Until There Was You(59)

As Steve was led/dragged away, Posey rifled through her backpack, pulled out her phone, and called Elise. “Your cousin was just arrested.”

“Oh, man! Again?”

“Elise! What do you mean, again?”

“Well, right? I mean…he said he had a new leaf? Whatevs.”

“He stole your grandmother’s car. And her jewelry.”

“So not cool. But seriously, Gran should know by now, right?”

Posey ground her teeth. “Elise, next time you fix me up with someone, let’s do a background check first, okay?”

“Right? That’s a totally good idea. I’m gonna write that down.” There was a pause. “Background check…Posey. Got it.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Posey? Mrs. Appleton called. And she was kinda lonely.”

Well, dang it. Poor Vivian. She usually got blue after the Vultures visited—Countdown to the Grave, as Viv referred to it. The relatives would gather round, talk in overly loud voices, tuck blankets around Viv’s legs and stare at their watches as if hopeful her heart would give out any second. Posey wished she’d been with Vivian instead of watching her date resist arrest (though she had to admit, it was kind of fun to see a guy tasered, and what that said about her emotional state was nothing good).

By the time Posey had given her statement, it was getting late, and she was starving. She got a massive chocolate-covered pretzel from the food court and began making her way back toward where she thought the exit was. No clocks in here, of course, and no windows. No fun, either, from the looks of it. Even the high rollers’ lounge looked grim. Posey paused, looking in. A two-grand minimum bet. Holy Elvis Presley.

Hang on.

A familiar figure was seated at a table off to Posey’s left.

Gretchen.

She was sitting on a stool, dressed to kill in an emerald, one-shouldered dress. A man in a suit was with her, and they were clearly engrossed in a heated debate. Was Gretchen dating him? He put his hand on her arm, and Gret pulled back. “Don’t you know who I am?” she said. “Get your hands off me! This is a Stella McCartney, I’ll have you know!”

“Gret! Hey!” Posey yelled. “How you doing?” She pushed into the lounge, immediately out of place in her engineer boots and jeans. Gretchen looked up, then glanced back at the suit.

“Do you two know each other?” the man asked.

“I’m her cousin,” Posey said. “Is there a problem?”

The man folded his arms. “Not if you have three thousand dollars.”

“I’LL PAY YOU BACK,” Gretchen said tightly, as they drove home.

Posey flicked on her signal. “I don’t understand, Gret,” she said, glancing at her cousin. “How can you place a bet if you’re broke?”

“You’re so naive, Posey.” Gretchen turned her head and looked out at the landscape.

“Right. But I’m also solvent, and I just wrote a check for three thousand dollars!”

“And I said thank you, didn’t I?”

“Gret…you have to tell me about this.”

“Fine. Can it wait till we get home, at least?”

And so, half an hour later, Posey sat on the couch, clad in her fleece monkey pajamas, Shilo’s granitelike head in her lap as the dog crooned his appreciation for the belly rub she was administering. Gretchen came in from the kitchen and set a tray down on the coffee table. She was wearing what looked to be a midnight-blue satin peignoir (how Posey even knew the word was a mystery, but it looked like what a peignoir should look like, in her mind anyway, all long and flowy and expensive).

Posey picked up a mug—homemade cocoa—and took a sip, then dipped her finger in and offered it to her dog for a taste.

“Can you taste the Kahlua?” Gretchen asked. “And I used unpasteurized milk. Creamy, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Posey said. “So. About the three grand.”

Gretchen sat down on the couch and arranged the robe around her. “Right. Well.” She sighed. “My money’s tied up in this fund, and I’m temporarily a little short on cash.”

Shilo’s tail began thumping against the sofa. “You’re broke?” Posey asked. “Broke is such an ugly word.” Gretchen took a sip of her cocoa and didn’t meet Posey’s eyes. Jellybean, who had always been something of a traitor, leaped up next to Gret and began purring.

Posey said nothing. She seemed to remember Stacia saying that Aunt Ruth and Uncle Ralphie had left Gretchen quite a nest egg…that Gretchen would never have to worry about money if she was smart. “What happened to your parents’ money?”

“That took care of cooking school and my year in France. And my car.” Gretchen had bought a Mercedes two-seater convertible for herself upon graduating high school. Even so, she should’ve had some left over. “And some jewelry and um…my wardrobe.”

“What about your salary?”

“See, that’s the big myth, that we get paid so much. Most of the real money comes from endorsements and product lines. But if you want to sell yourself, you have to look the part. The wardrobe allowance they gave me was laughable. And to live in Manhattan—well, if you want to live anywhere decent, that is—it costs money.”