Page 18 of Fake Summer Boss
Ifeel terrible.
Did I distract Mack? And myself? We were here to do a job and win a client, not fall in…
Whatever this is. Lust. Fascination.
Distraction, that’s what we’ve fallen into. And now we’ve messed up.
A deep shiver runs through me. I need this job. Moving here drained my savings, and having next to nothing in the bank makes me uneasy. Not that I think Mack would fire me over this whole mess, but…ugh. Who knows.
"Here's the latest list of potentials," Mack says as he shoots me a text. We've been sending descriptions of possible suspects back and forth. We don't always know their names, so there's a lot of descriptions like "older lady in the leaf-green dress" and "looks like the cousin of that sad guy on the cop show."
I scan the list. It’s mainly couples who have been arguing, people who have been glaring at the bridal party, or anyone who has a vibe that feels out of place.
"I'll do a quick lap of the parking lot to see if anyone is taking the envelopes to their car," Max says. “Can you confirm that allthe people on our list of potentials are still here? Or figure out if anyone is missing?"
"Sure."
As I make a slow loop of the dance floor, I keep hoping it was some kind of mistake. The bride and groom should be starting their happy life together with nothing but positivity. Thinking that one of their relatives could be capable of stealing wedding cards and gift money from them is awful.
Every woman on our list is still in this room. "Tacky orange dress", who looked like she had been seething with jealousy earlier, is now dancing with the bride, all smiles.
"Brassy copper hair lady", who we've been warned can be a mean drunk, is having tea with some of the younger gals and laughing merrily.
Then I see her. The woman who was hoarding cookies. She's clutching her large purse tightly as she stands beside her husband, who's talking to someone else. She mutters something to him, then heads down the hallway at the back.
I already know what's down there, since we surveyed the entire area as soon as we arrived: the ladies’ room, the men's room, a locked maintenance room, and an emergency exit. I don’t know if she smokes, but even if she does, there's a smoking area on the side patio. There's no reason for her to sneak out this door.
I walk as quickly as I can without looking conspicuous. By the time I get to the hallway and deliberately let my heels click loudly on the tile floor, she is one step past the ladies’ room. Then she hears me.
She steps back and makes a big show of pretending she didn’t see the door to the ladies’ room before heading into it.
I follow, adding a slight wobble to my walk on the way in.
She hasn't gone into a stall but is placing her bag at the end of the long counter while watching me in the mirror, notturning around. I come to the end of the counter beside her and plop down my much smaller handbag. She begins rummaging, eventually pulling out a comb to fix her hair.
I take out my lipstick and start applying a light coat. "Hi," I say brightly, trying to keep my body relaxed as if I've been drinking, instead of letting everything tense up like it wants to. "Such a beautiful wedding, isn't it?"
"Yes," the woman says tersely. "Very."
I stop, turning toward her and trying to sneak a look into her purse. I'm pretty sure I see at least one corner of white paper.
"Your Angela's Aunt Maureen, aren't you?" At the very least, I should confirm this woman's name.
“No." Her nostrils flare as she looks at herself in the mirror. "I'm Lenore."
As in Lenore and Neil, on the fringes of the family. She doesn't work, and he shifted into a different job recently, which meant moving to a new city last year that I happen to know is very expensive.
"Lenore, of course!" I giggle as sweetly as I can. "I'm so sorry. It's so hard trying to keep everyone's name straight. Don't you think we should wear name tags at things like this?"
She shoots me a look as if I'm nuts, then continues untangling the ends of her hair. I need to think of some reason to get closer. I’m not a cop or anything, I can't just search her purse.
Come on, Layne. Think of something.
I drop my lipstick into my purse, then smooth back my hair, since a few tendrils are escaping from my clip. Crap. Lenore is about to leave, her purse under her left arm.
I turn, wobbling in my heels. "Oh, my God!" I lurch toward her, clasping her hand. "I love your engagement ring! So pretty. Is it vintage?"
Lenore yanks her hand away, trying to keep hold of her purse, but I've backed her against the trashcan. When it brushes her leg, she flinches. I'm still clutching her hand, so when I lift it, the bag falls to the floor, spilling its contents on the floor at my feet.
