Less than twelve hours later, Camarin found Rachel sitting across the kitchen table from Annalise, clad only in DeAndre’s Foo Fighters t-shirt. So much for restraint. She didn’t know why she was the least bit surprised.
“Good morning. I see you’re chatting with the one roommate you didn’t spend all night screwing silly.”
“Well, look who’s finally up,” answered Rachel, mouth full of their generic version of Cap’n Crunch. “Smashing. We can walk to work together.”
“Don’t you have to stop home and change? Can’t go into work wearing what you had on yesterday.”
“No need,” Annalise interjected. “She’s my size. She can borrow whatever and send it back with you on Friday.”
“Oh, lucky me. Today reporter, tomorrow messenger girl. Afraid you’ll have to come up with a change of plans though. I’m not planning on coming home after work tomorrow.” She grabbed a spoon and a dirty bowl from the sink, gave each a quick wash, and carried them to the table.
“Ah, do tell. Planning on spending a cozy little weekend with—”
“Mr. Wonderful?” Annalise finished Rachel’s sentence.
Just what I need, two nosey parkers instead of one, Cam thought.
“If you must know,” she said, carefully meting out a 110-calorie ounce of cereal and dousing it with the remaining drizzle of skim milk, “I’m taking the train down to Philadelphia. There’s a weight-loss revival coming to town, and it might be the perfect place to catch the person responsible for the murder I’m writing about.”
Rachel fidgeted uneasily. “Does the aforementioned Mr. Wonderful know what you’re up to?”
“No, and I prefer that it stay that way. If I’m wrong, I really don’t want to end my first week on the job with egg on my face.”
“Of course not,” said Annalise. “I’m sure Lyle could think of some other viscous protein that he’d prefer there instead.”
Both girls broke into giggles, prompting Camarin to stick out her tongue. “Eww. That’s just gross.”
“Seriously, though, Cam, this can’t be Wynan’s idea of a first assignment. Have you ever investigated a murder before?” Rachel asked.
“Not a one,” she said, oozing false confidence.
“Do you really think you should go alone? I mean, it could be dangerous,” added Annalise.
Tag team nagging. Happy Thursday!
“It’s a fucking Feel Good About Yourself celebration. The worst thing that’s likely to happen is that they convince me I’m okay the way I am, and then, supremely secure in my ‘okayness,’ I dive into a box of Godiva chocolates on the train ride home.”
Both ladies stared at her open-jawed, apparently unconvinced.
“It’s your funeral,” said Annalise, “but I am not going in black, I’ll tell you that. Not when I have a chartreuse minidress I have been jonesing for any excuse to wear.” She stood up, dumped her dishes in the sink, and squeezed Rachel’s shoulder. “Come on, future roomie. Let’s leave Nancy Drew here to figure out The Secret of the Unwanted Weight. I’ve got a lavender pantsuit with your name on it.”
Rachel followed along and then looked back at Cam. “How are you going to do it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, go to Philly when you have to be in Washington on Saturday? Wynan told me to ask you about your preferred schedule and then book the train tickets.”
Camarin flinched from a bolt of shock as the memory of the Perri Evans interview resurfaced.
“Oh my God, I completely forgot. Fuck. Well, I bet I can do them both. Do you mind if I handle my own train tickets and you just give me the credit card to charge them to?”
“Hey, no problem. You can take over any chores of mine you like. I’ll bring over the card when we’re at the office. But really, you should think twice about going to Philadelphia at all. It’s not safe. You’re a recent college grad, not Wonder Woman.”
Camarin’s head started to pound as she watched Rachel leave the room, and her nerves began to tingle with anticipation, or was it dread? Did her travel plans reveal more bravado than brains? What was really the worst thing that could happen? Chat up some rich but depressed overweight people desperate for hope? Meet Mangel? Jot down some notes and come home perhaps better prepared to write the story than before?
She did acknowledge there was the tiniest chance she could incense the killer with her presence. After all, a writer for a fashion magazine probably represented the objectification he or she hated most. She’d have to be very clear that she was on their side, that she understood their issues and was slanting the story their way.
The most she had to lose was the cost of the train ride between Philly and Washington and two nights’ stay at an Airbnb. And, of course, her pride if she was wrong about it all. One big excuse for Rachel and Annalise to taunt her from now until December. Oh well. She sighed. Felis Påsguan Nochebuena! Merry Christmas! Maybe Santa Claus could join in the joke as well.