Stone Cold Fox, page 14
Wren practically climaxed when the car arrived, manned by a stout, mustachioed gentleman. He donned a little hat and everything. Her ballooning lips fell open at the sight. “Oh my God, look at him! Bea! I thought we were just Ubering!”
“Collin’s mother insisted.” I smiled. Wren took my hands, squeezing them. I counted the seconds until she finally let go.
“I’m dying to meet her. I bet she’s fabulous!” Wren crowed. I knew Haven would absolutely loathe Wren Daly and take as many subtle jabs aloud in her direction as she saw fit. Though she would likely, but incorrectly, put Wren and me in the same social bracket, I hoped Haven would ease up on me with some fresh blood to suck instead. A break in the clouds for the day ahead, for both of us. Because I knew Wren and I were not the same. Not in the slightest. Wren Daly could never.
A bottle of bubbly had been popped for us in the rear of the vehicle, compliments of Collin, and allegedly Hayes, though I’m sure he had no idea the tea was even occurring. But I wasn’t above a cheeky noontime tipple, so I nodded when the driver asked if he could pour us each a glass before we set off.
“Cheers, girl!” Wren clinked her glass against mine and took an aggressive first sip of the champagne. Here we go. I had a feeling that the day was going to be extra difficult for Wren, since she was freshly dumped by a software engineer she had met on Hinge the year before. “I swear I thought he was gonna be good for me! I thought he would broaden my horizons, like, beyond the fitness sphere.” When Wren said sphere her lips looked especially outrageous. A botched job she probably received gratis in exchange for a social post. Tragic. “Braden said all we had in common was sex, like that was a problem?” Wren droned on and on. “And like, isn’t sharing your different interests part of a healthy relationship?”
“He’s a loser, Wren.” I had to humor her. “What man wouldn’t want to be with an absolute goddess like you?” Speaking Wren’s language was easy enough for me. I just didn’t want to actively have to do it. Wren was beyond dull, but she was desperate to be my friend and I happened to have an opening so I prepared myself to listen to her insufferable chatter. She was a woman who fully subscribed to being a “girl’s girl” in the emptiest way possible. She proclaimed about wanting to lift women up, called them queens, preached being “healthy” over “skinny” as if her clavicle wasn’t a lethal weapon, love and light. Always love and light. I refilled her glass so she would keep drinking and keep talking. Then I only had to half-heartedly listen with a fake smile smacked upon my face for the duration of our journey.
“That’s right.” She grinned as I poured. “I don’t think I could get serious with another man in tech again. Too in their heads, but like, weirdly shallow at the same time. I just wanna have fun and find my best friend. Like you and Collin!”
“That’s sweet, but you know a man can’t be your best friend, Wren.”
“What are you talking about, yes they can, that’s the whole point!”
“Collin isn’t my best friend,” I said.
“I bet you’re his best friend.”
Oh my God, could we please stop saying best friend?
“I’m actually not,” I corrected her. “But you’re going to meet her shortly.”
“STAHP,” she honked, her jaw going slack, resembling a sex doll.
“Seriously. Gale is his friend from childhood,” I said. “She also just went through a breakup and I know it might seem unwise under normal circumstances, but trust me, you should totally ask her about it. You know how good it feels to bitch about your exes with someone else feeling just as miserable as you are.” Wren nodded along, downing even more champagne. Perfection. Gale would hate Wren, too, but I suspected the feeling would be mutual and I was eager to see their meet-cute in real time.
“So who is your best friend?” Wren asked me, eagerly hoping for reassurance it was her. As if.
“She’s dead,” I said, my default reply to such questions. A normal person would give their condolences and move on, but it slipped my mind in the moment that Wren was anything but normal.
“Oh my God, Bea, I’m so sorry. What happened to her?” Wren was actually summoning tears for my loss. Awful, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. I was in the presence of someone who openly referred to herself as an empath, a woo-woo self-diagnosis that is meant to herald emotional intelligence, but it really means the empath in question centers themselves in whatever tragedy or drama is at hand, instead of the person it’s actually happening to—classic narcissism in my opinion.
Sure, I could have just said that Wren was my best friend, avoiding the dead friend conversation entirely, but then she would have been insufferable about it all throughout the wedding planning and I’d rather spin incessant lies than seal that dark picture as my fate for the coming months. Why not lie? I was very good at it.
“She was murdered in my hometown,” I whispered, a hush in my voice, really turning it on.
“Oh my God, are you serious, by who?” Wren drunkenly smacked me across the arm. I shrugged at her before looking out the window, wistful.
“The police never solved the crime.”
“You mean her killer is still at large?” Wren exclaimed.
Ah, so she was a true crime fanatic like so many of her peers, a hobby I never understood. Grisly business that could happen to any one of us, at any time. I don’t think most women realize how close we could all be to death at somebody’s hand. Instead, they all seek out sordid stories for entertainment purposes, salivating over them, lapping up every horrifying detail. A false, not to mention sick, escape. But a breakup with tech bro Braden and consuming brutal murder investigations from the sidelines were probably all Wren’s brain waves could handle on any given day. She was a fool. Mother would have thought so, too.
I nodded at Wren, solemnly for effect, and looked out the window again, signifying I wanted a change in subject, but she kept on talking. “Jeez. Remind me never to go to Wilmington.”
I looked at her, raising an eyebrow.
“What makes you think the killer stayed in Wilmington?”
* * *
• • •
WE ROLLED UP to the Case compound and it was enough to send Wren into absolute hysterics again. The sheer size of the home was admittedly an arresting sight, one that I had gotten used to by then, but I delighted in her amazement at the grandiosity. Sure, I was equally agog the first time I saw the Case manse myself, the 1 percent in all its glory that very few are privy to, but I didn’t let on externally. I pranced in there alongside Collin like I already belonged there. Another lesson from Mother. One of the most, if not the most, valuable. Meanwhile, Wren Daly had no earthly idea how to behave socially. For my purposes, she was perfect.
“So does she like to be called Haven or Mrs. Case? Are his sisters nice? Oh my God, I just got so nervous. Why am I so nervous?” She had every reason to be nervous. She would not receive a warm reception.
“Just be yourself, Wren,” I said, purposely giving her terrible advice. “They’re all going to love you. Relax, this is going to be fun!” I grabbed her hand as we walked up to the door. Once again, Calliope was on greeting duty, radiating her hippie harlot energy, in a pale-yellow off-the-shoulder frock, bare feet and hot-pink toenails.
“Here comes the bride,” she sang, a tinge of taunting in her voice. “Hello, I’m Calliope Case.” Calliope held out her hand for Wren to shake, her signature saucy grin growing even larger at the sight of a stranger. Who did I bring to the lion’s den?
“Nice to meet you. I’m Wren Daly.” Wren waited a beat, as if Calliope would recognize her from social media. It took everything I had not to laugh out loud.
“Okay, come on in. All the ladies are eager to hear what the bride has to say today. Especially Gale. Were you at the engagement party, Wren?”
“Oh, I was in Ibiza,” she said, exactly how you’re hearing it, with the lisp. “I had to go for work, but yes, I was invited.” She actually wasn’t, but I could blame the guest list on Haven if it came up later.
“Let’s get a look at that thing in the light of day,” Calliope said, snatching my hand to inspect my ring more closely.
“Isn’t it fabulous?” Wren stuck her nose in next to Calliope’s. “Did you post it on IG yet, Bea?”
Calliope scoffed at Wren, answering for me. “Not unless she wants to be robbed. Never post the family jewels online. Amateur hour.”
Calliope openly laughed at her and I could tell Wren was embarrassed. I nearly felt bad for the girl, but I had wanted the sharks to attack someone else in that house for a change. It was Wren’s whole reason for being as far as the wedding party was concerned.
Wren and I followed Calliope through the halls and out to the back terrace that overlooked the pool and the gardens. Wren could hardly form words at the sight of it all, which was probably for the best. The words would come eventually, I was banking on it. Haven, Chloe and Gale were seated outside with drinks. “There they are.” Chloe sighed, sporting dark sunnies, a big hat and a red lip.
“Hello, girls,” Haven chimed in, cracking only the smallest of smirks, alluding to being on her second G and diet T.
“Hi, everyone! I’m Wren Daly!” Wren felt the need to announce herself again and at a much higher decibel, digging her own grave even further in Calliope’s estimation, who snorted to herself.
“Come join us.” Haven motioned to empty seats.
“I was just admiring Bea’s ring in the sunlight,” Calliope said as I took an open seat next to Haven, asserting myself once again to my mother-in-law-to-be. I noticed she did a once-over on it and nodded in approval. A hard-fought acknowledgment considering they wouldn’t bequeath the family heirloom. Gale was in a floral sundress, shockingly appropriate for the event, and it made me wonder if Chloe had given her some guidance, and if so, why? Was Chloe in on whatever Gale was scheming? I was wary, but I greeted both of them with sweet smiles.
“Did Sylvia help him pick it out?” Gale asked, that venom in her voice again.
“Who’s Sylvia?” Chloe asked.
“Coll’s new assistant. Apparently she’s super hot. I heard Dad use the term leggy, so we know what that means.” Calliope grinned, but Haven didn’t look amused by that at all.
“You’ve met Syl?” I asked Gale, remembering that she hadn’t made much of an impression on Syl.
“Just on the phone.” Gale shrugged. “She’s sweet. So . . . what is everyone reading?” Gale asked the group, livening up the place as usual, but I knew she was trying to rile me up about the stolen file.
“God, nobody cares, Gale.” Calliope dismissed her with a flick of her wrist, flouncing down in a chair.
“Sit, sit,” Haven commanded Wren, who was completely out of her element. The staff handed us glasses of champagne, Wren grabbed one before anybody else, and the afternoon tea was in full swing with canapés and caviar and cunty behavior.
“This is a vibe,” Wren said out loud, taking snaps on her phone, mortifying everyone. I thought Haven might have asked her to stop taking unsolicited photos of the grounds, but she felt like playing with Wren instead.
“Wren, where do you hail from?” Haven asked.
“Oak Park, Illinois. Just outside of Chicago. But I’ve been in New York since college.”
“Columbia? NYU?” Haven’s nose turned up ever so slightly at the latter.
“FIT,” Wren replied. Haven would have furrowed her brow if she could, but her daughters were excellent at deciphering her frozen expressions by then. I was learning, too.
“The Fashion Institute, Mom. We’ve been to some of their events. It’s a good school for that type of thing,” Chloe explained.
“Ah,” Haven mused. “And how do you know our Bea?”
That was a first. It was odd to hear Haven claim me as one of their own for the first time. I felt strangely proud and wished Collin had been there to hear it, too. That said, Gale definitely heard it. I watched her openly shudder. Heavenly.
“We work out together.” Wren grinned.
“I see. How nice. You are both very fit. Toned. Not just naturally thin. It shows that you work at it. Kudos.”
Haven, petite with minimal effort, smiled slyly, taking another sip of her drink. Well, that was one way to burn a pretty girl. Impressive.
“Chloe got a little fat when she went to college,” Calliope declared, firming up her position as my favorite. Chloe was irate. “What?” Calliope asked her sister. “It all came off when we went to the Southampton house that summer. Mom saw to that.”
“Yes, I did,” Haven said. “Oh, Chloe. It’s all right. It’s very easy to go off the rails after leaving home for the first time. All of those snacks available at all hours of the night. It could happen to anybody.”
“And the beer!” Wren added. “At least that’s what I imagine with the traditional college experience. My college wasn’t really like that, since it was so specific to fashion. Sometimes I regret not going to a Big Ten school or someplace like that. I think I would have loved it.”
“I went to Yale,” Chloe said definitively, slow-blinking in Wren’s direction. Wren took a submissive bite of her lobster quiche in response, so I thought I’d take the heat off her momentarily and really get things going. Gale was suspiciously quiet and I wanted to poke the bear. It was time. I licked my lips.
“So, I’m sure you’re all wondering why Haven is generously hosting us here today, and the reason is that, well, you’re all very special to me, and to Collin, and so I wanted to ask the four of you to be my bridesmaids for the wedding.”
“Yay!” Calliope cheered, genuinely happy at the request. “Nobody’s ever asked me to be in their wedding before.”
“I wonder why.” Chloe took the opportunity to bite back at her sister, tapping the side of her nose out of Haven’s sight.
“Bitch,” Calliope muttered under her breath, but didn’t deny the accusation.
“Of course we will, Bea,” Chloe said, nonplussed. “It’s an honor.”
“On that note, who is the maid of honor?” Haven asked me.
“I don’t want to play favorites. It’s not really necessary,” I replied. It seemed old-fashioned to denote a maid of honor, plus I wasn’t actually close with any of these women. It didn’t make any sense, but I had a feeling Haven wasn’t going to let me off so easily.
“Someone has to be your maid of honor, Bea. It’s tradition,” Haven implored.
“I’ll do it!” Wren offered, a bit too eager for everyone’s taste. I realized I wasn’t going to get out of making this decision so I went with the obvious choice.
“While I appreciate the enthusiasm, Wren, I’d like to ask Gale,” I said without a moment’s hesitation. Gale just about choked on her pâté. “Well, you are the closest to Collin. That’s very obvious,” I challenged her. “I’m sure it would mean a lot to him. And to me. You know him better than anyone, right?”
She blushed. How embarrassing.
“That’s sweet,” Calliope said, albeit skeptically. “Isn’t that sweet, Mom?”
“Very. Nora and Royce will be touched, too.”
“I cannot wait to meet your parents, Gale,” I said to her. “It will be so nice to get to know each other better through this experience.” She still hadn’t uttered a word or formally accepted my invitation.
“Marcy and I already got started on the guest lists for the shower and the wedding. We can review them together soon,” Haven said to me.
Gale’s lips parted. She was about to speak. Something had compelled her. Finally. Where was my girl?
“Are you inviting the Bradfords?” Gale asked Haven, but she was looking at me as if the question were a mysterious trump card, ready to play when the moment was ripe. This was the first I’d heard of the Bradfords, but by the way she said it, I knew it wouldn’t be the last. Haven looked deep in thought at Gale’s question. It was clearly controversial.
“Hmm, we should probably discuss that with Collin before making a decision.”
“I agree it should be run by him, but I don’t see how you could omit the Bradfords from the guest list,” Gale said to Haven. “It’s Collin’s wedding.”
“It’s not Mr. and Mrs. Bradford that she’s worried about,” Chloe said cryptically.
“Who are the Bradfords?” I asked, taking the bait.
“Friends of our families,” said Gale, accentuating the pronoun in an attempt to hurt me. “Were they on the list for the engagement party, Haven? I noticed they weren’t there.”
“Alan and Pippa were in Europe for weeks at the start of the summer so we didn’t formally invite them, but they know of the engagement. I didn’t think to include David in their absence and Collin didn’t correct me when he reviewed the list.”
“The boys definitely won’t want Dave at the wedding. The girls, however . . .” Calliope erupted into laughter and Chloe joined in. Gale remained stone-faced, laser focused on me.
“Calliope, stop that right now,” Haven chided Calliope.
“I know, I know. I’m just saying. Come on, Mom. You know I’m right.”
“It’s not the boys’ weddings, though,” Gale said. “It’s Collin’s. It won’t look good if the Bradfords aren’t invited. It won’t look good at all.”
“I suppose not,” Haven agreed.
“There’s always the possibility that Dave might not even come. He’s always traveling,” Chloe said.
“Dave always comes,” Calliope said, adding quickly, “to parties. Events. Weddings. If he’s invited, he’ll make it a point to be there.”
I was getting supremely annoyed that I wasn’t in the know about this person, but I couldn’t let on and give Gale the satisfaction. Luckily, Wren did my dirty work for me. “Who’s Dave?” she asked, then hopefully added, “And is he single?”
