Page 66 of The Wife Upstairs
“When’s the wedding?” she asks, and Emily perks up a little, too.
Gossip as currency, yet again.
I look down at the binder, flipping through its pages. “Honestly, we’re not sure. It was going to be fairly soon—something small, you know? Casual, at home…”
“I’m sure all of this with Tripp has made planning a wedding hard,” Emily says, sympathetic, and I look up.
“We’re mostly trying not to think about it,” I say, which is true.
Both women hum in agreement, and then Campbell sighs, turning my binder to face her. She flips through the pictures, but I can tell she’s not really looking at them.
“I found a couple of ideas fromSouthern Living,” I say. “For the flower beds in the front of the neighborhood? On that fourth page—”
“Did you know the police found out Tripp was at the lake?”
Emily says it in almost a whisper, and I jerk my head up, surprised. That’s new.
But I’m not as shocked as Campbell, apparently. She sits up so abruptly that she kicks the table, rattling the wrought iron.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Campbell whips off her sunglasses, her blue eyes wide. “He was down there? Seriously?”
Emily nods, and I slide my binder back across the table to me. “That’s what the police said. I think someone saw him? Or there are receipts? Like, the actual kind, not the Kardashian kind.”
I laugh a little at that—who knew Emily had jokes?—but Campbell is still looking at both of us, her sunglasses dangling from her fingers.
“So… he really did it. He killed them.”
“Of course, he did,” I say, more sharply than I mean to, and they both turn to look at me.
Fuck.
Clearing my throat, I flip through the binder some more. “I just mean… the police are doing their jobs. They wouldn’t have charged him if they weren’t confident he did it.”
Emily nods, but Campbell still looks unsure, chewing her lower lip, her leg jiggling. “It’s just so weird,” she says. “Tripp could be an asshole when he drank, don’t get me wrong, but he wasn’t… violent. And he loved Blanche.”
I’d thought so, too, but now, I wonder if him falling to pieces after she died, him wandering the house and drinking all day wasn’t grief, but guilt.
And Emily pipes up, “Theywerehaving some issues though, Cam. You know that.”
They both glance at me, quickly, then at each other, and I know what this is about.
“Tripp told me,” I tell them, “that there were rumors about Eddie and Blanche.”
Another shared glance, and I think they might try to bullshit me, but then Emily shrugs and says, “I mean. They were spending a lot of time together. And Bea was never around.”
“Never,”Campbell says, shaking her head. “That company was her whole life. Especially in those last few months. We barely ever saw her.”
“That’s true,” Emily adds. “When we first moved into the neighborhood, Bea definitely spent more time with us.” She smiles, tapping my binder. “She did stuff like this. But last spring, she was missing meetings, passing on parties…”
“But do you think…” I let the question dangle, and I see them look at each other again.
“No,” Emily finally says. “But Bea and Blanche were kind of weird right before all of it happened.”
Campbell sucks in a breath, sitting back in her chair, her gaze again darting to Emily.
“What?” Emily asks her, sipping her coffee. “It’s true, and they’re both dead. It’s not like it can hurt anyone now to acknowledge it.Besides,” she adds, waving a hand, rings throwing off showers of sparks, “it wasn’t anything juicy. I think it had to do with Bea’s mom or something. Back before Eddie was even in the picture.”
I can see where that kind of gossip isn’t interesting to them, but damn, do I wish I knew more about it. Hearing that Bea and Blanche had some kind of tension isn’t new—Tripp had said the same thing—but why, exactly? I know there is something in that friendship that I am missing, and I can’t shake the thought that figuring it out is key to understanding Eddie. I try another angle. “Did Bea have a temper?”
