“I… don’t know.”
“We’ll look at them over lunch at the club,” Tracey said with a wave. “I think we can both use a martini.”
“Right,” Carlotta murmured, mulling the new information. Since Peter had married Angela in her world, it made sense they shared an attraction. She’d harbored guilt over Angela’s death because she’d known Peter’s pining for her had affected the couple’s marriage, and subsequently, Angela’s behavior. Was the shoe now on the other foot? Maybe Peter was destined to yearn for a woman he couldn’t have?
During the drive to the country club, Carlotta kept an eye on the digital clock on the high-tech dashboard. Time in this place seemed to be passing at a normal pace, at least.
Tracey noticed her checking the clock. “Are you on a schedule?” Then she laughed. “As if. When have either one of us been on a schedule? I guess we haven’t done much with our pricey college degrees, have we?”
Carlotta smiled, but the comment left her feeling a little empty. She had no place to be at any time in particular? What did she do all day?
The Deer Ferry Country Club was much the same as it had always been—beautifully maintained on an exclusive plot of land, surrounded by a tall, ornate fence that served as a warning to riffraff to stay the hell out, thank you much very.
“Wow, look at the line,” Tracey said when they pulled up to the valet stand. “I hope we don’t have to wait for a table.”
“There should be plenty of seating on the patio,” Carlotta offered.
“Ack, and sit in the sun ? My dermatologist would kill me.”
“Oh… right.”
Carlotta watched the beautiful people alight from their pricey vehicles, suddenly nervous for no good reason. She’d practically grown up at the club before her parents had fled town, and she’d been Peter’s guest more than once recently. But at Peter’s side, she’d known she was an outsider and was able to maintain her guard. How different would it be to walk in with people with whom she’d never broken ranks?
Better… or worse?
A few people said hello and waved as they entered. Carlotta responded in-kind to the faces she found vaguely familiar.
And a few people who wouldn’t speak to her when she’d accompanied Peter in the other place seemed exuberant enough now.
Tracey, of course, was part of that group.
Carlotta studied the blonde as they were seated near the restaurant entrance. Tracey had a Southern-belle stiffness, a product of being told at a young age to hold herself in restraint, and never to go out in public unless every hair was shellacked in place. The end result was a herd of clones in the restaurant wearing the same clothes and hairstyles, and speaking in the same nasal intonation. Carlotta realized with a start that most of these women wouldn’t know how to conduct themselves in any other setting, and it was their unease with anyone or anything different that made them lash out. They cut down the unfamiliar before their own weaknesses and rigidity could be exposed. At that moment, she was very glad she’d had the freedom to do things these women would never experience.
Like help Coop to move bodies from crime scenes… and help Jack to solve a few real murder mysteries along the way.
A waitress stopped at their table and banged down water glasses. “Can I get you something from the bar?”
Carlotta looked up and did a double-take. “Hannah!”
Hannah Kizer was as tall and broad as ever, the culinary smock doing very little to hide her Gothic style and rampant tattoos. Her shoulders went back. “How do you know my name?”
Mortification and sadness swept through Carlotta—of course Hannah didn’t know her. She rushed to cover her gaffe. “I must have seen you here before.”
“This is my first day on the job.”
“Well, Carlotta must know you from another restaurant,” Tracey said sharply. “She didn’t just pull your name out of thin air.”
Hannah frowned at Tracey’s
“We’ll look at them over lunch at the club,” Tracey said with a wave. “I think we can both use a martini.”
“Right,” Carlotta murmured, mulling the new information. Since Peter had married Angela in her world, it made sense they shared an attraction. She’d harbored guilt over Angela’s death because she’d known Peter’s pining for her had affected the couple’s marriage, and subsequently, Angela’s behavior. Was the shoe now on the other foot? Maybe Peter was destined to yearn for a woman he couldn’t have?
During the drive to the country club, Carlotta kept an eye on the digital clock on the high-tech dashboard. Time in this place seemed to be passing at a normal pace, at least.
Tracey noticed her checking the clock. “Are you on a schedule?” Then she laughed. “As if. When have either one of us been on a schedule? I guess we haven’t done much with our pricey college degrees, have we?”
Carlotta smiled, but the comment left her feeling a little empty. She had no place to be at any time in particular? What did she do all day?
The Deer Ferry Country Club was much the same as it had always been—beautifully maintained on an exclusive plot of land, surrounded by a tall, ornate fence that served as a warning to riffraff to stay the hell out, thank you much very.
“Wow, look at the line,” Tracey said when they pulled up to the valet stand. “I hope we don’t have to wait for a table.”
“There should be plenty of seating on the patio,” Carlotta offered.
“Ack, and sit in the sun ? My dermatologist would kill me.”
“Oh… right.”
Carlotta watched the beautiful people alight from their pricey vehicles, suddenly nervous for no good reason. She’d practically grown up at the club before her parents had fled town, and she’d been Peter’s guest more than once recently. But at Peter’s side, she’d known she was an outsider and was able to maintain her guard. How different would it be to walk in with people with whom she’d never broken ranks?
Better… or worse?
A few people said hello and waved as they entered. Carlotta responded in-kind to the faces she found vaguely familiar.
And a few people who wouldn’t speak to her when she’d accompanied Peter in the other place seemed exuberant enough now.
Tracey, of course, was part of that group.
Carlotta studied the blonde as they were seated near the restaurant entrance. Tracey had a Southern-belle stiffness, a product of being told at a young age to hold herself in restraint, and never to go out in public unless every hair was shellacked in place. The end result was a herd of clones in the restaurant wearing the same clothes and hairstyles, and speaking in the same nasal intonation. Carlotta realized with a start that most of these women wouldn’t know how to conduct themselves in any other setting, and it was their unease with anyone or anything different that made them lash out. They cut down the unfamiliar before their own weaknesses and rigidity could be exposed. At that moment, she was very glad she’d had the freedom to do things these women would never experience.
Like help Coop to move bodies from crime scenes… and help Jack to solve a few real murder mysteries along the way.
A waitress stopped at their table and banged down water glasses. “Can I get you something from the bar?”
Carlotta looked up and did a double-take. “Hannah!”
Hannah Kizer was as tall and broad as ever, the culinary smock doing very little to hide her Gothic style and rampant tattoos. Her shoulders went back. “How do you know my name?”
Mortification and sadness swept through Carlotta—of course Hannah didn’t know her. She rushed to cover her gaffe. “I must have seen you here before.”
“This is my first day on the job.”
“Well, Carlotta must know you from another restaurant,” Tracey said sharply. “She didn’t just pull your name out of thin air.”
Hannah frowned at Tracey’s
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