Page 30 of Deadly Little Scandals
Ultimately, the two of us didn’t mingleordance. We milled, in silence more comfortable than it should have been. There was space between us, inches. One second, it felt like too much, and the next, I was damn near certain it wasn’t enough.
Looking out at the crowd, I spotted the evening’s host on the other side of the ballroom. Davis Ames was holding court and shaking hands. My grandmother had taken up position at his side.
“If I have to listen to one more person tell me what acozyget-together this is, or what agood manmy grandfather is, I will not be held responsible for my actions.” Campbell didn’t bother withhelloas she sauntered up. “Cozyis just a way of saying this year’s event isn’t half as well attended as last year’s,” she continued, “and talking about what a good man my grandfather is? That’s code for how lucky Mama, Walker, and I are that he hasn’t disowned us all.” She paused, but only for an instant, then turned her attention to my companion. “Hello, Nick.”
If I’d needed a reminder that the two of them had been friends with benefits, heavy on the benefits, her coy tone would have done it. Thankfully, I managed not to studyeverydetail of Nick’s expression as he responded.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he asked her. “Daddy in prison at your hands?”
“I’m a complicated person,” Campbell shot back. “I’m allowed to hate the things I want.” She turned to me. “So is this a thing now?” she asked, nodding to Nick. “The two of you?”
No. Yes. Only for tonight.My brain supplied a string of answers, rapid-fire.
“Do you have a problem with that?” Nick asked, beating me to an actual response.
“None in the least. But I am afraid that I’m going to have to borrow Sawyer from you for just a minute. We have some things to talk about, and I’m afraid they’re need-to-know.” Campbell went for the kill shot. “Sister things.”
Nick shrugged.
“He knows we’re not sisters,” I informed Campbell. “I told him.”
Nick smirked. “I suppose I didn’tneedto know…”
“But you do,” Campbell finished. “Lovely.” She flashed him another smile. “In that case, should I assume Sawyer has also told you that we found a twenty-year-old body that might have ended up at the bottom of Regal Lake at the hand of an Ames?”
No.I hadn’t.
Nick’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell is she talking about, Sawyer?”
“The Lady of Regal Lake,” Campbell supplied.
“I know about the body,” Nick said, his eyes still on me. “I run a bar. I hear things. What does Campbell mean about someone in her family being responsible for the body?”
If stoking Nick’s enmity toward her family had been Campbell’s goal—well, goal achieved.
“Campbell is jumping to conclusions,” I said. I couldn’t leave it there, though, because Nick deserved better than for me to let her dangle the possibility like a string in front of a cat. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t dismiss the idea Campbell had planted in my mind the week before, and I couldn’t lie to Nick. “But there was a teenage girl that her father knocked up. As far as we can tell, no one’s heard from said girl in twenty years.”
Nick ran a hand roughly through his hair, then forced a smile for anyone watching. “Do you two even hear yourselves?” he asked. “You get that this isn’t normal, right?”
“What isn’t normal?” a voice asked cheerfully.
I turned to see Sadie-Grace. Beside her, Boone held out his hands, as if framing a picture around my face. “Lo,” he called out dramatically, “thereby a vision in red came upon me, and her name was…”
I shot him a look thatalmostproved effective in preventing him from finishing that sentence.
“Sawyer,”he whispered.“Her name was Sawyer.”
Boone’s last name might have been Mason, but he was an Ames, and though Nick didn’t have anything against him specifically—as far as I knew—I couldn’t help thinking that my “date” was probably reaching his limit with all things Ames.
He probably wished—like I did—that we were back at his car, my hands teasing his hair.
If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.Turning that idiom over in my mind, I looked away from Nick—and the rest of the group. On the other side of the room, an immaculately dressed couple approached Lillian and Davis Ames. The man looked to be in his seventies—at least; the woman he had his arm around didn’t look all that much older than my mom. Her skin was a glowing, medium brown; his was lighter. They both resembled their daughter, enough so that I might have pegged them for Victoria’s parents, even if she hadn’t mentioned their notable age difference.
The expression on Victoria’s father’s face as he shook Davis Ames’s hand was inscrutable.
“Earth to Sawyer?” Campbell said. I had no idea what I’d missed.
“We were just about to discuss how incredibly debonair I look in this hat,” Boone informed me, sliding his fingers along its brim. “I was born to fedora.”
