Page 46 of Old Money
“N ow I feel like a criminal.”
I crane my neck, checking the driveway again.
“What? You are a criminal.” Jamie takes a bite of pizza. “You’ve been one for, like, a month. Stolen police files? Who the hell knows what else.”
We’re sitting on the terrace steps—one rule I never dreamed of breaking.
We waited until the few lingering members had gone home.
Jamie called it at seven thirty, releasing the dozy kitchen staff and sending the doormen home to sleep off the rest of their hangovers.
Then we ordered a pizza, got a pitcher of iced tea from the bar and carried it all outside for an illicit sunset picnic.
“Did you mean it about going to the cops tomorrow?” Jamie leans back, propping his elbows on the step behind him. “Or was that just to see if he’d refuse?”
“To see if he’d double down, yeah,” I answer. “And no, I’m not going to them. Not tomorrow anyway.”
“Seriously?” He nods toward my bag and the phone tucked inside it. “Because I’d say that evidence counts as novel and compelling.”
I nod, smiling.
“That’s why it’s going to the press first.”
“Explain again, Scarface? I haven’t slept in two days.”
“Well, the recording is good. It proves Brody’s original interview was bullshit, and it makes him another witness. His story lines right up with mine—”
“Lines up with Alex Chapman’s too,” Jamie adds, and both of us fall silent.
“Right,” I continue. I don’t want to think about Alex right now. “And Theo’s! Brody’s story also has Patrick walking toward the pool. And it’s got him returning to the clubhouse after.”
“And the floodlight.”
“Oh my God, the floodlight! So good.”
“You’re welcome.” He nods soberly. “So what’s the issue?”
“It’s just not enough.”
Jamie turns his palms up, his mouth a questioning circle.
“It might be enough to initiate a new investigation,” I explain. “Maybe. But it’s not a guarantee. And that’s not the goal here anyway.”
Jamie cocks an eyebrow.
“The end goal is Patrick.” I look at him head-on. “And this isn’t enough to keep him from slipping through the cracks again. I need more witnesses—more of those blanks filled in.”
“I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.”
I reach over the pizza between us, nudging his shoulder.
“Sorry, had to.”
“This is the first domino!” I continue, gesturing with my slice. “Brody’s story goes public, and that convinces other witnesses to speak up. ‘Compels’ them, rather.”
That’s the idea, anyway.
“You know that thing you said about Gordon Fairchild and clout?” I add, recalling our conversation at the Martha.
“Alice, I—”
“No, Jamie, you weren’t wrong.” I wave his apologetic face off. “A good story isn’t enough. You need a reason to make people believe it.”
Jamie turns forward and squints at the vivid sun, melting into a Popsicle-pink puddle on the horizon.
“Your call, Scarface. I’d say you’re solid though.”
He looks over with a half smile, and a jittery delight bounces in my stomach.
“And if you get the incident report?” Jamie looks forward again, but his smile holds. “You’re golden.”
“I think we’ve pretty much killed that plan,” I say, reaching for my iced tea. “That plan requires both of us still having jobs here in two weeks. How long until Brody gets us booted?”
“Brody’s a dead man walking,” says Jamie. “He’s not going to have much pull with the board once his big speech runs in the Post or wherever. We might be out too, but he’ll be out first.”
I sit back, taking in the deepening sunset, thinking all this through.
“It really hasn’t hit you yet?” asks Jamie. “Alice, you did it. It’s check, and they have no moves.”
I blink at him.
“Sorry, I switched from dominoes to chess.”
“I thought it was checkmate in chess?”
“Yeah, no, but first it’s check. Checkmate’s when they realize, or— Hey, can you just let me have this one?”
“No, Jamie. Please explain chess to me.”
He looks back with a friendly glare.
“My point is it’s inevitable now. You’ll win.”
“The Post though? You really think I should go to them with this?”
“I think,” Jamie says slowly, “you should give it to The Club Kid . Let them play it on the podcast, start to finish. No edits. That’s what I’d do, anyway. But go anywhere you want with it. Like I said, you already won.”
The sunset shifts into its final act, shooting blinding golden rays across the valley.
“Another ridiculous idea,” I reply, smiling.
“My specialty.”
“I’ll sleep on it,” I say. “I don’t think I’m in a fit state to make decisions like that now. And you—”
Jamie leans over, his face a shadow in the melting daylight—but I can see his smile when I lift my head and close the gap between us.
I feel it linger for a second when our lips meet.
I worry for a moment that I’ll giggle. ( Am I kissing Jamie Burger on the hill?
) But then the thought evaporates, and I’m not worried about anything.
The light’s turned dusky when I open my eyes. Jamie pulls back a few inches, picking up the conversation where we left off.
“Yeah, I’m beat too,” he says, low and serious. “I’ve really got to head home.”
“Oh.” I sit upright, disoriented. “Okay. Yeah, let’s—”
“Alice,” he says in that same serious tone.
I wrench my eyes back up to his face. He kisses me again, and then looks at me with a lopsided grin.
“You drove us here.”