The Herd(56)

“Why would I talk to you? I didn’t even have to talk to her.” He crossed his arms. “I hate cops. Second time in two weeks the cops are asking me about Eleanor Walsh.”

I frowned. “Second time?”

“Yeah, after they called about—” He stopped himself, cocked an eyebrow. “I mean, I’m not the only person on the planet who doesn’t like her. You can’t automatically assume that any inconvenience in her perfect life traces back to me.”

I shook my head, still stuck. “What other inconvenience? Why did they contact you before that?” The week before last—that was right when I first set foot in the Herd…“Was it about the graffiti?”

“Graffiti? Do I look like a vandalizer to you?”

Vandal, I corrected him, silently. He smirked—he was enjoying this, having something over me.

Then the penny dropped. “It was about her phone.”

“The allegedly stolen phone, yeah. Which, if she can’t keep track of her shit, that’s not my problem. Where is Eleanor, by the way? Still hiding out from the messes she’s made of her two companies?”

Messes? Gleam and the Herd were both turning huge profits and bopping around the top of best-places-to-work roundups. “What’s your problem with her, really?” He started to groan and I barreled over him: “No, I’m serious. What has she done to make you mad?”

“What she did was illegal. Barring a demographic from a public space—that’s some ‘whites-only’ shit.” With every ounce of self-control, I leaned forward and nodded, and he went on: “She’s such a smug little bitch. She gets everything she wants without even trying. And she’s devoted her life to dangling that in everyone’s faces.”

“How so?”

His palms winged upward. “Are you serious? Her blog, her companies—her whole brand is basically: No Boys Allowed.”

I gazed at him. I thought of what I had to say next and sadness billowed in me, threatened to burst out from behind my face. Swallowing, I flipped over the only card I had: “Eleanor’s dead, Carl.”

Three tiny movements, all at once: Shock whipped across his face, he leaned back as if to distance himself from me, and his hand shot to the back of his neck, settling on the overgrown tufts there. “Shit,” he finally said. “Dead how?”

A teakettle-like shriek as the barista steamed milk. “How about this: I’ll tell you something if you tell me something.”

“Oh God.” The eye roll returned.

“How did you find out she was missing? When you texted me last week, I mean?”

“I have my ways.”

“Illicit ways?”

“What, are you going to turn me in to the police for observing that she was supposed to speak at a highly publicized event and…didn’t? Oh right, you already did.” He sneered. “Anyway, my turn. What happened to her?”

“She was killed.” My stomach squeezed and I let it rush out: “Someone slit her throat.” I wanted to watch his reaction but I couldn’t; I felt lightheaded and tipped my head forward.

“Fuck.” He sounded uncomfortable. “I’m sorry.”

I inhaled wetly. “Is that going to end up on the Antiherd? If it does get out, I’ll know it was you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.” I hunched forward again. “I want access to the group.”

“No way. Not gonna happen.” He leaned back. “Look, I’m sorry about your friend, but…if you were friends with Eleanor, why would I help you?”

“Just a second.” I slid my phone out of my back pocket, then turned up the volume.

The voice leaking out of my iPhone was tinny and shrill: “…got out of the Lincoln Tunnel I had a couple confused texts from you, and the diner was empty. I was livid. Really great use of…”

His eyes bugged. “You were recording me?”

I touched the headphones still resting on my neck. “They make great built-in microphones these days. The sad thing is that in real life, unlike in movies, I can’t hit one button and have it play back the most damning sound bite. But I’m sure you remember it. ‘Smug little bitch,’ et cetera.”

He was beside himself. “But…but that’s illegal!”

“It’s not. And you should calm down—people are beginning to stare. Hey, your offices are down here, right? Rebecca Rosenthal?”

At the sound of the CEO’s name, his face turned coral-red, his ears like two plums. “This is stupid,” he announced. “You don’t have the balls.”

“I also have nothing to lose. Unlike you. With your job.” I leaned forward. “I won’t post in the Antiherd. I won’t take screenshots or share anything. I just—”

“So you’re playing kid detective? Just let the grown-ups do their job.”

A fuck-you rose up through me but I bit it back, rearranged my face into a blinky earnestness. “Carl.” I tapped his forearm and he recoiled. “You’re right. I know it’s stupid. I don’t want to get anyone in trouble. And I really don’t want the cops to know I’m looking into this on my own. I just want to figure out who…who hurt my friend.” My voice wobbled and again, he reared away from me.