Page 76 of Old Money

“Here’s my theory,” he begins, incensed. “They moved up the wedding so Susannah can’t testify.”

“Wait, Jamie, just—” I hold up my hands.

“No, listen.” He grabs my beer, chugs half, then continues. “You know that thing about how spouses can’t incriminate each other, legally? I think Patrick knows you’re getting close. I thinkAlexprobably convinced him. See, first Patrick tries to scare you with the notes and shit, but Alex must have—”

“Jamie, stop. Just listen.” I push my beer back to him. “And quiet down.”

Bit by bit, I walk him through my very eventful Tuesday: meeting Alex at the airport, locating Barbara across the river and, finally, hearing Susannah’s big news at the fundraiser.

“It’s nothing to do with me—well, not directly. They moved it up because of the magazine story.”

I watch the wheels turn in Jamie’s head as he absorbs the great heap I’ve dumped on him.

“’Kay,” he says, his words slow and stretchy. “But she didn’t tell me that.”

“Sounds like the story only just got booked.”

“Three weeks out? I don’t think it works that fast.”

“It doesn’t,” I reply sharply. “Jamie, I’ve worked for high-profile people; it takes months for something like that to come together, even when it’s one photo and a five-minute interview.”

I’ve already thought it all through. It won’t be a five-minute interview, and I bet it has been in the works for months—possibly even before the engagement. In terms of publicity, it’s been a rough year for Patrick and the Yateses, and I’m sure their team’s had all hands on deck, searching for good-press opportunities. And this one’s as good as it gets.

A lush, high-summer wedding at the club. The club where Caitlin died—that’s how they’ll put it. No mention of “killing,” alleged or otherwise. It’ll be “the tragic death of his high-school sweetheart,” or maybe they’ll water her down to “classmate” or “friend.” Patrick will make his long-awaited comment, answering with some brief but poignant statement, crafted and calibrated by a league of publicists and lawyers, ensuring he conveys adequate grief butnotresponsibility. And that’s how it’ll happen. Caitlin’s death becomes his tribulation. The murder becomes a mere paragraph in a bigger, brighter story, starring a sober and reformed Patrick, and his radiant, hometown bride. A blue-blooded redemption.

Jamie considers this for a long moment.

“Unless you blow it up first,” he says carefully. “You were planning to go to the press anyway. Right?”

“Yeah,” I scoff. “But I’m not going toVanity Fair. At least not now.”

“Why not? Same magazine that ran that ‘Blue-Blooded Killer’ article back in the day.”

“Yes, and now they’re basically running a public apology. Jamie, no matter what quote Patrick gives them, it’s aweddingpiece.”

“So they’re flip-floppers,” Jamie counters. “Give them a call. Flop them back.”

“Withwhat?” I demand. “My creepy note? My useless police records—sorry,stolenuseless police records? The only new info I have so far is the fact that Alex lied. And I didn’t even record him saying so.”

“So call him and get him to say it again!” Jamie says. “Bring him in on it. You and Alex contact the magazine together. Maybe you even go in person. I could—”

I shake my head.

“I tried, his phone’s already off. He’s in-patient for a month—a month at least, he said. Besides, you didn’t see him.” I picture Alex: his bloodshot pallor, his slippery, ever-shifting mood. “Ibelieve him, but he’s— I don’t know, he’s not okay. He’s disturbed.”

“Right.” Jamie shifts in his seat. “Gordon Fairchild then. You’ve got his address now. I know you’re not a fan, and I get it—he cashed in on Caitlin, and it’s gross.”

“Gross?”

“Really gross—sleazy, tacky as fuck—and everyone around here knows it. But everyoneelseread that book. The guy’s got clout. People know him, and they believe what he has to say.”

“You’re right,” I agree. “He’s the ‘authority’ on the topic.”

Jamie shakes his head.

“You’re the authority. He’s just the name they know.”

Jamie’s right. The fact that I’m the child witness is an open secret in the village, but outside of it, I’m an unknown. If I go to the press I’d run the risk of being dismissed as an attention seeker. At the very least, there’d be a lengthy vetting process before anyone trusted me or my evidence enough to publicize it.Why now? Why didn’t she say something sooner?As if that question weren’t the answer itself.