Rae
$82.29
I shove my laptop into my messenger bag and plop down on the cottage’s cushy white sofa. This place is bigger than my apartment and comes with a galley kitchen complete with granite countertops. After my Uber ride, I’m down to $82.29 and that wouldn’t get me this place.
What I love most is the combo living-dining room. A table for four shares space with the sofa and two high-backed chairs—ottomans included—and despite the open, airy room, it’s cozy. Blankets everywhere, an oversized basket stuffed with pillows, rich hardwood floors and—wait for it—a 70-inch television that I thoroughly enjoyed last night.
Yes, indeed. Rose knows how to do her guests right.
I slide my phone from the pocket of my jeans and punch up the photo store. If I wasn’t so nice, I’d rip them a new one. How royally could one order be screwed up?
After two rings a man picks up. "Hi," I say. "Is this Drew?"
"Yeah. Can I help you?"
"You sure can. This is RaeLynn Demming. I just picked up some negatives."
“Oh, hey."
“So, I counted the negatives and we have thirty-six, but there are only thirty-three prints in the envelope."
This is met with brief silence and then a sigh. “Man-oh-man, we did a number on this order. I’m sorry. Can you hold on a sec while I check the computer?"
“You betcha."
I sit back and resist propping my feet on the edge of the circular metal coffee table while Drew does his thing. The tippety-tap of fingers smacking a keyboard streams through the phone. Hunt-and-peck method, if my ears don't deceive.
"This won't take long," Drew says. "We don't get a lot of orders for developing anymore, so they're easy to track. Here it is. Picked up yesterday at 10:32 and…huh.”
This didn’t sound good. “Problem?”
“Are you sure there were only thirty-three prints?"
"Positive. I counted them. Twice. Why?"
"Well, the bill was for $14.40 plus tax. Thirty-six prints at forty cents each. That's $14.40."
I'm not sure if Drew thinks I'm lying or what, but considering they screwed up the order originally, it’s possible it happened again.
Wait. I cock my head. Thirty-six prints were rung up. Could Phillip have—?
“Hello?” Drew says.
“I’m here. Sorry. All I know is that I have thirty-three pictures. I did go through the negatives and match them with the prints, so I can give you the strip of the missing ones. Can you reprint them?"
"Yeah. Sure. I'll take a look around here, but I don't think we have them. Like I said, we don't do a lot of this type of work anymore. Bring back the negatives and I'll process them.”
"That would be great. I'll run them by in a bit."
I disconnect, my mind spinning with thoughts of Phillip Trudeau and the possibility that he nabbed a few prints from the envelope after picking them up. How I’ll figure that out without pissing Rose off, I don’t know. I have time to figure it out, though. I’ll get the three prints, see what’s on them, and go from there.
It could be a mistake and Phillip has nothing to do with it.
But so far, Rose’s sons have proven to be interesting people.
I grab the messenger bag, and head back to the house, enjoying the bright sunshine on my way. California in January. Yes, sirreee.
When I enter the kitchen, Rose is sitting at the table sipping her water. Her white blouse has managed to stay pristine, the collar perfectly popped and the buttons lined up like obedient soldiers. If it was me, I’d have spilled something on it or wrinkled it the second I put it on. But not Rose. All pulled-together elegance.
Her face though, even with her expertly applied makeup, has a zombie-like pallor. It's as if all the blood has drained from her. But between traveling and the emotional upheavals, it's been a long few days. If anyone deserves to be mentally whupped, it’s Rose.
I set my bag down and slide into the chair beside Rose. “So, don’t take this the wrong way, but are you okay? Digging around about the fire has to be hard.”
She cocks her head and stares straight ahead out the patio doors. “I’m…hmm…you know, I don't know exactly. I'm tired but energized. I like being productive. It makes me realize just how much I miss the days of schmoozing clients for Simon. I was good at it.” She turns to me. “I'm not sure I realized the extent of that loss until this week. It’s a lot of digging around in pain.”
“You're so brave, Rose.”
She waves me off. “Oh, please."
"No. You are. I love how self-aware you are. You’re not afraid to talk about your feelings. I’m always terrified people will judge me."
“You may have noticed—I’m old.” We both laugh, having fun with the moment before Rose continues. "At my age, certain things become less important. When you stand inside an inferno and witness agonizing death, you learn to see the world with the wisdom of a survivor. You also learn who can be trusted. You can be trusted."
She trusts me. There’s a sharp ping in my chest just below my throat. I open my mouth to breathe, but nothing happens. All that air is stuck. A woman I met just days ago—well, in person anyway—after badgering her via phone for weeks has put her faith in me. I guess I made an impression. Finally, all that trapped air pries itself free and my chest and limbs go loose.
After the whole Charlie Carter fiasco and an entire town blaming me for their plight, I feel vindicated. Ready to punch a fist in the air and let out a few yahoos!
I lean in, prop my elbow on the table, and tuck my chin in my hand. “That might be the best compliment ever. I promise, Rose. If there's anything you don't want in this story, I'll take it out. I'll give you final approval."
"Lovely. Thank you. Right now, what I do want is for you to take your elbow off the table.”
I straighten up, smiling like a maniac. “Sorry. My mother always said I was hopeless.”
“I doubt that.” She reaches for me, wrapping her long fingers around my forearm. “Now, let's get back to work."
“You got it.” I retrieve my laptop and fire it up. “Oh. I called the photo store. They're gonna reprint those few photos for us. We'll just need to run the negatives down there."
I don’t bother mentioning my suspicion about Phillip. For now, I’ll keep that to myself.
"That's fine." She points at my laptop. "What are we doing?"
"Loretta's first husband. I know I have research on him."
My home screen pops up, so I go to work skimming my directories. I keep separate folders for all of my projects. I’m anal about my notes because you never know when you'll have to prove that yes, you actually did fact-check about the local businessman scamming millions from the government.
Been there. Done that.
I click the Grande’s folder and get to the subfolders.
“Do you have a folder for me?” Rose asks.
I’ve been chasing her for a month. Of course I have a folder. “Yep. You can look through it if you want.”
Her head snaps back. “You’d let me?”
“Why not? It’s nothing you can’t find yourself. There’s this thing called Google…”
At that, she laughs. “I know what Google is. I can use a damned computer.”
I click the folder with Loretta's name and the list of various documents and news clippings appears. I open the notes document and then do a search for “husband.”
Pay dirt.
"Got it," I tell Rose.
"That was fast."
I bat my eyes. "I'm nothing if not efficient."
"Don't I know it?"
I bring my attention back to the laptop and skim. “As of three months ago, Loretta's first husband was still alive and living in Los Angeles. Interestingly enough, he was the executor of her estate and still manages it. Including all the trademarks and licensing, blah, blah."
“I recall Simon mentioning that he helped with a licensing deal after Loretta’s death. She didn't have family and never changed her will after the divorce. Can you imagine? You're divorced and then suddenly you have to manage your superstar ex-spouse’s trademarks? Trust me, that's love."
It sure was. "Based on what I found, seems like he's doing an okay job." I scroll through the file, sweeping over my notes. "Phone number." I tap the screen. "There's a number to call if you have questions about using her photos."
My immediate instinct is to call. At the very least, I’ll get an assistant who might be able to put me in touch with him.
“Call it," Rose says before I even look at her.
I really like Rose. “I don't know that he'll talk to us, but…” I grab my phone. “You never know.”