there was food and wine on the table. He meant he didn’t want to, because hosting was one of my jobs.

A flood of students poured out of Cleary Hall. In the crowd, I spotted the dark, fashionable bob of Edie Marlow, whose social media I’d studied so I could pick her out.

“Of course,” I said quickly. “Sorry, I have to go.” I hung up over his protests, shoving away the creeping knowledge that I was being a bad wife. I’d make it up to him later.

I glanced at Jamie, trying not to notice the way he looked at me—like he was a little embarrassed for me—and waved him on. “That’s her. Let’s go.”

We fell into stride with Edie, a beautiful girl, slender and doe-eyed. She gave the slightest start.

“Edie Marlow?” I tried to smile soothingly. “Sorry to bother you, but my friend and I were hoping we could ask a few questions about Laurel Hargrove. You’re the one who found her, right?”

A shadow passed over Edie’s face. “Yes,” she said, adjusting the straps of her book bag. She didn’t slow down.

“I’m Jamie Knight.” Jamie held out his hand and smiled warmly.

Edie’s eyes widened as she took stock of him. “From Transgressions?”

“Yep.” He withdrew his hand gently from her grip.

“My friends and I listen to you all the time.” Her cheeks pinked. “And you did that episode on Laurel, so of course everyone at school listened…”

“Great,” he said smoothly. “Then you already know I’m looking into her case.”