staring at nothing.
“Do you know each other?” the priest asked, in the rich, confident voice of a born public speaker. He held out his hand. “What a very small world. I’m Father Richard Barn-stable. And you’re—?”
“Carnegie Kincaid.” We shook hands and I nodded at Vanna’s copper-colored Made in Heaven logo. Wedding professionals often do pink, so I try to stand out. “I’m an event planner. I was at the party last night where Corinne… that is, the party at the Aquarium. One of the guests had a car accident.”
Corinne snapped to attention. “Who?”
“It was Tommy Barry. He’s in critical condition, I couldn’t get in to see him. Listen, Corinne, how are you? I mean, are you OK now, and are you all right from last night?”
And did you jump or fall? That’s what I really wanted to ask, though I’d feel guilty about it either way. Either I failed her as a friend or I failed to spot a safety hazard at the party venue. Maybe I should call myself a disaster planner.
“I’m fine,” she said absently, gnawing at a thumbnail. “Father Richard is taking me home. Father, you’re not hurt, are you?”
“Not at all, not at all. And the car seems to be undamaged, though Ms. Kincaid’s van looks the worse for the encounter.”
“It’s just a little body work,” I said, bending down to inspect the fender. It wasn’t quite scraping against the wheel, but it looked awful, with bare metal showing through the white paint. Poor old Vanna. Nothing like a dilapidated vehicle to make a really classy impression. “It’s drivable.”
Corinne wasn’t interested in the state of my van. “What happened to Tommy?”
“He was drunk and he tried to drive himself home. He’s still unconscious. Corinne, has anyone told you about Mercedes?”
She stared at me. Corinne never seemed to blink. “It was on the news this morning. What happened? They didn’t really say.”
I’m used to counseling hysterical brides and soothing their irate mothers, but explaining this kind of news to this kind of person was above and beyond. To complicate matters, a behemoth SUV full of teenagers came down the ramp and honked at us; the priest’s car was blocking the aisle. He hastened to move it, and Corinne stepped aside with me.
“I can’t say much either,” I told her, remembering Graham’s admonition. “She died some time during the party, or right after. I found her. The police are questioning everyone, so you’ll probably get a phone call. They, um, know about your fall.”
A hand shot out from the baggy sleeve of her parka and gripped my arm. “Carnegie, I didn’t fall.”
“Oh, Corinne, I’m so sorry. I knew you were upset about Boris, I should have come and found you so we could talk. Aaron feels really bad about it, too. Is Father Richard going to stay with you this afternoon? You can always call me, you know.”
“What are you talkin’ about?” Her Southern accent had grown stronger.
“Well, I don’t want to butt in, but if you’re still feeling like you might harm yourself, you shouldn’t be alone.”
“Y’all think I jumped?” She shook my arm impatiently and her eyes got even rounder. “Carnegie, somebody tried to drown me.”
Chapter Seven
I T WAS MY TURN TO STARE, INTO THE AQUAMARINE SHALLOWS of Corinne’s wide, wild eyes. The SUV lumbered off, and we were left in echoing silence.
“Are you sure? Maybe it was a joke. People were drinking a lot—”
“I don’t know who did it, but it wasn’t a joke. I was sitting on the edge of the pier, over where the guests weren’t supposed to be, you know? I went around the barricade. I just wanted to be alone. Somebody in a black cape, or a cloak or something, came up behind me. He bunched it over my face and we wrestled around and then I hit my head. Next thing I knew, that guard was hauling me out of the water. I didn’t jump, honestly. You believe me, don’t you?”
Father Richard joined us at this point, and Corinne’s
“Do you know each other?” the priest asked, in the rich, confident voice of a born public speaker. He held out his hand. “What a very small world. I’m Father Richard Barn-stable. And you’re—?”
“Carnegie Kincaid.” We shook hands and I nodded at Vanna’s copper-colored Made in Heaven logo. Wedding professionals often do pink, so I try to stand out. “I’m an event planner. I was at the party last night where Corinne… that is, the party at the Aquarium. One of the guests had a car accident.”
Corinne snapped to attention. “Who?”
“It was Tommy Barry. He’s in critical condition, I couldn’t get in to see him. Listen, Corinne, how are you? I mean, are you OK now, and are you all right from last night?”
And did you jump or fall? That’s what I really wanted to ask, though I’d feel guilty about it either way. Either I failed her as a friend or I failed to spot a safety hazard at the party venue. Maybe I should call myself a disaster planner.
“I’m fine,” she said absently, gnawing at a thumbnail. “Father Richard is taking me home. Father, you’re not hurt, are you?”
“Not at all, not at all. And the car seems to be undamaged, though Ms. Kincaid’s van looks the worse for the encounter.”
“It’s just a little body work,” I said, bending down to inspect the fender. It wasn’t quite scraping against the wheel, but it looked awful, with bare metal showing through the white paint. Poor old Vanna. Nothing like a dilapidated vehicle to make a really classy impression. “It’s drivable.”
Corinne wasn’t interested in the state of my van. “What happened to Tommy?”
“He was drunk and he tried to drive himself home. He’s still unconscious. Corinne, has anyone told you about Mercedes?”
She stared at me. Corinne never seemed to blink. “It was on the news this morning. What happened? They didn’t really say.”
I’m used to counseling hysterical brides and soothing their irate mothers, but explaining this kind of news to this kind of person was above and beyond. To complicate matters, a behemoth SUV full of teenagers came down the ramp and honked at us; the priest’s car was blocking the aisle. He hastened to move it, and Corinne stepped aside with me.
“I can’t say much either,” I told her, remembering Graham’s admonition. “She died some time during the party, or right after. I found her. The police are questioning everyone, so you’ll probably get a phone call. They, um, know about your fall.”
A hand shot out from the baggy sleeve of her parka and gripped my arm. “Carnegie, I didn’t fall.”
“Oh, Corinne, I’m so sorry. I knew you were upset about Boris, I should have come and found you so we could talk. Aaron feels really bad about it, too. Is Father Richard going to stay with you this afternoon? You can always call me, you know.”
“What are you talkin’ about?” Her Southern accent had grown stronger.
“Well, I don’t want to butt in, but if you’re still feeling like you might harm yourself, you shouldn’t be alone.”
“Y’all think I jumped?” She shook my arm impatiently and her eyes got even rounder. “Carnegie, somebody tried to drown me.”
Chapter Seven
I T WAS MY TURN TO STARE, INTO THE AQUAMARINE SHALLOWS of Corinne’s wide, wild eyes. The SUV lumbered off, and we were left in echoing silence.
“Are you sure? Maybe it was a joke. People were drinking a lot—”
“I don’t know who did it, but it wasn’t a joke. I was sitting on the edge of the pier, over where the guests weren’t supposed to be, you know? I went around the barricade. I just wanted to be alone. Somebody in a black cape, or a cloak or something, came up behind me. He bunched it over my face and we wrestled around and then I hit my head. Next thing I knew, that guard was hauling me out of the water. I didn’t jump, honestly. You believe me, don’t you?”
Father Richard joined us at this point, and Corinne’s
Similar Books
