Page 135 of Save the Date
“So… what now?” Bert asked, after he’d related the whole tawdry Cullen Kane affair.
Cara put the epergne back into the linen bag. “First thing tomorrow, we take this thing back to Lillian Fanning. You know she’s been going around town trashing my reputation, right?”
“Cullen was loving that,” Bert said. “He’s got quite the network of ladies who lunch.”
“I can’t wait to see her face when she sees the epergne,” Cara said.
“What will you tell her?”
“Just that we figured out who took it from the van, and we were able to recover it. Don’t worry. I’ll leave you out of it.”
“And what about that Detective Peeples? Won’t she be asking a lot of questions?”
“If she asks, we’ll tell her the truth,” Cara decided. “Let Cullen Kane deal with it. He’s got a lot to answer for as far as I’m concerned.”
“And he’s still not done,” Bert warned. “He’s seriously obsessed with grinding his heel in your face. He went all batshit when he figured out that contractor friend of yours managed to buy this building out from under him.”
Bert looked around the living room and for the first time noticed the packing boxes. “Hey, what’s up with all this? I figured you wouldn’t have to move now, since Cullen got outmaneuevered.”
Cara shrugged. “Long, sad story. Things didn’t work out with the new guy. I’ll be out of here by the end of next week.”
“Oh.” Bert sank lower into the sofa cushions. “Well, shit.”
“Yeah.” Cara finished off the last of her water, wishing it were wine.
“Bert?”
“Yeah?”
“You didn’t give up your apartment when you moved in with Cullen, did you?”
“Yup.”
“So… you’re basically homeless now?”
“Sorta.”
She patted the sofa cushion, then stood up. “I’ll get you a pillow and a sheet. And PS. You’re hired. Again.”
55
In the morning, Bert was gone. The sofa bed was folded up, the pillow and sheet neatly stacked on top of one of the boxes of books. The smell of brewing coffee wafted from the direction of the kitchen. Poppy was missing, too.
Cara poured herself a mug of coffee and took it out to the courtyard garden. Out of habit, she deadheaded a spent rose and pulled a weed from the side planting bed. The big bell from St. John the Baptist was booming eight as she sat down under the shade of the café umbrella.
She wondered if she’d be able to hear the church bells over on Hall Street. Geographically, the new place wasn’t all that far away. Emotionally? That was a different story. She tried not to think about how much she was going to miss this little garden, miss all the work she’d put into it, and the enjoyment it had brought.
There was a big new yard over at Hall Street. It had seemed so hopeless yesterday, but things had shifted just a little last night. Bert was back. Bert had a strong back and he was a hard worker, when he wasn’t whining.
The timing of Bert’s return couldn’t have been more fortuitous. There was no way she could get through the Trapnell wedding without help.
Thinking of the Trapnell wedding made her remember what had triggered the sense of uneasiness that had propelled her out of the apartment the night before. She went inside and fetched her laptop, clicking onto Facebook and Harris Strayhorn’s page.
Thank God! The stripper photos had been deleted. Maybe, through some divine providence, Brooke hadn’t seen them after all. Just out of curiosity, she clicked over to Brooke’s page.
The bride-to-be wasn’t what you’d call a Facebook fanatic. It looked like she posted irregularly, whenever the mood struck. There were photos of Brooke and Harris toasting on the beach at Tybee at sunset, of Brooke in running clothes finishing a marathon, of Brooke and Marie at Mother’s Day brunch. The most recent item had been posted yesterday morning at 10 a.m. by Holly Strayhorn.
Bachelorette party tonight for my almost-sister BROOKE TRAPNELL! Woot, woot! #CosmoCraziness #Alertthemedia #Whosgotthebailmoney?
