Page 91 of Perfectly Complicated
We spend the next thirty minutes exploring rooms on every level and come up short, failing to find the picture we need. But we manage to mark off two other things on our list—a picture of the first sports team Mr. Marco owned, as well as his favorite dog, a Great Dane named Crush.
While we explore his mansion, we discover an indoor putting green, a showroom dedicated to his car collection, and what appears to be a shrine to Mr. Marco’s short-lived NHL hockey career.
I’m ready to give up when Janie stops in the hall. “Where would Mr. Marco keep pictures from high school?”
“That could be literally anywhere.”
“How about his office?”
“I think it’s off the east wing on the first floor. Why?”
“Follow me.” She heads down the stairs without explanation.
After at least one wrong turn and a loop around the same hallway twice, we finally find Raphael Marco’s office, a massive space decorated in a minimalist style with sleek modern art on the walls, a huge cherrywood desk in the center flanked by matching bookshelves, and a stunning floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the sprawling estate.
Janie heads straight for one set of bookshelves while I take the other. Framed awards, a dozen trophies, and a ridiculous number of honorary degrees line the shelves, but nothing related to swimming.
“I don’t see any pictures of Marco in here,” I note as I reach theend of the shelf.
“Found it!” Janie says, whirling around with a book and a triumphant smile. She holds up his high school yearbook.
“What?” I’m across the room in a few strides. “How’d you know?”
“I didn’t. It was just a hunch that he might have been part of a high school swim team.” She holds up a picture of a young Raphael Marco—a scrawny freshman in a very small Speedo.
I grimace at the picture. “And that's an image that’s going to haunt me every Monday morning staff meeting for the rest of my life.”
“He’s actually kind of cute,” Janie observes.
“Stop. I have to look this man in the eye tomorrow.”
We take a picture of the yearbook, then return to the main hall, when we almost collide into Brax and Jaz coming around a corner.
“How many items do you have left?” I glance over what I can see of their scavenger hunt list.
“Two,” Brax says. “You?”
“One.”
“We’re behind,” Jaz mutters to Brax. “I knew we shouldn’t have spent so much time in that closet…”
Brax adjusts his tie. “You said you wanted to be thorough.”
“I said check the TOP shelf, not—” She catches herself, then glances away. Her hair’s mussed and Brax has lipstick on his cheek. “Somebody got distracted.”
“That would be me,” Brax admits cheerfully. “Even if we lose…totally worth the detour.”
We find our way to the main hall, where a disgusted Brendan slumps on a bench, his eyes fixed on Scarlett and Jaxon at the top of the curved staircase.
Scarlett’s laughing at something Jaxon said, completely oblivious to the man staring at her from below. When Jaxon’s hand brushes her waist, Brendan’s grip tightens on his champagne flute.
“Do you mind if I go say hi to Scarlett?” Janie asks me.
“Not at all,” I say, knowing this might be the only chance I get to talk to Brendan alone.
I make my way over to him, but he’s too focused on Scarlett to even notice I’m there.
“I think you need to call it a night, man,” I say, reaching for his glass and pouring the rest into a nearby planter. “Before you do something that gets you in trouble.”
