We hit a roadblock with the trafficking case once Paula Nelson selected the CGI photo out of the lineup. We didn’t tell her that’s who it was. But I can’t even describe how relieved I was when she didn’t ID David. How the fuck would I handle my best friend involved in something like this?
Easy, I couldn’t.
I wouldn’t.
That was two days ago, and we are no closer to anything solid than we were then. Mack has been off doing his own thing, and I’m happy to let him. I know he thinks David is guilty, but we have no proof. I’m sure that’s what he’s trying to do, and I’ll be honest, a small part of me still worries that Mack is right. Because Paula not selecting David in the lineup does not automatically make him innocent. But as of this moment, I don’t have to worry about it.
For now, all I have to worry about is making sure I’m in a celebratory mood for David’s engagement party tonight. I’m attending as his best man and knowing that he’s not guilty will allow me the freedom to enjoy the festivities with my friend. Though I’m sure he’ll be busy tending to party guests and won’t have time to hang just the two of us.
Which makes me wish I knew his circle of friends better. Or at the very least, have a date for the evening so I would have someone to talk to all night. For the briefest of moments, I’d thought about asking Quinn to be my date. But then I figured she wouldn’t want to go to the engagement party of someone she used to date. That would be weird all the way around. And not how I want to remember our first date.
Not that I’m convinced we’ll ever get one. It’s one thing to have a crush on a girl, but it’s a whole other thing to date her. Even if I could ignore that she dated my best friend, there’s still my job. It comes first and there’s not much I can do about it. I’m just not sure that Quinn is the type to be understanding about it.
The only women who usually get it are those in law enforcement already, like Jenny from research and records. Who I almost asked to come with me as a friend. But then I remembered the unspoken rule is you can’t ask a woman to attend something wedding related if you aren’t in a serious relationship. Why? Because then the girl will start thinking about getting married. Which is asking for trouble in the form of magnified artificial feelings that such occasions seem to procreate.
Solo it is.
Not that I can’t make small talk with strangers, I can. But the first question after the name exchange is always, “So, what do you do?” Once I answer, “I’m with the Bureau,” a litany of questions follows.
“Have you caught anyone famous?”
“Have you caught any serial killers?”
“Should we fear another terrorist attack like September 11?”
“Are you carrying a gun?”
“Who is number one on the Most Wanted List?”
While I don’t mind answering questions, it wears on me after a while. Everyone has a similar version of the same five or so questions. Making me wish I had the personality that could conjure up a profession and just tell a tall tale. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to create a different persona for each person I meet. Mack could pull that off. So could Quinn. Probably even David.
I cannot.
I left work early because of the party; I wanted time to pick up a gift, shower, and review my speech. All of which I’ve done with plenty of time to spare. I have an expensive bottle of rosé champagne as a congratulatory gift, I’ve memorized my speech, and pressed my tuxedo so it’s ready for wear. Because it’s that kind of party: formal, fancy, and über-fashionable. Plus, it’s Christmas Eve, which somehow makes it feel that much more lavish.
Oddly, I’ve only met David’s fiancée, Laurel, twice. He was one of those guys who fell off the face of the earth—so to speak—after he met Laurel. She became his sole focus and everyone else was just forgotten or ignored. I’ve never fallen in love, so I don’t know if I would be the same way, so I try not to fault him. But I miss him and wish we hadn’t drifted apart.
My guess? Laurel is the reason the party is so over the top—requiring formal attire to attend, the promise of a fireworks display, the lighting of a thirty-foot Christmas tree, and a champagne fountain. Not to mention they’ve hired security guards and are supplying valet parking. Laurel comes from a wealthy family, the kind that is written about in the society pages and featured in philanthropic magazines. Their name can always be found listed as a top donor for public radio, the local symphony, and the zoological society.
While I appreciate and admire their benevolence, I don’t know them well enough to determine if a party of this magnitude is how they normally do things, or if it’s for show because their daughter is engaged. I know my tux is appropriate and I look the part, but I’m still nervous about how to act in such an environment regarding social decorum and propriety. I should have asked David for guidance beforehand.
Not that I’ve spoken to him much lately, not even about the party. He included a handwritten note along with my invitation telling me I’d better not miss it since I’m his best man. Just like he would be mine were I to get married. Because that’s how our friendship has been over the years. Hopefully, we’ll have time to talk tonight and catch up.
If nothing else, I can get a feel for what he’s been up to, so I can put my mind at ease about his involvement with this whole kidnapping/trafficking thing. Just in case.