that he’s a detective with the
San Carmelita Police Department.”
A look of pain crossed
Jeremy’s face. “Is he here about Suzette? Did you hear him say if he’s here
because she’s...”
She waited for him to fill
in the blank. When he didn’t, she added, “Missing? Yes, I think I heard him say
something about that.”
“I hope nothing’s happened
to her,” he said, then he seemed to realize he was talking to a “member of the
press” and a guarded look crossed his face. “I suppose you came for the press
conference today. I’m afraid you’ve made a trip for nothing. I thought Devon
had called everyone to reschedule.”
“Devon?”
“Devon Wright, our
publicist. I’m surprised you haven’t met Devon. She’s the one who usually deals
with the press.”
His pale blue eyes studied
hers with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. Her own eyes were a deep,
cobalt blue, and long ago she had learned to focus their laserlike intensity on
suspects and make them squirm in their interrogation seats. She wasn’t
accustomed to being on the receiving end of such scrutiny.
“Devon Wright. Ms. Wright. Oh, of course I’ve spoken to her before on the phone. I didn’t know her first
name.”
“And she didn’t call you
about the press conference being postponed?”
“Oh, she probably did. My
assistant at the paper is a dingbat intern. Always forgets to give me my
messages. Has the news conference been rescheduled?”
“Here’s Devon now.” He
nodded toward a petite young woman who was striding down the hall to the left,
coming toward the lobby. “You can ask her directly. I have to be going now. It
was nice speaking with you.”
“And with you.”
She noticed that he gave
Dirk one more sad, anxious look before he retreated down the hallway to the
left, passing Devon Wright. He paused to say a couple of words to her before disappearing
into one of the doors that lined the corridor.
As the publicist approached
her, Savannah decided rather quickly that she didn’t particularly like Devon
Wright. Hyper people got on her nerves... even more so if they were hyper
salespeople.
And Devon was wearing the
tissue-thin grin of a salesperson as she scurried up to her, her high-heeled
boots clicking on the granite floor. Her brightly embroidered, skintight jeans,
fringed leather jacket, and super-short, red-tipped, black hair were, no doubt,
intended to announce to the world that she was quite “hip” ... a “with-it” sort
of professional.
But to Savannah, she just
looked un professional.
And Savannah was also
willing to admit that maybe she, herself, wasn’t all that “hip” or “with-it”
anymore.
Getting older did that to
you.
“Hello, hello!” Devon
greeted her, hand outstretched, fake grin broadening. “I understand you’ve come
for the press conference. I’m sorry you weren’t contacted, but we’ve had to
postpone it for today.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I
was looking forward to learning more about what you’re doing here at Emerge.
This is just beee-autiful!”
Devon’s eyes glistened with
a nearly maniacal gleam. Savannah had seen the same fire of enthusiasm in the
eyes of vacuum cleaner salesmen on her front doorstep... seconds before she
threw them off the porch.
“Oh, isn’t it though!”
Devon gushed. “This place and the work we’ll be doing here is so important! Literally changing lives! Women—well, men, too—will walk through
those doors sad and ugly worms, and emerge as the glorious butterflies they
were meant to be!”
“Worms... turning into
butterflies... hmmm....” Savannah considered for a moment how Abigail would
react to that particular terminology. She hadn’t even warmed up to the idea of
being called a fuzzy caterpillar. She’d probably pitch a fit, and Savannah
couldn’t blame her.
“They emerge... as they
were meant to be,” Savannah mused, “versus, how they were actually born
into this world.”
“Exactly! Isn’t that
San Carmelita Police Department.”
A look of pain crossed
Jeremy’s face. “Is he here about Suzette? Did you hear him say if he’s here
because she’s...”
She waited for him to fill
in the blank. When he didn’t, she added, “Missing? Yes, I think I heard him say
something about that.”
“I hope nothing’s happened
to her,” he said, then he seemed to realize he was talking to a “member of the
press” and a guarded look crossed his face. “I suppose you came for the press
conference today. I’m afraid you’ve made a trip for nothing. I thought Devon
had called everyone to reschedule.”
“Devon?”
“Devon Wright, our
publicist. I’m surprised you haven’t met Devon. She’s the one who usually deals
with the press.”
His pale blue eyes studied
hers with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. Her own eyes were a deep,
cobalt blue, and long ago she had learned to focus their laserlike intensity on
suspects and make them squirm in their interrogation seats. She wasn’t
accustomed to being on the receiving end of such scrutiny.
“Devon Wright. Ms. Wright. Oh, of course I’ve spoken to her before on the phone. I didn’t know her first
name.”
“And she didn’t call you
about the press conference being postponed?”
“Oh, she probably did. My
assistant at the paper is a dingbat intern. Always forgets to give me my
messages. Has the news conference been rescheduled?”
“Here’s Devon now.” He
nodded toward a petite young woman who was striding down the hall to the left,
coming toward the lobby. “You can ask her directly. I have to be going now. It
was nice speaking with you.”
“And with you.”
She noticed that he gave
Dirk one more sad, anxious look before he retreated down the hallway to the
left, passing Devon Wright. He paused to say a couple of words to her before disappearing
into one of the doors that lined the corridor.
As the publicist approached
her, Savannah decided rather quickly that she didn’t particularly like Devon
Wright. Hyper people got on her nerves... even more so if they were hyper
salespeople.
And Devon was wearing the
tissue-thin grin of a salesperson as she scurried up to her, her high-heeled
boots clicking on the granite floor. Her brightly embroidered, skintight jeans,
fringed leather jacket, and super-short, red-tipped, black hair were, no doubt,
intended to announce to the world that she was quite “hip” ... a “with-it” sort
of professional.
But to Savannah, she just
looked un professional.
And Savannah was also
willing to admit that maybe she, herself, wasn’t all that “hip” or “with-it”
anymore.
Getting older did that to
you.
“Hello, hello!” Devon
greeted her, hand outstretched, fake grin broadening. “I understand you’ve come
for the press conference. I’m sorry you weren’t contacted, but we’ve had to
postpone it for today.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I
was looking forward to learning more about what you’re doing here at Emerge.
This is just beee-autiful!”
Devon’s eyes glistened with
a nearly maniacal gleam. Savannah had seen the same fire of enthusiasm in the
eyes of vacuum cleaner salesmen on her front doorstep... seconds before she
threw them off the porch.
“Oh, isn’t it though!”
Devon gushed. “This place and the work we’ll be doing here is so important! Literally changing lives! Women—well, men, too—will walk through
those doors sad and ugly worms, and emerge as the glorious butterflies they
were meant to be!”
“Worms... turning into
butterflies... hmmm....” Savannah considered for a moment how Abigail would
react to that particular terminology. She hadn’t even warmed up to the idea of
being called a fuzzy caterpillar. She’d probably pitch a fit, and Savannah
couldn’t blame her.
“They emerge... as they
were meant to be,” Savannah mused, “versus, how they were actually born
into this world.”
“Exactly! Isn’t that
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