Page 26 of Identify
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Reed
“This house is incredible, man,”I tell David. We’re standing in the middle of the party and have spent the last few minutes drinking bourbon and catching up.
“Laurel’s family; it’s all them. Do you know that theydressfor dinner?”
“Like, for at home?”
“Yes!There are cocktails for exactly half an hour before they serve dinner, then we have wine with dinner, every night, and brandy or cognac after. I’ve never drank so much in my life. I’m worrying I’ll develop a problem.” He laughs, but it doesn’t sound like he’s joking.
“Is that something I should worry about?”
“Nah.” He waves his hand dismissively and shakes his head. “I’m kidding.”
So, I let it go.
“You excited, man?” I backhand him lightly in the stomach, trying to get some camaraderie back from years past. I’ve realized as we’ve been standing here talking that even though I still consider him to be my best friend, we’ve lost touch, lost our connection, that brotherly bond that we shared for so long. It’s something I thought would bounce right back once I saw him, but it hasn’t.
“I don’t know how I got so lucky.” He turns, I’m assuming to find Laurel in the crowd, then raises his glass toward her once they meet each other’s gaze. “She’s amazing.”
“The money doesn’t hurt, either, huh?” I don’t know why I just said that. It isn’t even something I would ordinarily say, it’s not in my personality to be so crass.
David raises an eyebrow and looks at me quizzically.
“Sorry, man.” I tell him, closing my eyes for just a moment. “I don’t know where that came from or even why I said it.”
“No problem.” He pats me on the outside of my upper arm, just below my shoulder, what should be a light and reassuring tap is more of a shove, so I’ve touched a nerve.
“What else have you been up to?” I ask. “I never see you anymore. You’re always so busy.”
“Well, I’ve been working a lot, gotta make the money to keep my girl in the life she’s grown accustomed to, you know?” He chuckles, but it’s flat. “I do a lot of networking at mixers and happy hours, stuff like that.”
“How’s that working out for you? Is it helpful?”
“I’ve made some good money with the people I’ve met, for sure,” he says glancing around the room again. This time I don’t get the impression he’s looking for Laurel. Just that he’s looking around. Making me wonder if any of those people are here.
“Like, as in new clients?”
“Yeah, mostly.”
I can’t tell if he’s being purposefully evasive or not. Which makes me wonder—again—if Mack is right and David is guilty. There’s no denying the CGI that Paula Nelson picked out of the lineup looked a lot like David. It would have been easy for anyone to confuse the two. Hell, I almost couldn’t tell them apart. I need to remind myself that while choosing someone from a line of photos doesn’t automatically make them guilty, in the same vein that not choosing them makes them innocent.
Since I only want a verdict of innocent for my friend, I’m turning a blind eye to other possibilities, and acknowledging it doesn’t stop me from doing it. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that David might be guilty, it’s just not in the realm of possibility for me.
“So, hey, you never told me when this got serious between you and Laurel. I feel like I barely even know her.” I tap David on the biceps as I say this. Not even sure what I’m looking for in an answer from him. It’s not like he will say, “Oh, yeah, well I stayed on dating apps, for purely nefarious reasons, until about a week ago when I decided it was time to settle down and commit to Laurel alone.”
“Did you meet her on one of those apps you were using?” I continue.
“Huh?” He turns to look at me, eyebrows raised. “What apps?”
“Oh, I thought you were using an app for dating. Like back when you met Quinn?”
“Oh, that.” He waves a hand dismissively in the air. “I stopped all that long ago. In fact, I think Quinn was the last girl I even met from one of those. Laurel and I met through mutual friends.”
He changes the subject to something almost irrelevant. My eyes wander and I see someone who looks remarkably like Quinn, except I know she isn’t on the guest list, so it can’t be.
David and I exchange small talk, and he tells me more about the wedding plans. Still, my eyes continue to return to the Quinn lookalike as she makes her way around the perimeter of the room, her hands held in an awkward position over her midriff, as though she’s hiding something. I subtly shift David to the side so I can see her better.
