I sat down in the empty place across from Letty, trying not to stare at the mountain of snowy cleavage on display that reminded me of a toddler’s bottom that had never seen the sun. I offered her the warmest smile I could summon, thinking I could use that gin and tonic at Harry’s elbow.
“It’s so great to see you again, Letty. And so nice to meet you, Harry.”
My tone gave nothing away. But while Letty and Mike buried their heads in the menu, I met Harry’s gaze directly across the table with my answer: No way.
Harry quirked an eyebrow as if he’d just engaged a worthy foe. He’d silently declared another open invitation to me, even though I was pregnant, even though Mike could take him down in five seconds. Why, why did men like him still think I was an easy target for their invitations?
“I need more lemon slices for my water,” Letty yelled out at a waitress.
“Here, take mine.” I picked the lemon wedge out of my water with a spoon and tried not to stare while she squeezed it into her glass and doused the whole thing with the pepper shaker.
“It’s a pageant-girl trick.” She said it like she was confiding state secrets. “Although it’s supposed to be red pepper. Beyoncé used it to lose all that weight for Dreamgirls. Stunts the appetite right off.”
She took a swig of her nasty concoction without any obvious ill effects, although it had an ill effect on me. I held down a gag reflex behind the menu, a tall plastic-coated affair that hadn’t been wiped off lately.
“I’m kind of in between diets. I was on the Hallelujah Diet last month, the one where you just eat foods specifically mentioned in Genesis Chapter 1, Verse 29. Mostly vegetables. Janice Marstead recommended it. She’s the second-best soprano in the First Baptist choir, after me. My stomach was like a lawn mower at work 24/7. I had to drink five Sonic milkshakes a day to calm things down. I don’t think it’s really all that God-approved anyway. In Genesis, Chapter 9, Verse 3, God lifts all those diet restrictions.”
The waitress ventured over to the table with a small bowl of lemon slices.
“It’s about time,” Letty said. “Get out your pad. I’m going to have the fettuccine alfredo with chicken and extra pancetta and a bowl of Parmesan cheese on the side because you never put enough on. Also, a Caesar salad, and don’t be chintzy with the croutons.”
Harry seemed immune, as if he pretended his wife didn’t exist most of the time, and Mike wasn’t interested in sharing any silent humor with me. He wouldn’t even meet my eyes. What the hell was up with him?
After we ordered, Mike and Harry might as well have been sitting at a separate table. They started with Caroline’s case, then lit into a semi-civilized argument about a New York Times piece on Fort Worth’s resident hanging judge and moved on to the Preston Trail Golf Club, so exclusive that members had to die before a spot opened up. Mickey Mantle had been a late and beloved member. Harry was bragging about his status as No. 548 on the waiting list.
I listened with half an ear while Letty gushed about how Suzanne Somers was the last legitimate fitness expert and that it was a shame she had to give that up to cure cancer. While Letty rattled on and Mike re-engaged with the wine list, Harry tossed me a wink.
“Well, Emily, what do you think about Caroline disappearing?” Letty demanded. “It’s been almost four days. She missed an interesting prayer breakfast this morning. The choir director took up about a third of it praying for her safe return. He’s gay as a daisy. The scrambled eggs could have used more cheese.”
It was hard enough to follow Letty’s non sequiturs when I wasn’t exhausted and worried about a stalker who left presents wrapped in pink ribbon. “I don’t know Caroline very well,” I stuttered. “Mike thinks it’s… of concern.”
“Caroline took a fancy to you right away. Just like she did with your friend Misty. Some of the girls don’t much like the idea of either one of you getting in. Me, I’ll go along with Caroline.” Leticia slathered butter on a roll. She leaned in closer and lowered her voice, a breathy advertisement for the garlicky croutons stacked so high on her salad I couldn’t see any green.
“I told that booger-nosed cop, Cody Hill, what I just told your husband. Neither appears to be taking me too seriously. It’s annoying because I’m breaking the club’s oath of secrecy here.” Leticia vigorously stirred her water with her butter knife. The pepper swirled like a polluted snow globe.
“Caroline and Misty Rich had an argument the day before she disappeared,” she continued. “I saw them in Misty’s Lexus going at it in the park off of Parr Road. Caroline-”
“A white Lexus SUV? Tinted windows?” I interrupted.
“Every car window’s tinted, honey, when you live in Texas. But her Lexus is green. A sedan. I think it’s a lease. My Lexus is white.”
I leaned back to allow the waitress to remove my salad and replace it with an enormous serving of spaghetti and clam sauce.
“That looks like somebody blew their brains out,” Letty said, wrinkling her nose. My spaghetti instantly morphed into blood and bits of gray matter. Add to that the smell of odiferous clams and Letty’s pepper and lemon pageant trick with a glass of water, and my appetite had officially shut down. I didn’t think it was possible.
“Don’t you think that’s weird?” Letty persisted.
I covered my plate with two paper napkins, watching a red stain slowly spread. “I don’t know. I’ve been here three weeks. I don’t think you should openly accuse Misty of anything without more information.” I wondered if Caroline had been blackmailing Misty, too. The blurred photograph of that little girl on the bicycle crept into my brain. All that weird awkwardness.
Letty was still assaulting me with her garlic breath. My right temple pounded. “In fact,” I added, “I’m not interested in hearing your gossip about her. Ever.”
“Listen to you defend her.” Letty was in full sarcastic throttle. “I didn’t know you’d become such fast friends.”
Mike and Harry stopped their conversation to stare at us, like they had been watching a G-rated movie and suddenly somebody took off her top.
“Did you see those shoes she wore to Caroline’s the other night? Whore shoes. Misty’s a slut. Word is, so are you.” Letty’s words sliced the air at a decibel that carried to every corner of the restaurant. I tensed. Mike’s hand gripped my arm in warning. At last, some attention from my spouse.
“You think I don’t know about you?” The room was now completely still, as if a conductor had raised his baton. Waiters balanced trays, forks froze inches from open mouths. No one spoke a word, all eyes glued to the four of us. The maître d’ nervously maneuvered his way in our direction. I was sure he was dreading breaking up a brawl at the mayor’s table.
Harry scooted his chair back loudly, nearly knocking it into the horrified waitress behind him. His face was filled with the kind of disgust I reserved for… well, I didn’t reserve that kind of disgust for anything but the Texas roaches the size of silver dollars that I found clacking across the kitchen counter last night. But Harry did, and he was aiming it at his wife. Leticia withered. It was as if she’d lost weight in front of my eyes.
“My wife has been struggling with a new medication.” Harry tugged Letty roughly to her feet like she was an obnoxious child about to get a whipping in the restaurant bathroom. “My apologies.” He turned to the maître d’. “Please put this on my tab and add in a thirty percent tip. Mike, I’ll see you tomorrow. Emily, I’m sure we’ll meet again.” That thirty percent tip was Letty’s money, but Harry Dunn clearly threw it around like confetti.