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“Her new husband,” Jack replies with a one-shoulder shrug that sends tingles down my arm from the contact. “There to support her.”
“Aww, yes, that’s a good story,” Lucy coos.
“Story being the operative word,” Mel breaks her self-imposed silence to say, then quickly pops her hand over her mouth. “Sorry!” she cries. “I’m not supposed to be talking. It’s just, I’m so angry that Nora has to go in there and pretend to be sorry that jerk is dead.”
“You knew Ian Wharfman?” Emily asks.
“I wouldn’t say I knew him,” Mel sniffs in disgust. “But I met him once and let me tell you, once was enough.”
“What did he do?” Lucy asks, intrigued.
“What didn’t he do? He yelled at Nora. Threw a fit about the coffee pot being empty. Yelled at two more people. Slammed his office door so hard the walls shook.”
“So he’s the guy I was looking for to be the temporary fall guy for his own murder,” Jack mutters wryly under his breath.
“I’m no expert on the human psyche,” Mel adds, “but to me it seemed like he was one of those people that try to get past their own insecurities by bringing everyone else down along with them. He was rude and mean.” She lets out a harrumph sound to emphasize her point.
“You thought Ian was insecure?” I ask in surprise.
Mel shrugs. “That’s how I interpreted his boarish behavior. I’m not saying I’m right, but does it really matter? Either way he was not a nice person. Not that day, anyway.”
I think back to the day in question. It stands out in my mind because usually when Mel and I meet up, it’s at my condo since I never really trusted her not to try and orchestrate a run-in with Jack. But that particular day she surprised me—for my birthday, actually. It was really sweet and completely unexpected.
Although Mel and I remained friends after my breakup with Jack, this last year we’ve drifted apart some. Largely, I think, due to her newfound romance with Anderson. He’s Jack’s best friend, and the overlap started to feel like too much on my end. Having her show up on my birthday had been such a nice surprise. At least until Ian had entered the scene raging about who knows what. He was a very extreme person. Almost manic with his mood swings. And that day he’d been in a particularly bad mood.
“He did have this thing about his hair,” I admit now. “Spent a lot of time obsessing over it. Combing it. Gelling it. You name it. If it has to do with hair, he did it.”
“That’s funny,” Mel muses. “I don’t remember him having much hair to fuss over.”
I purse my lips against a smile. “Exactly. He didn’t used to. Rumor around the office was that he got plugs. My friend, Stella, had a theory that it was a toupee but she couldn’t figure out a plausible excuse to test her theory. At least not one that wouldn’t get her fired.”
Lucy snorts. A laugh escapes my mouth too. I can’t help it; the idea of Stella trying to pull Ian’s hair off his head has always made me dissolve into laughter.
But I sober up quickly as Lucy turns into the entrance of Ian’s subdivision.
“Wait, what do I say again?” she asks in a panic. “I’m meeting a realtor?”
“Yes,” Jack says calmly. “Her name is Kennedy Harper. She said she already contacted the gate for us to let them know we were coming. Make sure you give Emily’s name.”
“Okay.” Lucy nods and rolls the car forward to the window.
“Good morning,” she chirps to the attendant sitting inside the booth. “Err, afternoon, I should say,” she corrects with a glance at the clock on her dashboard.
“Name,” the attendant replies in a monotone voice as he sets his phone down to look at Lucy.
“Oh, um, my name is Lucy. Lucy Stafford. I’m here with my friend Emily Montgomery to look at a house that’s for sale. My realtor, uh, Kennedy Harper, said she called ahead for me.”
The attendant nods. “Alright then. I’ll let Mrs. Harper know you’re already there when she arrives.”
“Great, thanks!” Lucy says far too enthusiastically. Luckily the guard doesn’t seem to notice; he just buzzes us in, then sits back down in his seat, turning his attention back to his phone. Everyone in the car lets out a long, relieved breath as we drive through the space left by the open gate. Everyone but Jack, that is. He looks unphased. Like he knew the plan would work.
His confidence is unacceptably attractive.
I force myself to look away before I do something stupid, like give my husband a kiss.
Lucy parks in the driveway of a house so enormous it could double as a museum.
“Don’t tell the realtor,” Emily whispers, “that the business I own may be doing well, but not well enough to own a place like this.”
