The Cousins(39)
I listen to the receptionist answer an incoming call—it sounds like someone is trying to sell her a new copy machine—as I smooth out the flyer that I grabbed from the GCI HAPPENINGS bulletin board I passed on my way here.
Friday, July 9
Rock on with the Asteroids
Gull Cove Island’s Premier ’80s Cover Band
9:00 p.m. at Dunes
It’s super cheesy, and I only picked it up because of the small lettering at the bottom: FEATURING ROB VALENTINE, JOHN O’DELL, CHARLIE PETRONELLI, AND CHAZ JONES.
I don’t know Chaz the bartender’s last name, but there can’t be that many people named Chaz on Gull Cove Island. He hasn’t come back to work yet, so I haven’t had a chance to ask him for Edward Franklin’s contact information. I’d love to track Edward down before brunch with Mildred on Sunday, so…it looks like I’m headed to eighties night at Dunes. Maybe I can rally a few Towhees to come with me.
“Miss Story-Takahashi? Mr. Camden will see you now,” the receptionist calls. She stands and gestures for me to follow her down a marble-floored hallway. Trailing behind her, I pass a row of empty offices until I finally spot a young woman hunched over a phone, taking furious notes on the legal pad in front of her. It must be a big vacation week at Camden & Associates.
The receptionist pauses in front of an office with one wall that’s nothing but windows, showing off a view of Gull Cove Harbor. She gestures for me to enter, and I step through the doorway. “Milly, hello,” Donald Camden says. He gets up from behind a black desk with such a high-gloss finish that I can see my reflection when I lean forward to shake his hand. The entire office is decorated in black, white, and chrome, including the futuristic-looking desk chair that Donald settles back into once I’m sitting across from him. “How wonderful to see you again.”
“You too.”
“Thank you, Miranda,” Donald tells the receptionist, who leaves without a word, shutting the door noiselessly behind her. My eyes stray to the large, silver-framed photo on the corner of Donald’s desk, expecting to see a bunch of artfully posed blond grandchildren. Instead, it’s a picture of Donald, Dr. Baxter, and Theresa Ryan, all dressed in formal wear, standing on what looks like the sweeping marble staircase at Gull Cove Resort.
My grandmother’s surrogate family, I think, leaning in for a closer look. “That’s a nice picture. Is it from the Summer Gala?”
“Yes, last year,” Donald says, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. The sun streams through the window behind him, glinting off his gold cuff links. “I was so pleased to hear you’re reconsidering my job offer, Milly. What else can I tell you about the opportunity?”
Hell if I know. I didn’t come here with much of a plan beyond getting in the same room as Mildred’s favorite guard dog, to see whether he’d let something interesting slip. Or whether I could pry it out of him. “I was curious about, um, what kind of work your friend’s firm is doing for the movie? Because I’m interested in law as a career. I thought maybe I could help on that end of things.”
An indulgent expression crosses his face. “I’m afraid their legal work is very specialized, and also very dry. A young lady like you wouldn’t enjoy it at all.”
Ugh, what a condescending jerk. I know plenty about specialized legal work from my dad’s practice. But Donald seems like the type who might let his guard down if you encourage him to play the expert, so I ask, “Is it, like, contract stuff?”
Donald launches into a long-winded explanation that I only half listen to, because I don’t actually care. Yesterday’s conversation with Hazel left me seriously shook. Last night I kept tossing and turning, sickened by the perverted rumors about my mother floating around Gull Cove Island, unchecked by the people who know what really happened.
Including this guy, who’s willing to pay a small fortune to get rid of us.
“That’s so interesting,” I say brightly when Donald finally stops for a breath. “It sounds like a great opportunity. I’m just torn because, you know…” I bite my lip. “I was excited at the chance to get to know my grandmother. I’ve never understood what happened between her and my mom. If I did, it would be much easier to leave.”
“Milly.” Donald shakes his head. “This is exactly the sort of conversation you shouldn’t be having with your grandmother. It will upset her and threaten her fragile health.”
“That’s why I’m not asking her. I’m asking you.” I deliver the words with as much wide-eyed innocence as I can muster, then add a little flattery. “Mrs. Ryan speaks so highly of you.”
Theresa Ryan hasn’t said a word to me beyond emailing instructions about brunch, but Donald doesn’t need to know that. “How kind of her,” he says, but there’s a reserve to his response that I can’t quite read.
“I didn’t tell her I was coming here,” I say, in case that’s his concern. “And I wouldn’t tell my grandmother, either. She’d never have to know we talked about this.”
Donald sits straighter in his chair, frowning, and I realize I went too far with that last line. “I would never violate your grandmother’s confidence, Milly. It’s not only morally wrong but also illegal. I am her counsel, after all.”