Page 161 of Over Her Dead Body

The phrase has always been popular immediately before evidence that something was not handled.

“What did handling it involve?”

“I sent a car,” Celeste says. “She didn’t get in. A colleague picked her up.”

“Owen?”

“That’s right.”

I have always liked Owen. He is competent, discreet, and rarely mistakes activity for usefulness.

“You sent another car in Lisbon.”

Celeste does not bother denying it.

“She was becoming impossible. She needed to be contained. I figured that’s what you’d want.”

I understand the intention. Celeste and I can discuss quality another time.

“The problem,” I say, “is not that you sent the cars.”

Her eyes meet mine.

“It is that I had to find out you sent them.”

“I made a judgment call.”

“Yes.”

I let the word sit there.

Judgment has had an unfortunate week.

Celeste reaches for her bag.

“One more thing.”

She stops.

“The champagne.”

For the first time tonight, she answers before considering how the answer will sound.

“What about it?”

“The glass was intended for Emma.”

Celeste’s hand drops away from her bag. “That wasn’t me.”

I study her.

“The cars were mine,” she says. “The glass wasn’t.”

I believe the first half.

I am less certain about the second.

She stands.