We go through this every year. Every show, for that matter. He talks a good game, but he never ponies up.”
Eve’s phone rang again; she frowned and answered it. She shook her head vehemently and hissed into the phone. I felt a wave of pity for the person on the other end. She clicked it closed.
“Have you seen Justine?” She punched Freddy on the arm to get his attention, as he followed another pretty girl with his eyes. He turned reluctantly, rubbing his bicep.
“Justine? She’s around here somewhere.”
“No, she’s not. I haven’t seen her since she took the deposit to the bank this morning. I’m getting calls about the fashion show.” Eve’s voice rose, her frustration with her partner evident. “She’s supposed to be in charge. The lighting people want to focus, and she’s got the keys to the stage. It was the only thing she had to do this whole weekend, damn it.”
“Chill, Eve. The fashion show isn’t until Saturday night,” Freddy said.
“Easy for you to say. Rehearsal is tomorrow,” Eve said.
“You’re not going to stop any of the events?” I asked.
Eve turned to me. “Why would I?”
“Claire’s death.” I left off the “duh?” but it seemed obvious enough to me.
“Listen, Dewey, I know you’re new to all this, but a show this size is like a small town. Heck, it’s bigger than lots of towns up north. Every day in Smalltown, USA, people die and life goes on. It’s just the way it is.”
My eyebrows arched in surprise at her condescension. I started to protest, but she interrupted with a wave of her hand.
“I’m not insensitive, but people come from around the world to this show, Dewey,” Eve said. “Take the fashion show. We’ve got outfits from sixteen different countries. I couldn’t stop these festivities if I wanted to.”
“Plus, she doesn’t want to. Business might even be better,“ Freddy put in.
She shot Freddy a look.
He pulled away, laughing, out of Eve’s reach. “You know it’s true. Same as grief sex. Consolation shopping. Spending money proves you’re alive, unlike the dead sucker …”
Eve put up a hand to silence him, and he obliged, his poor taste under wraps for now.
“And the lecture on Saturday? I saw on the schedule that Claire was supposed to give a talk Saturday afternoon.” I asked, still stuck on the idea that the show could not go on as planned, determined to show her things were not normal, no matter what she thought.
“Sold out,” Eve said.
This time I didn’t bother to hide my double take. “Who’s going to speak?”
“Myra said she would fill in.”
“When did you talk to her?” I asked. Did she get out of police questioning sooner than I did?
“About an hour ago.”
Right about the time Sanchez was pawing through my backpack. He must have questioned Myra, found the packaging in my bag, and let her go. He didn’t find any reason to hold her . I was singled out.
“She said she would put together a grouping of quilts. Do an Armstrong retrospective,” Eve said.
“Claire Armstrong—the Wonder Years,” Freddy put in.
“How could she do that, so soon after her boss’ death?” I could barely talk about my mother, nearly six months later.
Eve shrugged. “We’ll see. If anyone can pull it off, it’ll be Myra. She’s really good at focusing on the task at hand. Besides, it’ll be good for her. Like a wake, a memorial service.”
Wow, Myra wasn’t the only one who could focus. Eve was pretty good at putting unpleasantness behind her, too.
“It’ll be good for everyone involved. The customers loved Claire, too,” Eve said.
“Justine will really miss Claire,” Freddy said, his voice lilting up in a way that meant he was teasing.
“You really are a bastard, Freddy.” Eve lunged for him, and he danced away. He ran in front of us, laughing. Eve was visibly upset, but I was just puzzled. Why would Justine miss Claire more than anyone else?
“Come on, lighten up,” Freddy said, holding his
Eve’s phone rang again; she frowned and answered it. She shook her head vehemently and hissed into the phone. I felt a wave of pity for the person on the other end. She clicked it closed.
“Have you seen Justine?” She punched Freddy on the arm to get his attention, as he followed another pretty girl with his eyes. He turned reluctantly, rubbing his bicep.
“Justine? She’s around here somewhere.”
“No, she’s not. I haven’t seen her since she took the deposit to the bank this morning. I’m getting calls about the fashion show.” Eve’s voice rose, her frustration with her partner evident. “She’s supposed to be in charge. The lighting people want to focus, and she’s got the keys to the stage. It was the only thing she had to do this whole weekend, damn it.”
“Chill, Eve. The fashion show isn’t until Saturday night,” Freddy said.
“Easy for you to say. Rehearsal is tomorrow,” Eve said.
“You’re not going to stop any of the events?” I asked.
Eve turned to me. “Why would I?”
“Claire’s death.” I left off the “duh?” but it seemed obvious enough to me.
“Listen, Dewey, I know you’re new to all this, but a show this size is like a small town. Heck, it’s bigger than lots of towns up north. Every day in Smalltown, USA, people die and life goes on. It’s just the way it is.”
My eyebrows arched in surprise at her condescension. I started to protest, but she interrupted with a wave of her hand.
“I’m not insensitive, but people come from around the world to this show, Dewey,” Eve said. “Take the fashion show. We’ve got outfits from sixteen different countries. I couldn’t stop these festivities if I wanted to.”
“Plus, she doesn’t want to. Business might even be better,“ Freddy put in.
She shot Freddy a look.
He pulled away, laughing, out of Eve’s reach. “You know it’s true. Same as grief sex. Consolation shopping. Spending money proves you’re alive, unlike the dead sucker …”
Eve put up a hand to silence him, and he obliged, his poor taste under wraps for now.
“And the lecture on Saturday? I saw on the schedule that Claire was supposed to give a talk Saturday afternoon.” I asked, still stuck on the idea that the show could not go on as planned, determined to show her things were not normal, no matter what she thought.
“Sold out,” Eve said.
This time I didn’t bother to hide my double take. “Who’s going to speak?”
“Myra said she would fill in.”
“When did you talk to her?” I asked. Did she get out of police questioning sooner than I did?
“About an hour ago.”
Right about the time Sanchez was pawing through my backpack. He must have questioned Myra, found the packaging in my bag, and let her go. He didn’t find any reason to hold her . I was singled out.
“She said she would put together a grouping of quilts. Do an Armstrong retrospective,” Eve said.
“Claire Armstrong—the Wonder Years,” Freddy put in.
“How could she do that, so soon after her boss’ death?” I could barely talk about my mother, nearly six months later.
Eve shrugged. “We’ll see. If anyone can pull it off, it’ll be Myra. She’s really good at focusing on the task at hand. Besides, it’ll be good for her. Like a wake, a memorial service.”
Wow, Myra wasn’t the only one who could focus. Eve was pretty good at putting unpleasantness behind her, too.
“It’ll be good for everyone involved. The customers loved Claire, too,” Eve said.
“Justine will really miss Claire,” Freddy said, his voice lilting up in a way that meant he was teasing.
“You really are a bastard, Freddy.” Eve lunged for him, and he danced away. He ran in front of us, laughing. Eve was visibly upset, but I was just puzzled. Why would Justine miss Claire more than anyone else?
“Come on, lighten up,” Freddy said, holding his
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