Jude felt itchy. Like she wanted to be anywhere else than an interrogation slash brunch. Sure, she was excited to make friends. But at what cost? Suffering the bored housewives’ appetites for drama? Then again, of the five other women, only one was technically a wife at all anymore. And she wasn’t a housewife. Annette had a career.
Jude held her tongue as Beverly pushed ahead with her theories.
“I happen to believe Carl Carlson did have secrets. He was an old, lonely man. Maybe they were boring ones. Like…he never married the love of his life or something. And he regretted that.”
“Regrets make for the saddest secrets,” Jude murmured. It came from out of nowhere, the thought. She shouldn’t have said it, either. Hurt clouded Beverly’s eyes. Jude scrambled to smooth things out. “I just mean, not taking risks. People who play it safe. That’s what I mean.” And she did. She meant it about herself, too. Gene was not a risk. He was a safe bet, is what he was. Or at least, that’s what he was supposed to be. The irony didn’t escape Jude.
Beverly leveled her chin and went on. “Anyway, I think there’s more to the story.” Her eyes flashed at Quinn. “Have you finished cleaning? Is everything in the garage now, or—”
Quinn nodded. “Yes. We’ve cleared the house. I saved some of the bigger furniture pieces, but what we didn’t sell at the yard sale is in the garage, for the most part. Anything with value, that is.”
“Mind if I take a look later?”
“What’s there to find?” Jude cut in, edgy still. She’d really hoped this would be more of a girls’ day.
“Probably lots of stuff,” Vivi answered on her mother’s behalf. Then, to the whole table’s surprise, the girl tugged free a pendant from the collar of her tank top. She held it up, the tarnished silver hardly glinting.
Jude stifled a gasp.
Annette did not. “You found that in 696?” she exclaimed, her hand pressed to her chest.
Quinn had a similar reaction. “What?”
Even Beverly appeared shocked, leaning in and squinting at the small medallion like it might have a secret message.
Vivi twisted it between her forefinger and thumb, holding it so Beverly could have the best view. “The plumber found it in the upstairs bathtub.” She shrugged. “I thought it was cool in a creepy sort of way.”
Jude chewed her lower lip. It was impossible to keep her curiosity over the necklace at bay. Like a charm from a bygone era, the discolored round drew her out. “What’s it say there?” She fingered her own delicate chain then pointed to Vivi’s neckline.
“It’s a B,” Vivi replied, frowning, her chin dipping into her chest as she strained to confirm. “At least I think so.”
Quinn leaned over and pinched the top of the metal circle then squinted. “It looks like an eight.”
Then Annette craned her neck to get a better look. “I don’t think it’s a letter or a shape. To me, it looks like a symbol.”
“A symbol of what?” Beverly asked. Then, as if to cement her point, she added, “See? There’s a story here.” She looked at her mother as Jude took a long sip of coffee, savoring the last of its warmth as the liquid ran over her tongue and down her throat. The caffeine’s effect was nearly immediate, like a punch to her heart and mind. A stroke of fresh energy. A mood booster.
Bertie cleared her throat. “It’s a symbol, all right,” she cracked. “A symbol of secrets. ‘Carl Carlson’ my behind,” she huffed, her voice rising. “I never met anyone named Carl Carlson in my life! Not in Harbor Hills!”
Jude glanced Bertie’s way then looked back to Beverly, who came alive at her mother’s suggestion.
Beverly looked around the table, her expression wild. “This is why we’re here.” She stabbed a finger at her mother. “She’s why we’re here. Roberta Gillespie is Harbor Hills’ own gossip columnist.” Beverly leveled her chin and smirked. “She can tell us everything.”
Jude smirked, too. “That is,” she added, “if there’s anything to be told.”