I dressed in a pair of black slacks and a pale pink blouse that was professional and not too flashy, my mother’s words always in my head. “Dress like you’re easy and the world will treat you as such, Bonnie.”
I shook off her words and her voice, slipping on the black stilettos Maisie had insisted on packing. I stood taller and felt more confident as I walked down the fancy staircase at Ashby Manor. I found my way to the kitchen where I hoped fresh coffee would be waiting.
It was. Thankfully.
But the coffee pot wasn’t alone. “Morning,” I mumbled and brushed past Calvin to get to the coffee.
“Morning,” he grunted. “You’re up early. Planning to get a jump start on day drinking?”
His words made me go still, with embarrassment or anger I wasn’t quite sure, but I took a moment to get myself under control, adding brown sugar and cream to my mug. “I might. Is that a problem for you?”
“Is that a problem for me?” His tone changed, transformed from mildly sarcastic to something dark and foreboding. “Well, I am the one who found you passed out on the street with blood streaming out of your head. I had to look for a pulse because I thought you were dead and hauled ass to get you back here for medical help. But, no Bonnie, it’s no fucking problem for me!” He stormed off and I stayed right where I was, stunned and still stirring my coffee as his words hit me, each syllable a blow to match the bruises all over my body.
Passed out on the street? I remembered stumbling out of Bullets & Beer, and that was it before waking up here yesterday. I needed to fill in the blanks, and I had a feeling Calvin Ashby could do that, but I wasn’t dumb enough to go to him for help. The man despised me for some reason, and half the time I was pretty sure he was mocking me when he wasn’t staring at me with suspicion burning in his deep green eyes.
I couldn’t focus on any of that. I had interviews to get to. A life to start living.
A future to get under way.
***
Welp. It turned out that having a go-getter attitude wasn’t the key to success. Hell, it wasn’t even a key worth having as far as I could tell. Interview after interview had gone the same.
I showed up with a smile on my face, my bright red hair pulled back into a tasteful chignon so it wouldn’t be too distracting, just the way Mother had taught me. I handed over another copy of my resume, ready to answer questions about my passion for philanthropy and how I came by it honestly.
But that wasn’t what happened. No one cared that I started a program to help college students get credits for spending time with senior citizens, especially the retired academics who favored the dry desert heat. They didn’t care about the multi-denominational food drive I created to make sure all the needy families in town were taken care of, and they certainly didn’t want to talk about the Glitz & Glamour Gala I’d put together to raise money for trafficked women and children.
Nope, they only wanted to talk about one thing.
“So, what was it like to be accused of murder?” The question was asked, multiple times, with such nonchalance it was stunning. As if it was a normal part of polite conversation.
“Was it just like on TV with the swinging bare bulb?”
That question had come from a nun who also served as head of The Catholic Foundation for Women and it had been asked with too much glee from a woman of God. Allegedly.
“I mean, you must have done something for them to accuse you and so publicly! Were you having an affair with the good priest?” That was the most comment sentiment across four different interviews, that I must be guilty of something or else they wouldn’t have accused me.
“Another G&T please.” It’s why I was sitting at a bar at five in the afternoon working on my third gin and tonic of the day. Four interviews and four separate dumpster fires. All four interviews had been set up by my parents before I graduated with people well-connected in the world of rich and influential Catholics.
All so-called good Christians who had no problem salivating over my poor fortune. Wyatt’s too, because of course his gruesome death was their second favorite topic of conversation, making it clear that there was no way on God’s green earth they would be willing to hire me.
Ever.
“Thanks.” I took the drink and sucked down half of it through my straw right away, letting the icy drink do what it could to dull the memories I couldn’t seem to forget and the sharp edges threatening to cut me open.