I wring my hands slightly, trying to figure out how to phrase this without sounding like a crazy person. We all almost believed Parrish was dead tonight; the very air feels tender and raw.
The glow from Tess’ laptop limns her in white light, a document open on the screen that I can’t quite read from here. Not that I’d want to read it at all after what happened last time. Also, I really do feel guilty about the typewriter, even though I didn’t have much choice in the matter.
“I’ve been rereading Fleeing Under a Summer Rain to distract myself,” I say, and it’s only about half of a lie. I hate lying. Each time a lie leaves my lips, a little part of me goes with it. The truth, as hard as it can be at times, is a million times more rewarding. I shift slightly, annoyed that my tits and cheeks are on fire with a blush. It feels oddly intimate to tell Tess that I’m reading her book, especially after I swore to myself that I was done with anything she ever writes.
Like, she can be so goddamn horrible. But then, so can I. We’ve been horrible to each other.
Anyway, I’d almost forgotten what a talented writer she is.
“That’s great, honey,” she says softly, looking down at her lap. She fiddles with her nails for a minute—these perfectly smooth acrylics with nude polish—before looking up again. “I’m flattered that you like my books so much. I’ll admit, there’s nothing like knowing someone you love is invested in the stories you create.”
I make myself smile back, even though both of our smiles are sad, almost soggy, tainted with fear for Parrish.
“Do you mind if I ask: is the diner in that book—Gabbi’s—real? Based on anything in particular?”
Tess tilts her head slightly to one side, clacking her nails together as she thinks about her answer. She’s remarkably calm right now; I wonder if she isn’t in shock from the whole ordeal. It can’t be easy to be asked to identify a teenager’s body. That guy might not have been Parrish, but he was somebody’s son. Somebody’s boyfriend, perhaps. Their brother or cousin or best friend or whatever else.
“Gabbi is my grandmother’s name—your great-grandmother.” Her smile gets a little sadder, but a little more real all at once. “The murder mystery writing grandmother …” She tapers off, and I can sense there’s something more to this. If I have to, I’ll pry, but I wait patiently to see if she won’t provide the information herself. “The diner itself is … based off the place where your father asked me to marry him.” Tess blinks a few times before turning back to her laptop.
My stomach drops to my feet; I feel queasy and excited all at once.
“It’s about forty-five minutes from here, in a little town called North Sultan. I’ll tell you the story some other time,” she says, her voice drifting. And then her fingers are on those keys, expertly clacking away, even with the acrylics.
Bingo.
I watch her for a minute before I turn and leave her office.
Maxx and Chasm both look up at me as I step inside my room and carefully close the door behind me.
“Well?” Chas asks, popping out a single earbud. He’s sitting in my desk chair while X takes up nearly my entire bed. It’s a little weird to see him on it, but I make myself not care. Like, who gives a shit if my friend is sitting on my bed? It doesn’t matter; it makes no difference.
Chasm, maybe, is avoiding that spot on purpose. As he looks at me, I feel the emotions brewing between us like a storm. The easiest way to push through it is to put my gamer girl brain on. My puzzle solving brain. My kick-the-boss’ ass brain.
“The diner in the book is based on the one where Justin asked Tess to marry him; she said it’s in North Sultan.”
“Holy shit,” Chasm chokes out, kicking up from the chair and pulling his other earbud out. “That’s huge.” He thinks on that for a minute as Maxx pushes his laptop away and crosses his arms.
“You said the place was out-of-business, right?” he queries, and I nod. “It’s far too obvious of a location for Parrish to be staying—and I highly doubt an old diner has a fancy wine cellar anyway. But maybe that’s not the clue here? I know my parents get weird about all their ‘special places’.” He makes quotes with his fingers and then gives an adorably exasperated expression. “The Slayer asked you to push Tess on the Justin Prior thing. He had you smash your birthday gift with the typewriter that meant so much to her. Now this diner thing? I wonder if we shouldn’t look into other places that have significance to their relationship?”
