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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Shelock and the Reluctant Wedding Guest

LC Kanon

2020, LC Kanon

# 1

I first met Harlow Shelock at a sorority mixer. Technically, a toga party. Our "partner" fraternity hosted, the boys a match for us Kappas in stellar appearances and lackluster academic expertise. It's the reason I became a Kappa. My looks got me in, the grades I fudged. In fact, Shelock was one of the few exceptional students here. She was also the only brunette. I hardly need mention she also wasn't white. But to think of her as a "woman of color" or whatever the PC term is these days would be a mistake. It was almost as if she didn't belong to the human race at all—she was far too otherworldly.

We usually themed our parties. Tonight was "Animal House," meaning 50s throwback. I wore my platinum hair in a beehive and outfitted myself with the requisite heavy eyeliner. Feeling amped from all the dancing, I escaped the scene to touch up my 'do. The frat converted one of their communal bathrooms into a women's restroom for the mixer. I entered, noticing pink maxi pads and tampons decorating the wall.

The boys must have decorated.

When you go to a small, Midwestern college in the middle of nowhere, you take these diversions seriously. I walked further inside—feeling the buzz from my Natty Ice. Passing the mirror, I noticed a girl studiously applying her lip liner. I casually walked into a stall before realization dawned.

_Shit_ , I thought to myself. _That was her._

I knew Shelock by reputation, but seeing her up close always threw me. Her appearance—eyes as dull as a shark's, hair a glossy sable, skin somewhere between polished stone and mahogany—stood out in a sea of corn-fed blondes.

While we were far from besties, I couldn't ignore her. Commence with the freak-out. I retreated to the stall—hoping she would leave. As the minutes ticked by, my resolve faded. Swallowing hard, I left the stall. Averting my gaze, I stood next to her at the sink. Noting her body language, I suspect she'd been waiting. Looking up at the mirror, I locked eyes with her penetrating stare.

"I like your beehive," she said, her voice gravely and quite delicate.

I offered up my most sincere smile. She wore her hair half-up style, teased to the sky. A natural beauty with bone structure to die for, Shelock's makeup couldn't disguise the dark smudges under her massive, cartoon-like eyes. She offered a hint of a smile, her lips candy apple red. We speculated endlessly on her ethnic background. Being this close to her, I still came up with nothing. She belonged in a category unto her own.

"Thanks," I replied, feeling my heart beating. I pretended to study my lip gloss, noticing her silk purse placed next to mine. "Vintage?"

She didn't respond, only tilting her head like a cat. Finally, she glanced down, as if remembering her bag was there.

"Yes." She returned her gaze to me. "You're a sophomore?"

"Yes," I stammered, as if I wasn't quite sure.

Most of the other sisters set me on edge. Rush week certainly left some emotional scars. Always on the lookout for more torment, I waited for her next question. Remaining silent, she completed a survey of my form. For some reason, I sensed approval. Her review complete, she opened her bag.

"Good thing the boys bought extra." Walking over to the wall, she plucked several tampons from their perch and placed them in her purse.

"Oh." I laughed, a high-pitched staccato all my boyfriends claimed to love. "I'm sure they itemized it. That shit's expensive."

She gave me a half smile, extending her hand.

"Harlow Shelock."

"Kay Watson."

We shook hands. I felt like a subject genuflecting to a queen.

"You should come to my room tomorrow. I have a project I need your help on."

I felt a stab of anxiety, momentarily stunned. I thought we were just doing intros. What could she want from me?

Who cares! Being acknowledged by the Kappa president is an honor.

I conducted a mental calculation of our association, quickly deciding to accept.

"Sure." I cleared my throat. "What time?"

She picked up her bag with one hand. Staring in the mirror, she smoothed an elegantly arched brow.

"Let's say." She stared at me, offering a dramatic pause. "Around 3."

Without another word, she slipped past me, eel-like, exiting into the pulsing beat of the party. I stood in the bathroom a few moments longer, my heart racing. I steadied my breathing, feeling ridiculous.

"She's just a person," I said loudly to the mirror. I groaned. "Then why do I feel like I'm going to throw up?"

Breathing slowly, I reflected on what just happened. A personal invite from the Kappa president to 'help her out' with something? Sign me up! Giddy now, I began primping. My own visage offered a contrast to the exotic Harlow Shelock. With my milky-white complexion and blue eyes, I was just another Midwestern blonde. Hot for Indiana but I'd barely crack a 7 in New York City.

Hearing the door swing open, I glanced in the mirror, watching as my big sister, Beth, came striding inside. She threw her bag on the counter, rolling her eyes.

"Damn girl, you just missed Shelock." She studied her hair in the mirror. "I knew I didn't put in enough hair spray."

"She was in here, just now."

Beth turned to me, face ashen.

"Shit, what did you do?"

"Nothing, she just introduced herself."

Beth's jaw dropped. A pint-sized woman barely clearing five feet, she edged up next to me.

"You're kidding me."

The door swung open. My pledge sister, Jess, came barreling inside. She held her beehive with both hands.

"One of these fuckers fell into my drink." She started pulling daisies out from her hairdo.

"Get this," Beth said, turning to her. "Shelock spoke to Kay."

Jess stopped, turning to me with the same look of amazement.

"What did you do?" she asked, eyes like saucers.

Both their reactions took me from elated to downright terrified.

"I didn't do anything! She invited me to her room tomorrow—said she needed help with something." Both girls looked grim. "What?" I asked, heart racing.

"She never talks to sisters outside her class. I mean, never." Jess said, looking as if I were already a social pariah.

Beth rolled her eyes.

"You." She pointed a finger at Jess. "Relax." She spun around, giving me her full attention. "Ok, Kay, tell us exactly what you did. Girl, you could be going to your social funeral."

I took a deep breath, reviewing the interaction carefully.

"I said hello, and then I complimented her bag."

Beth removed her mascara and began attacking her lashes.

"Didn't you hear what she did to Sherrie Hoffmeister?"

I broke out into a sweat. I did, in fact, hear—most of the sorority had. One of the most beautiful pledges, Sherrie won the hearts of many in the house. But she had fallen into the trap of thinking that her popularity gave her the run of the place. No one knows what happened that day in the common room. We did witness the fallout.

"Investigated for academic integrity," Beth hissed.

"Expelled from the university; pending charges of plagiarism," Jess continued, catching a daisy before it tumbled into the sink.

"And then her boyfriend dumped her!" Beth cried, throwing her mascara in the bag and turning to her lip gloss.

I gripped my forearms, digging my nails into my skin. A nervous tic from when I was little, I pressed my fingers down hard.

"How can you be sure all that had to do with Shelock?" I asked.

The two looked at me as though I had officially lost it. Jess turned to the mirror, adjusting her coiffure.

"Take our advice, Kay. Never fuck with that girl—ever."

They began primping themselves furiously. I backed away to avoid the hairspray.

"If she's such a terror, then why do they keep her around?"

"Remember the issue in 2017?" Jess asked, making duck faces at the mirror.

"Stop showing off," Beth admonished, rolling her eyes at her.

"When they hazed all those girls?" I asked, eager to keep the conversation going.

"Two died," Jess said, in a tone that suggested she blamed the pledges.

"Didn't they get alcohol poisoning?"

Beth shrugged, not looking terribly concerned. In fact, the hazing at Kappa used to be horrifically bad. Several pledges passed out drunk after a drinking challenge. Left on the basement floor for 24 hours, no one alerted authorities until it was too late. The girls were pronounced dead on arrival.

"No one knew how Shelock did it," Beth said, picking up the conversation. She lazily began flipping through the contents of Jess's purse.

"Bitch, do not steal my lip gloss again. You always . . . "

"Did what?" I interrupted, watching them in the mirror.

Beth relinquished the tube of gloss.

"Shelock met with the college president. A day later, all charges against the university were dropped and Kappa was reinstated. And guess who was elected president of the sorority?"

"Shelock?" The girls nodded. "What do you think she did?"

"She certainly didn't sleep with anyone, if that's what you're thinking," Beth said, applying yet more eyeliner to her exaggerated cat eye. "I mean, we all know she's a lezzie."

"Well, yeah, there are rumors about that."

"About that," Jess cut in. "I saw her with a dude last weekend, they looked pretty cozy."

"We all know it's a farce," Beth corrected.

Personally, I didn't care who she slept with, my mind fixed on those dead pledges.

"Well, what did she say to the president? How did she fix it?"

"No one knows," Beth responded with a shrug. "With Shelock, it's best not to ask. It will only make her suspicious. I do know this." She turned to me, as if imparting life-saving advice. "That woman operates on a separate plane. She's like a lion in a world of house cats. So you take my advice and stay as far away as possible."

"But I can't blow it off!" I squeaked. "That would make her even more upset."

"Do what you want," Beth replied, sharing a look with Jess. "Just tell us what you want on your gravestone."

We returned to the party en-mass. I tried to shake off the interaction, but it proved difficult. Distraction came quickly when I recognized my ex approaching. I peeled off from the girls.

"Yo." He swung in close.

"Hey, Pete, how you been?"

"Looking good Kay." Pete tried to run his finger down my arm, but was so drunk he kind of stumbled on top of me.

"Ow, damn, would you watch it?"

"What's wrong with you?"

"Run in with Shelock."

"Steer clear, sister." He downed his beer, looking around for a refill. Seeing nothing, he threw his red solo cup on the ground. Like I said, an ex.

"What do you know about her?"

"Enough to stay the fuck out of her way. I heard this one story . . . "

I leaned in, eager to get more information on this mysterious woman. Pete looked from side to side, as if spilling state secrets. His breath stunk, but I held it together—desperate for more intel.

"Remember Ryan Hartfield."

"Your old president?"

Pete nodded, shaking his curls behind his ears. I realized why I dated him. One couldn't get over those brown locks—the man deserved his own hair care line.

"They dated."

Ah ha! I knew it.

"No way, when?"

"When she was a freshman."

Pete glanced around, bleary-eyed.

"And?" I snapped my fingers to keep him focused.

"Apparently it got serious. They were into some weird stuff, really kinky stuff."

Leave it to Pete to go right to the smut.

"Who cares about their sex life, what about them dating?"

"Well, he dumped her."

Pete shifted closer to me, holding the small of my back with one hand. A new song came on; the base made my ears bleed.

"What happened next?"

He drew closer to my ear, which strangely suited me better. At least I wouldn't have to smell his breath.

"Well he got sick, really sick. Mono or something."

"She poisoned him?" I hissed, sticking close.

"Nah, but it was the start of an epic fucking fall from grace. After he got sick, he started missing class. Usually, our fixers take care of that. You know."

He pulled back, giving me a dollar sign.

"Paying off the grad students to do your papers, yeah, I know the drill," I said, gripping his arm so he would continue.

"No one would take his money. It was like she put a social hit on him or something. He started outsourcing it other schools but somehow she found out—and then he had an academic integrity investigation on his hands."

I nodded. This is the second time I heard Shelock throwing the authorities at someone.

"Was that it?"

Pete whistled, shaking his head.

Damn, he looks good tonight, maybe this party isn't so bad . . .

"He started dating that chick Laurie Parker."

"The Abercrombie model?"

"That's the one. Apparently, Laurie lost her modeling contract after that, and then her sister—also a model, lost hers. And then her dad's business somehow got mixed up with the IRS."

He gave me a look, shaking his head.

"Ok, I get the picture. But how do you know it's all related to Shelock?"

"Kay," he said, his breath hot on my neck. "Who else could do all that?"

"Hey, my man!"

"Yo, Nick!" Pete said, turning away from me.

I spun around, wondering if this was _the_ Nick I'd been in astronomy with last semester. Better-looking than Pete and one of the best students in the frat. He was technically in my league but just barely.

Nick Costa—one of those tall and dark varieties, with a luscious head of curls. Greeting his friend, he turned to me, offering a devastating smile.

"Hey Kay."

"How's it going, Nick?"

"Fall semester treat you well?"

"Without astronomy, how can I deal?"

We shared flirtatious smile. As blitzed as he was, Pete sensed a rival.

"Come on, I have to show you something," he said, dragging his friend away.

Nick gave me one last glance before melting into the crowd. I looked around for my girls, finding them near the jungle juice.

"Heyyy baby girl!" Beth cooed, throwing her arms around me.

"Kay Watson, killer beehive!" Jess joined in, and the two began bumping and grinding all over me.

"You guys kill me." I tried to peel, away, only to be thrown back into their little dance.

"What you make friends with Shelock and suddenly we're chopped liver?" Beth cooed.

"Oh my God, you guys! She said one thing to me."

"Oh yeah, what did Pete have to say about it?"

"You see everything." I shook my head. I sensed my star rising in the sorority as I finished my freshman year. The girls around me certainly took notice.

"I have eyes." Beth did a twirl. "In the back of my head."

"Well, Nick Costa isn't going to lay you with those moves, B."

"Are you calling dibs?" I asked quickly, straining to look for Nick.

"You're interested in Nick Costa? Good luck, that guy is so stuck up."

"He doesn't date?" I asked, moving to the beat with Jess.

She gave Beth a pinch.

"He dates just fine, just isn't into pint sized brunettes."

"He likes blondes, does he?" I asked quickly.

"Probably," Beth glowered, shooting daggers at me. "And I repeat, you calling dibs?"

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not." I took Jess by the arm. "Just as we practiced, dahhhling!"

We broke into a dance routine we made up freshman year. Dissolving into hysterics, I felt the tension from my earlier chats fade away.

"Besides, you haven't dated anyone since Peter Freidman."

"She's still not over Peter Freidman," Jess lamented, casting Beth a look.

"I hate both of you."

Beth rushed dramatically towards the bathroom.

"Beth, don't be pissed! We're just teasing!" Jess called after her.

"Let her go, she's just drunk."

Jess shook her head, but we both knew Beth got sore about guys.

"She can't call dibs on someone who has no chance of dating her," I pointed out.

Jess pursed her lips.

"I'll let you tell her that."

"Seriously, though."

"You're really into Nick?" She picked a daisy from her hair and placed it into mine. I took it from her.

"He bangs me . . . he bangs me not." I began plucking petals from the flowers.

Jess screeched with laugher, turning for more jungle juice. She returned with anther cup for me, one which I chugged.

"Seriously though," I began, unable to keep my words from slurring. "Blondes?"

"He used to date Jessica Lempkie."

"Oh good, she's cute. She looks like me."

"He's really into brainy chicks though. She told me he dumped her after she switched her major to fashion merchandizing."

"What? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"It's what she told me."

"It's cause she doesn't give head."

"Promise me something," Jess said, holding me close.

"Anything babes."

"Be careful around Shelock."

She looked dead sober as she said the words. I patted her hand.

"Of course."

"Seriously, that girl is bad company."

Our favorite song came on, and the girls around us shrieked with delight. Jess and I got down after that, the jungle juice doing its work as we danced. Unfortunately, I began to sober up just after 2 am. By that time, everyone had paired off for the night. Usually, I would follow suit, but I didn't feel like hooking up. I had other things on my mind--namely Jess's warning.

I made my way out of the mixer, keeping an eye out for Shelock. I felt like she was watching me, even now. An unnerving feeling, especially knowing all this stuff about her.

Making my way back to my room, I immediately peeled off all my party clothes. My skin felt sticky with spilled jungle juice, and my hair congealed into a gloopy mess. I made my way to the bathroom, taking my shower caddy with me.

Hot water never felt so good. I washed my hair twice with shampoo to get all the crap out, and then applied a hair mask. Soaping up, I scrubbed my hands and feet, eager to remove every remnant of the night's party. Thus satisfied, I turned off the water. Wrapping a fluffy towel around my head, I slipped on my robe. I walked back to my room in the eerie silence of the sorority house.

I couldn't get the night's events out of my mind. No matter where I turned, Shelock's presence loomed—the pictures lining the walls and even the new light fixtures. The woman's touch pervaded everything in Kappa. Nothing seemed below her notice.

Settling down in bed, I turned off the light, sighing deeply.

"Sleep, Kay," I commanded myself, hastily jumping into bed.

Torn by my summons from the sorority president, I stayed up half the night—annoyed with myself for taking it so seriously. But if the rumors were true, Shelock was not a woman to be trifled with. What had I done to draw the attention of such a person?

Giving up sleep for the time being, I felt around for my phone. I needed to know more about this girl before our meeting. Googling might be the best way to prepare. I soon hit pay dirt, an article about a scholastic award from a private school on the East Coast.

Harlow Shelock Sets the Bar for Scholastic Achievement at Riverside Prep

I skimmed the article, which mentioned Shelock and her sister—Mildred. Both had attended an exclusive school where they had seemingly excelled. I found a news article, wondering how they got quotes from such a guarded creature. I honed in on the closing statement, reading aloud.

"Harlow and Mildred offer a pertinent reminder to the students at Riverside Prep—provide your best in both work and professional endeavors. Their scholastic achievement underscores a drive for exceptionalism—in intellect and in displaying an unrelenting work ethic." I shook my head. "Wonder how long I'd last at that school."

I researched the prep school a bit. Did she come from money? Privilege couldn't explain that aura—her downright frigid exterior. I searched for her sister next, finding information about her practice on Legal Zoom.

_An attorney, now that makes sense_.

After nearly an hour of searching, I finally grew tired. Pleased with my research, I put the phone away. Tucking myself into bed, I pushed the thought of the Shelock sisters firmly away.

*

With my late night, the morning came with hideous quickness. Eager for a distraction, I pulled my running shoes to me. Gearing up, I threw out greetings to a few sisters as I wove through the halls. Our sorority house looked impressive from the outside, but inside felt super cramped. Kind of like a house with one bathroom. Still, being from the cornstalk fields just outside of Greencastle, Indiana, I couldn't cast stones. The truth was, getting in here was a big deal for me, for my family.

I began to jog, a slow pace which I quickened when I recognized a few guys I knew. I threw out a chipper hello, making sure my ponytail swung just-so. Even though I felt like shit, the methodical pounding of the pavement drew me to center. I glanced at a clock near the union, wondering if I had class that day. I'd lost track.

Sorority life suited me, perhaps too well. I had the best intention of turning in good grades, but damn these parties! They weren't exactly optional. I needed to maintain a high degree of social capital, meaning attending any and all sorority event with a smile. Getting trashed wasn't necessarily part of the equation, but I knew better than that. Beth technically was my big sister, but the truth was I had already eclipsed her in popularity. I needed a new mentor.

Rounding out my loop around campus, I felt a soft swish near my shoulder. Turning, a figure leapt past me. Running swiftly, the woman's gazelle-like legs overtook my pace and then some. I detected a flash of jasmine perfume, as the figure swiftly turned down a well-worn trail. I didn't get a good look, but those long legs and thick bun could only mean one person.

Shelock.

Slowing my steps, I began to feel lightheaded. Hands on knees I took several deep breaths before turning back.

Food, now.

I found a group of girls in the dining hall and went to town on some bacon and eggs. I tried to joke along with them, but nothing could shake the feeling that I might run into Shelock at any moment. Would I offend her with . . . just being me? Freaked out by my sisters' reactions, I told no one else about the meeting. That didn't mean others didn't bring it up. Becky Lakefield, girl with the biggest mouth, started first.

"Guess who I saw headed out for a run?"

"Nessie?"

A few of the girls laughed. Nessie--our code word for spotting Shelock, I used to love these gossip sessions. Today, however, it couldn't have come at a worse time.

"She's always alone," Becky continued.

Eyes turned to me, it would look weird not saying anything.

"Yeah I think she lapped me."

"At least she didn't mug you."

More snickering. Despite the social nature of a sorority, Shelock did seem to be alone an awful lot of the time. Even during house meetings, the other sisters gave her space—lots of it. She would speak to us from the top of a winding staircase in the foyer. We'd stare up at her, the room so silent you could hear a pin drop.

"Who is she dating again?"

I cleared my throat.

"Beth said she saw her with some senior."

"Better than any of us," Becky continued, careful to make sure we knew her message.

With the exception of a few boyfriends, and the odd rumor about girls, Shelock's dating life appeared nonexistent. Clearly she was beautiful and smart. I got the feeling she knew this, and none of the men on campus were up to snuff. She was, quite simply, too good.

I decided not to weigh in with this opinion. Remaining silent, I counted my blessings when the topic changed. Moving back to my room, the hour perilously close, I studied my closet. I needed to look presentable, but not desperate. I thought of the times I'd seen Shelock around campus. She always looked immaculate—whether it was 2 am or 2 pm.

Taking my time getting ready, I played a few songs to calm my nerves. Reaching the end of my cosmo knowledge on "getting-ready-to-meet-someone-terrifying" I surveyed the results. I sported a high ponytail and a casual, yet sophisticated silk dress. All the girls in the house dressed up. Only Deltas wore sweats on campus.

I walked up the flight of stairs to where the big sisters lived. Most girls shared rooms; but as president, Shelock had her own. Spotting it at the end of the hall, I felt my heart pound. Many of the doors sported colorful posters and signs. I neared Shelock's, noticing an elaborate ironwork of the letter "s" hanging on the door. Staring at it for a few seconds, I heard a sharp command from inside the room.

"Well, don't just stand there, Watson, enter!"

_Oh my God_. _Does she have a camera on me?_

I whipped around, none in sight.

How did she know?

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, peeking my head inside. Shelock sat over a small desk, typing furiously on a laptop. She didn't look up.

"Come in, come in."

I skirted inside, closing the door as softly as I could manage. Her use of my last name was interesting. Watson is my father's nickname for me. But no one knew that. Hearing her use it made me feel . . . important.

Shelock continued typing, so I quickly scanned her room. It was cluttered but orderly, with books covering every surface. When I say books, I mean titles I couldn't pronounce, in French, German, Latin, even Russian. Tomes on anatomy, history, genetics . . . Despite the sunny day, the drapes were drawn. Candles illuminated the room, strongly reminding one of Dracula's castle. Bits of clothing festooned every surface, permeated with her distinct, jasmine perfume.

Unchanged from her run, she tucked her ankles beneath her as she continued typing away. Left to my own devices, I searched for a ready distraction. Spotting one photo situated on her micro fridge, I walked towards it, bending down to look closer. Two girls stared back at me—sharing the same dark features, shark-like skin and intelligent eyes. I wondered again at Shelock's lineage. She looked so different than anyone I knew. Hardly surprising, given my Midwestern town had exactly one black family.

"My sister," she said, continuing to pound the keys. "Maybe you'll meet her one day. I call her M."

_And why would I ever meet her?_ I thought.

I hardly knew Shelock, but she acted as though we were bosom buddies.

"Get yourself a drink."

Since I stood by the mini-fridge, I opened it. Diet Coke lined the fridge. I took one, studiously avoiding the large bag of pills that took up the entire bottom shelf.

"Make sure you choose wisely," she said ruefully.

I offered a fake-sounding chuckle, searching around for a place to sit. Though Shelock hadn't yet glanced up, she waved her hand around.

"Sit anywhere. I'm almost done."

I chose a stool placed near her desk, peeking over her shoulder. She wrote in another language I couldn't make out, the keys formulating into characters with the rapid fire of a native speaker.

"There," she said, saving the file. She pulled up her email.

"What's that?" I asked.

"My thesis."

"For what?"

She turned to look at me. She didn't wear much makeup, as evidenced by the dark smudges under her eyes. Seeing her up close, an unadorned at that, felt strangely intimate. I drew back nervously, wondering again what she could want from me. I didn't know any girls in the house who wrote a thesis; whatever that was. I tried pre-med. After exactly one semester, I had settled on public health for the express reason that it was easier and didn't involve math.

Shelock studied me intently, making me even more nervous. I went to speak, before she held up her hand. Turning back, she hit the send key. She cracked her hands together, swiveling around.

"I wonder if publishing in a Russian academic journal will impact a security clearance." She said the words with a smile, bearing straight, white teeth. In the dim light of the room she looked like the grim reaper.

I didn't know what to say so I sat there. She continued staring at me in silence. I sipped my Diet Coke, nervous as hell but not wanting to show it. I thought again about the lesbian rumors. Could this be a setup? The thought made me anxious, but I dismissed it quickly. I have a good read on people in general. She wanted something from me, and it was non-sexual in nature.

What could it be?

After what seemed like hours, she spoke.

"You have no idea why you're here, do you?"

The question made me involuntarily shiver. This chick read my mind like no one else. I cleared my throat.

"No, I mean. I knew about you, but . . . "

"I mean why you're _here_ ," she said, focusing on the last word.

"You mean . . . here at school?" I opened my mouth to continue, but closed it—feeling my body grow hot.

I was failing in all my classes. My dad had to make some calls to see me through the next semester. How could she have known this? Or maybe she didn't. Perhaps I gave her too much credit. Still, I felt my discomfort grow as she shifted back.

"There's no reason to be ashamed," she said with a shrug. "The way we coddle women in this society is abominable. A female in ancient Egypt would be appalled. And that was thousands of years ago." She tilted her head. "I've been watching you."

Still tongue-tied, I guzzled my drink. She glanced at it.

"What a wonderful idea."

She rose, walking over to her fridge. Throwing it open, she grabbed the bag of pills from the bottom shelf. Tossing a few into her mouth, she snatched a Diet Coke, throwing them back with one gulp. She sighed, moving her head from side to side. I heard bones cracking.

I didn't dare ask what those drugs were for, but I had a sneaking suspicion they were recreational at best. Shelock seemed to be one of those women who was born at the wrong time—with the deck stacked against them. I knew instantly she could never reach her full potential in this place. While she had identified my own insecurity, I felt unduly pleased I had located hers.

She looked at me.

"What are you thinking?"

Maybe it was the caffeine, or my nerves.

"I think you're just as confused."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Go on."

For some reason, I did.

"You may not belong here, but I do. This place is built for blondes like me. So is the world. You're too different for this place. That's why you take those. . . " I felt I was getting into dangerous territory when her eyes widened. "Pills," I finished.

She stared at me for a few minutes, before slamming the fridge shut and situating herself across from me. She placed the Diet Coke down, crossing her hands on her knee.

"Well, don't stop now, Bambi. Go on—tell me how you really feel."

I felt my temper snap. I slammed my drink on the desk, feeling my cheeks flush.

"Is this a joke or something?" I paused, my chest heaving. She remained silent, watching me with a sense of detachment I've never experienced.

I felt hot, awkward, and really pissed. My mind flitted from one reason to the next for why she had me here, all of them likely to do with embarrassing me in some way. Maybe I had slept with one of her ex's and this was my payback.

I swallowed hard, desperately trying to control my emotions.

"I've been warned about you." Her eyebrow rose a millimeter. "Don't pretend like you don't enjoy this. Torturing people who get on your bad side. I mean, grow up already! You're a freak of nature and you know it. Shutting yourself up in this room, writing shit in Russian." I waved my hands around, a gesture she took in with a smile. Every reaction seemed to stoke my temper. "I mean, who the hell speaks Russian?"

I took a breath, realizing with alarm that I'd been shouting. At any moment, a slew of girls would come running to the door—pressing their ears close to listen. But Shelock struck a nerve I didn't know existed. Looking at her self-satisfied expression, she also knew it.

"Making fun of me is the only amusement you have for yourself," I continued, not ready to back down. "Because you're trapped in this place with these people and it's driving you insane. That's why you shove those pills down your throat."

My heart was beating, and I began shaking. I hate confrontation; I'm usually as passive as a wallflower. How the hell did a stranger get to me this quickly?

"Take a breath," she commanded. "A big one."

Reluctantly, I did.

"Again."

This time I took in a deep breath, allowing the anger to drain from my body. As quickly as it happened, my emotions leveled. I grew instantly ashamed, blushing hard.

Shelock drew back, sighing dramatically.

"You're perfect. More perfect than I imagined."

I sat there in stunned silence as she turned back to her computer, typing away distractedly. Finally, I formed a response.

"What?"

"I said." She turned, taking my hands in hers. They were cold as ice. "You are so wonderfully perfect. When can we begin?"

Staring into those dark eyes, I felt a stab of fear. I wanted to pull my hands away and run.

"Begin what?"

"Our partnership!" she said, so loudly I flinched.

Clearly, my speech had emboldened her as much as it drained me.

"What partnership?"

"Watson, could any ninny in this house execute that speech?" She held her intense gaze. I felt like disappearing into the chair. "Your powers of perception are exceptional. Even in this place. Trained to dull the mind, engineered to coerce mindless coeds into sleepwalking through life. You resist, Watson. You R-E-S-I-S-T!"

Slowly, I began to understand. She could see my transition even now, her mouth growing wide with a smile. The effect proved unnerving, to say the least.

She released me, turning to her desk. Selecting an ivory envelope from atop a stack of books, she handed it to me. I opened it, reading it carefully.

"What is this?"

"What's it look like, Watson?"

She rose, casually yanking off her tank top; rib bones visible under polished skin. She wore a black lace bra, under which were several markings. They didn't look like tattoos, the skin wasn't dark—the markings were raised. Almost like burns.

Turning away from me, she selected a black top from the floor. Hoisting it over her head, she adjusted it at the sides, studying her reflection in a cracked mirror.

I glanced down at the envelope, removing the note card from within.

"A save the date," I said, studying the writing. "For a wedding. Is this name for real? Bruton Wollenhaupt? Looks fancy. Hmm . . . Vail, Colorado."

"And this." Shelock walked over to the desk, tossing me another envelope.

"A bachelorette party, also in Vail." I noted the date. "In a week."

"I booked the tickets a few days ago," she responded, picking up a black handbag. "Well, are you coming or what?"

"To Vail?"

She gave me a hard look.

"I'm asking if you'd like to get lunch. I'm famished. Here, take those with you."

I tucked the invites into my purse, mind awhirl as she nearly dragged me from the room. She didn't even bother to blow the candles out.

Walking through the sorority house, my body hummed with adrenaline. Whatever I expected from today's summons, it wasn't this. I lamely followed her, enjoying the stares of astonishment from my fellow sisters. Being seen with Shelock was something worth gawking at. Not surprising, given she never hung out with anyone—ever.

We exited into a brilliant spring day. We'd be on break soon. I did the math. I wouldn't miss any classes. That's a big if. I barely knew this girl. How much did she know about me? Especially since she'd already purchased tickets. I felt too unnerved to be excited; it felt so strange. I remained silent as she walked over to a mint-green Fiat parked in the president's spot. I climbed inside, trying to make myself inconspicuous. She started the car. I jumped as blaring music came on the radio.

"This place isn't fancy, but the food is good," she shouted, reversing quickly before popping into first.

I didn't reply, still thrown with the entire situation. Not that Shelock minded. Not one for casual conversation, her mind appeared to zip around at a mile a minute. I sat on the edge of that seat as she floored it through town. I kept my eyes on the scenery—focusing on what I knew. The creamery, a spot where Pete and I had our first date. The coffee shop, where we stole free Wi-Fi to steal exam papers off the internet.

I thought back to her lecture. Did I have powers of perception? My friends always complemented how I had a way with people. I'd worked customer service most my life, putting these abilities to good use.

Maybe Shelock is right; maybe I am special.

This thought satiated me for the time being, as my companion negotiated a three way traffic stop without a pause.

Swerving into a parking lot, she killed the engine.

"Here."

She yanked on the parking break and exited quickly. I tried to keep up as she power walked to the restaurant—nearly running over a family exiting as she did. I followed her inside, hit with the thick aroma of Indian food. Shelock sat down a table near the door. The waiter stood over her, and she ran off a list of things before he had a chance to offer her a menu.

"I ordered a lot," she explained, tapping her fingers on the surface as I sat down. "It's been days since I've eaten and it just hit me now."

"Days?"

"I told you, I had to write my thesis."

She appeared too hungry to elaborate further, so we waited in silence. Blessedly, the service was quick. A waiter began dropping plates of food in front of us, backing away with an anxious look. Shelock wasn't kidding, she had ordered half the menu. I stared at the plates of spicy curries and vegetables, accompanied by thick hunks of bread. She ate fast but efficiently, folding the bread into her fingers and eating like a native.

"Did you spend lots of time overseas?" I asked, watching her carefully.

She nodded, not taking a moment to speak as she plowed through her meal. I took a plate, intending on trying some of the more innocent-looking curries. I quickly learned my lesson, asking for several refills of water. I barely made a dent in my plate before she finished, gesturing to the waiter.

"Rice pudding," she commanded, handing over her card. She looked at me questioningly.

"I'm fine, thank you," I said, embarrassed at her brusque manner.

"You can be bossy here. It's part of the culture."

"Oh, yeah?"

"You don't like inconveniencing people."

I didn't know what to say. My mouth still on fire, I just wanted to leave. I settled on the least inflammatory retort.

"I guess that's it."

She was being nice to me. Not on purpose. Something about me intrigued her.

"What you said back there in my room," she said, studying her cuticles. I froze, feeling hot all over again. "Spot on," she continued with a wicked smile. "It's why we'll work so well together."

"Listen . . ." I began, not wholly sure I wanted a partnership with this woman—sorority president or otherwise.

"You've never been someone's wedding date?" she asked, accepting her rice pudding with a smile.

She dove a spoon into the creamy dessert. I have a sweet tooth myself, but the thought of eating another morsel made me cringe.

"I have," I began, wishing I had more inventive comebacks.

Truthfully, this woman terrified me. I felt like a deaf mute around her.

"You want to know why," she said, licking the spoon.

I swallowed hard.

"Yes, I do."

She finished eating, placing her implement down. She closed her eyes, as if preparing for a performance. As she opened them, she appeared calm—controlled. I thought again about the pills she had tossed down, but she didn't appear under the influence. If anything, they brought her down a few levels.

"Give me the invites," she commanded.

I retrieved the items from my purse, annoyed to find I had squashed them in my haste. Shelock didn't seem to mind, pressing the mangled cardstock on the table between us.

"You asked about the, how shall we put this, classy name?"

"Bruton Wollenhaupt and Barbie Bransma," I read aloud.

"You asked why they are. But you have everything at your disposal to make an informed assumption."

"I don't know, you . . ."

"The names itself are significant. Bruton Wollenhaupt comes from a good family—we went to prep school together. Tall, very handsome. Military stock."

"And this woman?"

"Barbie." Shelock smiled, as if ruminating on a private joke. "Very beautiful." She paused. "I hardly need add, no breeding at all."

This made me blush. I had "no breeding" either—unless you count the variety of feed corn we grew on my dad's farm.

"Let's get back to your question," she commanded.

"Who are they?" I replied, quickly tiring of this game. I felt acid reflux kicking in. I wanted to reach into my bag, but her intense glare put me off that idea.

"It is the wrong question," Shelock responded, barking at me like a drill sergeant.

I turned flagging down the waiter. I ordered some rice pudding for myself. Who knows, maybe it would put out the fire in my belly. Shelock waited in silence. When my dessert arrived, I ate it slowly, turning over her challenge in my head.

"Ok, so I can't ask why," I finally said. "So then let's focus on how they met. Through a chance encounter?"

Shelock nodded. The check came with her card. She signed it, and I studied her black Am Ex. I only saw those in rap videos.

"Good, Watson—you're learning the tricks of the trade. Why have you arrived at that conclusion?"

"They couldn't have met at school—she has no breeding." I paused over the word and Shelock chuckled. "The only explanation for a woman named Barbie to meet someone like Burton would be a chance encounter. Maybe . . . " I paused, thinking this through, "she's a waitress at a bar or something."

"A beer girl at Joe's bar in Chicago," Shelock said confidently. "Bransma is a Midwestern name; her father is in the refrigerator cooling business."

"So they are getting married, and you need me to come with you." I almost asked why before I caught myself, recalling her aversion to that question. I tilted my head to one side, before realizing I just mimicked her mannerism. Straightening, I cleared my throat. "Something's concerned you about the wedding?" Shelock's grin deepened. "Maybe it has to do with Barbie." She began to laugh. "Where are they living now?"

"Minneapolis." Shelock's mirth faded. "Before that, they were in Arizona—Scottsdale to be specific."

I paused, thinking this through. In one of my courses we had just discussed clinic-based care—world-renowned centers that offered treatment for specific ailments.

"There are Mayo clinic in both cities," I said, encouraged by Shelock's expression. "Someone is sick."

"Very good."

"Is it Bruton?" I asked, with more confidence this time.

"Look at you," Shelock said. "Putting it all together. But slow down, Watson, you're going too fast—jumping to conclusions."

"The Scottsdale clinic specializes in . . . " I reached the end of my line of reasoning and Shelock seemed to know it.

She pushed back from the table, crossing those sphinxlike arms in front of her.

"Specifically, cancers of the lungs and brain, also some cardiac issues. The Minneapolis clinic focuses on neurological disorders. Which is what they assume Bruton has."

"What does his illness have to do with the wedding?"

"The timing is suspect. He's getting married at the exact time he's grown ill. There are times his symptoms are in remission and others when he's virtually catatonic. There is no medical explanation for what ails him. No explanation." She pointed at the invites. "Other than these."

"You think . . . "

She shook her head.

"I don't think—not yet. We cannot prejudice ourselves."

"So you want me to go to Vail to help figure out what's wrong with him?"

"Yes, I thought we established that in my room," Shelock said, clearly annoyed with the repetition.

"This guy must be important to you," I said, growing bolder.

Shelock looked at me with cold calculation.

"Yes, one could say that." She paused and a hint of amusement passed over her face. "Once could definitely say that."

I looked at the invites, and then back up at Shelock. She stared off into space, her mind at work. I don't know what came over me. I never said yes—but we both knew I was going. My only plans for spring break were to avoid studying for my midterms and to cyberstalk Nick.

This challenge didn't have anything to do with boys or school, which intrigued me. I didn't think to ask about money; I knew Shelock would pay for everything. Beyond that, associating with her could raise my profile in the house. I wasn't above such considerations. If she was going to use me, I could return the favor.

"What will you tell them? I mean, about me."

"Well, everyone already thinks I'm a lesbian so it won't be a big stretch." She looked down at my pudding. "Are you done yet?"

I felt a flood of embarrassment.

Lesbian? Wait a minute . . .

"I don't know. I mean I don't think . . . "

Shelock rolled her eyes.

"It constantly amuses me how freely women throw themselves at the most vulgar males, but the thought of coupling with a creature such as myself." She gestured with a manicured finger. "All the sudden they're Bible belt prudes."

I felt the challenge keenly.

"Fine."

"Perfect." She studied me. "There are a few things you'll need."

I stared down at my dress, feeling a stab of anxiety.

"Like what?"

She smiled.

"Like everything."

# 2

Shelock had me up at 5am the next morning for a flight to Chicago.

"Why Chicago?" I grumbled, shoving sweats into my duffle bag. She stood in my room, looking as though something smelled bad. "What's wrong?"

"This place feels like a Victoria Secret sweatshop."

"No one is asking you to live here."

"What happened to your roommate?"

I glanced at the vacant top bunk.

"Eating disorder clinic."

Shelock rolled her eyes.

"This place, honestly." She watched me deciding between two different wrap tops. "Come, come Watson—just the basics. We aren't throwing a spring formal."

"I do need fresh undies." I threw a handful into my bag, zipping it up.

I glanced over at Shelock's Louis Vuitton sitting primly at her feet.

"Way to make a girl feel mortal."

"Welcome to my sweatshop," she emitted with a low chuckle.

I cracked a smile, a miracle for a night owl like me.

"Come, let us be going, I'm not fond of standby, which is what we will be flying if we don't get a move on."

I followed her out the building, excitement replacing my earlier annoyance. I had flown once before; the very act of travel was novel for a girl like me.

Shelock clearly had no similar compulsions. From the luggage to her ability to make plans at the drop of the hat, I detected a woman in a class of her own. It was like running the mile with someone who had a head start—we could pretend to compete, but we all know who's going to win. Being from a farm near South Bend, it was my first blush with class. Shelock offered a glimpse into a different world that one I'd come to know these 20 odd years. I wasn't yet sure what I would find out about it, but the adventure proved far too compelling to pass up.

Piling into her Fiat, we drove off campus—the only other signs of life were groundskeepers and the odd campus police vehicle. I expected a stoic ride, but Shelock became chatty.

"To answer your question, the reason we are Chicagoing is it's the only place we can get the items you'll need. To these people, presentation is everything. One misstep and you'll be outed."

"You mean Bruton and his friends? What do you mean outed?"

"As not on their level."

My stomach turned. If I ate breakfast it would be in my mouth.

"They'll know that the second they look at me!"

"They will not, because I will outfit you to blend in. Besides, you'll be with me." She sped through a red light. I gripped the side console. "We can't get the brands we need in Indiana, we need big city luxury."

"There's this thing called the internet."

"I don't trust E-commerce, for one. I must touch, feel the clothing. Besides, the amount of tracking they do on websites . . ."

"Sorry I asked."

"Still, the fashion aesthetic is similar to Vail. We'll be able to see the latest trends before they hit the web."

"How much is all of this going to cost?"

"That's the first thing you must learn," Shelock chided, pressing her foot on the petal. "Never, ever ask about the cost of things. You'll notice the truly wealthy never give one thought to dollars and cents. They have people for that, and they expect everyone else to pay. Besides if they use money it's likely to be cash."

"Well I'm not one for charity, so you know, whatever I owe you . . . " I trailed off, knowing I could never repay what Shelock intended.

"It is a leap of faith you are taking," she uttered, after a moment of silence. "I do appreciate you, Watson, being so brave in the face of what must be an anxiety-inducing journey."

"Shopping shouldn't be anxiety-inducing," I said, brightening.

"We are looking to build a creation. It's most certainly not going to be fun. Not for you. But," she said, beaming at me. "Now you are thinking like a Wollenhaupt!"

I gulped, wondering where I'd be able to find coffee. Or a breakfast sandwich. I felt the tightness of the waistband of my "Juicy" sweats.

Maybe not a breakfast sandwich.

We parked and walked into the airport. I felt the buzz from the adventure wane, so I stopped off at a Caribou coffee after depositing Shelock near the gate. I offered a cup to her like a peace offering.

She took it with a smile.

"Thanks." She placed it down next to her. I realized she had no intention of drinking it.

"You like Diet Coke, don't you?"

"Hmm," she said, pulling out a red notebook from her bag. She began scribbling in it.

I wanted to ask questions, but remembered how she hated that, so I just watched her. She alternated between writing, and staring at the people in the waiting area—reminding one strongly of a polar bear at the zoo, obsessed with their routine, but still acting at all times like a caged animal.

Growing bored, I rose in search of my own entertainment. After buying some trashy magazines, I returned to the gate to find us boarding. Shelock stood near the entrance of the plane, giving me a pained look.

"Sorry!" I squeaked, hastening to join her.

Don't fuck this up, Kay!

We took our seats near the front, and again I felt like pinching myself. I had only flown once before, to upstate New York to visit my grandmother. I was 10. This proved way more exciting.

Shelock quickly made herself at home. Tucking away her red journal, she promptly ordered two bloody Mary's. I assumed one was for me, and so I placed my tray table down expectantly. When they arrived, she thanked the flight attendant and downed both of them in a matter of seconds.

I sat, openmouthed as she cleared her throat loudly. Taking a face mask from her purse, she placed it on. Shifting back, she lay silent.

"Well," I said primly, putting my tray table back up. "Have a good flight."

She made no response. I shook my head, alternatively thrown by her bizarre behavior and amused by it. As the plane took off, I stared out the window, watching the land drift away from me and the cabin pressure increase.

I imagined I could see my dad's farm from this high up. What he would say about this trip? On a plane . . . to Chicago! He took the odd trip, but never to the heart of downtown. The thought tickled me, that I might be the first Watson in the big city.

Should I tell him?

Studying my phone, I drafted several texts before deleting them all. My heart began to pound. This trip felt illicit in some sort of way. I'd never kept anything from my parents.

But why should they know? Keeping it a secret felt all that more delicious. Kay Watson, the good girl. Maybe it's time to make a change. I put the phone away, contenting myself to stare out the window for as long as possible. After a time, I couldn't see much of anything, so I closed the shade. Studying the fellow passengers, I made up little stories for each of them, pleased with my ability to entertain myself for the rest of the flight.

As the plane descended, Shelock shifted. Removing the eye mask, she rummaged her in bag. I heard the distinct rattle of pills. She threw back a handful, cracking her neck. Straightening, she looked at me.

"Restored, are you?"

"Much better," she said, glancing past me.

She threw up the window shade, her face dissolving into a wicked smile.

"What?"

"Cities. I love them Watson."

I turned to look out the window, feeling my own pulse quicken with the sights of a brilliant glittering lake--the tiny boats visible just near the shoreline. What must it be like to be out there now? What kind of life do these people live?

I felt my world expanding at a rapid clip. I only hoped I could keep up. I thought of my role in Shelock's upcoming trip to Vail. The idea of posing as her girlfriend terrified me. Sure, there were rumors about Shelock. All sorts of ridiculous tales of her hooking up with girls in the house. I never paid much mind to them—guys like propagating that kind of smut, and the girls were just jealous. But I couldn't deny there seemed a kernel of truth in the tales.

She must have sensed my reflection.

"You want to ask me something?"

Eager for a distraction, I began packing up my bag. Clearing my throat, I looked at her.

"Um, it's nothing."

She placed her head on her fist, those doll-like eyes hard and unblinking.

"You know, there are rumors . . . " I trailed off, feeling myself burn red.

"This is the lesbian thing again?" Now completely embarrassed, I nodded. "Goodness, it never surprises me. Death and sex are my stocks in trade, apparently. Let's put it this way, who is that new beau of yours you have your sights on?"

She's heard of Nick, eeek!

"Ah, who?"

"Don't play coy. It doesn't suit your hair color."

"Ah, Nick?"

"That's the one."

"Who told you about him?"

"Watson, we live in a sorority house," she intoned, rolling her eyes heavenward. "Let's take your boy Nick, and compare his track record to mine." I wondered where she was going with this as the flight attendants roamed down the aisles.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are descending . . . " I ignored the message as Shelock pondered her next statement.

"What, like sexual histories?"

"Yes, let's compare the two past histories. Isn't that your question? I'm fairly certainly I've slept with more woman than he has."

"Ma'am, tray table up." The flight attendant instructed, giving me the side eye.

I slammed my tray table up, shooting a glance at Shelock. She enjoyed her little performance, settling back in her seat with a self-satisfied look.

After we landed, our eyes connected.

"I guess I deserved that."

She smiled at me, tossing her sable locks behind her.

"Indeed, you did."

I tried to hide my country bumpkin gapes as we roved through the airport. Following Shelock like a puppy, I couldn't get over the hordes of people, all different colors, nationalities—shapes and sizes. I'd never been in such a diverse atmosphere than that damn international airport, and felt it keenly. Had my companion ever felt the same?

Hiring a cab, we drove towards the city—which rose in a hazy grey skyline from the flat Midwestern landscape. Spring didn't bring much green to the looming overpasses and dark concrete. Shelock appeared at home, slumped in the back of the car, eyes half-lidded as she stared out.

"How I love this city," she remarked.

I remained silent, not wanting to inundate her with all my questions, comments and observations. In all honesty, I was fairly bursting with them. Shelock must have sensed this.

"First time traveling?"

"On a plane," I corrected, not wanting to appear too narrow-minded. "This place." I glanced around. "It's pretty unique."

"Chicago is world class," Shelock ceded. "From an east coaster like myself, that's a compliment."

"Ha."

"Ah, here we are."

The cab stopped and Shelock hopped out. I followed, shivering in the crisp wind. I tucked my hands into my pockets—staring out at the structure before us.

"Oh sweet. Didn't this used to be a Marshall Fields?"

"An institution," Shelock remarked, holding the door open for me. "Their reputation is still sound, I give it a year at most until it starts to deteriorate. Come on, we have work to do."

I followed inside, giddy with anticipation. Only when I entered, seeing the hustle of the department store, and frenzy of daily shopping did I realize I could hardly afford anything in it.

Did Shelock expect me to pay? The thought dampened my mood considerably. I didn't feel confident enough to ask outright, so I made a show of lingering by the Frango Mint station. I should have known stall tactics were useless on my new friend.

"Come, come. We need to watch our girlish figures. Besides, all the wardrobe items are on the top floor. We need to make good time, our flight is this afternoon."

"What exactly do you have . . . "

"Questions, Watson!" she growled, towing me along.

We took the escalator up, my body pulsing with nerves. The top floor greeted us with an eerie, posh silence. Shelock didn't appear to witness it. She conducted a quick survey, her expression muted. I eyed the evening gowns placed delicately on posed mannequins.

"I'm going to need this stuff?"

"You're going to need an entire wardrobe," she explained, snapping her fingers at a saleswoman. Her instructions bordered on the frenetic. "Two trips to Vail—one in the spring; one winter. Think gowns, resort wear, furs. Nothing too tight."

"Of course. Are we doing footwear?"

"Yes, and bags, accessories." Shelock flapped a hand at her. "Go on, I'm not missing our flight."

"Are you sure there is enough time?" I asked, watching as the saleswoman skirted away.

"They work on commission here, don't worry."

Another woman appeared.

"Ladies, let me get you situated in a room while we pull some things for you." She studied us with interest. Surely they had seen some interesting things in their time here—but even I couldn't explain away this bizarre Pretty Woman routine. Just when my nerves felt ready to snap, two flutes of champagne appeared.

I didn't care if it were just past 10, I took a sip, downing the beverage. Shelock ignored hers, leading the way to the fitting rooms. She took a seat with a nod of approval. Removing her red pad, she began scribbling notes.

"Are you going to drink your champagne?" I asked, standing in the middle of the room, feeling foolish.

She shook her head. Shrugging, I drank her flute down as well, just as the first rack of clothing arrived.

"Hi, I'm Stephanie and this is Doreen," the sales woman chirped. She removed the empty flute from my hand. "Shall we?"

Without the booze, I doubt if I could have disrobed in front of her. It wasn't the lesbian thing, I don't think. It had more to do with me, and my own feelings about my body. Being around such a gorgeous woman, not an inch of body fat other than boobs or butt, made me self-conscious. Shelock glanced up at me.

"Ladies, can we have a moment."

They shot each other a glance before melting from the room. Shelock waited until the door closed. She rose, and I inadvertently shrank back.

"Come here." She offered a hand, her expression for once unguarded. Almost kind.

Reluctantly, I gave her my hand, feeling strangely close to tears.

"Do you also know, Watson, why I selected you for this trip?"

I shook my head, feeling the tears beginning to burn as they ran down my cheeks. She deftly flicked them away, her fingers cold to the touch.

"Because you are such a beautiful specimen of our sorority--you have that Midwestern devil-may-care about you, intertwined with a lust for life and for luxury. You are a flower, my dear. Waiting to be placed in your perfect moment. From this point on, I want you to think of yourself in that way. I don't want the thought of a diet to occur to you. She surveyed my figure. "We need these curves."

"I could stand to lose maybe . . . "

She held up a hand.

"Do you realize, my dear, these people we are meeting likely haven't had a real meal since puberty?"

I chuckled.

"You think I jest, Watson." She brought my hand up, twirling me in front of the mirror. "You are a rare commodity in every sense, but particularly amongst the crowd you will soon be meeting. Every pea they consume is registered. Every apple seed monitored."

She sighed, offering a wry smile.

"Your body is our calling card. Why on earth would we rip it up?"

Walking behind me, she drew my hair to one side. Facing the mirror, she spoke to me--hands on my shoulders.

"While men have money, Watson, women have beautify. It is a unique form of female power, but only if we put it to good use."

"How?" I croaked.

She went over to her flute of champagne, handing it over to me. I sipped it gratefully, clearing my throat.

"How do I do that?"

She clapped her hands together.

"Confidence. Now, strip."

I laughed outright. Downing the champagne, feeling fueled by her speech, I began to disrobe. Studying myself in the mirror, I felt a renewed sense of satisfaction. Seeing the curve of my hip, the indent of the underwear gave me newfound confidence.

Shelock said I was hot. Maybe it's time to start feeling like it.

Shelock strode to the door, summoning the salesclerks inside. She returned, removing the champagne flute from my hand as the women began their work. In rapid fire, they began with an evening gowns—selecting one from the rack and strapping it around my curves. I barely had time to admire myself in them before Shelock swiftly made her opinion known with a motion with her hand.

"Don't you want to, ack!"

Doreen pulled it off of me, handing it over to her aide whose name I'd already forgotten selected a nude-colored floor-length gown trimmed with crystals. Easing it around my curves, Shelock frowned.

"Too figure-saking."

With a flick of her hand, the zipper came down.

"I do like the color," Doreen tried, glancing over at Shelock. "Goes with her hair color."

"Which will be changing."

"Wait, what?"

"Next!"

The next dress was an emerald green number, like something I'd see on an actress at the Oscars. As soon as the zipper went up, I felt my face transform. Silence pervaded the room as Shelock looked me up and down. A wicked grin appeared on her face. She snapped her fingers.

"That's the one. How do you feel, Watson?"

"Like a million bucks."

"Fantastic. We have several more to go. Ladies, we may need more champagne."

My head began to swim as I tried on at least twenty more dresses. I had no idea I would need such fine things. The fabrics felt like nothing I'd ever experienced. Fastening the hooks and zippers seemed to transform me from a sorority coed to some fabulous heiress with far too much money and time on her hands. What type of events awaited me to sport such garments? I didn't even know how to sit down in some of them.

After the evening gowns we moved on to "resort wear" whatever that meant. Doreen wheeled in another rack of clothing. Hastily, she began draping fur stoles around me.

"Oh, I don't wear fur." Shelock began to laugh, snapping her fingers in a sign of admiration. "I'm serious, I don't . . . "

No one appeared to be listening to me as the sales women plucked the furs from my shoulders, placing several on a rack near the door. Doreen advanced on me, pairs of leather pants in her hands.

"Ditto about leather," I snapped.

Shelock shifted.

"Watson, for me. Please try."

Sighing, I allowed myself into the pants. They fit like a glove. If I could have walked out of there at that moment, I may run for president. I felt hot and powerful. What Shelock said rang true.

Once the pants got the ok, the ladies draped me in cozy, cashmere sweaters in a dizzy-array of colors. After that came complicated-looking chiffon tops. Every so often, Shelock would give an imperceptible nod or snap her fingers. I had no idea what she bought until the women wheeled out the racks of clothing, leaving me dazed and stumbling to assume my clothing. After trying on all those gorgeous garments, putting my Juicy tracksuit on made me feel ridiculous. For the first time in a while, I felt a hum of a new emotion. Something between desire and shame.

"Wait a second," I said seriously, as Shelock hustled me from the dressing room. "I can't pay for this."

"Honestly, Watson, why would I set you up for something like that? This is a business expense, nothing more."

She walked towards a register, looking bored with the conversation. My face flushed, I felt both giddy and embarrassed.

"I can't expect you to treat me. It's not fair. Not when I can't even repay you."

"When you signed on as my partner in this charade you did, in fact, consent."

I paused, thinking this through. Stephanie--I think that was her name--took her place behind the register, tapping frenetically while Doreen helped scan the tags. The final number made me blink. It couldn't be right, too many zeros. Shelock swiftly signed the electronic pad as if she were shopping for groceries.

"Send everything to this address." She handed over an ivory card. "I want them waiting for you at the hotel." She gave me a smirk. "They'll be impressed by that. Tags off, of course—and everything tailored to these specifications."

She handed over several pages from her red journal.

"You were taking notes?"

"Of course!" Stephanie squeaked, face set in a wide-smile.

"Come on," Shelock took my elbow. "There is a good sushi place nearby. Then we do hair."

"What's wrong with my hair?" I asked, feeling my stomach sink into my Ugg boots.

A change of outfit, I can manage—but I'm very much tied to my platinum blonde hair.

"It's too Midwestern-wanna-be-Playmate-of-the-week. We need to tone down the irony and up the sophistication."

Still trying to keep up, I caught her at the door. She fished around in her bag.

"Here, a token of my appreciation."

I took the box of Frango mints, raising my eyebrow.

"Since you know my weakness, I'll go to a consultation. But I decide on the final cut and color, ok?"

"If you insist." She said the words sugary sweet. "Come on, lunch!"

She led me to the restaurant in silence as I tried to doge the people moving all around us. This place had a pulse, so far from the sleepy confines of Indiana. Would Vail feel similar? Entering the restaurant, Shelock ordered for us once again. Two Cosmopolitans appeared. She nodded at me.

"Drink it, you'll feel better."

"I just really like my hair the way it is." I took a sip of the beverage, and then another.

"We can dye it back," she said, smiling as our meal arrived.

Slivers of fish appeared like jewels, placed atop neat piles of rice. I looked around for a vegetable, or anything I recognized before giving up. Tentatively, I gripped the chopsticks, studying the delicate creations, as Shelock aggressively added wasabi to her soy sauce.

"Aren't you having fun?"

"Well, yes," I said, feeling warm from all the booze and attention. "If this is how a kept woman feels, sign me up!"

"Good," Shelock said confidently. "That's the role you are playing, after all. You can go back to the Hooters routine when we return."

I placed my chopsticks down.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?" she asked, separating her chopsticks.

I made sure she was looking at me. I pointed a finger at her.

"Don't make fun of me."

She began laughing so loud the hostess turned to look.

"Watson, you amazing creature," she said, nodding. "I apologize. It was rude of me."

I tried to use the chopsticks for a few minutes before giving up. As I waited for a fork to arrive, I asked a question I had been pondering for some time.

"Why do you like me?"

Shelock swirled yet more wasabi into her soy sauce without looking up.

"You know I detest that question." Seeing my expression she softened. "Fine, just this once." I sat very still, waiting for her answer. "A personality like mine needs . . . policing." She broke into a wide grin. "I have unlimited resources. And I get . . . bored, as you so deftly pointed out in my room."

I felt my face flush.

"And your embarrassment of that confrontation is delightful. You are ashamed of the truth—I am not." She dipped a sliver of tuna into her soy sauce, swirling it around. "You need never fear offending me." Shelock looked at me seriously. "You bring me reality, Watson, you demonstrate how the sheep think."

I chose not to get offended by this. Using my fork, I took a teensy bite of fish. If you didn't think of it as raw, it tasted quite good.

"I could learn much from your take on the world, and if you learn one thing about me—know this. I am always, without a doubt, more curious than the average person. Such a disposition doesn't lend itself well to friends, lovers—even family. By embarking on this trip with me, it's the first time in quite a while I've allowed myself an attachment."

I took a sip of water, digesting this speech.

"I'm supposed to be honored?"

She blinked.

"Well, yes."

I laughed, hard and real. And true to form, she wasn't offended.

"You really have no idea how you come across?"

"I know plenty," she admitted. "The trick is to understand when to care about it."

I pondered this as we ate our food.

"What about your wardrobe?" I asked, trying to pick slices of avocado out from a roll. Shelock watched me with unguarded amusement. "You have everything that you need?"

"I've been planning this for quite some time," she said seriously. "A woman like me doesn't leave much to chance. Especially when attending her ex-fiancé's wedding."

"Ah ha," I said, feeling myself relax.

The last piece of the puzzle shifted into place. It was now very clear why Shelock needed to go to Vail. While she often seemed an alien creature, at the end of the day, she was a woman. And women like to look good in front of their exes.

"Wait till you see my dress," she said with a girlish chuckle. "I'll make a lesbian out of you yet!"

The salon proved to be even more intimidating than stripping naked in front of strangers. A white-washed affair with thumping music so loud I could hardly hear the conversation between Shelock and my stylist.

From the chair I tried to get my voice heard over the din.

"Just don't make me a brunette," I screeched.

My stylist glanced at me, his bald head shiny in the overhead lights, clear glasses a-la Elton John.

"Don't worry, sweetie." He gave me a wolfish grin, before turning back to Shelock.

The woman herself whispered a few words to him before patting my shoulder.

"Try and relax, Watson, let the transformation work for you--instead of the other way around."

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

I folded my hands beneath my little smock, contented to study the other patrons in the salon while they did God-knows-what to my hair. I loved my hair. Yes, it had too much sun-in, and perhaps the blonde had gotten too brassy. But still, my hair was ME! The thought of looking all polished made me scared in some way. Like I had to be older--boring, grown up.

Shelock didn't seem to sense these reflections, or maybe she didn't care all that much. Retreating out of sight, I left myself in the hands of my bald patron. I'd had too much champagne earlier, and after drinking again at lunch I felt myself teetering too close to the edge of drunkenness.

"May I have a tea please?"

"Sure sweetie," came the response, with no move to assist.

I closed my eyes. If I got sick here, I'd embarrass both myself and Shelock. I tried breathing exercises, feeling my head swim.

Opening my eyes, I saw a profited mug of tea--the bag still dangling.

"Thanks."

I put the hot ceramic to my lips, pleased with the blend. As usual, it was the best tea I'd ever had. Shelock's tour of delights didn't disappoint. I thought of the Frango mints she'd placed in my hands. The old Kay would think nothing of breaking those out and downing them. But being here in this environment made me aware of myself in a new way. No, I would sit here and sip my tea.

I'd put off watching for long enough. Glancing up, my head filled with little foil packets, I felt renewed sense of alarm.

"Sip your tea," my stylist instructed. "You'll be fine."

I sat for what seemed like hours under one of those industrial-strength glow-lamps. For once, a stack of trashy magazines did nothing to quell the growing unease. But that time, Shelock had long since disappeared. I wondered where to.

It seemed she knew the city well. She seemed to know everyplace well. I thought again of the dark marks under her eyes. For a women who didn't appear to sleep much, she must get out quite a bit. Must be nice. I never get to go anywhere.

Until now.

Glancing around the salon, I watched the patrons flowing inside--air kissing their way to stylist chairs and back again. I'd never stepped foot into a place like this before. I'd be far too intimidated. Under this lamp, a casual observer, my too-blonde hair and clothing carefully hidden, I could pass as one of them. This sense gave me a renewed sense of calm. Heading back to the chair, I remained silent as my stylist carefully segmented and clipped my hair. Blessedly, he left the length, cutting careful layers--long and sophisticated.

After some product and a blow dry, I hardly knew the woman staring back at me. I appeared older, for sure, but not in an off-putting way. Kind of like how I felt when I took my senior picture in high school. My best self.

Glowing now, I rose, reveling in that "salon hair" smell. Greeting me at the front was a stoic-looking platinum blonde and Shelock. The woman glanced from me to Shelock.

"Is she new?"

"It's not like that." Shelock turned to me. "Watson, this is an old friend of mine, she owns the salon."

"Oh." I turned to offer my hand. Since Shelock didn't offer a name I just smiled. "Nice to meet you, I'm Kay."

"You're adorable," the woman responded. She wore no makeup, and had small, sharp features. "How do you like your new look."

"I love it." I paused, not wanted to overdo it. But of course, I couldn't help it. "I feel transformed, like a new person."

At this, Shelock straightened.

"Good, that's the general idea." She slipped her purse over her shoulders. "We really should be going."

"Kind of you to stop in." The woman gave Shelock a meaningful look. "Next time don't wait so long."

Shelock placed on her sunglasses, grasping my hand.

"We'll miss our flight."

In the car on the ride to the airport, I tried not to ask the one question burning in my mind. Luckily, Shelock beat me to it.

"Yes, Watson."

"What?"

"The answer to your question is yes. We were involved."

"Oh, well I didn't really . . . "

She removed her sunglasses, pressing her fingers into her temples.

"I really can't understand." She paused, offering a wry grin. "Or maybe I understand, and I just decide from time to time how much to care about it."

"About what?"

"The contradictions many of us come upon in life. Sex, particularly. For example, if I told you." She glanced up mischievously. "The types of people who knock on my door late at night." She paused with intention. "You may be surprised."

My heart thudded, so the rumors were true!

"Does it . . . " I fell silent, worried I broached too close to a topic she obviously tired of.

"Go ahead, ask your questions. If we are to pose as paramours in Vail you might as well get your curiosity satiated."

"Fine. Does it bother you, how people talk about it?"

Shelock looked at me as though the thought never occurred to her.

"My goodness, Watson, why on earth should it?"

"How. How do you do that?"

She seemed to understand my question. Settling into the seat, she crossed her arms.

"As president of Kappa know that I have great insight on what's discussed in the house." She gestured to herself with a flick of her hand. "Especially as it relates to me. I've harvested every rumor, every backhanded compliment."

"But if you don't care, why do you do that?"

"As I stated, I'm the president." She rolled her eyes. "When it comes to leadership, one must firmly establish the lines of communication within and around yourself. Sorority houses are dens of gossip, but much of it is valuable insight. When it comes to rumors themselves, I'm fairly good at tracing them to the source."

"Which tells you what?"

"Who can be trusted." She gave me a hard look. "You don't know why I'm telling you this, do you?"

I shook my head.

"Because, Watson, in the years I've been at Kappa you've not once repeated anything about me, ever."

I opened my mouth, before closing it again.

"I guess that's true."

"And why do you think that is?"

"I'm too." I swallowed. "I mean the truth?"

"I must insist on it Watson."

"The truth is I'm amazed I even got into Kappa in the first place. The last thing I'm going to do is put other girls down. Besides." I toyed with my new hair. "I guess I never got off on speculating about people, who they sleep with. It's just not for me to care about."

Shelock broke into a wide grin.

"And that quality of yours, Watson, is what intrigues me about you. Just as you may envy my lack of total disregard for the opinions of others."

The thought that Shelock may admire a part of my personality never occurred to me. It felt good.

"Well thanks, I think."

"It's a compliment, Watson. I offer them up like cigarettes--few and far between. So enjoy them while it lasts."

"Can we talk about Vail, what to expect?"

"No, I'm going to keep you in suspense about much of it."

"But why?"

"Because you're Watson. You will needlessly worry all the way until the event. By that time you'll be such a bundle of nerves you won't be of use to me in the slightest."

I shook my head, amazed at how well she seemed to know me.

"Just how long have you been watching me?"

"Long enough, Watson, long enough. Now enjoy the flight back." She eased on her sunglasses, pulling her purse to her. I could hear the rattle of pills as she did.

"How long do you sleep every night? Or do you sleep at all?"

"Once thing you must know about me, dear Watson." She placed her head back, letting it fall to one side. "Is know when the time for questions is over."

I remained silent, watching her head shift side to side as the car rumbled towards the airport. For my part, I spent the remaining trip studying my hair in the rearview. I didn't think of what to tell Beth and Jess about my transformation once I arrived. They would surely notice my new look.

Glancing at Shelock, I wanted to ask her advice before thinking the better of it. She alternated between warmth and complete stoicism, depending on her mood. Working with her would require a keen understanding of how to approach this balance.

Was Kay Watson up to the task?

I decided I didn't have to know yet, I could just enjoy myself. Feeling my new haircut with delight, I decided I would start now--a good a time as any.

The flight back to Indiana didn't lose a smidge of the excitement from before. If anything, I grew more anxious on the way back. Would my sisters notice my new look? It would be hard not to. Even my makeup looked garish compared to my honey blonde locks, and smooth layers. I would make something up about getting a new look. Glancing over at Shelock nervously, I wondered if she would offer any guidance. Finally, as we began to deplane, I decided to ask.

"What do I tell people?"

"About what?" Shelock edged an elderly woman out of the row into the exit lane.

I hastened to catch up.

"I mean, this trip. My makeover . . . everything!"

"Watson." She turned to face me. "What do you think?"

"Um, probably not a good idea."

"Constantly amazes me, the questions we ask to which we have the answers."

"Sorry, geez."

She didn't apologize, and I came to understand her changing moods. There were moments she appeared game for me to ask anything. Others, as in now, when her mind seemed fixed on something, and any intrusion treated like an attack from an enemy's camp. I followed her in silence as we exited the airport and into her mint green Fiat.

My stomach grumbled. Sushi had been hours ago, but I didn't want to make her stop and eat again. I decided I would text Jess to meet up at the Blimpies.

"Can you pull over here?" I gestured to the main drag as she paused near a stop sign.

She gestured to the door with a flick of her hand.

"Get along with you. And remember, Watson, the less you think about Vail the more fun it will be. And the better you'll do."

"I hadn't thought of it as a performance. You said I only had to go as your date."

The car behind us began laying on the horn. Shelock offered a friendly waved in the rearview.

"The sooner you begin thinking of it as a performance the easier the whole thing will be. Play a role, Watson, embrace your sense of improvisation. Maybe take a class."

A class on improve? What the hell had I gotten myself into?

Hand on the door to exit, I tried to formulate some kind of thanks. Even in this she anticipated me.

"None of that gratitude, nonsense. You are doing me the favor." She grinned wildly, in a way that didn't appear altogether friendly.

"If you say so." I opened the door. "See you around."

I walked towards the sub-shop, a bounce in my step. Seeing Jess's reaction made my smile deepen.

"Girl you look fierce!"

"Thanks!" I threw my keys on the table. "Did you order already?"

"Got us our usual."

"Sweet, let me just hit the ladies."

I went to wash my hands, but secretly I just wanted to stare at my hair again. It still had that salon bounce. After admiring it in the dim lighting, I exited, making a beeline for our table.

Jess sat texting furiously on her phone. As I sat down she looked up.

"Ok, who's it for?"

"Who is what for?" I took hold of the hoagie. Didn't Shelock say I needed to maintain my curvy, Midwestern physique?

"Your new look. Is it Nick?"

"Offerman?"

"Duh! We all saw you hunting him down at the toga party."

Nick, oh yeah. I'd forgotten.

"Nah. Just looking for a new look."

"Girl you lie so badly." Jess picked off several tomatoes from her sandwich. "Don't tell me it's someone else."

"Can't a girl get her hair done without an ulterior motive?"

Jess fell silent, chewing methodically. My spidey senses turned on. To be successful in a sorority meant you needed carefully honed emotional intelligence. Something in her manner gave me pause.

"What is it?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Jess." I placed my hoagie down. "You know where all the bodies are buried in this town. Spill."

She placed her food down.

"Were you out with Shelock?"

The question felt like an accusation. I remained calm, unable to quell the growing unease I felt.

"Yeah, I needed a ride."

"To the salon?"

"Exactly."

"Is that what she wanted to see you about?"

"Oh, she needed advice on something."

"From you?"

"Is that so surprising?"

Jess shook her head.

"No, but Kay, just be careful around her."

"If you mean those rumors . . . "

"Not that. I mean, I think it's weird our president is some lezzie that randomly enjoys sleeping with dudes. But, that's not it. She's . . . different from us." She glanced at me, her expression clear.

"Um, is this an after school special? I know she's not white."

"Ugh, not that! You know all the stories about people that cross her, don't you? If this doesn't end well." She leaned forward. "If you piss her off in anyway, girl will go nuclear option on you."

I felt my heart thudding, suddenly I didn't feel so hungry anymore.

"Ever think about that?"

"No," I admitted sheepishly. "I hadn't."

"Well, that's why you have me around then." Jess smiled to herself, moving to attack her sandwich. She offered a quizzical look. "What did you two talk about anyway? You can't have much in common."

"Why would you say that?"

"We are talking about Harlow Shelock here. Why are you being so defensive? What, did she make a pass at you?"

I quickly backtracked.

"Honestly, I think she's worried about her reputation in the house."

"And she thinks hanging out with you might help it?"

"Something like that. I mean she didn't say it, but yeah. It was implied."

I gauged Jess's reaction to this. She offered a casual nod, turning to open her bag of chips.

"BBQ, my favorite!" I cried, popping a few into my mouth.

The ruse seemed to work.

"Well just be careful."

"My middle name." I smiled.

She chuckled.

"You really didn't change your hair for Nick Offerman?"

"I don't change anything for dudes, Jess. You of all people should know that."

We headed back to the house after our meal. While Jess regaled me with tales of her awful roommate, I pondered what she's said. So taken with my Pretty Woman experience that morning, I hadn't once thought of what would happen if Shelock turned on me.

Like she had all the others.

I tried to find an example of someone close to her who hadn't suffered that same fate. By the time we reached our rooms, I'd come up with nothing. I couldn't shake the feeling Jess was right about this, but at the same time, I fought hard against accepting it. Shelock was the new glimmer of excitement in my life, and the consequences of accepting that seemed too distant to take on.

*

The days leading up to our trip flipped by like a deck of cards. After so much time passed, I almost convinced myself it wasn't happening—like a really good dream. If my sisters suspected anything, they didn't own up to it. After our conversation in the deli, Jess hadn't once brought it up. She continued her quest to fit into a size two, and Beth invented new ways to torture pledges. These activities, once so entertaining to me, took on a new tone. Shelock's influence, however minor, seemed to cast a shadow over my life. A depression, however slight, over the way in which I'd been living.

I mulled over this as I went about my daily routine. The gym, always the gym. Furiously pounding away on the elliptical machine, smelling the alcohol from last night's booze. Selecting items to wear proved a constant reminder. My stuff felt so . . . cheap. Not just the style, but the feeling of them. They placed me in a role I had no intention of playing. I fantasized hard about my new wardrobe, but that just made me want everything more.

I didn't see much of Shelock those long days. She kept much to her room, and when out she breezed past me with a knowing smile. I knew the reasons for this, but couldn't help feel like I'd been dropped from some secret club. As soon as these feelings would get the better of me, I'd find a note under my door, or get a nudge in the dining hall from the woman herself and my mood would lift again. I'll say this for her, she proved adept at navigating my moods.

Time passed, and soon I found myself in my doom room, staring at my carry-on luggage. I played with my hair, distressed the highlights had grown out slightly from my trip to the salon weeks before. As I fussed with them, the door to my room opened.

"Are you ready Watson? Are you prepared?"

"As much as I'll ever be. My highlights they . . . "

"Don't want to appear too fresh, my dear. It's vulgar, too eager, too anxious to impress."

"Don't we want to impress."

"Not in that way."

"You rich people have a lot of rules."

This elicited a grin. She studied my luggage.

"Shame I didn't see fit to find you something that doesn't resemble a gym bag. Hold on a tic."

She spun around, her wiry frame easing through the door like a cat.

"What's wrong with my luggage?" I called after her.

I closed the door, not eager to advertise to the other sisters our impending departure. I'd covered the bases with Jess and Beth--making up some story about a distant cousin I was traveling to go see. Keeping my lies wasn't entirely a new thing for me. One could say I had a talent for it. During "share your story" day in Sunday School I told everyone I owned a Pegasus. I even kept up the ruse when the teacher informed me little girls that lie go to hell. I guess I wanted to be different from a very young age, damn the consequences.

"Here." Shelock appeared, handing over a used Prada nylon bag.

"It's torn here."

"That's the point." She rolled her eyes. "I don't like being late, Watson, let's repack your things and be off."

Under her gaze I stuffed my carefully packed bag into the new one, annoyed my careful organization fell into a clump into the new bag.

"Like they would notice," I grumbled.

"Oh, they will."

Her eyes sparkled, she gripped her eyes.

"Vail, Watson. Let us depart!"

I felt like an old pro waiting at the Indianapolis airport. Shelock studied her red notebook as I nervously toyed with my bag.

"How long is the flight?"

"A few hours to Denver, then we drive nearly two hours to the Vail." She put her notebook down. "Beauty is important," she said, turning to grab a magazine at her feet. She flipped through it before turning to the next in a thick stack. She didn't so much as read as she skimmed, culling information as a gardener would weeds.

There didn't seem to be a response to this, so I remained quiet, my heart thumping to an imaginary beat. I felt petrified. I'd waited for this moment for weeks, but still felt underprepared. Who were these people, what role should I play?

"Shouldn't I know more?" I ventured.

Shelock shook her head.

"I wouldn't want to bias your opinions. You'll know the barest of facts. As one would share with a new paramour." She laughed at herself.

Shamed into silence, I took up the magazines she discarded. Might as well distract myself. I took the rest of them with me as we boarded. Finding our seats in first class, my anxiety lessened considerably. In fact, I couldn't keep the smile off my face as we arranged our things. Settling in, I turned to Shelock. She appeared practically comatose, eyes closed.

"Okayyy." I turned to my magazines, ridiculously pleased with my free time.

One free glass of champagne later, the plane took off. The freebies kept coming as I contended myself with my magazines, interrupted only by the flight attendant.

"Does she want something to drink?" She studied my companion with a mix of concern and fear.

"Ah no, but . . . " I raised my empty champagne class. "I could use a refill."

I tried not to overdo it, but a college kid can't help but feel a bit spoiled from flying first class. I wondered if it would change me. I felt tipsy from all the free booze. While it initially calmed my nerves, I went swiftly into overdrive the more I drank. What, exactly, I had gotten myself into? I would be on full display in Vail, playing the role of Shelock's date.

Am I up to the task?

Shelock roused herself as we began to descend. She swiveled in her seat to face me.

"What's wrong?"

"I . . ." I suddenly felt on the verge of tears.

"Don't worry," she grumbled, moving over me to shut the window. She removed the champagne flute from my grasp, flagging down a flight attendant and hastening it away. "I picked you for a reason." I nodded my head, unnerved that she seemed to read my very thoughts. "You're tough," she continued, crossing her arms. "That's why you, a girl from a soybean farm, could get into the hottest sorority in our university. You think people from your background just traipse in there?"

Instead of being insulted, I felt proud.

"No," I said with a smile.

"Exactly," she quipped, turning to flag down another stewardess. "Diet Coke," she commanded.

The woman nodded, before making a hasty retreat.

"You know, you could thank people from time to time," I said, embarrassed at her brusque manner.

"Would you say the same thing if I were a man?"

I thought about this.

"Yes."

"Of course you would," she said with a hint of a smile.

She turned to her purse, removing a red journal. Opening it, she studied her notes. They may have well been in Chinese. Deciding to test my luck, I ventured a probing question.

"Why did you come to our school?" I let the question linger while she scribbled away. Tongue loosened by the alcohol, I continued. "I mean it's in the middle of nowhere. No one knows you . . . " I trailed off, feeling stupid. "Oh."

Why hadn't I seen it before? This elegant creature, like a tiny polished marble in a sea of white buttons. If one was looking to hide, to dip in and out of the world anonymously—it presented a fine opportunity. The scenario allowed Shelock complete control over her circumstances. No one in our town, or even our state, was as brilliant as she—I knew that now. I lived in her koi pond, and she was the big fish.

"It's astonishing, Watson," she said, eyes flickering with intelligence. "How often we answer our own questions." She turned back to her journal.

"Preparing?" I asked, looking to change the topic after my embarrassing mishap.

"I want you to focus, Watson," she said, her tone brooking no opposition. "Don't think for a moment these rich people are harmless." Her Diet Coke arrived, and she braved the interruption with excessive patience. When the stewardess left, she continued, her voice hushed. "I'm not certain what we will find when we arrive—but we must remain above suspicion."

"You think showing up with a girlfriend to your ex-finance's bachelorette party will accomplish that?"

"These people are both conservative and consumed with excessive politeness. They would accept me if I brought a donkey as a date."

"Ha," I said, growing nervous about the type of people we would meet. I met some of the fast crowd in my sorority. Every interaction with them made me feel inferior. But still, the fast crowd in the Midwest felt very different than the folks I'd be meeting in Vail. I knew nothing about it, yet I sensed I entered a whole new realm of person--someone I'd been reading about in the stack of magazines at my feet.

"Tell me," Shelock said, opening a window into my very soul as she drew closer. "Explain your fears."

"Remember the Rotary Club fundraiser?" I toyed with my napkin, staring at the seat in front of me. Shelock paused, giving an imperceptible nod that I knew was a sign to proceed. "I showed up in a baby pink doll dress, thinking it was a mixer. Everyone is in twin sets and polos. I spent the night in the bathroom."

Shelock smiled, shaking her head.

"Your big sister shouldn't have allowed that."

"Beth was going down on Chad Hillock in the coat check."

Shelock laughed, throwing her head back for effect. Several rows of passengers turned to gape at her, as if disbelieving something so lithe and proper could make such a sound.

"So you wore the wrong thing," she said, quickly sobering. "You acted a fool. But you made yourself memorable. You entertained them, Watson. This is easier than fitting in. That's impossible—these people have years of training."

"In what, being snobs?"

"Oh, they are fascinating creatures," Shelock said, her eyes opening large with amusement. "With sets of rules that would make your head spin. I find it intriguing what human nature can accomplish with a little bit of boredom. Take away the impulse to provide and the door opens to all manner of distractions."

"Like what?"

She removed the invite from her purse, tossing it on my tray table.

"That probably took thousands of dollars to put together. Feel the paper." She grabbed my hand, moving it on the lettering. "I'm certain two sets of parents, and possibly a great aunt, had to sign off on the wording."

"Thousands of dollars?" I held the envelope aloft. "For paper!"

"It's a rough estimate," she said dismissively. "Imported, for certain. Gold-leaf, letter press. I wouldn't be surprised if it was printed at a European press as well. Certainly looks it."

"But who . . . "

"Traditionally the bride's family is responsible for the outlay. Since Barbie comes from a small amount of money, and Bruton is well—Bruton—I think he's put a good deal of money in his fiancée's hands for the express purpose of this wedding."

"He must love her."

Shelock remained silent. After a moment, I realized what I'd said. I turned to her. She raised a hand.

"Really, there's no need." Instead of being hurt, she seemed amused. She flicked the invite with a manicured finger. "Let's get one thing straight. The last thing this wedding is about is love."

# 3

Upon arrival in Denver, Shelock directed us straight to the bathroom. There, she crushed up a pill and snorted it, in full view of a line of people waiting for a stall.

"Long drive ahead of us," she said, rubbing her nostrils and tossing back her sable curls.

Drowning in embarrassment, I did my own business before hustling out, certain someone would report us. Luckily, we exited the airport unscathed. Too shocked to put my distress into words, I followed her to the car rental terminal. Trailing Shelock, her cashmere scarf whipping in the wind, I felt very alone.

Here I stood in a place I'd never been to before, with a woman I only knew casually. What did I really expect from this situation? The thought this could still be some elaborate set up kept recurring. Pushing the thought away, I determined to make the most of our expedition. I'd come all this way. Besides, I couldn't go home now. Determined to suck it up, to be brave--that thing Shelock always accused me of, I strode forward with a confidence I didn't feel.

What's that phrase, fake it before you make it?

I internalized the lesson, determined to make Shelock, and myself, proud. Our bags were the first to come out. I watched gamely as several men fought to help us place them on a little cart. Shelock watched them with detached interest, but I enjoyed the attention. I guess there is something to looking your best.

Offering a coy thank you, we continued to the rental car kiosk. Our luck quickly ran out, as the agent informed us the car Shelock reserved wasn't available. I watched Shelock study her cuticles, as the man behind the desk grew nervous, clacking fanatically on his computer. Shelock drew her fingertips to her temples, massaging in quick and violent bursts. A wary eye on the both of us, the attendant attempted a Hail Mary.

"Since you are a platinum customer, Ms. Shelock, we are going to make it up to you. We have a convertible Volkswagen Bug someone just turned it, ruby red. Would that work for you?"

Shelock stood at attention.

"Sport Series?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Keys?"

She held open her palm as he hastily dropped them--as one would a steak to a lion. She turned and strode outside, moving quickly towards another employee with a windbreaker on. I followed quickly, trying to figure out how to play my role. I was supposed to be here as a companion, but I felt more like an awkward kid sister.

The adjuster studied Shelock, his eyes taking in her leather jacket and pants so tight I could see the outlines of her thong. His eyes drifted over to me, outfitted me in leather leggings with a cashmere sweater. As the wind whipped around us, I held the collar close to me. I shifted my feet, studying my suede booties as Shelock completed her review. The adjuster likewise fidgeted with his clipboard.

"It's a fun car," he squeaked, giving me a weak smile. "So where are you ladies from?"

Shelock ignored him, instead pointing out various scratches. After hustling him around the car a few times, she held out her hand. He quickly provided the rental agreement, backing away from us with a look of disturbed interest.

Our bags loaded (Louis Vuitton trunks), Shelock got behind the wheel and adjusted her aviator sunglasses. Wordlessly, she pulled away from the airport, driving down an access road before locating the highway. Speeding onto the ramp, she rolled down the window, smelling the air deeply—her face averted from the road. I held on to the door handle, worried we would crash. Finally, she pulled herself inside, offering a deep sigh.

I remained silent as my heart regained a normal beat. Placing on my new sunglasses, I studied my reflection in the side mirror as we wove in and out of traffic. As we began rising in elevation, the clouds intensified and the snow-capped mountains came closer. Finally, I broke the silence.

"It's magical," I said, studying the landscape.

"First time out west?" she asked, her expression suggesting she knew it was.

For once, I didn't care if she poked fun.

"This is my first time anywhere," I said honestly.

I took in everything—the huddle of rams by the side of the winding highway, the way the mist retreated from our progress like a ghost. We drove through rain, hail, and snow within the span of a few minutes. I sat in awe of the scenery, soaking it in as it whizzed past. Shelock seemed to acknowledge it as well, but with a detached sense of heightened superiority.

"Where are we staying?"

"The Ritz," she responded, reaching into her bag with one hand, using the other to hold the steering wheel.

I knew what she was after. I helped adjust her bag as she rifled for her pills.

"You might want to eat something," I warned.

She knocked back several more pills before adjusting her sunglasses. I needed to pee, but didn't want to make her stop. Crossing my legs, I contented to stare out the window. Even after the long flight, I didn't want the drive to end. I felt transported, almost magical. To think this would end and I'd be dumped into an unknown social situation made me want to puke. Even though it was the reason for our trip, I kept the thought of what might happen far from reality. As we reached Vail city limits, it became harder to ignore.

"So who's going to be there?"

"Don't know."

"Shouldn't I be prepared?"

"Waste of time."

I sat there in silence.

"You think it's sloppy," she finally said, spotting our exit and swerving to make it, not bothering to signal. "Trust me," she continued, spinning through a roundabout before sailing into Vail city proper. "The best preparation took place on our shopping trip. Research is wasted around these people. They can smell your fear in an instant. If I told you their pedigrees you'd never have come in the first place."

"So you're telling me now, great," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Nonsense, you'll have fun." She pulled up to what looked to be an ivy-covered lodge. I looked closer, recognizing the Ritz logo. "Plus," she removed her sunglasses. "There'll be champagne."

She tossed the glasses in her bag, waiting for the valet to open her door. I followed suit, smiling broadly as I took in the elaborate reception. I let Shelock do the talking, trying not to shiver.

Arriving in the off-season, I noticed only a smattering of tourists. Hotel bellhops outnumbered us two to one. Everyone fell over themselves to help, placing our trunks into neat piles and offering to carry our hand luggage as well.

Shelock clung to her purse like it held the crown jewels, striding up to the entrance without a backwards glance. I followed suit, smiling as much as she glowered at the staff. Walking inside, I felt like I had strolled into _Architectural Digest_. Men in blazers sat around the lounge, contentedly reading their newspapers and nursing cocktails—despite the early hour. Women strolled through the lobby, dripping with expensive-looking jewelry and furs. Not to mention similar-looking faces; smooth foreheads and pillow-like cheeks.

Shelock paid none of them any mind, dumping her bag in front of the receptionist.

"Checking in, ma'am?"

"How'd you guess?" she said, eyes locked to her phone. She slapped down her driver's license and black Am Ex.

Taken aback by her rudeness, I wondered how the concierge seemed so at ease. Surely he wasn't used to this kind of treatment? I gave him a brilliant smile. He gave me a blank look and continued inputting information into the system.

"How many keys?"

"10."

He paused imperceptibly before nodding.

"Absolutely, Ms. Shelock."

"Make sure the name is spelled right," Shelock commanded, busy tapping on her phone. "S-h-e-l-o-c-k—I'm tired of dealing with billing issues after the fact."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You need 10 room keys?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

She turned to me.

"Watson, the mere force of my magnetism lends hotel keys as useless as business cards."

The man chuckled and I blushed. He surveyed us from the corner of his eye, studying our body language, or so I assumed. I'm not a prude or anything, but I didn't relish pretending to be a woman's girlfriend. Was I expected to play the part? I decided I'd rather not ask.

He handed the keys over. Shelock passed one to me, and threw the rest in her purse.

"Elevators to your . . . "

She strode away before he could finish. I followed her, catching up quickly.

"Do you have to be so rude?"

"You can't be nice in a place like this," she informed me, hitting the elevator button. "It throws them off. One must stick to the norms of every environment, Watson."

"You don't have to be such a bitch. You may know more about the lifestyle, but I know how to treat people. And you treat people like shit."

"I tip well," she responded. "That's how you preserve the relationship."

I pondered this as the elevator doors opened, and the handsomest man I'd ever seen walked out. He passed us, a smile on his genial face before he paused mid-step. I had the direst foreboding as he turned, eyes locked on Shelock's lithe figure.

"Harlow?"

She glanced up from her phone, lips in a wry grin. I knew she had seen him, the little minx put on quite a show.

"Bruton! How wonderful running into you like this." She turned to me, grasping my hand. "This is Watson."

He turned to me. I felt the full effect of the man's charisma as he held my hand in his, shaking it assertively. He stood over six feet, with salt and pepper hair and wide-set eyes. His square shoulders and tapered waist formed a perfect upside-down "v." Comparing the two quickly, I noted the attraction. He offered a perfect match to Shelock's dark, dramatic look.

"I . . . wow, this is a surprise," he said, in a deep, grizzled baritone. I didn't get the sense much threw Bruton, but running into Shelock threw him off course. Small wonder. Catching himself, he stood at attention. "Nice to meet you, Watson. I'm so happy you came."

"I . . . yeah," I said, also at a loss for words. But I needed to show Shelock I could operate in the most delicate of circumstances, and this situation certainly called for that kind of agility. I felt my body flood with warmth. Moving forward, I gently brushed his forearm. "You can call me Kay. Shelock here likes last names." I gave her a flirtatious pinch. Shelock's gaze remained fixed on Bruton's figure while he studied me closely.

_Trying to figure us out?_ I wondered.

I cleared my throat.

"The drive was lovely. When did you get in?"

Bruton began to fidget, unable to stop glancing at Shelock. They'd not touched hands, or moved closer to one another. He seemed as equally terrified her as anyone, which randomly disappointed me. I harbored a hope someone knew this creature on a more personal level.

"We've been here since Monday—me and the guys. I'm glad Barbie talked me into a bull and hen party. We were supposed to fly back but she insisted we stay."

"It's the 21st century," I quipped. "Those old rules no longer apply."

"As does bringing your new girlfriend to your ex's wedding," Shelock put in.

She meant to shock and it worked. Bruton flushed, running his hands through his hair. I took a closer look as he composed himself. Though quite handsome, there was an underlying parlor to his complexion. Almost like . . . a decay. I wondered if I imagined it, before noticing tiny droplets of sweat near his brow. Thinking of his supposed mystery illness, I filed this away for later reference.

"Well, we are hosting a dinner tonight at the Vail lodge. It's in the hotel, but still very good," he insisted.

As he grew increasingly nervous, Shelock's smile deepened.

"Wonderful, you know I like a good steak."

"Yes, bloody," he said, almost wistfully.

Shelock hit the elevator button, the movement breaking whatever spell she'd cast.

"Bye-bye Bruton."

She walked inside, holding the door. I offered a curt goodbye before joining her. The mirrored walls closed and I turned to face her.

"That's your ex! Holy shit—you didn't tell me he was hot."

"Oh, please, it's me we're talking about," she said, studying her cuticles.

"But he's so, so . . . "

"Normal," Shelock said with a frown. "Yes, I know. Adorable, isn't it?"

"I can't wait to meet Barbie."

Shelock sobered.

"Yes, I am very interested in meeting the prospective Mrs. Wollenhaupt. And family—if they're here to witness this monstrosity."

"Why wouldn't they come?"

"I'm certain Bruton is funding this spectacle," she offered, exiting onto our floor. "I wouldn't blame them for a little passive aggression where footing the bill is concerned."

Identifying the numbers, she opened the door to our suite. Stepping inside, I gasped. The room itself opened into an exquisite living space, appointed with a gift basket and a breathtaking view of the mountains. I stood facing a bank of windows, jaw firmly dropped.

"Hot damn!" I squealed, turning to face Shelock. "God, this is bigger than our entire floor!" I skipped over to a cream-colored sofa, sinking in to it's fluffy confines. I sat up, staring at our trunks. "And they already dropped our stuff off."

Shelock dropped her purse on a chair, studying me with amusement.

"Enjoy the amenities—explore," she said, stifling a yawn.

Rising, she turned one of the bedrooms. Without a word she closed the door. I heard rustling sounds.

"While you just . . . go to bed."

Not contented to rest, I flew to my feet. I went into the room opposite hers, an expansive suite with its own bathroom. I gawked at the amenities, smelling the expensive soaps and perfumed lotions.

"Damn, this is the life."

Too excited to sit still, I crept into the sitting room. Given the number of pills she had taken, I judged Shelock would be out until dinner—whenever that was. She hadn't shared an itinerary with me, perhaps because she didn't want to freak me out. I waited until I heard absolute silence from her door before peeking into her bag.

I found her red journal and flipped through it, trying to make sense of the scribbles. Discarding it, I sat back, feeling odd going through her things. Still, I needed to know more about the weekend. I went to her wallet, thinking maybe she placed an itinerary inside. I found a stack of 100-dollar bills, before spotting something folded neatly behind them.

Pulling it loose, I unfolded an old photograph. Instantly, I recognized a young Bruton--with dark black hair and piercing grey eyes. Shelock stood next to him; her body obscured, eyes curiously studying the camera. They were young, probably in their early 20s. The script advertised a save-the-date, which would have happened just before her sophomore year—young, by any standard.

I held it, confused. Shelock said he was her ex-fiancé, but she didn't offer up what went down—or that they had set a date. Why would she want to get married? Especially at that age. I tucked the photo back into her wallet, now convinced she, like supernatural creature, would come flying out of the room and catch me red-handed. Shelock did seem to have eyes in the back of her head. Like some Grimm fairytale, even inanimate objects seemed to speak to her. I knew without a doubt she would know that I'd rifled through her purse. I'd better have a ready explanation.

Burying this anxiety, I went back to my room. Dragging my trunks inside, I began to unpack. I turned on my iPad, listening to some tunes at a low volume. Despite the fact we were here on a mission, I planned to enjoy myself. Besides, I'd never have another experience like this. I remembered Shelock's reference to a partnership. She did mean just this wedding? Or was her invitation more expansive? I could see myself solving mysteries with her if it involved first-class travel. It certainly sounded more interesting than finishing my public health degree.

Unpacking didn't take long, so I decided to change. Remembering all those gorgeous clothes we'd bought, I flew to the closet. Taking a breath, I opened the double doors. I let out a little squeal, running my hands along the evening gowns, wondering which one I would wear tonight. If we were eating in the hotel it would probably be fancy. I should do a quick drive by to judge the ambiance. I couldn't embarrass Shelock—if she maintained that mortal capacity. I selected a new outfit—a gorgeous black jumpsuit. I added a camel leather jacket and boots.

Taking my place in the en-suite bathroom, I ran a brush through my hair, studying the effect. The new coloring suited me. I looked mature and confident like a kept trophy wife. My makeup stayed put from when I applied it this morning. All I needed was a quick blusher and some lip gloss and I was out the door—my one hotel key tucked neatly in my new Celine purse. Taking the elevator down, I tried to appear blasé among the women situated inside, outfitted in designer everything. Each of them gave me the once over, and I realized why Shelock placed so much emphasis on appearance. I caught several looks of intense interest; which I decoded as jealousy. If this were Shelock's intention, then she certainly nailed the wardrobe part of the challenge.

Exiting the elevators, I passed the reception desk. Strolling through the lobby, I carefully noted everyone's reaction to my appearance, pleased when some of the men looked up from their newspapers to admire my form. It felt good. Especially since I felt mentally unprepared for the role I would have to play tonight. I wanted to remain desired by men, period. My ego demanded it. How would I shift into a "Shelock's date" mode? The entire enterprise felt impossible.

After finding the restaurant, I knew instantly from the white tablecloths and hushed interior it was uber fancy. Noting the empty hostess station, I spotted a roaring gas fire.

Think, Watson. Would Bruton host a party in plain sight?

"No," I answered. "There must be private rooms."

Breezing past the hostess station, I grew intent on doing a little investigating. I studied the décor—antlers framed menacingly on shiplap walls, polished silver and china on the tables. My mouth began to water as smells from the kitchen wafted inside. I decided that I could splurge at dinner. I had hardly eaten anything on the plane due to nerves, and I could feel my stomach grumbling. I could skip breakfast the next morning to make up for it. Shelock's girlfriend had to stay fit!

I hummed a little tune, walking past the dining room and into a dark hallway that led to a bay of private rooms.

"Jackpot." Glancing inside one room, I tapped my hands together, studying the plain-looking set up. "Not fancy enough."

The last room faced a bank of windows—framing the stunning mountain views. With an audible sigh, I walked inside, staring out at the scenery. I turned, studying the board-room setup.

I noticed tiny silver placeholders, sans name tags. Clearly, this would be the room for tonight. The other garish detail sat at the head of the table, a discarded scarf left in a pile near one of the plates. I walked over to it, studying the black fabric, woven with gold thread. It didn't look expensive. In fact, it looked cheap—like something I would buy at Forever 21. Hearing sounds of heels in the hallway—I froze.

Fuck!

I felt a stab of fear. How would this look, me snooping in a dining room? What would I say? For some reason, I had a strong impulse to hide. Without thinking, I ducked down, sliding under the table. I waited for a few seconds, feeling my heart beating out of my chest as a pair of women's high heels strode into view. They were hot pink, with signature red soles. The feet paused, walking to the end of the table where I'd seen the scarf.

I figured whomever it was would snatch it and leave, but to my horror, the chair came out, and my new guest took a seat. Her heels now inches from my fingertips, I felt renewed dread.

_Good one, Kay_. _How do I get out of this?_

I ran through various scenarios in my head as I waited. After a few seconds, I heard a gentle scraping sound.

What is she doing?

The scratching continued, as I frantically thought of what to do.

I'll say I lost an earring. Yeah, that's it. Just stand up and make a clean confession.

My mind warmed to this idea, but I remained perfectly still. I imagined this person could hear the blood rushing through my ears. Perhaps this was a hostess looking to prep the room. A best case scenario, for sure.

Ok, you are too chicken to move. Just stay here and wait for her to leave. Come on, leave already!

I felt my limb stiffen, terrified she would peek under the table and find me. Then it would be all over. I'd be the laughing stock of the weekend and not in the way Shelock intended.

Just as my panic reached anxiety-inducing levels, the sound abruptly stopped. The woman shifted back, offering a tiny sigh. The woman rose, slamming the chair back in, inches away from my nose. The heels moved to the other side of the table, pausing at the other end for several seconds. After a moment, the shoes spun around, walking out of the room. I waited a solid ten minutes before poking my head out, my heart hammering against my chest.

The coast seemingly clear, I stood, shaking off pins and needles in my legs. I glanced at the table—no sign of the scarf. But what was that scraping sound? I looked around, but nothing appeared changed.

"Wait a second." I glanced over at two delicate salt shakers, placed near the head of the table. I relaxed considerably.

I'd worked plenty of these jobs. A hostess or waitress would have to prep the room for service. She must have forgotten her scarf and came back for it, after refilling the condiments.

Now eager to leave, I made my exit, hoping to God I wouldn't run into the woman. There was only one way out—the hallway I came. I paused in the doorframe, making sure I didn't see anyone with hot pink heels watching my escape. Certain the coast was clear, I slipped out, moving quickly through the lobby and out into the crisp air.

I exited into the street, done with investigating for the time being. In addition to getting as much space between me and the lodge as possible, I needed to investigate Vail! I took a quick spin through the town square, awed by the high-end stores that peppered the pedestrian mall. I stood in the window of a jewelry store, staring longingly at a gold necklace with a delicate chain and ornate pendant.

Pulling myself away, I turned back to the mall to take it all in. I studied house matrons dripping in designer wear, their broods of unruly children following dutifully behind. There were couples (many foreign) with their hands entwined situated on benches and under streetlights. I felt a stab of envy. I'd much rather be here with someone other than my boon companion. I wondered belatedly if Nick would like this place.

Nick Offerman, the guy who blew you off at the toga party. Really, Kay?

If I had done the ghosting, I wouldn't have given him a second thought. Being ignored felt like the worst kind of punishment. Pushing the thought of Nick's luscious curls away, I replaced I with images of Bruton. Talk about someone out of my league. I don't think I'd ever been around someone that hot, ever. The fact that he loved Shelock enough to marry her seemed to raise her cache even further in my mind.

Who could love a creature like her?

I admonished myself for this thought, but it wouldn't stop popping up. Truthfully, I felt as jealous as the other girls in the house about Shelock. Why did everything seem to easy for her? Why did she act so above it all, as if the rest of us were no good? I knew these thoughts had more to do with me than anything, but that didn't make her less of a punching bag. Even her position as sorority president felt precarious at best. The only reason she remained so was the ironclad grip she had on the powers that be. It wasn't a popularity contest, that's for sure. If anything, she ruled with the compelling mix of fear, smarts and envy. A compelling mix, to be sure.

Feeling my stomach grumble louder, I stopped at Starbucks. Ordering a hot chocolate, I ignored the pastries lining the shelves. Hopefully, my beverage would hold me over until dinner. Taking my drink outside, I located a bench. Wrapping the collar of my jacket tighter, I ran through the day's events.

So utterly bizarre, being here with Shelock. I knew she was using me, but I was using her for what amounted to a free spring break vacation. It might not be Cancun, but beggars can't be choosers. Sipping my drink, I turned this over in my mind. If she only expected arm candy, I could easily accommodate. I could get to know Bruton better, if he'd let me. Perhaps then I would learn more about his mysterious ailment. I fantasized about hitting it off and becoming a close confidant of his. Wouldn't Shelock be proud of me if I cracked the mystery of what was wrong? I had friends in pre-med, I could text them!

Smiling to myself, I felt both excited and content. Kind of fun, having a purpose other than getting blitzed on a Wednesday night. Watching the tourists stroll past, I looked for anyone resembling a bachelorette guest. The reception room had been small, so I surmised the party had no more than 10 people, inclusive of the men. From Bruton's comment, it seemed they were joining us for the long weekend. That would mean the bride had invited Shelock. A strange thing, to invite your ex's fiancé. How did Shelock manage that?

I sat there for a good period of time before I got anxious about dinner. Standing, I threw my cup away and walked back to the lodge, finding it hard to catch my breath. Shelock had warned me about the altitude, but I hadn't paid it any mind until now. My head began to pound and my chest felt constricted.

Trying to ignore the sensation, I made it back to the room unscathed. As I entered, I found Shelock sitting in the common room, tapping away on her laptop. She appeared completely refreshed, hair set in glossy waves, makeup perfectly applied.

"They would hang you in the 17th century you know."

She glanced over at me, raising an eyebrow.

"Why is that?"

"Because you look like you just walked out of a magazine. I feel like someone put my head in a vice."

"Ah yes, the altitude." She clacked away on her keyboard before pausing, looking up at me. "Find what you were looking for?"

I knew she was talking about my illicit search, but I deployed my patented Kay Watson technique of avoidance. Besides, I didn't feel well and we had a big night ahead of us. I plopped down across from her.

"You don't get it, I'm beat. Like I literally can't breathe." She reached into her purse, tossing me a metal canister. I caught it mid-air. "What's this?"

"Surely, Watson, college pre-requisites aren't so elementary that you entered freshman year without knowing how to read."

I held up my palm.

"Sorry I asked." I glanced at the container. "Instant oxygen," I read the instructions before taking a puff. "Whew, that feels much better." I handed it over.

"Don't need it," Shelock said, eyes locked to her laptop as she clacked away.

"No, not with the pharmacy you've got pumping in your veins."

She paused, before throwing her head and laughing dramatically.

"Watson, you astonish me at every turn. You'll be a hit tonight."

"About that, I did some investigating . . . "

She looked up at me, eyes round as saucers. Placing the laptop away, she gave me a long, unblinking look. The experience was unnerving, like when a lion stares you at the zoo.

"Continue," she said, her tone subdued, curious.

"I wanted to see what the dinner party would be like. You know—the restaurant Bruton told us about."

She nodded.

"The restaurant wasn't open yet so I checked it out."

"You found the room for tonight's party." She snapped her fingers at me impatiently.

I nodded. How did the woman think so fast! I had barely calculated what I saw, and she was already plucking the pearl from my story.

"Someone left a scarf on the table, so I . . . "

She held up a hand.

"How did you know it was the room?"

"Because there were empty nameplates."

"How many chairs?"

"I think 10 or so?"

"A small party, feels very much like him." Her eyes darted to mine. "Go on. The scarf."

"When I saw the scarf I figured someone would be coming back to retrieve it."

Shelock leaned forward.

"Someone did?" I nodded, feeling my adrenaline peak once again. I reached for the oxygen, taking a grateful puff. "So you did check things out, didn't you?" Shelock cried, slapping her knees with an unladylike chuckle.

"No, I hid." I paused, taking a breath. "Under the table."

"You hid under the table," she repeated, giggling manically. "Continue."

"I have no idea why I did it."

"You were snooping and wished to elude being caught. I'd already made you nervous enough about the dinner. You possibly thought it was the bride herself, coming to inspect the place. So tell me, did you have a good view of the person's shoes?"

"I did."

"And?"

"Hot pink Louboutins."

"Oh, the irony," Shelock said, rolling her eyes.

"But I was wrong—it wasn't the bride."

Shelock tilted her head.

"Tell me why you think that?"

"Because she left salt shakers. She was probably filling them before service."

"Filling the salt shakers," Shelock repeated slowly.

"Well, yes."

"What did it sound like, Watson?"

"Like . . . I don't know, like they were doing something."

"At the table?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I used to work as a waitress we had to refill all the condiments before every shift. I figured it was the same thing."

"Hmmm. Good work, Watson." Her expression said the opposite, but she continued. "It could be the hostess. We don't know. We must be on alert for a woman with hot pink high heels and a gaudy scarf, now don't we?"

"I didn't tell you it was gaudy," I said with a smile.

"But you did," she responded, fixing me with a stare. "Hot pink heels—say no more." Rising, she tossed her hair behind her shoulders. "You'd better start getting ready. We're due to make our entrance in an hour."

"How long did it take you to get ready?" I asked curiously.

"Watson," she said, rolling her eyes. "One doesn't polish perfection."

*

I took my time getting ready, starting with straightening my hair. The process took forever, since the dry mountain air gave me a serious case of fly-aways. Applying some product I finished the job. Putting on subdued makeup, just brows and lips, Shelock came in for an inspection.

"Add more, much more!" she commanded. "I don't want you subtle, you're supposed to be my fun-loving, spirited other half. Not a replica of me as a blonde."

Continuing to work, I knew I was close when she returned to the bathroom, eyebrows raised.

"Now that's more like it. Come on—I want to be early. Bruton's mother is big on punctuality."

"Will she be here?" I asked, turning to my closet.

"These people have no idea how to have fun—real fun," Shelock said, sitting on my bed as I situated my clothes. "Only a WASP would assume parents would want to attend a joint bachelorette party."

I ran through my dresses, pausing on something black and low cut.

"Since you didn't share the itinerary." I selected the gown. "Will you finally tell me who's coming."

I went into the bathroom to slip on the garment, hearing her voice echoing from the bedroom.

"Bruton's mother is Charlene, but everyone calls her Sugar." I snorted. "Don't laugh, these people are big on nicknames," the voice continued. "She's had several facelifts. I have to orient myself when I'm talking to her, just to remember what she looks like. Her husband is Robert Wollenhaupt. He's quite high-minded, but a gentle soul, much less abrasive than his wife."

"A woman named Sugar is abrasive?"

"It's funny, these nicknames. Quite ironic in their applications."

I zipped up the dress, studying the effect on in the mirror. Compared to Shelock's satin navy jumpsuit, we would look quite the power couple. I exited into the bedroom to pick out shoes, feeling Shelock's eyes on me.

"In addition to that, I'd probably expect to see Andrew Goldsmith—he went to prep school with Bruton. There's Barbie, of course, and perhaps one of her new friends—courtesy of Bruton."

"Not someone from her hometown?"

"No, she's marrying up. I'm certain she's found some social climber to mask her insecurities. Her parents might attend as well—that would make sense."

I counted on my fingers.

"You and me is two, Bruton and Barbie—both their parents, that's 6. Plus one friend each 10. Just as I said."

Shelock smiled.

"Indeed. And now." She rose, holding out her hand. "Shall we?"

# 4

Despite the fact Shelock had given me a glass of champagne and another hit of oxygen, I felt alarmingly close to an anxiety attack on the elevator ride down. Shelock seemed to sense this.

"Treat the nerves as energy. Emotion—confidence."

"Is that what you do?"

"I have no emotions," she said, as an elderly couple entered the elevator, looking at her queerly.

I remained quiet the rest of the ride down, growing more worried. I'd never been around super rich people and didn't know how to act. Despite Shelock's reassurances, I didn't feel any better.

_So what if you aren't good enough_ , I told myself, feeling my fingers prick with anticipation. _This is a role—an act. You're playing a game. Treat your anxiety like confidence._

Confidence!

By the time the elevator hit the lobby, I felt a shift in my attitude. I stepped off, strutting to the restaurant with Shelock at my side. I almost wavered when I saw the severe blonde behind the hostess station, but she broke into a friendly smile.

"Wollenhaupt party?"

"Er, yes," I said, turning to Shelock meaningfully. She turned to the hostess.

"What a good guess." Shelock took my hand, leading the way.

We wove through the restaurant and my heart began to pound. I took careful notice of who looked at me as we proceeded to the party. I was far and away the youngest person there and certainly the hottest. Not that there was much competition. The trophy wives shot daggers at me while their husband's ogled my form.

Grateful for my snooping, I knew what room to strut towards. I did wonder about the seating arrangements. I hoped they'd put me next to Shelock, but who knows how these high society types functioned. Worst-case scenario, we get split up. I realized Shelock and I hadn't discussed our story. How would we explain our relationship?

I tried to intercept her, but Shelock was too quick, striding into the room with unmasked superiority I'd come to expect. As she did, the entire party, already mingling with cocktails in their hands, stopped and stared.

"Shelock!"

A short, balding man hastened over.

"Good to see you," he said, embracing her in a warm hug.

"Mr. Wollenhaupt," she said, smiling broadly. It was the first time I think I saw her teeth. "This is my special friend, Kay Watson." She lingered on the words, eyeing him meaningfully.

Bruton must have prepped him. Without missing a beat, he reached out, planting a gentle kiss on my hand.

"Robert Wollenhaupt. Charmed I'm sure."

"Nice to meet you," I squeaked. He shared the good looks of his son, sans the hair, but was much shorter.

Of course, his wife wasn't far behind.

"Is that Harlow?"

Shelock didn't kid about the facelift, the woman looked as though everything pinched. Though she moved quickly, I judged both to be in their 70s. I guessed Bruton was an only child. They must have had him later in life.

"Oh, my dear!" Sugar said, clutching Shelock's hands in her palms. "It is good to see you again."

"And I you." Shelock planted a kiss on her cheek—creating a delicate plume of loose powder.

Sugar turned towards me, studying me intelligently.

"And who is this?" she cried, the excitement in her voice palpable.

I opened my mouth to answer, but Shelock grabbed my elbow—sliding up beside me.

"My girlfriend," she said loudly. "Kay Watson. I call her Watson for short."

The room seemed to spin at the declaration, but I didn't have the courage to look up at the other guests. As I exchanged pleasantries with Bruton's infamous mother, I felt eyes on me. I could feel the tension in the air, we seemed to suck it from the very room. No bride likes to be upstaged. And by simply arriving, Shelock had accomplished just that. I'm certain she planned this. She plans everything.

Finally, Sugar realized the scene we were causing. Reaching around, she held the small of my back, facing me towards the center of the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen this is Shelock's special friend—Kay Watson."

I glanced up at the rest of the party. My suspicions were correct, the guests displayed various stages of shocked amusement. I found the first familiar face—Bruton standing next to a woman wearing an ivory lace dress. This had to be Barbie. Sporting a boyish shape, her dress sort of drifted around her body instead of hugging it. Her lithe figure reminded me very much of Shelock. But that's where the similarities ended. She had quite the tan; I could see the rings around her eyes from where the goggles had sat—possibly from that very day. Her hair hung straight, like a sheet of platinum blonde and she wore that no-makeup-makeup look I'd seen in the Vogue society pages.

The overall effect wasn't terribly convincing. I sensed a Midwestern broad dying to come out. If left to her own devices, Barbie's hair would be as big as her ass, and her eyeliner would be blue.

I tried picturing her this way as I studied the woman standing to her right. I recognized her as the hanger-on Shelock predicted. With glossy brown hair and heavily-lined eyes—she had been at this game longer. She was incredibly skinny, with the exception of two very high profile breast implants. She gave me the once over, making no attempt to hide her survey.

The bride's parents were easy to spot—they stood in the corner of the room, the most overweight of the party by at least 50 pounds. Needless to say, they stuck out like a square thumb. Short and squat, the wife had the look of freshly dyed hair and shared her daughter's blank stare. The husband appeared a bit more genial, but had not updated his look—hair completely grey with glasses that looked more like safety goggles. I placed his expression clearly in the realm of horrified.

Of course, the man to break the tension was none other than Bruton. I admired him more as he moved towards me, holding out his hand.

"Nice to meet you properly, Kay," he said, breaking into a broad grin.

He reached over, kissing me on the cheek. Pulling back, I stared into his piercing blue eyes, wondering how the hell Shelock could let this one get away. I'd have to ask her—maybe after several glasses of champagne.

"Please, come meet everyone." He escorted me to the other side of the room. "This is my fiancé, Barbie."

"Nice to meet you," she said, in a tone that suggested otherwise.

She didn't hold out her hand, so I clasped mine together. Her eyes drifted right over my head. I knew who she was looking at.

"And this is her . . . " Bruton momentarily faltered.

"Girlfriend," Shelock said, walking over to us.

She held out her hand, taking Barbie's and shaking it aggressively. She turned to her friend.

"I know you," she demanded, her dark eyes flashing. "How do I know you?"

"Um, Allison Kavanagh." The girl said, outmatched by Shelock's sheer force of personality. "We went to prep together," she squeaked, swallowing hard. "I was a few years behind you."

Shelock snapped her fingers.

"That's it, you knew Bruton." Shelock turned to him.

He smiled, moving from me to take his place by Barbie. He proudly patted her on the back, as one would a small dog.

"Barbie—this is Harlow Shelock."

"How wonderful you could make it," Barbie said, trying to exert her superiority.

"Thank you for inviting me," Shelock said, in her usual offhanded manner.

Bruton turned, glancing at Barbie's parents awkwardly. They had moved to the opposite end of the room. Since it was clear they had no interest in meeting two purported lesbians, Bruton neatly covered for them.

"And over there are Barb and Richard—my future in-laws."

"Charmed!" Shelock said loudly. "From across the room." She gave me a look.

"Why don't we take our seats," Bruton said, unable to do more damage control.

I turned, finding my nameplate across from Shelock. Bruton sat at the head of the table, with Barbie's crew at the other end. I wonder if the seating arrangements were deliberate. They had to be, nothing about tonight was left to chance. Who knows, maybe even Shelock had a role in it all. It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest.

After a waiter came to take our drink order (I stuck to champagne) Bruton studied the group before him. I realized he sat exactly where hot-pink-heels positioned herself. I glanced at his plate, thinking of a gaudy scarf tossed onto the white china. For some reason it made me feel ill. Who knows what happens in restaurants when you aren't looking.

"I'm so happy you're all here," Bruton began, nodding his head.

The table hushed expectantly, allowing me time to study those attended. Bruton's father sat at the opposite end, had on his wine glass--eager to offer a toast. He and Sugar seemed pleased to be there, far from the scoffing, wealthy WASPS I'd taken them for. Shelock seemed to think they would turn up their nose at Barbie, but they seemed just as blissed out as Bruton.

Sugar clasped her husband's wrist in her hand, smiling at her son with oblivious pride. With a swift movement, she clasped Barbie's hand as well. The bride forced a smile, but I knew the arrival of Shelock and myself had all but ruined her night.

Am I here just to crash this party?

The thought that I'd come this far just to upset some poor woman struck me. I folded my napkin in my lap, feeling ashamed. Glancing over at Barbie's parents, they looked as uncomfortable as I felt. I knew I was the reason for the stilted atmosphere. Instead of seeing this as a success, as Shelock certainly did, I only felt shame. I glanced over at Shelock to see if she mirrored any of my own emotions.

She stared off into space, the candlelight complementing her delicate features. Her stud earrings sparkled in the candlelight and I realized that Barbie had fixed on them with keen attention. I noticed she wore a similar style of earring.

_Uh oh_ , I thought. _Did Bruton have a habit of gifting the same diamond studs to two of his fiancés?_

Raising an eyebrow, I studied the empty chair next to Shelock. I couldn't see the nameplate from here. I did a swift calculation on who the last in our party would be when a man quickly walked in the room, running his hands through his hair.

"Sorry I'm late, old pal."

For a second, I thought they were brothers. They shared the same tall build and impressive physique. But as he sat down next to Shelock, I noted subtle differences in their resemblance. He was cute, just not as striking.

"And fashionably late, we have Andrew Goldsmith," Bruton said, gesturing to his friend. "My brother from another."

"Another planet. Well, what do we have here?" Andrew gave Shelock a grin.

She tilted her head, allowing him a peck on the cheek. I had never seen Shelock give any man the time of day, so I watched the exchange with interest.

"How have you been, my lovely?"

"Fine, yourself? Still chasing skirts and making money?"

"You know it, my sweet Harlow."

I revised my earlier opinion of him. He was handsome, in that prep school kind of way. In a few years he'd have a beer belly, a wife, and a mistress. I couldn't hear what Shelock said next, but it made Andrew's eyes nearly pop out of his head. He chuckled, shaking a finger at her, before rising to greet Bruton's parents.

They must know him well, for they erupted in rapturous glee when he hugged them both. Even Barbie cracked a grin as he approached, offering kisses and hugs to melt the most dedicated ice princess. After several beats, he glanced over at me.

"And this must be the infamous Kay Watson."

"My girlfriend," Shelock said. Every time the word left her mouth, it seemed louder and louder. Andrew's eyes widened.

"So I heard," he said. "Pleased to meet you."

He meant to greet me properly, but the waiter had swept in to deliver the drinks. We waited awkwardly as he did so. I sensed Bruton growing annoyed. This man liked to command attention. It became blatantly obvious to me why a relationship with Shelock would never work out. She loved disruption far too much. Andrew finally had a moment to come offer her welcome. I felt the full force of his personality as he descended on me, offering a little squeeze and studying me closely. I wondered if he would adjust a fly away or pull something out of my teeth with the intensity of his survey. He released me, moving to join us at the table.

"As I said," Bruton resumed, offering a wide smile at us. "Barbie and I couldn't be happier that you chose to spend this weekend with us. I expect lots of laughter, love and most importantly—friendship."

He looked right at Shelock, but I couldn't make out her expression in the dim lighting. The crystal centerpieces cast everyone in an otherworldly glow. I wondered at their past. What really happened between the two? A dramatic split, perhaps? Or maybe a slow fizzle into "just friends" mode. Whatever it was left tension in the air, as electric as static.

Thinking again about Bruton's mysterious illness, I studied him carefully. He looked healthy and fit to me. If anything, the alcohol put some color on his cheeks. Shelock seemed to think this man was battling am illness. A very serious, very mysterious illness.

The first course arrived, a juicy-looking lettuce wedge with oodles of blue cheese. I got my fork ready as the table broke off into separate conversations. Being the consummate gentlemen, Bruton turned to me.

"Tell me what you've been up to since we bumped into each other?"

"Oh, I've explored the village a bit," I said, noticing that Shelock kept a careful eye on us as she caught up with Andrew. "And yourself?"

Bruton grinned.

"It seems a groom's work is never done. I had some things to take care of family-wise. Dad wasn't feeling so hot this morning."

I glanced over at his father. He appeared fine, if slightly lethargic-looking. Not surprising for someone so elderly.

"Is he ok?"

"Yes, just some altitude sickness."

"I felt that myself! So, will the wedding be at this hotel?"

"Yes, in the great room," he said, delicately salting his salad. He added some more, before offering it to me.

"Oh, no thank you," I said, worried all the extra salt would add to my altitude issues. I did, however, avail myself of the extra chunky blue cheese dressing.

"Want some?"

"Oh no." Bruton patted his stomach. "I have tummy issues like dad, we need to keep to strict diets."

I noticed his salad came unadorned, no wonder he added a shit tone of salt.

"What can I say? I'm a Midwestern girl and I love to eat." I glopped on more dressing before digging in.

Bruton smiled at me, pleased at my obvious enjoyment of the meal.

"I'm happy you came, Kay, I'm excited to learn more about you."

The phrase gave me pause, I needed to re-direct the conversation, and fast. I had no desire to spin a fake tale about my budding romance with Shelock. I could lie easily, but I had too many social events with this crew ahead of me to remember all my little details. I felt out of pace with the challenge before me, so like patented Kay Watson, I went for a distraction. Asking someone about themselves is one of my most successful approaches, and Bruton had an ego about him, which should make it easier.

"Thanks again for having me, but really I have so much to learn from you!"

He smiled at the compliment. I could feel Shelock's approval from across the table.

"Did I hear, 'learn something and Bruton' in the same sentence?" Andrew put in.

Bruton shot him a look, his expression jovial.

"Just like prep, Andrew. You stuck with me and we got out of there alive."

"You got out of there with an academic investigation pending," Shelock put in.

This sent Andrew into hysterics.

"We have Harlow to thank for getting us out of that pickle."

I noticed Bruton flinch from the corner of my eye. My heart began a slow thud, as I dedicated myself to the salad. Shelock's past seemed marred with little hiccups she emerged from with nary a scratch. Did she help Bruton and Andrew in the past, as she did our sorority?

If she did, Bruton certainly didn't like to be reminded of it. Especially at his bachelor party. I gave him a wide grin, offering an escape route.

"How did you and Barbie meet?"

"Yes," Shelock said, breaking off her conversation. "Might as well share with the group, since I'm certain you've neglected entertainment for this evening. I mean, apart from inviting us."

Andrew hid his amusement behind a napkin. Bruton paused, offering a quick glance at Shelock. His expression softened as he glanced over at Barbie. While he must share some degree of fascination with Shelock, the woman he loved sat across the table. You could tell by the way he looked at her. Barbie appeared equally smitten, her icy expression melting.

"I was at Joe's Sports Bar in Chicago on business," he said, smiling so hard his face looked like it would crack. "And noticed this pretty waitress seemed to always serve me, no matter where I sat."

Barbie began to giggle, a grating sound that Bruton would hopefully find endearing for years to come.

"And then on my last day there, she gave me her number."

"After you asked!" Barbie said, in mock horror.

"Yes, I did ask."

"He knew what he wanted when he saw the goods," croaked Barb.

Barbie stiffened, shooting her mother daggers. I watched as her father slurped his drink, while alternatingly attacking the bread basket. I detected subtle tension between the two sets of parents. Class matters, no matter what anyone tells you. Barbie's parents appeared completely out of their element. No doubt Barbie had instructed them to keep quiet and behave. An order which went unnoticed. From Sugar's frozen look (perhaps not her fault) she kept the peace for the sake of potential grandchildren. Robert Wollenhaupt would approve of an alien for a bride; he seemed eager to approve of anyone. At this he leaned forward.

"We couldn't be happier, son."

"And now you're like Barbie and Ken!" Allison put in, twirling her brown hair. Her bread sat untouched. I felt like a marshmallow looking at her rail thin arms.

"After we began talking we couldn't stop! I asked her to visit me soon after, and the rest the say is history!" Bruton finished.

Andrew shifted forward, catching my eye. I figured the next line of inquiry involved myself and my elusive date. Shelock sat in silence, but I could detect the signs of keen interest as she glanced from Barbie to Bruton. Finally, Andrew's interest spilled over.

"What about you two?"

If a record played it would scratch. Half the table turned to face me. Shelock doused her bread in olive oil, before eating it methodically. I was on my own.

"I ah . . . well, it's not that interesting,"

"Oh, I think it's very, very interesting,"

Bruton shot Andrew a look.

"Andrew . . . "

"Tell them," Shelock said, crossing her arms.

With seconds to think, I decided on the truth.

"We met at a party."

"A toga party," Shelock said, taking the story down a path I had no intention of going.

Andrew's eyebrows shot up.

"You don't say?"

Bruton looked to Shelock now, his expression desperate. But she wasn't looking at him. She was looking at Barbie. Barbie's face had gone white, a strange look given her panda-like tan.

"How cute," she uttered, clutching her wine glass.

"Isn't it?" Shelock said, shooting me a sweet gaze.

She was interrupted from saying more by the arrival of our entrees. Relieved from the tension, I took in the exquisite presentation—seared sea bass atop a mountain of polenta and flash fried spinach. I felt my stomach growl as I dug in. Bruton noticed my enjoyment.

"I love a girl who likes a good meal."

I opened my mouth, flushing with embarrassment, before realizing he truly meant it. I laughed.

"I can't help it. It's been hours since we've eaten."

"Harlow doesn't exactly stop and let you see to your more human needs, now does she?" His eyes twinkled.

"I see you know of whom you speak," I replied, trying to modulate my appetite after being called out. I took a large gulp of water. "We drove directly from the airport to the hotel without one stop in-between. I don't think I've ever seen her eat a full meal."

He laughed harder this time, and I felt daggers from the other end of the table. Barbie wouldn't take kindly to competition, even if I were a supposed lesbian. I had been willing to give her a chance, but she nailed every stereotype I had about a gold digging brat. I didn't know what type of establishment Joe's bar was, but I could imagine low-cut tops and lots of bleach.

"She never did achieve the understanding that other people have needs . . . " Bruton broke off and I looked up.

He possibly meant to spin the comment as a joke but faltered at the end. I hastened to rescue him.

"It's endearing."

"Sometimes." He gave himself a little shake. "I mean, of course it is."

"It's ok, I get that." I paused, quickly out of depth. Feeling myself flush again, I pressed forward. "Let's put it this way, she's an acquired taste."

"Well, put Watson."

His eyes shifted from me, and I let our host regain conversation with the rest of the table. As I continued digging into my main course, discussion drifted into general questions about the wedding.

"Why drag us all out here to Vail?" Andrew asked, offering a mischievous grin.

Shelock pinched his arm. The two appeared thick as thieves and I couldn't help wondering about their history. She seemed just as interested in men as women, it threw me for a loop. Perhaps she just never felt the need to follow convention.

What that must be like?

"Well, it's the most convenient location," Robert Wollenhaupt put in.

"Why is that?" Shelock asked.

"My business keeps me here most of the year," Bruton explained.

"He couldn't be pulled away. Besides they'd only met a few months ago," Barb said. I strained to understand her Midwestern twang. Barbie herself spoke without one, surely the result of several quick months of practice.

_Yes, months_. It seemed the engagement was on the fast track. I didn't want to ask for an annotated timeline. I wondered about Bruton's business in this area of Colorado. Studying the participants at the table, I got the feeling their parents had meet only recently. Glancing around the table, I took stock in their expressions.

Certainly, Bruton seemed enamored of Barbie. She seemed thrilled, obviously. I made it a point to find out exactly how long they had been together. Perhaps I'd uncover something about Shelock at the same time.

Shelock positioned herself towards Andrew, completely ignoring Barbie's mother, who sat to her left. If anyone knew Shelock's past—it appeared to be Andrew. I mentally added him to my list of people to ingratiate myself with.

After the waiter cleared the plates, we enjoyed a round of sorbet followed by a wine and cheese platter. By this time my head began to swim from all the drinking. The altitude mixed with nerves and booze proved a disaster for my conversation skills. I decided I'd stop talking, listening instead to Bruton discussing business with his father across the table—boardroom style. Apparently, they were involved in high-end real estate, but they might as well have been speaking in a foreign language.

"That property near Breckenridge seems promising," Bruton began.

"I'll leave it to you. I'm no good at picking winners. I put up the dough, you sign the papers."

"It's been working well so far."

"Just be careful you get what you pay for."

"Why do you say that?" Shelock put in.

He paused, looking thoughtful.

"The Russians keep driving the prices up." He paused to dip his silver spoon into a mountain of raspberry sorbet. "I don't know who I detest more, them or the Chinese."

It took me a moment to realize what he'd said. I felt like I wandered in to an after school special. But I'd never heard anyone sound so blatantly offensive before. Bruton stiffened beside me.

"Foreign investment is an effective driver for local economies," he said, turning to me with a smile, as though this ended the conversation.

At this, Barbie perked up.

"What about the Chinese?"

"Nothing dear," Bruton said firmly.

Barbie didn't take the hint.

"I noticed a lot of the condos here are vacant," she said, twirling her spoon. "Are they owned by locals?"

Bruton wasn't quick enough to stop his father, who launched into a mini-lecture.

"A very insightful observation, Barbie—no, they are not. Those damn Chinese bought up all the properties. They only come maybe a few times a year--or they rent them out. They sit there, empty for much of the time. Can't build much of a community with that poison in the water now can you? Anyone who invests here is a damned fool. Not with those people. You better hope Charles here knows what he's doing."

"Dad," Bruton said, the tone of his voice changing.

"I wonder how much they actually do for the community," Barbie said.

Why didn't she notice her fiancés' distress? Perhaps she didn't care. Barbie accepted a refill of wine, blissfully unaware of the tension she caused.

I cleared my throat, feeling the attention shift to my direction.

"Well, at least you have fewer neighbors," I said, a bit louder than I intended.

After a beat, Allison glanced in my direction. So quiet for dinner service, I'd all but forgotten her.

"A brilliant observation," she said coolly.

Barbie smiled and I felt my face burn red. I glanced over at Shelock, hoping she would say something. She remained silent, carefully studying Barbie. For her part, the bride dissolved into a private conversation with Allison. It didn't take too much theorizing to wonder what about. Bruton, emerging as the peacemaker of the group, patted my hand.

"A benefit, for sure. When I lived in New York I couldn't stand my neighbors."

"Remember the one that used the throw his cat into the hallway?" Andrew said, turning to Shelock.

I felt the tension return as she smiled.

_New York City?_ I thought to myself.

I wondered at the prep school records I'd found. Did she Andrew and Bruton attend together? That would make sense. I watched Shelock carefully as she took a sip of champagne.

"Yes," she said, continuing in a soft voice. "I think I remember."

Mr. Wollenhaupt drew his chair back. I noticed he had grown quieter as the discussion continued. Studying him closer, I saw patches of sweat under his sports coat.

"Bruton, Barbie—" he cleared his throat and waivered. I glanced around to see if anyone noticed his condition, but everyone seemed preoccupied with their own thoughts.

See, Kay? No one cares all that much about anyone else. They are too concerned about themselves.

Still, I couldn't help but notice how unwell he looked as he continued.

"Cheers to you both! Good luck with whatever you kids planned this weekend."

As he raised his glass, I thought perhaps I imagined his momentary tremor. As we toasted jovially, I wondered for the umpteenth time why Bruton invited us. I steadied myself for a long, awkward weekend.

With the departure of Bruton's parents, dinner wound down. As we prepared to leave, Barbie slid up beside me. I assumed she came offering an olive branch, so I smiled widely.

"Thanks again for . . . "

"I left an itinerary under your door," she cut me off, clearly not enjoying the interaction. "The first excursion is tomorrow. You should wear . . . " she gave me the once over. "Something that covers you."

"Oh, sure, no problem," I said, fighting off a wave of embarrassment.

I glanced down at my plunging gown. I know how to dress for things! What did she think I would do, roll up in cocktail dress to go hiking?

Keeping my anger in check, I swallowed hard, making a beeline for Shelock—who placidly ignored me. She took her time extricating herself from Andrew before turning to me.

"In a hurry, Watson?"

"Yes." I spoke through gritted teeth.

"Manners, my dear, we must say goodnight to everyone!"

Biting back a sarcastic comment, I plastered a smile on my face and said goodbye to every damn person at that party. It proved difficult on some level, especially since Barbie's parents wouldn't look me in the eye. Andrew I found more accommodating.

"So great you could make it Kay." He eased toward me, taking a closer look at my face.

I know when I'm being admired. While drained and completely out of small talk, his attention felt good. I felt myself warm to him instantly.

"I'm sure we made it worth your while." I offered a wry grin.

"Oh, my yes. But Harlow, she loves surprising us.

"Have you been friends for long?"

He stared at me, unblinking.

"She never talks about us?"

I decided on honesty, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Not that I remember."

"Ah, yeah we went to school together in New York. I mean, she went to the all-girls school, and we were their partner school. Or something like that."

"So I gathered. What about this cat?"

"That cat had 99 lives." He sobered, placing his hands in his pockets and I felt the conversation shift. "I'm sure you're beat after the trip. No one of us can figure out why Shelock went to school in Indiana of all places."

_Then you don't know her very well_ , I thought to myself.

"Well, I'm grateful for it."

"Why's that?"

"Because if she hadn't, I wouldn't have met her, of course."

"Oh yeah, right."

He gave me a candid look, and I realized not everyone at tonight's dinner took us seriously.

"You are right about one thing."

"What's that?" he asked, eager for a confidence.

"I'm tired." I gave him a friendly pat on the arm. "See you tomorrow."

As Shelock and I broke away from the group, I felt an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. We rode the elevator back to the room in silence. As we entered our suite, I immediately kicked off my shoes, not caring where they went as they skidded across the floor. Shelock paused, watching as I stomped into my suite, slamming the door shut behind me.

I ran a hot shower, ashamed at myself as tears ran down my cheeks.

"Why are you upset?" I asked myself repeatedly.

I was here playing a role. Why had Barbie's snide comments hurt so much? I didn't know the answer, but the emotion bothered me all the same. I exited the shower, watching my pale face slowly emerge in the foggy mirror. I applied my toner and conducted my elaborate skincare routine. I wasn't taking chances on appearance, not after seeing how immaculate the women looked. I combed out my hair and slipped into my new silk pajamas. Feeling better, I walked into the bedroom. Placed on the pillow sat a cream notecard. I flipped it over.

Watson-

Exceptional work tonight. You impress me more and more with each passing day. In a bid to keep the line of communications open, here is the itinerary Barbie mentioned. I will not attend any of these events, but you will. Keep alert, stay focused. Do not enter my room for any reason except for an absolute emergency.

-S

I tossed the note aside.

"So damned dramatic," I said, removing the elaborate itinerary attached to her note.

I thought of Barbie's words to me as I studied tomorrow's excursion.

"Zip-lining?" I said to myself, laughing.

The itinerary noted a stop at an adventure park at the ungodly hour of 9 am. After that was lunch a local farm (they raised bison) with an afternoon tour of one of the largest botanical gardens in the area. Dinner was at a local Vail restaurant that also featured bowling. I shook my head, thinking of rich people and their ideas of fun. I'd rather park myself at a spa.

_But then again_ , I thought, slipping into bed. _Barbie's getting married—not me._

# 5

Despite the fact I'd been so confident of my attire the previous night, or perhaps because of it, the next morning I lay awake—mentally going through my wardrobe. Barbie's comments were fresh in my mind, and I felt my assurance slip. I flipped to the other side of the bed, staring at the clock and doing the calculation of the time change.

"God," I groaned, kicking the sheets away.

I rose, walking into the bathroom. My face looked puffy, the effects of too much champagne. I searched around for the tube of air Shelock had given me and retreated to draw a large bath. I made it as hot as I could stand. I could smell the booze coming out of my pores, contented to sweat myself into normalcy.

The bath had the desired effect, if making me a little sluggish. I applied a facial mask and stewed. By the time I got out, I looked like I had just emerged from the spa. I conducted my usual routine, pleased when my hair behaved. I felt like the best version of myself, a woman ready to take on the day—if slightly hungover.

I walked to my closet, ready to consult my wardrobe. I decided against leggings. They were too college-like. Besides, it was far too cold outside. I selected a pair of dark wash skinny jeans, stretchy enough to accommodate today's outdoor adventure. Over this I placed a warm, fleece-lined pullover and a leather vest. At the last moment, I added a shawl. I would remove it before any zip-lining took place. I didn't want to ruin any of the things Shelock bought me.

Despite my nerves, I decided on breakfast. I had no food in the hotel room and didn't feel like room service. My roommate offered no help. Shelock barely ate anything at dinner. I think it had less to do with her desires and more to do with her pill addiction.

Walking past her darkened room, I exited our suite, making my way into the lobby. The only breakfast option appeared to be the same restaurant as the night before. Deciding to spare Shelock the expense, I exited the hotel into the fresh, bright air, walking with intention toward a bakery I spotted the day before. Apparently, Vail was a slow-rising town. I ran into exactly one person by the time I arrived. The cheerful shop owner announced that chocolate croissants had just come out of the oven. Despite my rich dinner, I threw my diet out the window. I topped off my order with a cappuccino. I took my meal outside, staring at the snow-capped mountain as I indulged in my morning treat.

Contentedly eating my pastry, I studied the condos lining the upper area of Vail proper. Last night's discussion popped into my mind. I didn't know what Bruton's business interests were, exactly, but they seemed to spark a heated debate with him and his father. Looking at the building surrounding the plaza, they did appear empty. It gave the town a vacant feeling, kind of like Disneyland at closing time.

The shop owner appeared to take my plate.

"How is everything?"

"Oh, amazing," I pointed at the condos. "Can I ask you a question? Who lives up there?"

She stared at the buildings.

"Most of them are out of state investors. Some come during the winter season, others they rent it out. We do have one or two locals."

"What a shame. They look so beautiful and no one is in them!"

"I'd wish they'd at least rent them out year-round," she said, balancing a tray on her hip. "Then we'd have more business in the off-season." She looked at me kindly. "What are you in town for?"

"A bachelorette party."

She chuckled.

"Don't make me jealous."

_Don't worry_ , I thought to myself.

After she left, I studied the condos. All were darkened, seemingly deserted. I continued to sip my cappuccino, wondering whether or not to be a total pig and elect for another croissant when something caught my eye—a light within the blackened fleet of windows.

"So there is someone there," I said to myself, locating the condo placed furthest to the right. The light flickered before going out. "Hmm," I said, eyes locked on the structure.

Seconds later, a figure emerged on the street. The way the pathways diverged, it could only be someone exiting from that direction. He walked with his head down, baseball cap pulled low to obscure his face. I realized with growing recognition who it was from his long strides and profile—Bruton Wollenhaupt.

What was he doing out at this hour? I should have thought he'd be in the hotel suite with Barbie.

Barbie!

I looked around, wondering whether that woman would emerge. I had almost given up waiting when I noticed a figure slinking down the same path Bruton followed moments earlier. She wore her hair in a messy bun, and completed the look with dark sunglasses.

Smiling to myself, I pieced together what I'd seen. I knew the walk of shame well. These two were clearly returning from a tryst. But why had they stayed in a condo when they had space enough in the hotel?

As they drew closer, I couldn't help but hold my breath, worried they would spot me. They walked past me, intent with making haste towards the hotel without a side glance.

_Maybe they have some weird sex thing_.

I chuckled to myself, sipping my drink. Shelock told me that I'd never understand rich people. Why bother trying? I watched them until they disappeared from sight, tapping my fingers gently on my elegant cup. Downing the rest of my drink, I decided against the second croissant. I went inside to thank the owner, but the line picked up, so I left.

Walking back to the hotel, I felt the caffeine kick in, and with it my anxiety. Seeing Bruton and Barbie together reminded me of the day ahead; hours of activities with people who couldn't stand me—and alone at that.

"Thanks, Shelock," I grumbled, feeling my mood sour.

With a stab of fear, I wondered if today's events were gender segregated. If so, that meant me and the evil twins—Barbie and Allison. I hoped to God the boys would be joining.

I entered the lobby, looking for signs of Bruton and his fiancé. Seeing no one, I took the elevator up to my room. I had a few minutes to kill, so I watched the local news. Growing tired of that, I found a juicy reality show. It definitely calmed me before the day's torturous excursion.

Checking the clock every few minutes, my nerves continued to grow as the hour crept closer. Finally, with the moment upon me, I rose, checking my outfit for the millionth time. That morning I felt confidence, but I stared at myself I only saw fault. Moving to the closet one last time, desperate not to make a mistake, I dreamed up alternatives. I threw several options on the bed, heart beating. As I did, a piece of paper flew off the nightstand. Bending over, I recognized the letter from Shelock from the night before.

Straightening, I felt my confidence return. Shelock believed in me.

"You can do it Kay!" I told myself, returning everything to the closet.

I rode the elevator down. My heart sank as the doors opened, and the party from last night came into view. They stood in a tight circle—Barbie and Allison, along with Bruton and his friend Andrew. I wondered if Shelock told them she wasn't coming.

"Excellent," I whispered under my breath. "The fifth wheel."

Barbie clearly saw me approach but coolly ignored me, pretending instead to listen in on Allison's conversation with Andrew. Bruton took notice of my approach, turning with a wide smile.

"Watson! Sleep well? All set for this morning, I hope. It's going to be a fun day."

Barbie glanced at me.

"Pretty sure her name is Kay."

"Oh, sorry," he turned those brown eyes on me. "I like using your nickname."

"It's ok. What about you, how was your night?" I asked, thinking pointedly about his early morning excursion.

He changed from when I last saw him. He sported thin sweater under a leather coat. Despite his impeccable looks, he had a yellowish parlor, and I detected the same sickly odor from when I first met him.

"Are you feeling ok?"

He swallowed.

"Just an upset stomach."

"Oh, baby!" Barbie cried, linking arms with him. "I told you not to drink too much last night."

"I only had one drink," Bruton said flatly.

"That's our Bruton," Andrew said, chuckling awkwardly.

I stood quietly, figuring out the dynamics of this set of friends. Maybe they'd been around his illness for too long. My Grandma Nan hated being fussed over; even during her last days.

"Don't treat me like I'm dead!" she would shout at us.

Bruton seemed equally proud. I decided to follow their lead. I wouldn't bring up health unless someone else did; or it became an obvious distraction.

I shifted my focus to the rest of the group. Allison studied my outfit with intense scrutiny. I noticed she wore something similar, feeling my heart flutter with my good instincts.

Maybe Shelock is right. I do have a knack for this!

While I went with earth tones, Allison chose all black. I wondered how her ensemble would take to whatever dirt we'd encounter in the adventure park. I briefly imagined her falling into a pile of manure before Barbie burst my bubble.

"So is your _girlfriend_ coming, or can we go?"

The tone of her voice brought a flush to my cheeks. In the tense silence that followed, even Barbie realized her misstep. It's one thing to let a snide comment slip after several glasses of champagne, but outright rudeness was a no-no. Andrew and Bruton exchanged glances. Even Allison seemed embarrassed. I finally sputtered to life.

"Er, no, didn't she tell you?" I looked to Bruton.

"Shelock's not coming," he said, giving Barbie a look. "Let's go."

That exchange set the tone for the rest of the morning. We clamored into a hired van in silence. I took the back seat, watching the others file in, their expressions tight. We pulled out from the parking garage, the van completely devoid of conversation. Everyone seemed lost in their own little world. Bruton stared out the window, Barbie scrolled through her phone and Allison and Andrew stared off into space.

I began to regret my choice of seat as the van turned down mountain roads—jostling me from side to side. Taking advantage of the silence, I took a moment to study the beautiful scenery around me. The mountains seemed to expand and contract as we drove through the valley. Early morning clouds hung around the horizon like plumes of smoke. A mysterious and lovely place, this Vail. If I ever got married to a billionaire, I would certainly keep it on my list of options.

We drove for around 40 minutes before I saw signs for an adventure park. It seemed slightly cheesy to take this crowd to such a touristy place. It must be Barbie's roots showing through. Either that, or a WASPY taste for lowbrow fun. As the van rumbled to a halt, the sound of clicking seatbelts filled the vehicle. Exiting with as much grace as I could manage, I felt the effects of the altitude. Reaching into my bag, I puffed on my air canister. Andrew watched me.

"Is that only oxygen?" I handed it to him. "It really helps. Interested?"

"Oh, no. I'm acclimated."

"What do you mean?" Bruton asked, stretching next to him. "You just got in yesterday."

Andrew looked confused.

"Oh, right. I did. But it doesn't take me long. One night's sleep is all I need."

"You're a better man than me then," Bruton said, with a smirk directed at me.

"Or me," I said, taking another puff. "This stuff is great. Shelock bought me some."

"Isn't that nice," Andrew said, raising his eyebrows.

"None of that," Bruton growled.

"What?" Andrew said, offering me his escort. I gamely took his arm as we began walking together to the entrance. "I think you two are an adorable couple. And if you want any company, any company at all." He winked at me as we strolled along.

I quickly reminded myself of my role as he drew closer, the tip of his scarf brushing my cheek. It proved daunting. I'm a girls-girl after all, and Andrew is easy on the eyes.

"Andrew . . . " Bruton followed swiftly beside us.

"It's fine," I laughed.

I didn't mind being led around an adventure park by a handsome man. Especially given my chilly reception from the women in the group. We chatted amiably, before halting near the entrance. I checked the sign, the place didn't open until 12. I wondered if Bruton arranged this expressly for our excursion.

The answer came when the owner of the park came out to greet us, paying special attention to Bruton.

"Hello my friend."

"The park looks great!"

I shifted toward Andrew.

"Is he up for today's excursion? He seems a little . . . off?"

"He'll be fine," Andrew assured me.

"Does Bruton know everyone here?" I asked, as a woman came out to greet Bruton—this time giving him a big bear hug.

"Pretty much. He owns lots of the property around here."

"Ah."

I filed this away for later use as the group turned towards us.

"Welcome to Adventure Park. I'm Melody," the woman explained, still holding on to Burton's arm. "I'm so happy we could make today available to you." She made a beeline for me. "And you must be quite a woman to snap this one up!"

Oh God.

"Oh, no I'm not . . . "

"I'm Bruton's finance!" Barbie exclaimed, her face flushed. She walked forward, placing her arm around Bruton.

"Yes, sorry. Melody, I should have introduced you . . . " Bruton sputtered to a halt, desperate to recover.

I stood frozen like a well-dressed statue. Andrew, always the joker, nudged my arm.

"Good one, Watson. Day two and you're already stealing the groom."

The jibe seemed to calm the snafu. With Melody exclaiming apologies, she led us into the park itself. I trailed behind, wanting to disappear into thin air. After signing the usual liability releases, we received a safety lecture. It primarily focused on harnesses, but I still felt so embarrassed I let the information wash over me.

By then a team of grizzled-looking men entered the welcome cabin. I finally felt my mood lift.

"Hey I'm Josh and this is Mark and we'll be your guides for today?"

Things are looking up!

I flashed them a smile, before remembering I was supposed to be hopelessly in love with Shelock. Adjusting my expression, I couldn't help but notice Andrew's subtle interest in my change of mood.

_Don't fuck up, Kay_.

He seemed very interested in Shelock and me, and not a voyeuristic way. It felt like he was waiting for me to screw up. With no time to think this over, our guides took us up to the first series of zip lines. My stomach did backflips as a gondola lifted us into the air. I'm not terribly fond of heights, and we were up high—I felt like I could literally touch the mountain.

The routine to get from platform to platform seemed to take hours, what with harnessing each individual and watching each one zip across. Barbie went first, screaming like a banshee, her cries echoing back to us as she disappeared into the fog. Allison went next, making no sound but clinging hard to the harness as she flew over.

The men turned to me expectantly.

"Ladies first," Andrew said.

"Oh, I want to watch you go."

"You're scared?"

"Don't tease," Bruton commanded. "Or are you trying to cover for yourself?"

"Come on man," Andrew said, allowing himself to be hooked onto the line. "I live for this stuff."

"Ready?" the instructor asked, hand on the harness.

"Born ready, my man. Send me across!"

Andrew went over, crying out like Tarzan as he disappeared into the mist. I heard a thump, and the instructor's radio went off. He went to it, speaking in code.

"What's wrong?" Bruton asked, fussing with his own harness.

"Ring is loose on the landing site, hold here for a second."

I turned to Bruton.

"Not exactly what you want to hear before flying through the air several feet off the ground."

"We invested in their company, it's perfectly safe," he said with a genial smile.

I thought of his morning excursion. We were up here alone, might as well dig around for more information.

"So, do you own real estate in the area?"

He met my curious gaze confidently.

"Some."

"What about those condos everyone was discussing at dinner?"

His face hardened.

"I hope you weren't offended my by father's comments."

"Oh, no—nothing like that," I assured him. "I had coffee at a café near some condos. I just noticed many of them were vacant, is all."

He nodded.

I also saw you and Barbie returning from a tryst.

I waited for him to say something about it, but instead he went into business mode.

"It would be a boom to the local economy if people would stay year round. We'd get more people involved in the community. But, this is America, after all. People do as they please."

I smiled. Bruton wasn't going to admit he owned one for some reason. I decided to stop being so nosy. What he and Barbie did after hours hardly concerned me at the moment. It's not like Shelock had given me any instructions. She seemed contented just to have me there. Strange, I thought a mystery awaited us. The longer I was here, the more I worried this was some elaborate set up. Perhaps I was just a dupe, a date for Shelock to shock her old flame.

While I stood chewing on my lip, the instructor turned to me.

"Ok," he said eagerly. "Who's next?"

Bruton looked at me.

"Please, after you."

"Oh, no," I said, shaking my head. "You be the chivalrous one and set the example."

He chuckled, allowing himself to be strapped in. At the last moment, he turned to me.

"I'm really happy you came, Watson."

"Aw, thanks," I said with a smile. "I'm happy to . . . "

The instructor pushed him across. Bruton flew through the air, disappearing into the fog.

"Ok, you've put it off long enough," the instructor said, moving towards my harness.

"I guess," I said, studying the zip-line nervously.

I felt sick with nerves, but gripped the belt tightly. It felt like the minutes dragged by, but finally the instructor received a radio exchange—the others had gotten tired of waiting and had gone on without me. For some reason, this made me less anxious. The instructor snapped my harness into the metal lanyard.

"Ready?"

I shook my head. He laughed, pushing me hard. I flew down into the mist, my breath catching. I expected the ride to be smooth, but something in the line was off. I jostled up and down erratically before coming to a halt.

"Damn it." I couldn't see through the thick fog, it felt like being trapped in a steam room. "Help!"

I kicked my legs frantically. I tried to bury my growing panic, but being out there, alone, unable to see on either side of me sent me into a spiral of anxiety.

"Heeeeeeelp!" I cried again, unnerved by the sound of fear in my own voice.

"Hold on!" I heard distantly.

The fog covered both ends of the zipline. I felt the line moving, and my stomach fell into my boots.

"Oh, God," I said to myself, feeling the line quiver. Almost as if . . . I felt the line begin to shake. "This can't be happening," I said to myself.

I started pulling on the harness, before thinking the better of it and clinging to both it and the line that was now jumping erratically. I thought of how high we had climbed, and how far I had to fall. There was no doubt about it, I would break something on the way down. I would be lucky if it wasn't my neck.

# 6

I clutched the harness, feeling the adrenaline pulse through my body, my breathing labored.

"Don't look down, don't look down."

I shut my eyes, feeling the line shaking more and more violently.

Please God, someone make it stop!

I held on tight. If I didn't know any better I would think someone was intentionally shaking the line. Or maybe cutting it?

"Please someone," I cried out, my voice shaking. "If this is a joke it's not funny."

Silence. Dense fog covered me from all sides. How long could they leave me here, dangling like a fish on a hook? Long enough to watch me squirm.

"Help!" I offered, in one last wail. Hearing sounds of a radio, I relaxed a millimeter. "Hey, here! I'm here!"

"Stay put!" a voice called out.

Several breathless seconds later, a figure flew in from the left. In a blur of blue and red I recognized the instructor. He latched his harness to mine and wordlessly began pulling me back to the platform. Flooded with relief, I let him pull me along in silence. Glancing up, I looked at the line. One of the ropes sagged. It must have snapped. I let my rescuer do his work, praying it would be over soon. Finally, we reached the platform. He hoisted me up, placing me down with an exhausted sigh.

"What happened?" I asked, now shaking uncontrollably.

"The lines," he said, breathing hard from exertion. "One of them came apart."

Fear moved through me. I swallowed hard.

"How did that happen?" I gasped.

"I don't . . . I don't know," he said, looking dazed.

"Get me down," I said, turning around in a circle. "I want to get down now!"

There's nothing like a near death incident to bring a group together. As I descended the platform, Allison flew over and gave me a hug.

"Oh my God, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I said, but I couldn't steady my shaking hands.

Her distress appeared genuine. Perhaps this wasn't a joke. She seemed really upset. Glancing around, everyone appeared troubled by what happened. That is, everyone present.

"Where's your fiancé?" I asked Barbie.

"He's not feeling so hot," she said coolly.

"Well, this has gotten off to a great start," Andrew sighed. He even had the audacity to smile.

"What do we do now?" I asked.

"There's a café," Allison said, gesturing to a winding trail. "Bruton is resting there."

She gave me the first genuine smile of the trip. Perhaps I should have faked a near death experience earlier. The group headed towards the café, with Allison consoling me along the way. Even though I'd already eaten, the large picnic-style spread made my stomach growl. I applied myself to the food, taking sips of strong coffee to get my energy to return. I was the only one eating with any appetite. The rest of them picked at their food. A short time later Bruton emerged from the bathrooms. He looked terrible. Watching us eat the food appeared to make him feel worse.

"Sorry, I'll be back," he said, retreating to the rest area.

We continued eating in silence. I realized it was now or never. Bruton would never reveal to me the nature of his illness, maybe I could get the group to explain what he wouldn't.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked softly.

For a second no one responded. Allison exchanged glances with Andrew, who gave a shrug. Barbie met my gaze.

"The doctors don't know. We are just trying to take it one day at a time."

"Is he under medical care?"

"We've been to every facility under the sun," Andrew said seriously. "Mayo clinics; Phoenix and Minneapolis. He was even in Europe for a test procedure--complete waste of time. His labs are all normal, they can't find any signs of a GI disorder. I think its West Nile or maybe something like Lyme's disease."

"He tested negative for both," Barbie said firmly, as though she'd had this conversation before.

At that moment I felt bad for her.

"I'm sorry," I said, and I meant it.

Her eyes didn't waiver from the rim of her cup.

"Maybe he should get tested again," Andrew said.

"My mom told you," Barbie snapped, staring at him now. "He's negative for Lyme's disease. I wish you'd let it go."

"Oh, is your mom a doctor?" I asked brightly, trying to break up the tension.

"RN."

"Does she work in Chicago?"

"The suburbs, in a nursing home," Barbie said, and by her tone I knew I only had a few more questions before she would go off on me again.

"Should someone go see how he is?"

Andrew tossed down his napkin.

"I will. You all figure out how to salvage this weekend." He stared at Barbie as he said it, before stalking off towards the bathroom.

The rest of us sat in silence. To say it felt awkward would be an understatement. Every time I thought of something to say, the words sat on my tongue. Giving up, I stared at the birds picking around the trail for seeds. Finally, I couldn't bear it anymore. I stood, brushing off my pants.

"I'm going for a walk."

"Me too," Allison said, standing at attention.

Barbie looked over at her—astonished.

"We won't be long," Allison said, adjusting her designer swing purse.

Pleased with the company, I led the way, following a trail that circled the adventure park. The fog lifted somewhat, giving us a view of a gorgeous lake and outcroppings.

"Was this what we zip lined over?"

"Amazing, isn't it?"

"Um, yeah. Amazing."

Allison glanced at me.

"Sorry, you had a big scare up there."

I stared up at the zip lines. I couldn't get the event out of my mind. Why me? Why at the exact time I crossed? It couldn't have been a coincidence.

"Did they know there was a problem with the lines when I went across?"

"It was so weird." Allison dropped her voice, glancing behind her before proceeding. "I was several platforms ahead when Bruton had a rough entry coming in behind me."

The sequencing caught my attention.

"I thought Barbie had gone after you?"

"She did, but hung back until everyone made it across. Bruton wasn't feeling great." Allison paused, picking up her pace to match mine. "He's really not well, but today felt like a good day." She shook her head. "We made it to the next platform when they said there was a problem. That a line had snapped, and you were dangling all cliffhanger-style."

I laughed at the description.

"That's exactly what it felt like." I studied the lines as we continued our walk. "Those cables look pretty sturdy."

"Yea." She shooed away a fly. "I've done this a million times, I've never seen anything like this."

We drew closer to a ladder which led to a tall platform. I stopped short.

"Mind if I check something out?"

"You really want to go up there again?" She frowned.

"Just curious."

"Be my guest. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

Why would I care about that?

"It will just take a second."

I turned, moving towards the ladder. My heart beating, I began climbing, my resolve stiffening every rung I stood on. I kept my eyes on the platform, keeping my breathing steady. I made it to the top without incident, but that didn't mean my legs weren't shaking. I gazed down, seeing the top of Allison's head as she stared up at me. I turned, studying the line. There were two cables—one a heavy metal and the other, I assumed the safety line, a softer material. It would take a large pair of wire cutters to slice the wire. I reached out, feeling it in my hands. A very large wire cutter, handled by more than one person.

"Or a very strong dude," I whispered to myself.

"Be careful!"

"Don't worry. I'm coming down."

Slowly, I descended the ladder.

"Well?" she asked, as my feet touched the ground.

"Looks pretty secure to me. I have no idea how a wire that thick could be cut."

"Who said anything about it being cut? It was probably just an accident," she said, offering a wan smile.

We continued walking, finishing the loop in good time. The small café sat a few yards away. I thought of my mission, using the last few paces to pump her for information.

"So how long have you known Barbie?"

"Only since Bruton met her."

"Less than a year?"

"Thereabouts. But he's older. Ready to settle down."

"I guess that makes sense," I said, unsure why someone like Bruton would marry a creature like Barbie.

_Then again_ , I thought evilly, _he did pick Shelock._

"It's funny he invited us," I offered.

Allison smiled and I felt another crack in her façade. She probably felt equally curious about me.

"You can say that again. Barbie was furious. I mean you invite your ex-fiancé and . . ."

"But her new girlfriend as well," I finished.

She laughed.

"One could say you were a surprise addition to the guest list."

"I was shocked as well. By that, and how much Shelock wanted to come."

Allison raised her eyebrows.

"You can say that again."

There was more to ask, but we were too close to the café. As we drew closer, I spotted Bruton. Barbie was standing behind him, massaging his shoulders. Andrew appeared concerned. He greeted us halfway.

"I'm afraid we are going to cut today's activities short—Bruton needs to see a doctor."

*

I arrived back at the suite just after lunch. After gorging myself at the adventure park, I wasn't hungry in the slightest. I was, however, exhausted. I collapsed into bed, not bothering to take off my clothes. I slept hard for two hours. When I woke, the fading light suggested late afternoon. I reached for my purse, searching for my air canister. I came up empty.

"Damn it!" I cried, shaking my purse onto the bed.

It wasn't hiding under my scarf. I must have left it at the adventure park. Remembering I had another in the bathroom, I rose in search of it. Finding the canister, I inhaled it deeply. Feeling better, I studied myself in the mirror. Blessedly, my makeup had stayed put. I adjusted my eyeliner at the edges and changed into some comfy leggings, deciding I would just watch TV until the next group event—if it even happened.

Having exchanged numbers with Allison on the ride back, I fired off several text messages. Snuggling down into the bed, I turned on the TV, adjusting the volume. My phone illuminated.

Hey, thanks for reaching out. Bruton is out of the hospital. He wants the party to go on. Bowling and bourbon at a local place. Reso for 6.

I looked at the time. I had a solid hour to kill. Tucking my feet under the covers, I flipped on some reality TV, sighing with pleasure. I should be doing my mid-term papers, but who does homework in a place like this! I told myself my near death experience gave me license to enjoy myself.

Enjoying some _Real Housewives_ , I felt a pang of hunger. How could I gorge myself around those people, who only picked at their food? I could eat before, then play the "I'm not hungry" card once the group assembled.

Deciding Shelock owed me, I ordered room service without a shred of guilt. When it came, I settled on my bed like a pasha, downing the hummus with crackers before turning to a helping of ice cream. Seeing the remains of the dishes, I felt a little sheepish. Standing, I exited my room, casting a glance at the door opposite. I'd heard nary a peep from Shelock since arriving at the hotel. How bizarre that she would sit out the whole weekend with her own friends.

Shrugging, I placed the tray outside the room, calling housekeeping to pick it up. I would drink my dinner tonight. That would work just fine. On the way back to my suite, I paused once again at the door to Shelock's room, hearing only the whirring of the bathroom fan.

I remembered her note. Was Bruton's hospitalization an emergency? I had no idea what she would define as one. My near death experience might qualify—depending on her mood. Deciding not to chance it, I flew back to the relative safety of my suite.

Deciding to get ready, I splashed around in the tub before checking the time. I turned on some tunes to get ready. Setting hot rollers for my hair, I reveled in the familiar drumbeat of social events. A sorority girl knows her way around a bunch of parties. Besides, I like to play with my look. Shelock knew my strengths well. All the outfits she procured for me delivered a dose of confidence. Not a bad thing. Not when you were around people like this.

I thought of the women of the group and what I'd learned today. Shelock's intuition was spot on, Allison appeared to be a hangers-on, directed by Bruton to make nice with Barbie. Though the man was genial and kind, he also came off as slightly controlling. Perhaps this turned off Shelock? I was dying to ask. My best chance would be to get Allison or Andrew talking. I could buy both drinks and get the real skinny on Shelock and Bruton. Did it have anything to do with his mysterious illness? No, of course not. But I had flown halfway across the country to help a woman I barely knew. If could get my curiosity satisfied along the way, so be it.

Hair and makeup done, I wrapped myself in a comfy robe. Opening the closet, I studied my outfits. I'd done my research—bowling be damned, the place was _the_ hot spot in Vail. I decided on a pair of leather leggings with a silk chiffon top. I thought it looked high-end yet casual at the same time. Taking one last look in the mirror, I added some diamond studs. I noticed Barbie and Allison wore theirs all the time. There wasn't a woman in this place that didn't have rocks dripping from them like grapes.

Thus situated, I intended on heading down to the lobby for a drink. Exiting my suite, I stopped short. Dressed and freshly perfumed, Shelock sat typing away on her keyboard. She glanced up at me.

"Lovely," she said, as though she actually meant it.

"Well, well," I replied. "The lady has risen."

She smiled.

"You've been busy?"

"Yes, I have lots to tell you."

"Ah, I thought as much." She placed her laptop down. She wore skinny jeans and a complicated looking top, with her signature black leather jacket draped around her.

She rose, moving to the micro fridge to remove a split of champagne.

"Just a small glass," I sighed, sitting across from her. "We have to be there at 6."

"No one in the one percent shows up on time, Watson."

"Well they were on time this morning."

She studied me.

"It seems like you've had quite a day." She poured me a glass and passed it over, placing the bottle next to me. She waited patiently until I'd had a few sips. "Tell me," she began, her eyes boring into me like headlights. "Was zip-lining all you thought it would be?"

"Ha," I said hollowly.

The alcohol and stress of the day pushed me over the edge. My hands began shaking, and I felt like bursting into tears. Shelock watched me carefully as I composed myself.

"Someone cut the line," I finally forced out.

"Back up," she commanded. "That most certainly is conjecture. Start at the beginning. You exited this hotel room." She pointed a manicured finger at the door.

"Yes, while you off doing God knows what, I was out there—the punching bag for your fucking friends." I began crying, horrified at my tears.

"So they were rude?" Shelock asked, tapping her fingers together. "Watson, this is important, I must have all the facts."

"Why is their rudeness relevant?" I asked, tossing back the champagne.

Shelock moved forward, refilling my glass.

"Facts," she began, articulating the word, "are always relevant. You walk out this door, you go—where?"

"I found a place in town," I said, soothed by recounting the day. "I ate breakfast outside with a cappuccino."

"How very quaint," Shelock said, lips curving into a smile.

"I saw Bruton leaving his condo."

"A condo?" Shelock said. "I thought he was staying at the hotel?"

"So did I," I took another sip. "It had to be his condo. I saw one light go off—the rest are vacant. A short time later, Bruton walked right past me. You remember the discussion about empty residences around Vail?"

Shelock nodded, eyes locked on the champagne bottle. I used to think this behavior was rude, but now I realized she was intensely concentrating on my words.

"What was he wearing?"

I pondered this, recalling the details.

"Khaki pants and a red baseball hat—I think." Shelock flinched but remained silent. "A short while later, Barbie followed him. Doing the walk of shame in leggings and dark sunglasses. I don't know why they would be spending the night in a condo."

"No speculation, not yet," Shelock barked. "Next!"

"Ok—I came back to the hotel, got ready and picked out my outfit. Which was on point, thank you." She didn't acknowledge my sentiment, but I continued anyway. "I went downstairs and Barbie did her best to make me feel left out. Bruton was nice to me, as always."

"What were they wearing?"

"Let's see," I said, mulling over the details. "Bruton was in blue jeans and a sweater. I think Andrew was wearing khakis and a pullover. Allison was dressed kind of similar to me. So was Barbie."

Shelock had a smile on her face.

"Continue."

"Bruton didn't seem to be feeling well. He was sweating and almost . . . " She glanced up at me as I trailed off.

"Describe everything, even if you think it means nothing."

"He looked sick. I mean he smelled . . . he almost smelled sick, you know?" Shelock took this in. I could now detect her tics. This interested her. "Anyway, we arrived at the park, and got harnessed up. We went up to the platform, and everyone starts to go over the zip lines."

She held up her hand.

"Order?"

"Let's see, I think Barbie went first. Then Allison and then Andrew. Then Bruton."

Shelock nodded.

"No problems?"

"Other than Bruton not feeling well, no issues. Allison said Bruton had a rough entry, whatever that means."

"Until you, dear Watson."

"Yes," I said, my heart beating harder. "It started off fine. I got halfway across before felt the cable go slack. The line went dead and I couldn't go forward or back. It was terrifying, sitting there wriggling around before the instructor came over and got me."

"Where were the others during this time?"

"They went on to the next platform."

"Tell me who—I must know!"

I strained to think, cursing myself for not taking notes. I thought about my walk with Allison, and her description of what happened. I shut my eyes, focusing. Then I opened them, confident of the story.

"I remember now. Allison said that she and Bruton went onto the next platform before they stopped—Bruton wasn't feeling well. Barbie and Andrew lagged behind."

"There it is," Shelock said. "Thank you Watson, for that retelling. After this incident you were upset?"

"Yes, normal humans get upset over stuff like this." She gave me an unsmiling look. I sighed. "We went to a cafe to take a breather. By that time, Bruton was in the bathroom."

She shook her head dismissively.

"And then?"

"Allison felt bad for me, I think. She was really nice. We went a walk together around the pond. She told me about Bruton. He has an illness that no doctors can diagnose. Barbie's mom is an RN, so apparently she's been helping read all the labs and stuff like that."

"An RN, where?"

"At a nursing home in suburban Chicago."

"Ah," Shelock said, eyes glittering.

"After that, Bruton went to the hospital, and the rest of us came back here. I wasn't sure if we were still having dinner, but Bruton is apparently better." I checked the time. "We are going to this spot where you can bowl."

"A nod to Barbie's Midwestern roots, I'm sure," Shelock said, rising. "Wonderful job Watson, but the mystery is still young. At least our role in it. Let's see what dramatic adventures the town of Vail, Colorado has yet to reveal."

I smiled, standing. The champagne went down easy, and I didn't feel upset anymore. Her words proved prophetic, however, when we reached the lobby. Shelock skidded to a halt. I followed her gaze, identifying Sugar and Bruton's father, Charles hastily gathering their things at the reception desk.

Shelock strode over to them as I trailed behind.

"Everything all right?"

"Oh Harlow! We're taking Robert to the hospital," Sugar said, her face a mask of concern.

I glanced over at her husband, who was nearly hanging off the reception desk. He was sweating profusely, and clearly in a lot of pain. Shelock ran to his side.

"Here, let me help you."

"Oh, thank you girls, you don't know what this means."

I took one of the man's arms and Shelock held the other. Slowly, we moved him out of the lobby. I could hear his labored breathing. We practically carried him out as Sugar skipped ahead to open the door of a black car. We gently secured him inside.

"Please call me if you need anything," Shelock instructed.

Sugar danced around us in a fit of anxiety.

"Of course dear, and thank you," she said, clamoring inside the vehicle.

As the car drove away, Shelock stood in silence, a peculiar look on her face.

"What was that about? Do you think Bruton is still holding the dinner?"

"Yes, I do." She turned, looking like some regal statue in her billowing chiffon and stiff leather. "And if we don't leave now, we'll be more than fashionably late."

"You really think he would still hold this dumb party?" I asked, skipping to keep up with her as she plowed through the streets. She wore black stiletto booties but moved as though they were tennis shoes. I walked at a trot to keep up. "It's so gaudy. I mean his dad's clearly sick. He must know."

"And if there is one word that comes to mind in describing Barbie, what word would you use?"

"Selfish. Fair point," I said, watching her closely as we proceeded through the village.

Something in her stride made me think she was angry. Could she be concerned about something, or someone?

"What's wrong?" I asked her. "Is it Mr. Wollenhaupt?"

She shook her head aggressively.

"It can't be helped, not yet."

I had no idea what she was talking about, so I focused on not tripping on the elegant cobblestone. We reached the restaurant in good time. It sat at the bottom of the town plaza, with neon lights and a fancy looking hostess. She led us to the back of the establishment. I heard the sounds of bowling before I saw our set.

Allison sipped a pink beverage, looking bored. I spotted Bruton next. Barbie sat on his lap; leaning over him like a love-sick co-ed. Andrew sat away from the others, staring off into the bowling lanes with a vacant look. Barbie's parents were notably absent.

They must have seen us approach, but this time no one made much of our entrance. Perhaps our novelty had worn off.

"Hello," I said, when it became clear no one was going to greet us.

Andrew snapped to attention.

"Sorry didn't see you. Here." He moved over, allowing us to sit on a long, neon bench. "Let me get the waiter."

I didn't want anything but he departed too quickly. The atmosphere proved exceptionally awkward. Glancing over at Barbie and Bruton canoodling, I wondered if anyone told him of his parent's sudden illness. Moving forward, my intention clear, Shelock placed one icy finger on my arm.

I turned to her.

"No." She shook her head.

I began to protest when Andrew returned with a very slim, very well-endowed waitress.

"Gin and tonic," Shelock ordered, before glancing over at me. "And some prosecco."

"We only have cava," the waitress said, speaking over the crashing pins.

"Fine," Shelock said with a wave of her hand.

Andrew seemed anxious to catch up with Shelock so I left them alone. I studied Allison's blank expression, determining she'd be the best company that evening. When our drinks arrived, everyone save Allison bowled a round. After watching for a time, I moved to sit next to her.

"Not a fan of bowling?"

"Not really."

"Me neither," I replied. "Balls aren't really my thing."

She broke into a wide grin, the two of us laughing like school girls.

"Are you feeling ok?" I asked.

"Fine. I should be asking you." She looked concerned. "The more I think about what happened the more bizarre it seems."

"Oh, please don't think anything of it," I said, shaking my head. "It was just a dumb thing that happened. I haven't thought of it since."

I lie pretty well. Allison actually laughed.

"Well, you're brave then. Something like that would scar me for life."

I waited until she finished her drink, preparing the topic of Shelock and Bruton. The place shook with the bass of hip hop. I could question her without the risk of being overheard. Not that anyone watched us. Barbie was now sucking on Bruton's ear. Shelock pretended not to notice, devoting herself to deep conversation with Andrew.

"So," I said, gesturing to Bruton. "They like to make out in public."

"It's so annoying," Allison said with a roll of her eyes. "Every once and awhile they just lose it around each other."

"I mean if it's uncomfortable for us, just imagine how it feels like for . . . you know." I gestured to Shelock.

Allison shook her head.

"Girl, you're telling me." She swept a lock of brunette hair to the side.

I edged closer, hoping to inspire a confidence.

"How did it go down? Between them, I mean."

"I can't believe she hasn't told you!"

"Tell me, before I spike your drink!"

She glanced around before dropping her voice low. I had to concentrate to hear.

"They were going to get marriage at a restaurant in New York. Something low key, nothing crazy." She paused, looking on edge. "This is all second hand from Andrew, I hadn't come into the group yet."

"Uh-huh."

"So the day comes, and all the guests show up. I think the ceremony was supposed to be around 5 or something. Shelock shows up, all dressed up and ready for the big day. Minutes tick by." She leaned in, practically on top of me now. "Guess who never showed?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, not understanding.

"Bruton stood her up," Allison said breathlessly. "On her wedding day."

"What?" My cry vanished into the crash of bowling pins.

"Yup," Allison said, offering a Cheshire grin. "At first she was hopeful, standing up there, waiting. And when it became obvious that he wasn't coming she came apart."

As Allison laughed, I felt a stab of sadness. That was every woman's worst nightmare. Fortunately, Allison didn't notice my horrified expression.

"I mean, I'm not saying that bitch deserved it but . . . that bitch deserved it." She paused, realizing what she was saying. "I mean . . . sorry."

"No, she said she was different before," I said, reaching for another lie. "She said an incident in the past changed her and now she's a new person."

"Well, she certainly seems the same."

"Well, this doesn't explain why we were invited, though. I mean why the hell would anyone want us here?"

"Maybe to make up for past mistakes?" Allison shrugged. "I have no idea why he would a. invite her, and b. why she would come. Unless . . . well, you know Shelock better than I do."

"What?"

"I'm sure she wanted to show you off, and embarrass him in the process." She took a sip of her drink.

"You don't think she's worried about him?"

"Harlow Shelock?" Allison shook her head. "Ah, no."

Andrew came over. I drew away, pretending to check my phone.

"I want to see you bitches bowl!" he purred.

"Andrew, stop!" Allison cried, as he forcibly removed her from her seat, and walked her over to one of the bowling balls. I watched them for a time, drunkenly trying to throw the neon bowl down the lanes, thinking of what Allison had said.

I believed Shelock when she told me she had concerns about Bruton's health. It made sense that she was driven by altruism. But hearing this story cast that into doubt. Allison had known Shelock much longer than I had. Perhaps she was right in thinking Shelock's presence meant one thing—that she was here to embarrass Bruton. The fact he was sick meant nothing, merely icing on the cake.

I didn't get any more information after that, the music was too loud and the place had turned into a full-blown club. Allison and Andrew continued to bowl together, turning up the flirting. He seemed eager to distract himself, what with Bruton and Barbie still eating each other's faces off. I glanced over at Shelock, who studied Andrew closely.

Would he be the next to vie for her attentions? Initially, maybe. But not he seemed devoted to Allison. After the buzz from my cava wore off, I glanced over at Shelock questioningly. She rose, and from the set of her shoulders, I realized she intended on leaving that instant.

Shouting out goodbyes, I followed suit, thrown by her dramatic exit. Glancing back, I offered a wave to Allison, who acknowledged it with a nod. Andrew looked surprised. Bruton and Barbie hardly noticed.

A cloud of uncertainty descended as we walked back to the hotel. It was our last night in Vail. Tomorrow we would have brunch with the group and then head to the airport. I didn't feel as if we had really learned much. In fact, I had more questions about Shelock's motives than anything else. Shelock didn't say anything on the walk back. She just stared straight ahead, walking with intention to the hotel. On the elevator ride up, I turned to her.

"I need to ask you something."

"Shoot."

"What happened between you and Bruton?"

She glanced over at me, her expression unguarded.

"Why would you ask me that?"

"I think it's relevant to the case."

Her expression hardened.

"How so?"

"Facts, dear Watson," I parroted back to her.

She smiled at me, holding the elevator doors.

"We were engaged once, we aren't now."

"You didn't tell me he left you at the altar."

I thought this bit of news would get her attention, but she didn't so much as break her stride.

"You never asked," she said, opening the door to our suite.

I wasn't about to let it drop, grabbing her elbow as we entered.

"I feel like you're hiding things from me."

"You don't ask the right questions," she said, twisting away. She sat down in our common room. She kicked off her heels, propping her legs up on the arm of the chair and stretching like a cat.

I sat across from her.

"Ok then, why did he stand you up on your wedding day?"

"You'll have to ask him that," she said, studying her cuticles.

"You're telling me you've never asked?" I cried in disbelief.

She looked up at me, her expression blank.

"No."

"Even after . . . all this?"

"What you mean, his engagement?"

"You never told me why he invited you here. The man who did a horrible thing to you several years ago. What he just decided to invite his ex-fiancé after finding love? That makes no sense."

"He reached out after falling ill," she said casually. "I think I told you I've gained a reputation for solving problems. Mysteries, little puzzles that our modern society grapples with but doesn't fit into any professional area of expertise."

"And how do you propose to solve this dilemma, by watching him make out with Barbie and sending me on a wild goose chase?"

"I think I told you," she said firmly. "We are gathering information, Watson. Drawing the facts to us as a researcher does her material. And then, when the time is right, it will come together at the exact moment it should." She looked curious. "What else did Allison tell you?"

"Only that she thought your goal in this weekend was to embarrass him by bringing me."

She smiled.

"Watson, I meant what I said. I'm here to solve the puzzle that Bruton laid on my doorstep."

"Has he asked you about it?"

"No, he's been . . . preoccupied."

"Why did we keep his parent's hospitalization a secret?"

"His father's hospitalization," Shelock corrected. "Details, Watson, you are showing your propensity to forget them. In a case like this, they are essential. More than that, they may end up saving a man's life."

"Ok, fine, his father. Why did you keep that a secret?" I asked in a stronger voice, realizing she often used these statements to avoid answering a question.

She tapped her fingers together.

"I wanted to watch them, to see how they're acting. It was telling, I think, to see them so lovely-dovey. It hints there was stress earlier in the day."

"You mean they were making up," I asked, removing my heels and rubbing the balls of my feet.

"Exactly." The elevens between her brows deepened. "Which makes me wonder what they had been fighting about. That, my dear Watson, is what we must discover before we leave tomorrow."

"Are you leaving me alone to brunch with the enemy?" I sighed.

"No, I love brunch," she said, straightening. "And now, I'm going to sleep." She had applied copious amounts of foundation, but I noticed dark circles under her eyes. "Exceptional job today," she said, rising. "Be on your game tomorrow. Before we board that plane we must have the answer for the fight."

"It will be hard to get it from either of them."

"Unless we draw it out," she said with a wicked grin. "Unless we draw . . . " she paused meaningfully, eyes sparkling. " . . . it out."

# 7

The next morning I got up early. Staring at the clock, I decided on a walk to clear my head. The challenge from yesterday sat fresh in my mind. How was I to ascertain the reason for a lover's quarrel? Throwing on some sweats, I made my way to the coffee shop I'd discovered the day before. I thought again about the early morning of Bruton and Barbie. Would I see them again?

Finding the café, I skipped the pastry but opted for a steaming cappuccino. Settling myself down at the same table, I noticed the light from the condo shone brightly. Like clockwork, it disappeared around 6:45am. Several moments later, a familiar figure came into view. Clad in his khakis and red hat, Bruton walked quickly, hands in his pockets, his breath visible in the cold air. A short time later, Barbie appeared, hands wrapped around her waist. I smiled to myself, pleased with my detective work, but confused with what it meant. Perhaps this lay at the heart of the mystery.

I returned my mug, and walked back to my hotel suite. I started to pack, taking care with each item of clothing. That task complete, I took a long soak the tub. Rising to prepare for our trip, I took no shortcuts with my makeup routine. Hearing sounds of life from the common area, I found Shelock packed and ready to go. Sporting a show-stopping black dress, she wore diamond studs and a lose chignon. She gave me the once over, her eyes appearing glassy. I suspected she had some chemical help in getting herself moving this early.

"And what did you get up to so early this morning?"

"I spotted Bruton and Barbie, again, exiting the same condo."

"Which one?"

"I wrote the address down," I said quickly.

"Very good," Shelock said, taking the scrap of paper from me. "What were they wearing?"

"Same as yesterday."

"Ah yes, khakis for Bruton." She paused meaningfully. "And Barbie outfitted in leggings and dark sunglasses."

"What do you think it means?"

"No speculation, Watson!" she insisted, finger in the air. "Not yet. And now, let's brunch."

I looked forward to the food and wasn't disappointed. We ate in the hotel restaurant, with a spread that would rival a cruise ship. I loaded my plate, not willing to leave the luxury behind unless I had tasted every morsel.

Sitting down in yet another private room, everyone greeted me warmly. Bruton seemed distant, but happy. Allison hugged me like an old friend. Shelock put on quite a show, paying close attention to Barbie, who blossomed at the adulations. At Shelock's goading, she launched into a description of yesterday's events.

"We missed you," she finished, dabbing her lips with a cloth napkin.

"Oh, really?" Shelock said, eyes large in mock innocence. "Well, I'm sorry to miss all the drama, at the very least."

Bruton tensed.

"The zip-lining incident was unfortunate, but Watson was never in any real danger."

"I meant your visit to the ER," Shelock said with a dramatic frown.

"He's better now," Barbie insisted.

Bruton went pale.

"I didn't need to stay in that damn hospital and I don't want to hear another word about it."

Barbie turned to him, clearly annoyed.

"Did you hear me say anything about that? No, I said you were better."

I mentally applauded Shelock's work. In that brief exchange we knew the topic of their fight—Bruton's medical care. Small wonder, it had been the theme of the entire trip.

"You have to forgive us women," Shelock said consolingly. "We get so worried, and we really do believe in the medical establishment." Barbie nodded her head, elated someone was taking her side. "I can see why your fiancé wanted you to stay."

Bruton softened marginally.

"I understand that, Harlow, but this is my last weekend," he said dramatically. I noted the use of her first name. He was the only one who utilized it. I noticed her draw back as he continued. "I didn't want to spend my night in the ER like dad."

I tried to look shocked, remembering this was new information.

"Oh my God, what happened?"

"He wasn't feeling well," Barbie said in a queer voice.

"You're too kind," Bruton quipped. "His symptoms mimic my own. I'm afraid we have some genetic curse." He threw his napkin on the table.

"Maybe you're just stressed," Shelock said.

I thought she might be goading him. I glanced over at Allison, who caught my eye meaningfully. If it was her intention, the rest of the table felt it. Luckily, Bruton didn't take the bait.

"I'm only grateful we have this last meal together," he said seriously, raising his mimosa. "To the wedding."

We all raised our glasses, clinking them together.

"The wedding!" I cried, my tone ringing hollow.

On ride back to the airport I realized Shelock would drive straight to the destination without (a. asking if I was hungry (b. if I had to pee or (c. If I was having fun. Therefore, it forced me to be very blunt about what I wanted to do. For some reason, this proved gratifying. So when I saw a sign for an old historic mining down, I convinced her to pull over.

We investigated the main street before I spotted a lunch spot; a stall that offered amazing corned beef sandwiches and fries. Filled to the brim, we headed to the airport. After a nightmare security line, we made it to our gate. After checking the departure time, Shelock pulled out her laptop.

"Transcribing your notes?" I asked.

"Writing another brief," she explained, gesturing to her bag. "My red notebook is for my cases. Electronic for everything else."

"Maybe you should reverse that," I said, looking around in my own purse for something to read.

"Paper is easier to destroy—the electronic format isn't as easily managed."

"Interesting." I rose. "I'm going to buy a magazine, do you want one?"

"No." She didn't look up.

I left, eager for some time alone. The airport offered a good opportunity to stretch my legs. I killed time walking through each terminal, dodging tourists towing along their unruly children as I listened to my headphones. Finally, I decided I'd better stop and find some reading material. I picked a newsstand at random and scanned the titles, selecting a few trashy magazines. I was just about to pay when I saw them.

Barbie stood facing Bruton, pointing a finger at his chest and gesturing wildly. I hid behind the magazine stand, watching them carefully. His back to me, Bruton shifted away, holding up his hands as though she would go on the attack at any moment.

_Another fight?_ I thought to myself, now worried I would reveal myself if I paid and left.

Putting the magazines back, I slipped out of sight. Luckily, they were too busy arguing for them to notice me. I walked over the opposite side of the terminal, ducking into the ladies' room. I entered, thinking that by the time I left, they'd be gone.

No sooner did I emerge than I spotted them again. This time, they had changed positions. With a start, I recognized Andrew Goldsmith. I'd gotten them mixed up, their hair and height were almost an exact match. Barbie seemed slightly mollified now, as she shifted her weight. Andrew spoke to her for a time before, shaking her head, she sulked off.

Glancing down at my watch, I gave a little jump. Running for the gate, I made it just as the plane began to board. Shelock looked at my harried state with amusement. Once situated on the plane, she turned to me.

"What happened?"

"Well," I took a sip of water. "I thought I saw Barbie and Bruton in yet another fight."

"And?"

I shook my head.

"It wasn't Bruton at all, she was arguing with Andrew."

She took this in with her usual look of concentration.

"When did you realize this?"

"Well, when he turned around."

"Hmm," she said. "Do you think they were fighting about Bruton's care?"

"Possibly," I said, before pausing. "Actually, I have no idea why she would be so angry. I'm telling you." I flipped open a magazine. "She was pissed."

"Did it have the feel of a lover's quarrel?"

"Andrew and Barbie? She was sucking Bruton's face the day before."

"Just a thought."

I turned a page. Some jerk had answered the crossword in pen.

"Do you think they are involved?"

"No speculation," she said warningly. "Forget I mentioned it."

"Your rules are suffocating," I said, placing the magazine away. I adjusted my shawl into a makeshift pillow.

"And yet, they are effective," she said almost jovially.

"Wake me up when we get there," I said, closing my eyes. The thought of more conversation seemed to suck the life energy from me. "Your Watson is off the clock—no more fake girlfriends, no more details of any kind. I just want to go back to Indiana and worry about what party I'm going to."

"Or the term papers you've neglected to write."

"The ultimate killjoy," I replied, feeling my body relax, the stress of the day and the amount of booze I consumed churning my stomach.

I didn't give a flip about those papers, or anything else. My mind focused on the upcoming wedding in the winter. Would Bruton have gotten worse, as his father seemed to be doing? Perhaps it was just a coincidence.

"There are no coincidences, Watson," I heard Shelock whisper.

As usual, she echoed my innermost thoughts. But this time, I'd rather she remained silent.

*

After exiting the plane, Shelock barely spoke. We entered her mint green Fiat in silence and drove back to the sorority house. She pulled off the road a block away.

"This is where we part, Watson. I'll arrange for your trunks to meet you in your room."

I glanced around.

"Is something wrong?"

"I don't want the sisters to the get the wrong idea." She gestured to her. "About us."

"Oh."

I fumbled for my seatbelt, unable to shake the feeling of being rejected. Turning to her, I went to offer a goodbye before my mouth closed on the words. Shelock appeared sullen, distracted. There would be no point further delaying her.

"Bye."

I stepped out of the car, watching as she sped off.

"Ok." I turned in a circle, getting my bearings. "Thanks for everything, I guess."

I got that Shelock didn't want people to see us together. Truth be told, I didn't either. It would force too many questions, for which I had no answers. Well, at least none that I could share.

True to her word, my trunks found their way into my room in the sorority house. Staring at my room in its usual, frenzied state, I grew weary of my previous life. The surroundings which had given me so much pleasure now seemed childish.

I moved my trunks under my bed, worried someone would see them. Is this what I'd become? Someone too good for everything? That night I met some friends for dinner in the dining hall, keenly aware of how I'd changed as I studied the grey turkey and watery-looking mashed potatoes. I used to live for this—to revel in the endless supply of the worst kind of cafeteria food. Now I tried in vain to listen to my sister's stories about getting barfed on by their roommates. I thought I'd miss those parties, but listening to them discuss their conquests, I felt a strange sense of superiority. In my wildest dreams, I wouldn't have thought I could feel this way. But their tales felt so—immature.

"Kay," Jess turned to me, "You're super quiet. How was home?"

Oh yeah, about that.

I didn't want them to know about my trip with Shelock. They already regarded her attention to me as highly suspect. I didn't want their jealousy (or so I assumed) to turn to vindictiveness. As a senior, Shelock would be gone soon. I had several years to go and didn't want to spend them at the bottom part of the totem pole.

"Oh, fine." I reached for an excuse. "My mom is sick. I don't want to talk about it."

Beth patted my hand, her look of concern deepening my guilt.

"I'm sorry babe. Let us know if we can do anything."

"Yeah," Jess pipped in, studying her reflection in her smart phone. "Anything."

They quickly changed the subject, making me feel even more like a brat. I let their stories wash over me as my mind returned to my experience in Vail. Bruton's illness and now his father's, what could it mean? Was it some kind of genetic disease, held in remission until a stressful event caused it to emerge?

We were done eating. I followed the girls as we proceeded to the yogurt machine. As I waited for the thick sludge to pour into my plastic cup, I pondered my dilemma. There will be more people to confront at the wedding. I almost felt resentful for being included in the first place. I didn't have unlimited funds like Shelock, I wasn't exceptionally bright. I came as her date, nothing more nothing less. It made me angry, being teased with this new life, and now expected to live my normal existence in this shitty college town.

I took a bite of my yogurt, feeling desperate with my current situation. I had the start of a public health degree and that's it. No boyfriend, no prospects outside the next mixer. I tried unsuccessfully to right my mood as we exited the hall.

"Let's people watch!" Jess chirped.

I followed the group, brooding as we sat down on the steps to the sorority house. The boys were out, walking past sorority row on their way back from lacrosse practice. The sight should have aroused me, but I felt even more annoyed. The girls began hooting at the boys, making cat-calls. But it all seemed so stupid. Even looking down at my yogurt, the fake strawberry color made me sick. I rose, tossing it out. Jess turned to look.

"Where you going?"

"I don't feel well."

I made a hasty retreat to my room. I sat on my bed for a time, thinking of what to do. My eye caught a syllabus for a neglected class. I pulled the sheet to me, catching a familiar overwhelming feeling. My first inclination was to go to Shelock's room and ask for her advice, but the thought filled me with dread. She would only roll her eyes, and I would feel more pathetic. I could make progress on my own.

Sitting down on my bed, I outlined what I could reasonably accomplish. Concentrating on my list, time flew. I kept working, discovering homework from other neglected classes and reviewing the syllabuses in turn. Sighing at the length of my list, I groaned. Somehow knowing made me feel better. At it through dinner, I came up with a plan to get at least passing grades. It would have to do for now.

I woke early the next day and went for a long run—elated to find that my energy levels had returned after several days at high altitude. I took a long show, having the entire bathroom to myself at the ungodly hour of 7am. Getting ready, I went straight to the library, spotting a few people coming back from parties. Seeing me with my book bag gave them a surprise. I smiled to myself.

Kay Watson, the student!

It gave me a sense of pride, and I held my head high. I worked until lunch, where I broke for some food cart goodness. Waiting for my falafel, I noticed a tall guy with curly brown hair loitering near me. I turned towards him, my stomach flipping.

"Hey Nick,"

"How goes it, Kay?"

His hair was freshly washed, and he appeared to be going somewhere.

"Nothing much, where you off to?"

"Working at the computer lap." He stared at my bag. "Books?"

"I'm so behind," I said with a smile.

He offered a crooked grin.

"Good for you." He looked impressed.

I felt a stab of pride. Nick never gave a reason why he stopped calling me. Given the number of suitors interested in me, it didn't really matter. But still, I do the ghosting—not the other way around. I knew I looked good, and could feel his attraction.

"How was your spring break?"

"Relaxing, you?"

"My mom was sick, I went home for a few days."

"I'm sorry to hear that." He looked as though he wanted to say more.

"Anyway," I said, gesturing to my falafel. "Got to eat."

"You want company?" he asked, as I began walking away.

I paused, giving him a look.

"Uh, I thought you had work?"'

"Well, I do, but I have a half hour."

"Suit yourself," I said. Gesturing to a table. "I'll be right there."

I placed my food down, watching him hastily order. What drew his interest all the sudden? I tallied the information I knew about him. He participated in crew, held leadership positions in his frat. He also was quite hot—if you went for tall guys with dark, wavy hair. He ambled towards me, hands full with an orange soda and falafel. I remembered one other thing about him—he majored in premed.

"How are your classes going?" I asked, cracking open my Diet Coke.

"Organic chem is going to be the death of me."

"Are you going to specialize in anything?"

"I'm doing an internship at a neurology lab," he said, applying himself to his food.

I thought back to our dates. We never talked about school. I had no idea he was so . . . scheduled.

"What does that entail?"

"Well, we have . . . monkeys," he said, looking slightly ashamed. "Do you really want to hear about this?"

"You experiment on animals?"

"Not really. We made slides of their brains."

I fought to keep my lunch down.

"Oh."

"Yeah, I don't really admit that to everyone, depending on how you feel about it. But it's how medical research is conducted."

For some reason, I kept thinking about Bruton.

"If someone is super ill and has flu-like symptoms, but the labs are fine. And then all the sudden their relatives have the same symptoms, do you think that's neurological?"

Nick began laughing.

"Where the hell did that come from?" He quickly sobered. "Are you talking about your mom?" I remained silent, not confirming or denying. That lie proved beneficial, Nick gave me a serious look. "You don't have to answer that," he said consolingly.

He took another bite of his sandwich, chewing methodically before continuing.

"Well, I'm assuming this person has been to a doctor?" I nodded. "And all the lab work, blood work, is normal. Hmmm, some neurological disorders are hard to diagnose, but yet." He paused. "That doesn't really fit with flu-like symptoms. How long has this been going on?"

I opened my mouth to answer, before realizing with a sinking feeling that Bruton had been battling the illness for about the approximate time of his engagement—just over 6 months. Why hadn't I realized this before? Maybe the stress of an engagement contributed to an underlying condition.

"Let me ask you this," I tried, sampling some of his fries he thrust at me. "If someone gets sick. Could it coincide with a life event?"

"Like what?"

"Like someone getting married."

Nick gave me a grin.

"Wanna tell me something."

"I'm serious," I said, nudging him.

Damn, flirting felt good. Especially after being around the ice-queen for so long. Nick took another bite of his falafel before taking on a pondering look.

"The mind-body connection is strong. My dad's a doctor. He sees patients totally convinced they have some rare genetic disorder, when in fact they're the ones driving themselves crazy. That and maybe a poor diet."

"So a major life event can stress you to the point where you really think something is wrong." I paused, thinking this through. "When in reality, they are perfectly healthy."

"Of course, happens all the time. They're called hypochondriacs."

I turned to my food. It was an unlikely conclusion, but like Shelock said, we follow only the facts. Currently, the facts didn't support a terminal illness. Bruton had been seen by the world's top doctors. They gave him a clean bill of health. So then why was he still sick?

Nick tapped his finger on his chin.

"There is, of course, another explanation."

"Which is?" I looked longingly at the orange soda had grasped in his hands. My Diet Coke was good but sometimes a girl craves sugar.

"Well, are you sure this person hasn't been exposed to any harmful substances?"

"Like what?" I asked.

"Well, like lead in water—some types of paint. Not all poison can be detected by lab work."

I sat there stunned. Of course, the idea never occurred to me that Bruton could be poisoned. I cleared my throat.

"I thought we had like all kinds of tests for determining that stuff."

"I mean we do, but some substances are still undetectable. I mean we don't advertise it, but yeah, it's entirely possible."

I felt my heart beating rapidly.

"Like what?"

"Well—insulin, for one."

"Like for diabetes?"

"Yeah, but you can overdose on it. If a person has diabetes, you wouldn't think anything of seeing insulin on the lab work. It's made naturally in the system."

"Hmm," I said, filling this bit of information away. "Well, thanks, but I gather it's the horse and not the zebra?"

"Ah yes, one of our favorite sayings."

He attacked his fries.

"So a more likely conclusion is someone is just stressed about their upcoming wedding?"

"If I were a betting man that's where I'd put my money." He smiled at me. "It doesn't sound like this is about your mom, and I certainly hope it's not about you."

I smiled.

"Thanks Nick, this has been really helpful. I'm glad I ran into you."

I balled up the foil from my sandwich but didn't rise immediately. He looked at me for a few moments, before clearing his throat.

"So what are you up to this month? Going to any formals?"

"Shit, I almost forgot throwback 90's is coming up. Honestly, I'm so behind in school I'm not sure that . . . "

"Go with me."

I looked over at him, amused.

"I'm flattered Nick, really but . . . "

"I'll help you, with research, whatever. Don't let school be a reason you miss out. Fun is important too."

He gave me another melting smile. I thought of Shelock, all alone in her room. Bookworm or not, I must escape that destiny.

"Ok," I said with finality, rising to leave. "You better get to work. Got all those monkey brains to slice."

"Don't repeat that, please," he said eagerly. "Ok, Kay," he gave me that same, crooked grin. "See you around."

# 8

The rest of the day I practically danced on air. Seeing Nick made it really hard to concentrate. I thought of how impressed he looked when I mentioned studying, so I applied myself as best I could. At the end of the day, I had two term paper in the can. By the end of the week, I had caught up on my reading. Midterms were fast approaching, with the formal after. So I dedicated the rest of the time writing two more papers—making up one for extra credit, and studying.

The tests went ok; better than nothing. My teachers looked surprised when I turned in all the papers, I guess they had written me off. To tell the truth, so had I. With my new lease on academic life, I grew excited as the mixer approached. I barely saw my sisters, but I texted Nick on and off.

The night of the formal, I looked forward to bragging all over Nick. It felt like a reward for working so hard. I even bought a new dress for it—something tight and red. I wanted badly to wear one of my Colorado outfits, but around this crew it would look completely overdone. Plus I had to stick to the theme. I selected a lacy choker and added some chunky heels. I studied the effect in the mirror. My roots were starting to show and I wondered about maintenance. I still hadn't talked to Shelock, but expected her to be at the mixer tonight. She never missed these social events.

Scanning my form in the mirror, I thought again of Vail.

Allison.

She'd given me her number. What could a friendly text hurt? If anything, I could glean more intel in advance of the wedding. Moving to my phone I shot off a quick text. Nothing too nosy, just a quick check on Brutons' condition. I needed to keep up appearances. Who knows, it might come in handy when the wedding approaches.

Satisfied, I left my room, walking over to the frat with a pack of girlfriends. I spotted Nick standing out on the balcony, beer in hand, talking to friends. When he saw me, he did a double take.

"Good sign Kay," Beth cooed, facing me and making a vulgar gesture.

"Will you stop, he'll see you."

He disappeared from the balcony. Moments later, he appeared at the door. My sisters evaporated from the scene, turning to offer me nods of encouragement.

"Hey."

"Hi," I said, giving him a nod. "You clean up well." He wore a polo and crisp khakis. Despite the preppiness factor, he looked hot.

"Likewise," he said, doing his best to keep his eyes on my face.

We headed to the dining hall—now transformed into a huge dance floor for the mixer. Shouting over "California Love," we made small talk about our midterms.

"How are the monkeys?" I asked, as he handed me a beer.

Tasting the lukewarm beverage, I cringed. I missed my prosecco. This frat was notorious for mixing jungle juice. Nick gave me the one thing his brothers couldn't spike.

A good catch!

"Monkeys are good," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Any update on your friend?"

"Nothing," I said honestly, checking my text log. "But I wouldn't worry about it. This person has tons of money. I'm sure he's getting the best medical care."

"That matters," he said. Glancing behind me, he went pale.

I could take a guess at the reason. Turning my head, I spotted Shelock standing with the frat president, a horrible little shit by the name of Kyle Mitchell. This achieved her aim, to be recognized with the most powerful person at the party; what a snob.

She strolled through the party in her usual aloof way, before seeing me. She leaned over, speaking with Kyle. Offering his arm to her, they walked over.

"Oh no," Nick muttered. "Get ready."

I played dumb.

"What do you mean?"

"Evening," Kyle said, pleased as punch one of the most beautiful women at the party hung on his arm.

Shelock wore a tight black dress and platform heels, her hair diva-high.

"Watson," she said, with a wink, she looked at Nick. "I don't think we've met."

Nick's face went completely blank. He appeared to forget his name. After a few seconds, I stepped in.

"Nick Offerman," I said, "This is Harlow Shelock, Kappa's president."

"Uh, hi," he said, offering his hand.

He had raised the one with the beverage. Shelock smiled as Nick realized what he'd done.

"Shit, sorry." He offered his other hand.

Kyle laughed, a grating chuckle.

"Pull your head out of your ass, Offerman," he said loudly. He turned to me. "Kyle Mitchel."

"Watson," I said.

Nick turned to me.

"I've never heard you use that name."

Shelock gave him a brilliant grin.

"I expect you knew her by another?"

He looked at her, star struck once again.

"Uh, yeah."

"Well," Shelock said, clearly amused by his discomfort. "You two enjoy each other. We have some catching up to do."

She departed with Kyle. I watched them move further into the party before turning to Nick.

"That woman is terrifying."

"Shelock?" I said, giving him a broad smile. "Maybe when you first meet her. One you get to know her she warms up."

"Oh, really," he said, downing his beer. "I feel like I need a shock therapy after that. Do you think she tries to be such a bitch?"

"No, actually I don't," I said, feeling my defenses rise. "Shelock does everything intentionally, but it's never personal."

"What are you two? Friends?"

The way he said it indicated only one possible answer. The old Kay would have denied her instantly.

Us? No, didn't you hear? She likes girls . . .

I toyed with the tab on my beer. Were we friends? I don't think Shelock has the capacity for friendship, or any relationship for that matter. How could I relay this to Nick? A more important question rose to my lips.

"Sounds like you don't like her, but I do. There's something against the grain about her I admire."

"What does that mean?" he asked, moving closer as more people crowded into the party.

My diplomacy came to an end.

"It means she's someone you want on your side—but at arm's length."

"Ah, you don't strike me as someone who cares about that sort of thing."

"I'm learning more about myself these days," I said with a raised eyebrow. "I think it's good to have people that can help you."

"True friendship is more valuable, I think."

I smiled.

"I used to feel that way." I handed him my cup. "Get me another beer? This one is warm."

"Sure," he said, moving towards the plastic tub.

I slipped to the edges of the room, moving past sisters and saying hello, pondering his words. I used to think that my friends were everything. But those same girls were probably talking about me the second I walked away; like the night I returned from Vail, frozen yogurt melting around their fingers.

If Shelock may be incapable of friendship, how was that any different? And further, if Shelock could take me places and teach me things, wasn't that more valuable that blow job tips? Put in this light, I was much better off with Shelock.

Of course, who slid up beside me but the woman herself.

"He seems . . . nice," she said, not bothering to hide her amusement.

I looked around, watching as those around us begin to scatter.

"Be nice," I said, an edge to my voice.

She raised an eyebrow.

"You like him." She studied me carefully. I felt my heart beating at a rapid clip; almost as if we were meeting for the first time. She eased back slightly and I relaxed. "Good. He's a smart kid, he'll treat you right."

"How can you tell that from meeting him in five seconds?" She shook her head dismissively. "Oh, yes, I forgot what an excellent judge of character you are."

"Sometimes I surprise myself," she said, separating her lashes with a manicured finger. "Your Nick appears to come from corn fed Midwestern stock. And well-educated to boot. I also hear you've been studying more."

"How did you hear that?"

Why were we talking about this? I thought we'd be discussing the case; but Shelock seemed more interested in my social life. Could it be she'd taken a real fancy to me?

"Nothing that happens in my sorority without me knowing," she said, without undue vanity.

"I was really behind in class. Thought I should make the effort."

"Being around rich people has that effect," Shelock said, staring at the crowd. "One can take several paths; the road to bitterness or inspiration."

"In what way?"

"You want it for yourself."

She put her finger on it, as she usually did.

"Yes," I said. "You're totally right."

She looked over to me.

"You're thinking about the case?"

"I am," I admitted. "Has the idea of poison ever occurred to you?" Shelock remained silent for a time, watching the people swirl around us with a singular lack of expression. Slowly, she nodded.

"There are some poisons that are undetected by even our advanced medical science."

I smiled at this.

"It's the horse; not the zebra."

"That what?"

"You know it's more likely to be a horse, a common ailment. Than a zebra, something out of left field."

"Good lord, what a bizarre phrase." She paused, finger on her chin. "But helpful if you are teaching medical science to a pack of pre-meds."

"How did you know Nick is pre-med?"

"I understand the phrasing, however coarse the expression," she said, brushing off my question. "I also know Bruton's illness could be nothing more than his mind run amok. However, there is too much at our disposal to suggest that this is merely a case of cold feet."

"Based on what?"

"My knowledge of Bruton and how he operates."

I felt a rush of adrenaline.

"You told me to only use facts when solving your little cases!"

"My assessment is fact. No one knows that man like I do." She looked quite serious, her dark eyes flashing.

"And don't you think cold feet is in line with how Bruton operates?"

As soon as I said the words, I regretted them. Shelock seemed to turn pale, before quickly orienting herself.

"Ah, so you think since he stiffed me, he's having similar feelings now?" She laughed. "Don't fret, Watson, I'm quite over emotions of all kinds."

Concerned I offend her, I remained silent. She smiled, as if sensing my thoughts.

"I'm pleased you've factored in our history. I knew you would." She took a sip of beer. "But it doesn't lead me to believe that Bruton is making this up. Like all men, he's not inventive enough."

I saw Nick coming toward us. When he saw Shelock he paused, allowing himself to be drawn into a conversation with a fraternity brother.

"It's only a few months before the wedding," I said, turning to her. "What other areas can I look into?"

"None," Shelock said. "We must allow the natural course of events to slowly unfurl, which they will, in due time."

"What if Bruton gets worse?"

"Another fact we can use."

"What if he dies?"

She paused, sighing heavily—her bosom heaving.

"He won't die before he's married. Though I grant you the timing will be a challenge."

"You seem so callous about it," I said, her flippant nature grating on me.

She turned to face me, those eyes boring into my very soul.

"You want to rush things—to make a solution where none exists." Shelock shook her head, staring off into space. "These things cannot be forced. Especially when we are dealing with the delicacy of this situation."

"In what sense?"

"That relationship we witnessed," she began, speaking in her slow, deliberate way. "Is a delicate ecosystem of social powers and attitudes, both good and bad. A misstep could tip it one way or the other."

I nodded, though I had no idea what she meant. Like most things Shelock revealed to me, I filed this away for later use.

"So we wait."

"You don't have enough to fill your time?" she asked, looking over at Nick, who tried very hard not to stare at us.

"Yes, I have enough to fill my time," I parroted back.

"Don't worry, Watson, the wedding will exceed expectations, in more ways than one." She turned back to me with a knowing look.

"You seem so confident," I called out as she moved away.

"A weakness of mine," she said seriously. "One which I'm always fighting to conceal."

As she made her exit, Nick hastened over.

"Geez, what did she want?"

"She was asking about you. I think she wants to kill you."

He turned white.

"Nick, I'm kidding!" I cried, smiling as he shook his head.

"I have no idea why you talk to her."

"I already told you." I accepted the ice-cold beer he handed me, taking a sip. "Ah, much better."

He stared down at me, his look communicating volumes.

"I didn't know your eyes were blue," he said, his words beginning to run together.

"I guess there's a lot you don't know about me," I whispered back.

I didn't sleep with Nick that night, but I really wanted to. I made my escape, Irish-style around 2 am. I know he'd be hunting for me. Men say they don't want to date sluts but give them enough beer and watch what happens.

I felt good about my decision; but after waking up the next morning, horny and out of sorts, I revised my opinion. I hadn't drunk enough to give me a hangover, so the extra time gave me a moment to orient myself. I ate breakfast in the dining hall before heading to the gym.

I hit the weights, before walking on the treadmill for nearly an hour—going over Shelock's words in my mind. I did want to rush the case, I wanted to build on the things we saw in Vail and find a conclusion the right way. It killed me, but patience seemed to be my only option at present.

Still, a little mind grease never hurt anyone. What did Shelock mean about Bruton living at least until the wedding? Did she really think Barbie had any motive in his illness? I thought of her argument with Andrew. What could it mean? I assumed it has something to do with Bruton's care. Maybe I could figure it out on my own.

I sent several inquiring texts to Allison, each attempt met with silence. Maybe I fabricated our connection. I turned off the treadmill, making my way to the locker room. My stomach was growling again, but I didn't feel like eating. I would return to the sorority house and get started on next week's reading. Who was I turning into? I didn't know anymore. But I liked this girl a lot more than the one who boarded the plane a few weeks ago. I felt ready prepared for anything—confident. Like a warrior going into battle. Is this how Shelock felt when she woke up? If so, it was a damn good feeling. Something I could get used to.

# 9

After the mixer, I didn't see Shelock for some time. I had plenty to focus on—finals were upon me already, and the summer break came shortly after. I stayed on campus and took a summer job, enrolling in classes to catch up.

I saw Nick on and off, which was fun—if distracting. I continued working hard, and soon enough the mirage of the bachelorette party faded. There were some days I felt like it never happened. But it did. There were nights I would sit up, wide-awake, going over the events frantically. Allison texted me on and off, but it felt forced. She probably felt bad for confiding in me. I continued texting her, trying to maintain the one link to the mystery.

As the weeks passed, I fell into the usual routine of socials and tests. Returning from one of my last finals, I discovered a cream envelope under my door. Staring at it, I frowned, before realization dawned.

The wedding invitation.

Moving quickly, I picked it up—noting the envelope had already been opened. Flipping to the front, the address listed Shelock and myself. I smiled, wondering what Jess and Beth would think if they saw this. If they hadn't already written me off, this would do it.

Removing the card inside, I placed the envelope on my bed, running my fingers along the letterpress. I felt myself growing excited, remembering all the fun and intrigue I had in Vail. Here it sat before me, an inciting invitation. My newest adventure waiting right around the corner—and just in time for winter break!

I looked in the envelope for the response card. Shelock had already selected her entrée. I checked mine, sealed the envelope and placed it in my purse for a later errand. I got ready for class, pleased to sport more of my wardrobe. It felt good, actually having a purpose. Of course, as soon as I exited, I ran into Jess and Beth.

"Hey, what's going on guys!" My voice must have tripped them up. Both paused, looking at me funny.

"Are you ok?" Beth asked, giving me the side eye.

"Yeah we haven't seen you around much," Jess intoned.

"Actually, I've been trying not to flunk out," I said quickly. They exchanged looks, and I realized I'd better make amends, and fast. "Actually, I was going to ask your advice, about a guy."

"Ohhh," cooed Beth.

"See, I told you," Jess offered. "She's trying to impress Nick by studying."

I burned to tell them off—that I studied for me, no one else. But I needed to suck it up. My survival in the sorority depended on it.

"He's been a huge help. I'm doing really well actually."

"God you are so obsessed." Jess rolled her eyes.

"Well now you're done with finals, you should hang more." Beth sided up to me. "We miss you, girl."

_I don't_ , I thought to myself.

"Yeah now I've been able to turn in a decent semester I might even change to my major for the next year."

"Something easy, like communications," Beth offered, taking my arm as we strolled down the hall together.

"Nick is thinking something like public health."

"Listen to you, 'Nick is thinking.' You got it bad!"

"I guess so. He's smart, that boy."

They deposited me near the dining hall. I got the sense that I failed. I'd lost my opening to get back into the clique.

"Well good, we're glad you're happy. Better than what we thought."

Beth shot Jess a look.

"What?" I asked nervously, feeling queasy.

"Well you and Shelock were spending soooo much time together," Jess continued. Beth looked nervous.

"It's just a stupid rumor, Kay. Don't think twice about it."

Oh fuck.

"What rumor?"

"Oh you know, they say she's dated girls." Jess smiled evilly. I felt a seed of dislike grow in my stomach.

"That's funny, I'm pretty exclusive with Nick."

"Exactly," Beth said, rising to my defense.

"Besides, I'm not the type to dyke it out."

As soon as I said the words I regretted them. Mostly for the looks of delight on both their faces.

"I gotta go, see you around."

"Bye girl." Both offered fake hugs.

Feeling the need for a walk, I exited the sorority house, moving quickly. I detected inquiring looks from several girls as I left, confirming the truth of their words. Could I blame them? Once there's blood in the social waters, it didn't matter who started the rumor. Hazing is a group sport around here. One could say Kappas excel at it.

Feeling blood rushing into my legs, I moved faster, swinging my arms as the tears slowly began to flow.

"This is so stupid," I said to myself, breaking into a slight jog. The job turned into a full out run.

My bun fell out as I ran faster. Ignoring the cat calls, I went the length down sorority row, past frat row and down near the union. Fall turned decidedly into crisp winter breezes. My finals came in a few days. We would all go home.

I benefited from this perfect timing. With winter break ahead, I could live the lezzie rumor down. No one would be the wiser when I returned.

Panting now from the exertion, I made my way back to frat row. Nearing Nick's frat, I spotted a familiar form. He stood in front, tossing a football around with a friend. When he saw me, he broke the game off, walking over.

"Out for a jog?"

"Something like that." I belatedly hoped no evidence of my meltdown showed.

"You usually run in that?"

"One could say I took an impromptu jog." I broke into a smile, staring down at my sweats. Seeing this boy always make me feel good.

"Think more about the major thing we talked about?"

"You're going to give me a complex about this, aren't you?" I held onto him playfully.

He pulled me up the stairs.

"Come on I'll walk with you." He stopped inside, grabbing his wallet. "I need to move around. I feel like I've been cooped up in the library all day."

We cleared the front stairs, my expression softening as I felt him fall into step beside me.

"Want to get dinner before class?"

"Sounds perfect." He gave me a peck on the cheek. "Union?"

"Sounds good. I'm craving a turkey burger.

"Killer turkey at the union."

"Yes," I said, linking arms with him.

"Any big plans for holidays?" he asked.

I opened my mouth, all ready to admit the wedding before feeling myself snap to attention.

"Just visiting family," I squeaked.

"Yeah, how's your mom doing?"

I kept forgetting about my lie. Poker-face intact, I shrugged.

"Fine," I said noncommittally. "You?"

"A couple of us guys are doing Habitat for Humanity."

"Such a do-gooder," I said playfully, tugging on his shirt.

"What can I say, I want to get into a good med school. Those extracurriculars matter."

Nick had only a year to go, he would be taking tests and applying soon. I would lose both him and Shelock.

Why do I care so much?

Despite what my sisters thought, Shelock slipped in and out of my life like an eel. I felt so good with her around, so confident. I felt Nick's arm stiffen.

"Isn't that your president?" he asked, gesturing across the street.

I spotted Shelock instantly, her form outfitted in tight black leggings and a fleece top. She practically sprinted down the street. I didn't know she ran. It seemed the longer I knew her, the more I learned. There would never be enough time to unlock all her secrets. Besides, she would never allow that.

"Looks like her," I said, unnerved by how the woman seemed to spring into mind at the most random moment.

"It's a good thing you don't hang with her crowd," he said, shaking his head

I made no comment, realizing suddenly why Shelock blew hot and cold. She tried to spare me from a direct association with her. I realized how sharp and alluring she must be to men. No wonder people were terrified of her, they had a right to be.

"Enough about Shelock," I said, giving him a smile. "Let's talk about what we're wearing to the flashback formal."

"Last formal before break."

"Yeah."

"I'm happy I met you," he said seriously. "I'm happy we got together. It's been the highlight of my year."

"Aw, I love hearing that." I squeezed his arm. Did he want me to respond in kind? I watched his body language. Such a confident, man's man. I freaking scored.

Why bother? He knows he's hot.

"When are you heading out?"

"One more final, then my flight is on Friday."

"Flight? I thought you were just going home?"

"I am," I squeaked. "That's what I meant, sorry."

"Final brain, it's a real thing."

"I guess. Makes me happy it's not just me."

We neared the union, I felt my heart pound from my fib.

"Get ready for some killer burgers." Nick held the door. "And for kicking so much ass at school, it's my treat."

"Darling," I cooed, spinning around to throw my arms around his neck. "Turkey burgers. How romantic!"

*

In the short days that followed the invitation, the countdown to the wedding began. Almost nine months since the bachelorette party, by my count. Would I find the same cast of characters? Allison's texts seemed to suggest status quo. Nothing replaced ground truth. I would have to find out for myself.

Another sign of the wedding were the copious emails from shopping sites. Clearly, Shelock hadn't forgotten about my wardrobe. She'd been busy ordering some fresh outfits, sending them all to the hotel. My excitement growing, I thought of the luxuries that awaited me in Vail.

In the evening before our departure, I packed carefully—making sure I had the right outfits in order. The day of our flight, I woke without an alarm. Eyes flipping open, I ran to get ready. My stomach in my feet, I took pains with my appearance. I knew what awaited me this time. I couldn't use the new person routine, not with this crew. I needed to look perfect.

After zipping up my carry on, I heard a soft tap at my door. Given it was 4am and our flight was at 7, I knew what to expect. I opened the door. Shelock stood with her head cocked to one side, enveloped in a leather coat and sunglasses.

"Downstairs in 5."

I nodded, turning to orient my things. Hauling my things down the staircase, I exited into the crisp winter air. Tugging the trunks along, I realized how much easier this had been with everyone else doing the work. The wheeled cart I had procured wasn't as efficient as several burly men from the Ritz. I made it to her mint green Fiat, collapsing inside with the feeling of someone on her first day of school. We drove in silence for a time before she turned to me.

"Things are going well?"

"Yeah," I said noncommittally, knowing full well she probably knew more about the details of my life than I cared to admit. "I haven't seen you much since summer break."

"Senior," she said, by way of explanation. "I mean with school and Nick," she continued, reaching into her bag. She cracked open a Diet Coke, drinking as we sped towards the airport.

"Both are going swimmingly, thank you," I said, unable to stop the smile creeping onto my face.

"Well, good for you," she said with a chuckle.

I wanted to thank her again for bringing me. I needed to tell her what her influence meant. But I sat there mute as the departure sign for the airport came into view.

She sped over to the curb, opting for valet service as we disembarked.

"Some things are worth paying for," she said, tossing her purse around her shoulders.

Securing a cart, she pushed it towards the entrance of the airport. Making it through security, we arrived exactly on time. Despite the snowy forecast, we sailed into Colorado effortlessly. Once on the road, I took in the crispness of the arid scenery. I revealed in the drive even more the second time around. Shelock remained silent for most of the trip, but as we got closer, she grew more talkative.

"Things are in place," she began. "I would expect a lot of activity leading up to the wedding itself."

"Well, we have two days," I said, wondering at our early arrival. "I'm sure that's enough time."

"I'm regretting not coming sooner," Shelock said, her expression deadly serious. She removed her sunglasses. I noted prominent dark smudges under her eyes. She looked tired. "I expect we have a few things to follow up on before the wedding itself. First of all, a few observations from the bachelorette weekend."

"What observations?" I asked, my mind a blur. I hardly slept much the night before. I felt ill-prepared for diving headlong into the mystery. "I didn't figure anything out. Besides, it happened so long ago."

"Which is why we are going over it now. You are mistaken, Watson, just enough time has passed for those grey cells of yours to soak in the mystery. Create the scene, Watson. Go through it step by step. For this is how we shall prepare."

"Well, we arrived, went to our suite."

"No," Shelock commanded, her voice rising an octave. I wondered if she had taken her medication, she seemed especially keyed up. Or perhaps it was the mystery of the entire situation itself that made her bristle with excitement.

"We ran into someone in the lobby, who was it?"

"Bruton? Yeah, Bruton," I continued, growing stronger in my assertions.

"And what did you notice about him?"

"He looked sick."

"An odor," she said, her lips curving into a smile. "Detectable even to a healthy person; the scent of illness."

"Yes," I said, nodding at the memory.

"And then what?"

"Then we went up to the room, and I went into the hotel to see the restaurant."

"Where you were interrupted."

"By a woman with high-heeled, pink shoes."

"Barbie," Shelock said.

"How do you know it was her?" I asked.

"Continue," she said, gripping the wheel firmly.

"Well, the person sat down and fussed with something on the table and then got up and left."

"We have yet to locate her scarf and pink shoes. But we can easily address these minor issues on this trip."

"Say it was Barbie, what does it prove?" I asked.

"Continue," Shelock said, or rather, demanded.

"That night we had dinner."

"What was the overall mood?"

"I detected tension between father and son," I offered, stifling a yawn.

"About what? Come, come Watson. I've just funded your first class ticket. Put out, why don't you?"

I blushed.

"About real estate." I paused, kicking my own impressions into high gear. "They seem to be in business together. Robert Wollenhaupt finances all of Bruton's investments."

"That is also my impression. There is disagreement, perhaps, on the success of these endeavors?"

"Bruton is certainly well-known in the community. Andrew confirmed that, and the day at the Adventure Park did as well. The owners knew Bruton well."

"Success in investment and being well-known are two quite different things. One would argue they occur in conflict most of the time."

I thought through her words.

"You think Bruton's investments aren't going well?"

"We have no evidence of that. Let's stick with what we know. Back to the dinner." She snapped her fingers at me. "Did you notice anyone's health failing that evening?"

"Bruton seemed ok." I paused. "You know, I didn't mention this before, but his dad didn't look good that night. He seemed almost grey, in the face I mean."

"Robert fell sick the very next day."

"That's true, we saw him and Sugar on the way to the hospital ourselves. He wasn't faking that, for sure."

"What else did you notice about the relationships between the dining attendees?"

"Allison and Barbie are friends—at least superficially." I snapped my fingers, pleased my revelations felt so fresh. "I definitely noticed tension between Barbie and Bruton on his treatment."

"Ah yes, the doting fiancé."

"She seemed genuinely concerned," I put in. "I think you are being too hard on her."

She grinned, showing her straight white teeth.

"I agree with you that she was concerned, what is under discussion at the moment is what she is concerned about."

"The health of her hubby?"

"Her husband to-be," Shelock corrected, shaking a finger at me.

As we pulled into the lodge, the discussion halted. I enjoyed the VIP service as our things were whisked away and we checked into our suite. On the way, I noticed how different the place felt. Where previously the vibe was low-key, the holiday season brought a new vibrant energy to the hotel. There were families everywhere, outfitted in the finest ski gear. Husbands toted their second-wives around the lobby, looking to see who was staring. It was a see-and-be-seen environment, and I reveled in it. Even in the elevator up I felt judged, but this time I met the stares with confidence.

As the last guest exited, I turned to her.

"I get it now."

"Get what?"

"Why you had to take me to the bachelorette party."

She smiled, those shark-like eyes studying me inquisitively.

"You couldn't walk into the wedding with the confidence you have now. The transformation had to take place between then and now. This is a key part of my strategy."

I studied her closely. While I felt energized, even excited for the wedding, her expression suggested very different emotions. Eyes heavily lidded, she let her gaze drift to the floor until the doors opened. Striding forth, she sighed heavily as she entered our room.

Throwing her purse down, she appeared agitated.

"Time, Watson—we are running out of it!"

"What do you mean?" I cried, studying the suite. I placed my purse down daintily, pleased with the layout. I strolled to my room, smiling at how everything sat just-so before returning to the common area.

Shelock wrapped a shearling coat around her. She seemed eager to depart.

"We must hit the ground running."

"Where are we going?" I asked, feeling tired from the journey and very much wanting to put my head down on a soft, plush pillow.

"We are going to retrace your steps," she said, pulling me along.

"But what steps!" I cried, taking a moment to grab my cashmere shawl.

We exited into the lobby, and Shelock trounced over to the restaurant—bustling with hungry patrons. She turned to me with a frown.

"Too late, Watson, we are too late!"

"Too late for what?" I cried, but she was off again.

I had to run to catch up, trailing her out of the hotel and through Vail Village. It took a second for me to realize where she was going, but when I spotted the awning of the patisserie. I smiled.

"Ah, I see. Retracing steps."

Shelock walked inside, waiting in line patiently. When her turn came, she gestured to me.

"What did you order?"

"Um, I don't remember."

"Yes, you do." She rolled her eyes, her expression deathly serious. "It must be exact, and we must recreate the experience."

"I think I got a cappuccino and a croissant."

Shelock turned to the owner.

"Make it two, we'll be sitting at the table . . . " She stared at me.

"Out front," I squeaked.

Shelock paid and then spun around to leave. Walking outside, she strolled past high-powered heating lamps to a table where two tourists intended to sit. From the looks of it, a mother and daughter from out of town.

"Ladies," she said, taking a seat. "You'll have to find other accommodations."

"Hey, we were here first," the teenage girl replied, crossing her arms defiantly.

"Go," Shelock said, flapping her hands at them as though they were a flock of pigeons.

Taking the table she moved it from them, positioning two chairs next to it—amid the audible gasps from the table. The mother stomped into the shop as Shelock adjusted her chair. I gave a nervous smile to the teenage daughter while I watched what happened inside the shop. The mother appeared to be complaining about Shelock. The owner took one look outside and shook her head. We sat in excruciating silence until the mother returned, shaking her head at Shelock.

"I've never met someone so ru . . ."

"Excuse me, you are blocking the view," Shelock said, as she once again shooed her way.

The woman sputtered, towing her daughter along as she shot daggers at us. The owner exited the shop, depositing our order with a frightened smile.

"Thank you," Shelock said, reaching over to sip her drink. I took a grateful church of the hot beverage, fighting off shivers. There were heat lamps all around us, but they hardly did any good. "Now Watson." Shelock gestured to the condos situated in front of us. "Which one had the light on?" I looked at them in turn, feeling I was going to make a mistake. "First inclination Watson, give me your first inclination."

"That one," I said, pointing to the one furthest to the right.

"You are certain?"

"Not when you look at me like that," I cried, eagerly consuming my croissant, and washing it down with the warmth of the cappuccino. Thick with cream, it was exactly what I craved, especially after getting up so early for our flight. "I wrote down the address," I said more confidently.

Taking out her little red notebook, Shelock flipped through the pages.

"Ah yes, you certainly did. Let's see if lucky 217 is the unit."

I nodded.

"I'm certain that's the one."

"Describe for me then," she said, studying her pastry with an apparent lack of interest. "The progress of those exiting the condo."

"Bruton came down that lane there," I said, pointing to several tourists ambling along a cement pathway. "See that guy with the windbreaker? Both followed that route."

Shelock rose to her feet, leaving her drink and pastry untouched.

"Wait," I cried, but she was already moving.

I snatched up her pastry and to-go cup, sprinting after her as she strode over to the condos.

"Don't you think this is a bit conspicuous," I whispered.

"Most of these are rented out for the high season. We'll just pretend we are looking for our unit."

She walked over to the condos, studying their addresses. I paused near unit 127.

"This is it," I said, feeling a rush of adrenaline.

She walked over to the door, trying the handle.

"What are you doing?" I cried. But the door opened easily. She strode inside, turning to me as if I had done something wrong. "Shelock!"

"What are you so worried about?" she asked, glancing around. "No one is here."

"Someone will be!" I cried, quickly following her.

"Then we must make haste," she said, strolling into the condo.

I hastily closed the door. Flipping on the light, I took in the space; a decent-sized common area and a spiral staircase led to a loft. Shelock roamed through it in seconds, coming back to where I stood frozen near the couch.

"What are your findings?"

"That we get the hell out of here."

"Don't be silly, whoever has this condo lives here year round."

"How can you tell?"

She walked over to the closet, opening it up.

"See these jackets? These are windbreakers for the off-season." She raised a pair of men's flip flops. "And these."

"And those," I said, pointing a finger.

There, at the bottom of the closet, were a pair of hot pink high heels.

"Ah," she said, raising them to eye level.

"And this!" I cried, hands on a scarf that lay casually in the closet. I recognized the black fabric with cheap gold thread.

"It seems we know where Barbie went after you found her in the rehearsal room for dinner," Shelock said triumphantly.

"They must belong to her," I agreed. "I saw her walking from this condo—I swear it." I paused, feeling close to something important. I'm not sure why it never occurred to me before, but suddenly the mystery seemed to snap into focus. "Oh my God, that's it!"

"What's it?" she asked, looking around the room.

"Bruton and his father got into a fight about the state of the condos around here. What if Bruton owned one?"

"Possibly," Shelock said noncommittally.

"Well, geez, give me some credit." I felt deflated. "He sure sounded pissed at dinner. You heard Mr. Wollenhaupt pop off on what a bad investment condos are. What if Bruton bought one and didn't tell his dad? He could hardly explain that he was staying here. He had to get a room at the hotel to pretend. It makes sense."

"I have other theories," Shelock said, rubbing her chin. "But I'm not ready to disclose them yet."

"Well, then let's go," I sighed, exasperated. "You can offer your big reveal on the walk back."

"Agreed," Shelock said. Walking past me, she took the pastry and drink. She sat down on the couch. "Ah, perfect, just what I've been craving."

"Can you eat that somewhere else?"

Shelock glanced up, clearly annoyed.

"It will only take a moment, Watson." She ate rapidly, balling the wrapper up and placing it in her purse. She gripped the beverage, turning to exit.

I followed her in silence back to the hotel. We went straight to our suite, but the inquiries weren't over. She slammed the door shut, sipping her cappuccino greedily before fixing me with a stare.

"Watson a wicked scheme is operating under our very noses. Unfortunately, we have to wait for the next act before we are able to counter it."

"What scheme?" I cried, moving for my phone, which was vibrating uncontrollably. I looked down at the number. "It's Allison."

Shelock turned to me, eyes alight.

"Answer it, quickly."

I hit the button.

"Hello?"

"Thank God you answered!" Allison gasped. She began sobbing.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Bruton. We're at the hospital. You've got to come here now!"

# 10

After getting directions from the concierge, we climbed into Shelock's rental. The hospital itself sat on top of a picturesque mountain. It proved hard to appreciate the view, as Shelock wove in and out of traffic like a madwoman. Upon arrival, we went straight to the treatment room. Bruton lay silently on the bed with Barbie standing next to him. Allison sat across the room. Both looked distraught.

"Bruton," Shelock said, striding over to him. He looked like death, so crippled in pain he could barely speak. She looked over at the other attendees. "What happened?"

"We were on the slopes and he just collapsed," Allison said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"My poor baby," Barbie cried, moving to block Shelock's advances.

Shelock physically removed Barbie from her view. The woman squawked in indignation as Shelock leaned over him.

"Bruton, can you hear me?"

I walked alongside the bed. Bruton didn't appear conscious. He looked grey, skin pulled taught over his angular features. I swallowed hard, thrown by his condition. He looked very much like his father; a good forty years his senior. No way was this man was on the slopes. He could barely keep his eyes open. Barbie moved over to the other side of the bed, shaking him frantically.

"Our wedding is in a few days, he has to get better."

Bruton began to stir, and slowly his color returned. I wondered where the hell the doctors were. It seemed like he had been left here—abandoned. Shelock studied the group.

"I think he will make a full recovery, with enough peace and quiet."

Hearing footsteps, we all turned en-mass as Andrew sprinted into the room. He stared at Bruton.

"Good God, what happened?"

"What do you mean?" Allison cried. "It's been happening this whole time." She started crying, heavy sobs that shook me to my core.

Shelock watched the exchange with interest.

"Has anyone called his parents?"

The question lingered in the room—no one would meet her gaze. Finally, Allison looked up.

"No," she whimpered. "Both Sugar and Robert went into homes last month."

I gasped, turning to Shelock. She gave me a swift nod—the expression communicating loads.

Stay quiet.

But this was bananas. His parents seemed virile enough nine months ago. How were they in an old person's home?

"What's wrong with them?" Shelock asked quickly.

"His dad has cancer. He's in hospice," Barbie piped up, taking a napkin and pressing it against Bruton's brow. "My mom is with him now; she'll be traveling here tomorrow."

"And Sugar?" I asked.

"Sugar is in another . . . home," Barbie said with a shrug. "She couldn't handle the diagnosis."

One question hadn't been asked yet. I shifted my weight, feeling the attention of the room transfer to me.

"Are you still going to hold the wedding?" I asked.

"Of course," Barbie shot back, her expression dark.

She had changed little since the spring. If anything, she appeared more beautiful—she clearly figured out the tanning thing. Her skin glowed and her hair hung in perfect sheets of blonde.

"Yes, we have to," Andrew leaned toward his friend. "Right old buddy?"

Bruton murmured. Andrew sat down next to Allison, hanging his head. The doctor walked in, staring at a chart and frowning.

"Mrs. Wollenhaupt?" he asked the group.

"Oh, that's me. Or it will be," Barbie said sheepishly.

"Ok, shall we . . . "

"Can we talk outside?" Barbie said, shooting a nervous glance in our direction. "I don't want to upset anyone."

"Ok," the man said, brusquely turning to leave.

As they departed, I went over to Allison.

"Are you doing ok?" I asked.

"It's just so awful," she said, shaking her head. "Everything is falling apart."

"It's just one of his episodes," Andrew said, giving her a hard look.

"How can you say that when you see how he is?" Allison cried incredulously, dabbing her eyes with a balled-up Kleenex.

Andrew appeared defiant. I wonder if this is how he handled concern for his friend. Sometimes, men just needed to get pissed off before they get over it.

"We all know he'll improve, just like he usually does. Miraculously." I caught an eye roll before he stared down at his shoes.

_Or maybe not_ , I thought to myself.

"I wish I can be as optimistic as you and Barbie seem to be," Allison said, an edge to her voice.

Her tone caught my attention, but she refused to meet my eyes. Her statement unnerved Andrew. He chuckled nervously.

"What do you mean by that?"

Allison stared at the ground.

"Ok," Andrew said with a huff. "I'm outta here."

Shelock watched him leave. After a brief pause, she went after him. I searched my bag for another Kleenex.

"Here," I said, handing it to Allison.

"Thanks, he's such an asshole," she said with a half-smile.

"When did you get in?"

"We've been here all week. Bruton seemed fine the whole time. He only got sick today."

"Where were you staying?"

"With friends of mine," she replied, her eyes narrowing. "At least, that's where I'm staying."

"What about Barbie and Bruton?"

"I don't know."

"What's up with Bruton's parents?" I whispered, glancing over at his unmoving form.

"His dad can go at any moment. Sugar has lost her mind. She went to pieces without him. Putting her away was Bruton's idea. He had his lawyer draft up all the details. I can't believe he did that. This wedding is the only thing they were looking forward to."

"What details?"

"Like power of attorney and stuff like that."

"Why?"

"Contingency planning I guess."

"I guess," I replied, unsure of what else to say. How could things have gone to pieces in a few short months? I thought again of her tiff with Andrew. "So what's up with Andrew? Why is he being such a dick?"

"I don't know, you'll have to ask Barbie," she said, giving me a sly look. "They seem to be spending a lot of time together. They say it's about Bruton, but I don't know. They are doing their best to make it seem like this whole thing is in Bruton's head."

This possibility appeared plausible. I prepared my best probing response.

"It's normal to be hopeful when someone is sick," I said slowly. "But at the same time, I can see how it might annoy you."

"I feel like I'm the only one with Bruton's best interests at heart." She paused, glancing over at me. "Well, until you got here."

Shelock strode back into the room. Giving us a cursory glance, she crossed over to Bruton's bed, studying his IV with interest.

"What are you doing?" I hissed, annoyed she was inspecting him like some specimen and not helping me with Allison.

"Has he been conscious much?" she asked, continuing her survey.

"Not after today's episode," Allison responded. "I have no idea what's going to happen now."

"Or what's already happened," Shelock said blithely.

I didn't know what to say to this, so I remained silent. Presently, Shelock turned—eyes boring into Allison.

"You should go. Leave us to handle it from here."

Her words offered an abrupt dismissal. Allison looked to me. I shrugged, unsure what Shelock was planning. Slowly, Allison moved out the room. Shelock sat down next to me.

"Something is afoot, Watson, and it's taken me completely by surprise."

"I thought you said it was already a foot."

"I got the timing off. Perhaps if I had stayed in closer contact I would have anticipated it." She glowered. "I had hoped to finish my senior thesis before this nonsense. It's the only thing standing between me and early graduation."

"How can you think of such a thing at a time like this?"

She made no answer before rising abruptly. Taking the chart at the base of his bed, she flipped through it.

"How long are we going to stay here?" I asked, worried with the set look on her face.

She looked around.

"I'll find you a pillow."

"How are you going to handle the other . . . guests?"

"They are probably looking for some relief," Shelock said dismissively.

I knew better. When Barbie returned from her discussion with the doctor, I braced for her reaction.

"No, I'm not going anywhere," she said, giving Shelock a look that would freeze milk.

"You're tired," I said, trying to ease the tension between two women squaring off over Bruton's hospital bed.

"You need your rest, Barbie, for the big day," Shelock said, removing a piece of lint from her coat.

I wanted to slap her.

"I'm his wife, or I'll soon be, you have no right to bar me from the room."

"Let us take a shift at least," I said, wishing Shelock would just leave social negotiations to me. "Andrew said you've been taking a lot on lately. It's not fair to have you handle the brunt of this."

At this, Barbie softened.

"Well, he's right, we've been relying on each other this entire time. He's the only one who gets it."

"Go have a nice dinner with him," I said soothingly, walking her slowly to the exit.

She followed along before stalling at the door.

"I'll come right back in the morning," she said, turning to stare at Shelock.

"Ok," I agreed, escorting her out of the room before she could change her mind.

When I returned, Shelock stood hunched over the medical chart, making notes in her red notebook.

"What we need isn't in here," she said, clearly annoyed. "And I bet they won't speak to us unless we are kin."

"Well, there are ways around that. I could ask one of the nurses."

"Nurses are only good for gossip," Shelock said dismissively. "No, we must wait—using our powers of observation."

She took the IV off the rack, neatly detaching it with her fingertips.

"What the hell are you doing?" I cried, running over to her.

She threw the IV on the ground, hitting the button for the nurse. Seconds later, a short, fat woman arrived. She took one look at Shelock and then Burton, her face going pale. Shelock offered a friendly smile, which only made her look more menacing.

"I'm so clumsy, I bumped the IV and it fell straight off."

The nurse took one look at her and pointed a finger at the door.

"Out."

*

"That went well," I said, watching Shelock as she paced the hallway outside of Bruton's room.

"The diversion served its purpose," she responded. "Besides, you are far too consumed with people liking you." She glanced at the door. "We need to ensure no one else goes into that room."

"Yes ma'am," I said, ignoring her inflammatory statement.

I did, in fact, want people to like me. I saw no purpose in deliberately goading someone. Sitting down on a bench with a huff, I turned my attention to Shelock.

"What are we supposed to do all night, sit here and stare at Bruton's door?"

Shelock made no answer, eyes half lidded. Seeing her state of concentration, my attitude softened. It was her ex-fiancé, after all.

"I know you probably have a plan." I stood up. "Let me find us something to eat. That croissant didn't do it for me."

Looking for food, I tried not to get annoyed. I expected to dine in five-star restaurants like the first time around. After circling the floor, I found the vending machines. I selected a few trail mixes, cookies and Diet Cokes as peace offerings. Returning to Shelock's stoic form, I sat down next to her.

Eyes popping open, she took up a can with delight.

"A contrast from our last visit, isn't it, Watson?" She cracked open her beverage.

"You could say that," I replied, giving her the side eye as I dug into my Oreos. "Why do we have to wait here?"

"To see when he wakes. I took a note of all his vitals so we can see when his condition improves."

"You aren't making any sense." I pointed at the door. "That man is on death's door."

"Just give it time," she said confidently, sipping her beverage.

She reached into her bag, rustling through her pills.

"Want to stock up, we're in the right place for it."

"You're right! We are in the perfect place," she purred, rubbing her hands together.

"Oh God, I was kidding," I cried, growing nervous. "Please don't . . . "

"It is all falling into place, Watson," she said, nearly delirious. "When the night is over we shall see if Bruton has regained his strength. He will be coming off whatever is ailing him. I suspect very much he'll want to talk to us."

"Burton may never gain consciousness," I said seriously, trying to prepare her for the worst. "He is dying."

She chuckled.

"We're all dying. This will be a tragedy, no doubt, but a very important incident must fall to place if that is to happen."

"You keep talking about that," I said, turning to my Cheetos. "What exactly do you mean?"

"Time will tell," she said, opening a bag of peanut M&M's and eating them slowly.

I thought she was kidding about staying there all night; but true to form the hours slipped by and we remained. I slept on my balled up coat for a few hours. Waking around 5 am, I found myself alone. Where was Shelock?

I rose, feeling my stomach growl. Using the last of my change, I got more food from the vending machine. As I returned, a nurse I had gotten friendly with exited Bruton's room, approaching me with a smile.

"He's awake," she whispered, nodding for me to enter.

I texted Shelock before walking into the room. There, sitting up in the bed, sat Bruton. He looked fine, if a little hungry. I opened my mouth to speak before Shelock came flying in behind me. She went to his bedside.

"How are you?"

"What am I doing here?" he asked, staring at the both of us in confusion.

"Your last moments, what do you remember?"

He paused, his handsome face a mask of confusion.

"I was on the slopes with Allison. I fell. Did I hit my head?"

Shelock nodded aggressively.

"Where are you staying?"

"The Ritz."

"Did you eat or drink anything beforehand?"

"We had lunch at the lodge," he said, looking around. "Where are my parents?"

"They didn't tell you?" I asked.

"Tell me what?"

Shelock glanced over at me quickly before placing a hand on Bruton's shoulder.

"Your father is in hospice, Bruton. Your mother is in assisted living."

"What do you mean?" Bruton cried, moving to get up. He stopped, shaking his head. "I'm getting married tomorrow, and they aren't coming?" He looked to Shelock.

She studied him for a few moments.

"I think you should call off the wedding." She paused, taking a labored breath.

"No," Bruton said, in the tone of a man who is used to having his own way.

"I mean it," Shelock said. "Listen to me . . . "

"Listen to you," Bruton said, his face turned red with anger. No question of it—he felt better. "Why of all people would I listen to you?" Even Shelock shifted back as he continued. "You've done your best to make Barbie feel like less of a woman. You try to steal her show and now you want to order me around. I've changed Harlow. I'm done with your mind games. I want you out of here." He pointed at the door before jabbing a finger at her. "Barbie is the only woman I'm going to marry. Nothing you do can change that, do you understand?"

Despite his outburst, Shelock's expression remained passive.

"I understand," she said in an odd voice. "Why don't you rest, you seem agitated."

"Yeah, I wonder why?" he said angrily.

I began moving towards the door, feeling the abrupt dismissal keenly. Is this why we waited all night? To get barked at by some rich asshole? I revised my opinion of Bruton. He was just like his father—just like the rest of them.

"Come, Watson," Shelock said, looking as prim as a person could after being tossed out of a hospital room. "Let's go back to the hotel."

We exited in silence, stifling our yawns as we got into her vehicle. If only I weren't too exhausted to admire the breathtaking view. I intended on a nice soak in the tub followed by a long nap; but on the way through the hotel lobby, Shelock paused.

"I'm hungry," she said, almost in amazement.

"Here," I said, pulling her towards the bar. Blessedly, it looked open. "After that, I need a drink."

We secured two seats, ordering large breakfasts and Bloody Marys. After relieving the first pangs of hunger, Shelock glanced over at me.

"Getting off those pills makes me hungry."

"Why would you want to be off?"

"Because there may be action, Watson, there may be activity. I need to be at my peak of physicality."

"Then why do you take that stuff in the first place?" I asked, genuinely curious.

She sat back, chewing methodically before swallowing. It brought to mind a cat eating a fat mouse.

"Sometimes there are moments one must reflect and reflect in total isolation to other impulses. My medication assists those endeavors. Other times, we must take the things we've learned and actualize them. That is when the mind is put aside, and the body takes over." I nodded as if I had any idea what she was talking about. "You'll see," she said with a grin. "Shame Bruton's parents won't be attending the wedding."

"It's not a shame, it's tragic!" I cried, gripping my glass and downing my drink. "How can both of them be in a home?"

"How indeed," Shelock said, swirling her beverage before taking a tentative sip. "Watson, I need you to approach Andrew tonight."

"What do you mean, approach?" I raised an eyebrow at her tone.

"I want to see if he is, shall we say, enticed by your presence."

I looked at her, slack-jawed.

"Come again."

"Find out if he's interested, Watson!"

"Why?"

"We're at a wedding." She shrugged dismissively, as if she asked me to take the dog for a walk. "He is obviously stressed with the condition of his friend. It seems to me he could use some company."

"We're supposed to be a couple, remember?"

"Andrew never bought that pack of lies, we both know it." Shelock paused, swirling her drink. "Besides, I find Allison's newfound dislike of him interesting."

"So you noticed that," I said, nodding quickly. "Maybe she thought there was something more between them? Perhaps he set her straight."

Shelock thought this over.

"That is one interpretation."

I paused. I didn't have any better ideas. Besides, the purpose of my presence here hinged on following Shelock's lead.

"What will you do when I'm out stalking Andrew?"

"Collect some untidy ends," Shelock said, rising from the bar.

I stared at her.

"Well, how am I supposed to find him?"

"This is a small village," Shelock said, wrapping her shearling coat around her and tying it off at the waist. "I'm sure given what you've observed about Andrew you can surmise that he is not only a bro but a rich one at that. Which would suggest he would patronize an upscale, hooter-esque establishment."

Without another word she departed. I stared at the remnants of our breakfast, feeling it congeal in my stomach. Whatever I anticipated about this journey to the west, it certainly wasn't this. Why would Andrew talk to me? Shelock seemed to think people spilled their guts when I'm around.

I tapped my fingers on the bar, feeling a jolt of nerves. I quickly talked myself down.

Or maybe I am pretty good at that. Come on, Kay. Show Shelock what you're made of.

Thus prepared, I put the tab on our room and returned to the suite. I knew I wouldn't see Shelock for the rest of the day. Being ditched once again didn't surprise me; but it didn't make me happy either. Due to my erratic sleep, I decided to take a nap. It proved to be an effective exercise, burning up half the day. I woke around 4 o'clock, languishing in bed while watching some of the worst reality television on the planet.

I finally pulled myself together around eight, feeling it would be the time to begin stalking Vail Village for Andrew. I wore leather leggings and a cropped top under a fur vest. I had no idea what appealed to someone like Andrew, but I stuck to my guns. Shelock always told me to trust my instincts. I did regret not putting more on as I walked out into the frigid street. After entering three bars with lots of stares but no luck, I began to feel hopeless. Strolling down the main drag once again, a neon sign gave me an idea.

The location of the world's most awkward bachelorette party—the spot where we bowled. Andrew seemed to love that place. I reoriented my path, walking quickly to the location. Walking inside, I could hardly move there were so many people. Last I'd been there we had the place to ourselves. I couldn't disappoint Shelock; not without making some effort. I dove into the scene, moving past the cackling women with colored drinks in their hands, and older men ogling everything around them.

I did a quick turn around the room, realizing with a sinking feeling I'd failed in locating my mark. My quest had come to a premature end. I hit the ladies room, sighing heavily as I washed my hands. Exiting the bar, I spotting lights on the condos above the village. Seeing them reminded me of Bruton's secret condo. I walked towards them, wondering what to tell Shelock, when I heard a familiar voice.

"Watson?"

I spun around. Andrew stood behind me, outfitted in a sports coat and khakis with an expectant look on his face.

"Hey," I said, blinking at my good fortune.

"Out for a walk?"

He strolled towards me, a smile on his face. I hoped to God he didn't know my ulterior motive was. The way he looked at me gave me butterflies.

"Yeah, I needed some fresh air."

He looked around.

"You and the wifey?"

"Well, no. And we aren't married. Just . . . together."

He stared at me for a few moments.

"Ok, come clean. I've known Shelock for years, she doesn't strike me as the girlfriend type. At least not exclusively."

"I guess people can surprise you," I said, Shelock's challenge fresh in my mind. "Besides, we get that a lot. I guess the world isn't as accepting as one assumes." Watching his expression closely, I egged up my routine. "I wanted a nightcap, but all the bars are crowded."

Andrew appeared relaxed, casual. Not how someone appears when they want to impress a woman. This might be harder than I anticipated.

"I know this out of the way place."

"Just what I had in mind," I said, hoping I didn't come across as too eager.

"Sure, let's go."

"How 'bout you?" I asked, following him as we moved towards the hotel. "How was your night?"

He shook his head.

"This shit about Bruton is really getting to me."

He reached into his pocket, blowing his nose. When he put it back, it was tainted with blood.

"Andrew, are you ok?"

"Dammit." He held his hands to his face.

"Here." I dug around in my purse, handing him a Kleenex. "Hope you didn't get any on your jacket."

"Thanks, a narrow miss."

He dabbed his nose before staring at it. I took it from him, stuffing it into my purse.

_These rich people_ , I thought, _so freaking helpless._

"I haven't been feeling well. I think I might be having sympathy pain," he said with a chuckle. "Don't worry about me. It's nothing. Here we are."

He stopped in front of an unmarked door. It struck me that no one knew where I was. As Andrew opened the door, I stood awkwardly for a few seconds.

"You coming or what, Watson?"

I gave a little jump.

"Of course."

I strode inside, greeted by a musty interior and dark lighting. A few patrons turned to stare—all men, all wearing sports coats and polo sweaters. When they saw Andrew, their faces broke out into friendly smiles.

"Looks like a local spot."

"I'm a member. This place isn't known to many tourists."

"But you know about it," I said, as we slid onto well-worn stools.

He nodded, remaining silent as the bartender came over. He seemed to know Andrew well, placing a drink before him before turning to me.

"A gin and tonic, thanks." As the bartender departed, I turned to Andrew. "Nothing wrong with everyone knowing your name."

"Oh, it's not that." He shook his head. "Sorry, I'm probably not in the best mood to be drinking right now."

Andrew took a gulp of his drink.

"About Bruton's parents," I began, quickly getting to the point. "When did that happen?''

"His dad went into hospice a few months ago. His mom went into her facility just last week."

"He didn't seem to remember that. In the hospital, I mean. Did anyone . . . " I stopped myself, studying his pained expression.

"Go ahead," he said. "Ask all your questions. I've been doing my share of that as well. Maybe we should have compared notes long ago."

He looked worried. I grew suspicious, thinking again about Nick's explanation of certain poisons. Could Andrew be behind the mysterious illness of his friend?

_No,_ I thought, as he swirled his drink. _He seems upset, but more out of concern than anything else._

"It just seems so tragic," I offered. "All of this happening at the same time. And then you have Bruton who is bound and determined to see the wedding through."

"Yeah, I think we're all surprised by that," he said, taking a swig of his drink. "Times are tough now, but the future looks bright."

"What do you mean?"

"I think being married will be good for Bruton. Barbie is his world," he paused as he said the words, his eyes gleaming. "Some of the doctors suggested how the mind works powerfully over the body. Sometimes I wonder if Bruton isn't making himself sick."

I paused, pursing my lips.

"Why would you say something like that?"

He shook his head.

"I shouldn't even be talking to you about it."

"I think you'd better," I replied, with more strength this time. "It's obvious you and Barbie are hiding something."

He sat up straight.

"Good God, what makes you say that?"

"I saw you at the airport, arguing," I began, the words tumbling out of me as the alcohol took hold.

He frowned, shaking his head. His distress looked genuine.

"When?"

"At the airport after the bachelorette weekend. I went to get a magazine, and I saw the two of you. Are you . . . are you . . . " I couldn't get the words out before he started laughing, dismissing my anxiety with a shake of his head.

"Oh, that. Well, you saw it for yourself then. That was my attempt to confront Barbie with what I'd been thinking. My theory didn't go over with the wifey."

"You think Bruton is intentionally making himself sick?"

He paused, tapping his hands on the bar.

"Bruton makes it seem like his real estate company is raking in the dough." He lowered his voice, taking a casual look around the bar for eavesdropping. "The reality is much different. He's been acquiring properties all around Vail, using the company he shares with daddy to do it. But those investments have all been massive failures. One of them is a lodge a few miles from here. Bruton couldn't get the financing to finish it, so it's sitting there vacant. The old man would have a fit. It was only a matter of time until he hears about it."

I accepted a refill of my drink, turning this information over in my mind.

"Are you telling me that Bruton made himself sick to distract his father from bad investments?"

"I think it started that way," Andrew said, staring into the mirror behind the bar. "He found the sicker he was, the less his old man asked questions. But then the heat was on so to speak," he paused, tapping his fingers on the bar. "You remember their exchange at the bachelorette weekend? When we had dinner in the lodge?"

I remembered quite clearly. Even in front of polite company, Bruton's father offered sharp words on the subject. I wondered what Bruton must have endured in private.

"What you didn't see was their big blow out after that."

"But then his dad got sick?"

Andrew nodded.

"Kind of twisted, when you think about it. Bruton's dad has all the same symptoms. But it turned out to be cancer."

"Are you sure about that?"

"It's what Barbie told me. Her mom's a nurse, so she should know."

"So you think that all these medical visits Bruton put himself through, all these symptoms . . . "

"Which we can find no medical reason for," Andrew said, blowing his nose. He checked it. "Damn, more blood."

"Is it the altitude?"

"Maybe, but I'm acclimated." He paused. "I mean it doesn't take me long to acclimate."

"I have these oxygen cans if you want one?"

"It's ok, thanks." He tapped his empty glass on the bar. The bartender swooped over, pouring several fingerfulls. I judged Andrew a local patron. "You think I'm an asshole, don't you? Accusing my own friend of making himself sick to avoid financial consequences."

"Well, how would you explain his recent hospitalization? If his parents can't come to the wedding why is he still putting on the show?"

"That's what Allison is upset about," he said, shaking his head. "She interrupted Barbie I when we talking about it. She thinks we're monsters."

"Well, I don't think you're a monster," I said flirtatiously.

Andrew didn't take the bait, he stared straight ahead as if something—or someone—had him in a trance.

I thought again about his reasoning. Andrew's logic made horrific sense. The lack of findings in the lab work, the seemingly random moments when Bruton's illness struck. What if it were all an effort to evade responsibility, marry the woman he loves and avoid censure from his own father?

I cleared my throat.

"If it makes you feel any better, I believe you."

"Do me a favor," he said, looking serious. "Don't tell anyone about this. I'm serious, no one else." He frowned. "If my theory is correct Bruton will be 100% recovered for the big day."

"What about the rehearsal dinner?"

"You didn't get an invite? It's tomorrow at the hotel."

"Not unless Shelock told me," I said.

"That's another thing," he replied, looking at me coolly. "You don't know the history with Bruton and Shelock. Let's just say that her presence puts everyone on edge. I'm not all surprised he's keeping her at arm's length. If there's anyone who knows Bruton is faking it, it's her."

# 11

I took in Andrew's statement as a dismissal of sorts. Soon after spilling the beans, he unceremoniously rose.

"I'm tired. I'll catch up with you at the wedding."

"See you around. That's for the drink," I called out after him—seeing only the back of his leather jacket.

I went to my phone, quickly finding the local real estate tax assessment site for Vail. I clicked on the advanced search, putting in the name of Bruton Wollenhaupt. Nothing.

Damn!

I thought again about what Andrew said. I went back to the phone, finding the local chamber of commerce website. Using the search, I put in Bruton's name.

Pay dirt.

One LLC sat at the top; Wollenhaupt Investments Group, LLC. The other party listed was Robert Wollenhaupt, Bruton's father. With the right name, I conducted the real estate search. I sat on pins and needles waiting for the page to load.

"Can I get you anything . . . Whoa, sorry didn't mean to startle you."

"What? Oh, I'm fine. Not startled at all." The bartender gave me an odd look before retreating. "Fuck," I muttered to myself, stealing a glance at my phone. "Act natural Kay, for God's sake."

The page finally popped into view. I studied the list of properties that came up. None of the addresses meant anything to me. What did impress me was the sheer number of them. Pages of properties, some of them commercial sites, others tracts of land. All recently acquired within the last year.

What did it mean?

Hitting the ladies before I left, I stared in the mirror, wondering about Bruton. Did he drag us all here to witness his carefully practiced narrative of illness? My frustration needed an outlet. I walked back to the Ritz, moving through people as rudely as Shelock. While quite late, the lobby pulsed with energy.

I thought of having another drink, before my pounding headache dissuaded me. Thinking of my oxygen can back up in the room, I beat a hasty retreat. Bursting into our suite, I stared at the darkened door opposite mine.

Shelock.

Throwing open her door, I found a note placed on the pillow. I walked over to it, ripping it open.

Following up on some intel. Be a good girl.

-S-

"Dammit!" I cried, throwing the notecard down.

I texted her frantically, watching the screen go blank. Stomping into my room, I threw my phone on the bed. I took off my clothes and ran a hot bath. I knew she'd be gone for an extended amount of time In the meantime, I felt I'd discovered the cause of the mystery. I had a sneaking suspicion she knew as well. Just thinking about it made me angrier.

How long had she known and not told me? What a perfect twisted match Shelock and Bruton made. A man who would stoop this low to avoid his parent's displeasure, and a woman who observed his routine and said nothing.

I soaked in the tub, my frustrations only growing. Thinking back to the bachelorette party only confirmed my suspicions, especially seeing Barbie and Bruton outside their Vail condo. I should do more research on Bruton's real estate's financials; who knows what I'd find. Exiting the tub, I collapsed onto the bed, too tired to even turn off the television.

I woke in a chill. The heat from the bath had worn off, and I lay naked with no covers. I turned the lights and TV off before checking Shelock's suite. It appeared completely untouched. I crawled back into bed, thinking of Shelock's caloric intake earlier, and her unsupervised time in the hospital. What was she up to? I thought of my comment to her bolstering her pill supply. Surely she hadn't taken me seriously? I shook my head, giving into sleep once again. I didn't even go to check my phone, for I knew what response to expect from my benefactor—complete and total silence.

In the morning light, I stared at the clothes strewn about the room with a frown. Feeling sheepish for last night's tantrum, I rose, picking up my things and folding them away. My bath had congealed all my makeup together into one Picasso-looking mess. I applied an apricot scrub and did my makeup, feeling my stomach grumble.

Too much to drink the night before made me queasy. Instead of going out to eat, I ordered a big tray of room service. I ate heartily, not caring about the calories or the carbs as I consumed the waffles topped with strawberries and cream. I washed it down with a carafe of coffee. After eating it I felt tired again, so I propped myself up in the bed and watched some reality TV, annoyed we hadn't been invited to the rehearsal dinner.

I thought back to Andrew's words, wondering more about Bruton. If what he said was correct, then he would be fit as a fiddle tonight. Perhaps I could confirm myself. I moved toward my phone, seeing a few blinking messages—none of which were from Shelock. I texted a few of my friends back home before seeing one from Allison I missed.

Can you meet for lunch?

I texted her back, and we settled on a spot outside Vail Village, in a town with one of the highest elevations in the U.S. (I googled directions). I took my oxygen can and wondered how I was going to eat, having just consumed an enormous feast.

I let the nice concierge hire me a taxi, people watching as I waited. Studying the patrons, I tried to cipher whom I might see at the wedding. Everyone who strolled past appeared like carbon copies of one another—woman with perfectly curled tresses and diamond studs; men with sports coats and middle-age paunch.

Entering my car, I grew excited for my adventure. The ride over felt like traveling inside a snow globe. As the taxi pulled up to our designated meeting spot, I spotted our meeting location—a lunch cart, one hippie with a bone in her nose working the griddle. Smiling to myself, I hasted over. Allison exited a heated tent situated nearby.

Why would Allison, as thin as a twig, select such a place? Drawing closer, I noticed prominent bags under her eyes. She also didn't appear showered. I grew alarmed at the change in her. She usually looked so—untouchable. Far from being judgmental, I felt a stab of compassion. At least someone believed Bruton.

"Are you ok?" I asked, giving her a quick hug. She felt so delicate.

"Fine, thanks for meeting me so last minute," she said in a rush. "I didn't know who else to talk to."

"Are you hungry?" I asked, gesturing to the girl staring from within the shack.

"I haven't eaten for days, it seems," Allison said, looking at the menu like a child.

"Do you want me to order for you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Please," she said, walked back to the heated.

I ordered the heartiest sandwich on the menu—a Reuben with extra sauce and a side of fries. As the woman went to work, I joined Allison. She didn't seem to want to talk, so we sat together in silence as I stared at the beauty of the mountains.

When the food arrived, Allison attacked her place. I got a strange satisfaction from watching her. She consumed nearly the entire thing, picking at the fries before glancing up at up at me.

"Thank you, I didn't know I needed that." She smiled at me. "You know I'm a vegetarian?"

"Not anymore," I said, at a loss for works.

We laughed together as she pushed her plate away. Smelling the griddle, I glanced over at the menu before thinking the better of it. To ruin my diet now wouldn't do me any favors. Besides, my gown needed to fit tomorrow. I turned to the reason for her invitation.

"What's on your mind? I can tell you're upset."

"It's just everything," she began, tears rolling down her checks. "I was so excited about all of this." She paused dramatically. "I feel like people I've known for years aren't who I thought they were."

My mind went to Andrew's assertions. If Bruton had fooled his closest friends with a fake illness, they had every right to be angry. How upset would I be if someone did this to me? Furious.

"It's just . . . "

"Allison," I said, broaching the topic myself. "Has it ever occurred to you that Bruton isn't being totally honest with you? Or himself, for that matter."

She looked as though I'd slapped her.

"Have you been talking to Andrew?"

"Well . . . "

"What is that guy's deal?" she cried, so loudly a few tourists turned to stare. "Who accuses their friend of faking an illness?"

"I just . . . "

"You don't know these people like I do," she said, jutting a thumb at herself.

Before the diatribe could continue, I reached over and grabbed her hand.

"You're right, I don't know them. Why don't you tell me what's been going on. Start from the beginning, Maybe we can both figure it out."

Allison sighed, flushing with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, you really struck a nerve. The reason I'm so pissed at Andrew . . . I mean, I'm pretty sure that he and Barbie . . . "

"What?" I began, getting an inkling of her suggestion.

"Are having an affair." She seemed surprised by her own words. I drew back, brow furrowing. "I caught them," she continued, her face coloring. "It was pretty obvious."

I thought of Andrew's explanation the previous evening. He made it seem like they were just having a discussion. No one said anything about an affair.

"So it was, clear, what's going on?"

"Unless she was checking his moles for cancer," Allison said, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, I see," I said, heart thumping.

My mind spun from the implications, but I was so wedded to the theory that Bruton was making himself sick that I wasn't sure what to do with the information.

"Oh," I offered lamely. "Ok."

"I know," Allison cried in anguish. "What should I do? Do I tell him, or keep it to myself? Especially since Bruton's so sick—it just doesn't seem right."

"So that's why you wanted to meet all the way out here?"

She nodded, her face now completely wet with tears. I reached into my purse, handing her a Kleenex.

"Please tell me what to do, and I'll do it," she pleaded.

I took a breath. As a girl in a sorority, I knew this scenario well.

"From my experience, and I have a lot of it." I paused meaningfully. "When you tattle about cheating, you become the enemy. Sometimes they just don't want to hear it." I pressed on, because I could see she wanted to interrupt. "And from what I've seen about Bruton, he resents anyone criticizing Barbie."

"Yeah, you can say that again. I have to be bosom buddies with that woman just to continue being invited to these things." She dabbed her eyes before wiping down her cheeks.

I watched her sniffle, feeling exhausted. These people were so concerned with status and relationships. I thought of the reality show I watched that morning. I used to think those stars had it made. I didn't feel so envious now. Allison's world seemed nerve-wracking. Why bother, when life was so much easier when you minded your own business?

"I don't think you should tell him," I reiterated. "You'll be the only person to blame, and you might end up getting blackballed from the entire group."

I knew this threat would hit home. Allison stiffened, her eyes bone dry.

"Should I pretend it didn't even happen?"

"You like these people?" I asked, secretly hoping for a different answer than her vigorous head nods. "You want to continue being friends with them?" Another nod. "Then keep your mouth shut."

I felt like Shelock herself in laying down the cold, hard truth. Allison nodded, more weakly this time.

"You're right."

I sighed, reaching for her empty plate. With enthusiasm, I tossed it a few yards into the wastebasket—nothing but net!

"Sometimes, Allison, I wish I wasn't." She looked down, tears welling up again. "Hey, let's walk off some of that lunch."

"Good idea."

We rose, making our way out of the tent. The sidewalk pulsed with tourists. The main drag offered a similar selection of shops as Vail Village, but at better price points. Maybe I could fit in a spot of shopping after all.

From my perspective, Allison needed the distraction. I chatted her up, trying to distract her as we strolled down the main drag. I found a necklace at one boutique, snapping up a second one for Shelock as well (a gold knife on a chain, delicate yet menacing at the same time). I almost bought myself a pair of cowboy boots before realizing I had mistaken a comma on the price. I put them back carefully as we continued our promenade.

"What are you wearing for the wedding?" I asked.

"Who cares, I feel like I'm going to a funeral."

"I have this amazing red DVF," I said, hoping to impress her with my designer acumen.

She offered up silence in response, not exactly the reaction I'd been looking for.

"Are you going to the rehearsal dinner? The French bistro they reserved is amazing. Although it's at seven and I've already eaten my face off."

"We weren't invited."

Even though I wasn't true friends with any of them, for some reason this admission stung.

"Well," Allison began, shaking her head. "That's no small wonder. I told you Bruton and Shelock have a rocky past."

"About that. I know you think Bruton would never fake it . . . "

She turned to me, shaking her head.

"He would never."

"I know," I said softly, pulling her across the street. I waited until we strolled into the next shop. "But if he did, do you think it would continue if he knew about Andrew and Barbie?"

She pondered this.

"I never bought into the theory that Bruton is making himself sick," she said with confidence. "Andrew is messed up in his own right. I'm sure he told you his whole theory about Bruton's shoddy investments." She watched for my response. I nodded in confirmation. "I don't think so. Why would Bruton spend all this on a wedding if he needs money?" She gestured at the designer leather jackets and expensive pelts surrounding us. Nearby, a woman tried on a mink coat. "Could he afford all this if he were in dire straits?"

I remained silent. Despite my country bumpkin origins, I know how easy it is to put up a façade. Bruton faking an illness to avoid confronting his dad didn't make logical sense. But as Shelock said, that doesn't mean it didn't happen. I'd seen first-hand the pressures these people were under. Having been in this snow globe myself, I knew the expectations were real and quite powerful. Even now I felt consumed by their choices and dilemmas. Would I, Kay Watson, ever stoop to something so low? Unless I was in the same situation, who could say? I pondered this as we finished our tour of the strip.

Suddenly, I felt very cold.

"I'm going to call a cab," I stated.

"Don't be silly." Allison gripped her keys, shaking them playfully. "It's the least I could do after letting me drone on for so long." She led me to a packed lot, hitting her fob. A black Mercedes chirped back. "It's a late model, but the speed is still good."

I don't even own a car, in any model!

Allison pepped up on the ride back, pointing out different ski trails, as if I were a black diamond pro. I kept up the act, cooing at the appropriate moments as we wove through the mountainside and into Vail Village. She pulled up to the Ritz.

"You aren't staying here?"

"No, I've had enough of this set for a while. I'm staying at a friend's condo outside of Vail."

I thought of Bruton's condo. Shelock always lectured me on facts. Perhaps we were too hasty and missed a clue? Bruton didn't seem especially concerned about security. He left it unlocked the first time around, why not a second? Plus, everyone would be at the rehearsal dinner. Suddenly, I had a new sense of purpose.

"Well, have fun tonight, I'll see you at the wedding."

"I'll be there, with bells and whistles on," she said sarcastically.

I thanked her for the ride before getting out of the car. Eager to tell Shelock about my new mission, I practically ran to our hotel room. Walking inside, the silence told me everything. I glanced at her darkened door—no Shelock.

Frowning, I tossed my things on the bed, wondering what the hell to do with myself. I could watch mindless TV, or I could go it alone. I sat down, feeling my heart thud with nerves. The hour for the rehearsal dinner fast approaching, I couldn't miss this opportunity. It could be a way to redeem my failure with Andrew.

I went to my closet, removing all my black clothing. Covering my blonde hair with a hat, I began talking myself out of it.

"This is crazy, Kay. Who do you think you are? Some sort of vigilante detective?" My heart pounded as I caught sight of my reflection. "This is stupid, so stupid."

Sitting on the bed, I slipped on some boots.

"Bruton didn't lock the door. I'll slip in and out without leaving a trace."

With this statement, I convinced myself. A brilliant plan? Maybe not. But much better than sitting here in this hotel room, waiting for Shelock.

Just in case the woman herself turned up, I waited in the room as long as I could. Watching the clock hit on 6:55pm, I rose. I exited the hotel in my black ensemble, careful to use side doors. Striding over to the patisserie, I hid under the awning to watch the condos.

They were alight with activity, all save the one I planned to investigate. I wanted to wait a smidge longer, but try standing stationary staring at a building for a fixed period of time. Feigning nonchalance, I strolled over, studying the door from the outside. Intent on my plan, I tried the latch—finding it unlocked. Shaking my head at the gullibility of rich people, I walked inside. Searching around for a light switch, I turned on the dimmer. Seeing the place so deserted gave me more confidence. I could search at length undisturbed.

It appeared quite different from our initial visit. Mismatched luggage lay open on the sofa, their contents spewing forth. A quick survey confirmed oversized clothes from Chicos. I frowned, whose bags were these? Noticing a pair of purple scrubs, I felt a stab of recognition. Barbie said her mom is an RN. Bruton must have lent the condo out to his future in-laws for the wedding.

Dammit!

Who cares about Barbie's mom! The whole point was to find evidence of Bruton's fraud. I searched around in the bottom of the bag, finding nothing more but the wavering scent of cheap perfume. Sighing, I eased back, turning to another bag.

This one appeared much neater, with carefully folded undershirts and various toiletries. Feeling something sharp as I handled the items, I drew back, pulling an accordion file with me. Opening it, I studied the contents. Papers, lots of papers. I read one of them, feeling a glimmer of recognition. These were mortgage documents, or appeared to be. Various property names, the mortgage amount, interest and . . .

"What the hell is a balloon payment?"

Glancing at the names, my heart skipped a beat. The document referenced Robert Wollenhaupt and Bruton Wollenhaupt in some financial liability jargon.

"God, Kay, why are you such an idiot!" I cried, trying to re-read the document.

Too nervous to make any sense of them, I couldn't glean if they were significant or not. Putting the file back, I glanced around the rest of the condo—eager to conclude my search. Besides the addition of the bags, I found nothing of interest. Feeling my pulse race, I decided on heading back. As I made my way toward the door, I heard a loud, distinct knock.

I froze mid-step, my heart pounding. The knock came again—louder this time. With a squeal, I whirled around—with nowhere to go. Floundering like a fish in a bowl, I ran for the coat closet, barely making it before the door swung open. I stared out from the wooden slits, catching a flash of purple scrubs.

Was Barbie's mother working? It didn't seem possible. Slowly, the figure advanced. I said a demanding prayer as my worst nightmare morphed into reality. I shut my eyes, frantically hoping the person would leave.

No such luck, as the door to the closet flew open. I remained, feeling ridiculous and yet unable to open my eyes.

"What is this, Watson, some sleepover parlor trick?"

I brought myself to attention.

"Shelock, what the hell are you doing here?"

She raised her eyebrows, giving me a look.

"I should be asking you that question. At the back of the closet, lips pursed like you are waiting for someone to . . . "

I leapt from the closet, slamming the closet door behind me. Shelock studied me with interest, a grin on her face. She sported a bare face, the smudges under her eyes prominent. I'd never see her this unadorned before; a bit like seeing a tiger without its stripes.

Her amusement at an end, she grasped my arm.

"Come, we best be going."

"I'm looking for clues . . . " I stammered, too shocked to form a sentence.

"Watson, it's not safe here," she continued irritably. "And as for clues, I'm not certain you'll find much."

She dragged me from the condo, pausing for a few moments at the entrance. After a beat, she led me onto a pedestrian walkway. I thought we would head back to the Ritz, but she towed me in an opposite direction—into a parking lot, before depositing me in front of a grey van.

"What the hell have you been up to?" I asked, as she climbed inside.

"Research," she commanded.

"Did you rent this hoopty?"

"It belongs to the hospital."

I quickly joined her in the car as she threw it into reverse and pulled out. I glanced in the console, a name tag for a woman by the name of Marie Moyer next to a photo of Shelock.

"You stole this when we were visiting Burton, didn't you! Not to mention this car. You have any idea how illegal all of this is?"

"It is . . . if you get caught," Shelock commanded, speeding away from Vail Village as fast as the car could go.

"Where are we going?"

"To get something to eat. I'm famished."

"Have you eaten since I last saw you?"

Shelock shook her head. I studied her closely. Hair slicked back, no makeup. She looked, well, like a nurse.

"Watson, we have much to catch up on," she commanded, hands gripping the steering wheel. "And we must be far away from interested ears to dispense the information."

"So you're paranoid as well?"

"Wait," she said, pulling off the highway and into a one of the many towns that dotted the landscape. "Don't give me input until I am ready to receive it."

"Ok, computer."

As she drove, I glanced down at the other pieces of paper scattered in the van. They were her notes, written in another language—seemingly in French. I studied them with interest until the vehicle came to a halt.

"Famished!" Shelock commanded, kicking the car door open.

I glanced at our location, a nondescript pub with a wooden buffalo hanging out front.

"I guess you're craving meat," I said, following her as she strode into the place.

"This is Colorado, Watson, don't tell me you are flirting with vegetarianism."

"I am vegetarian. Interesting that you only now figure this out," I said, enjoying the look of surprise on her face.

She raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything as we entered. The restaurant featured low lighting and a good-old-boy vibe. I could see why she chose it. Settling down into a booth, she ordered quickly—a burger and beer, with a side of waffle fries. I had a Greek salad, wondering by the waiter's expression if anyone had ever actually ordered it before. As we waited for our meals, Shelock removed her little red journal.

"Now, Watson, tell me about darling Andrew."

"We didn't sleep together if that's what you're asking," I said quickly, accepting my chardonnay with a word of thanks.

She ignored her beer, scribbling quickly and nodding for me to continue.

"He does have an interesting theory about Bruton. One that keeps resurfacing."

"Which is?"

"Bruton is faking his illness—making himself sick."

Shelock looked up.

"How very inventive of him."

I felt my cheeks burn. Why did I feel the need to defend Andrew's theory? It seemed like everyone close to Bruton had a pair of blinders on.

"Apparently Bruton made some bad investments. He acquired properties under an LLC linked to his dad. It all has to do with real estate holdings. You remember that big dust up the two had at the bachelorette dinner? Andrew said Bruton's lost nearly everything prime investments in the area—particularly around Vail Village. That condo is evidence of that. Bruton is living there full-time, spending his days acquiring shoddy real estate. Trying to keep it all afloat."

Shelock gave a brisk nod.

"All this is conjecture, but please, continue."

"I did a little research of my own." I placed my phone in front of her, pulling up the website from before. "All these properties are owned by Wollenhaupt Financial, LLC. What do you say to that?"

"That's quite a list." Shelock took the phone from me and I felt a stab of pride. For once, I provided something of use. "Still." She frowned. "It doesn't lend total credence to Andrew's story. Bruton's father might be aware of all of these. It is, in fact, the purpose of their business partnership. You heard him yourself, he fronts the money, Bruton makes the purchases. Loses in properties is part of the business of real estate."

"It provides a motive for Bruton to lie about his health! It proves everything!" I cried. Shelock placed the phone down, turning to take a long sip of beer. "You don't believe any of this," I shot back, rifling through my purse to wipe my nose.

I found the old Kleenex I'd given Andrew.

"Ew, I thought I threw this away."

"What is that?"

"A Kleenex—don't tell me you've never heard of those."

She grabbed it.

"Why is it bloody?"

"When I was talking to Andrew his nose started bleeding."

Shelock shook her head, looking disturbed.

"Indeed?"

"Yes, why are you so shocked?"

She sat back in the booth, crossing her arms. Shelock remained silent, so I toyed with my napkin, feeling my stomach rumble. Shortly, our waiter emerged, plopping down our entrees with a lack of enthusiasm. Pleased to see that the salad didn't look half bad, I dug in. Shelock began attacking the burger, pausing only to pepper me with questions.

"How long was your discussion with Andrew?"

"Maybe an hour or so."

"Where did he take you?"

"A local bar near Bruton's condo. I think it's a private club or something. I couldn't find the place if you asked me to."

"What was his disposition?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, removing a hot pepper from my salad.

"His disposition, Watson," she said, shaking her head as if I were a particularly dull pupil.

Toying with my fork, I decided to play along.

"He seemed . . . distracted. If I had to guess he wasn't feeling well. But it had more to do with Bruton's condition. His emotional state, I mean. Even Allison seemed out of sorts."

"Ah, you saw Allison as well?"

I nodded, taking a moment to take another bit of salad. As I finished chewing, I met her stare.

"I suppose you want to hear about that too?"

"Humor me, Watson."

"She was much more emotional than Andrew. I mean, which makes sense given she's a chick and all."

"Gender stereotypes notwithstanding."

"Yeah, sure. So anyway, she asked to meet me and basically threw cold water on Andrew's little theory. She doesn't think what's going on with Bruton's financial deals has anything to do with his condition."

"It certainly has everything to do with Bruton's condition," Shelock said firmly, slapping the end of a ketchup bottle without much result. I took it from her, slowly easing a puddle of the condiment on her plate. "What's more, it represents the evidence we need to prove culpability in this case."

"Ah yes, evidence," I said, plopping the ketchup down and taking up my fork.

"You found out something else. Tell me," she said, studying me carefully.

"Allison knows where the bodies are buried. She has a little theory about Andrew's involvement as well. I mean, about why he keeps saying Bruton is faking it."

"Understandable, it's a preposterous story," Shelock said, slathering her fries in ketchup.

I watched her plop them into her mouth, chewing contentedly.

"You know," I began, pushing back from the table, salad forgotten. "Both you and Allison have a lot in common. You refuse to see what's right in front of your face. What if Burton is faking it? It fits with everything we know." I began ticking off facts on my fingers. "One, it explains how medically there is no evidence of any illness. Two, it tells us why there is tension with his father, and explains the fact that his finances are in such disarray."

I took a healthy sip of wine.

"Watson, I think Andrew's theory is very creative," Shelock said. "Like a toddler looking to cover his tracks, he's very quick with reasonable explanations. But please, describe what Allison divulged over your lunch."

"Allison was furious at Andrew for his beliefs—one which he shared with Barbie, apparently. But that's not all they shared." Shelock took a bite of her burger, giving me a questioning look. "She thinks Andrew and Barbie are lovers."

"Does she now?" Shelock said, selecting a fry. "What evidence is she basing on this?"

"She caught them . . . or so she says."

"Andrew has a different story?"

"He claims they were just talking." I used my finger quotes.

Shelock chuckled, shaking her head.

"Yes, the affair between Barbie and Andrew certainly doesn't need such obvious proof, if you ask me."

I stared at her, stunned.

"What do you mean proof? You believe her?"

"You don't?" Shelock cocked an eyebrow. "You saw for yourself, many months before at the bachelorette party."

"What do you mean?"

Shelock searched around for any other remnants of fries before turning to flag down the waiter. She ordered another drink before facing me.

"Watson this case has been intriguing to me for many reasons—the first of which is how blatant the crime presents itself. The facts are so horribly straightforward."

"What the hell does that mean?"'

"Didn't you notice that Barbie and Andrew seemed to arrive only moments apart at nearly every venue?"

I paused, thinking this through.

"And when they do arrive; they carefully ignore one another?" I opened my mouth to respond before pausing. "They never speak; hardly make eye contact."

"Wait a minute . . . "

"But these are just theories, you say, nothing more than conjecture. But let me tell you, Watson." She took the profited beer from the waiter with a nod of thanks. She turned back to me, her eyes lit from the candle between us. "I know the mind of a woman. From the instant I saw the two ignoring each other, I knew they were lovers. You want proof? You spotted them, not once but twice, walking back from a tryst."

"When?"

"The bachelorette party." She watched for my reaction.

"You meant walking back from the condo?" I shook my head, laughing. "No, that was Bruton."

As soon as I said his name, I felt my stomach drop. I processed the information—Bruton and Andrew were the same height, the same gait, they even wore similar clothing. When I saw Andrew at the airport, I realized how easily one could pass as the other.

"Has the other shoe dropped, Watson?"

"Good God, you're right! Andrew and Barbie have been meeting secretly at Bruton's condo this whole time. That takes balls."

"Watson, it's not Bruton's condo," Shelock said, glancing at the bread that came with my salad.

"Please," I said, shoving my plate toward her. "How can you tell?"

"Property records," she replied simply, ripping the bread apart and dipping it in the sauce leftover from her burger. "The same ones you discovered to reveal Bruton's real estate holdings. The condo is in Andrew's name. His knowledge of local haunts and his slips ups regarding his acclimation to the altitude are evidence enough. He is living here full time, meeting Barbie when she arrives to plan the wedding. In fact, she is using those trips to meet her lover."

"Barbie and Andrew?" I asked, shaking my head. I crossed my arms, refusing the bait. "You know, all this affair stuff aside, what did we say in Indiana? It's the horse and not the zebra. What's more believable? Some elaborate scheme, or the obvious conclusion that Bruton is faking it. If he's fit as a fiddle on his wedding day, we'll know I'm right."

Shelock stared at me from above the rim of her beer.

"Watson, I take your challenge." She raised her glass, clinking it with mine. "We shall have to think of a suitable punishment for the loser. Maybe laundry for a year?"

"Since you're a senior, I'll happily take on that bet," I said, rolling my eyes. I dedicated myself to studying the desert menu as Shelock went silent, retreating into the maze that was her mind.

"We have one more place to search."

"Where?"

"Bruton's hotel room."

I glanced at the time.

"They'll have been back already."

She rose, tossing some bills on the table.

"Nonsense, this crew is only getting warmed up. Come, we must make haste."

I tried talking her out of it the drive back, but Shelock wouldn't budge.

"We don't even know what room he's staying in."

"Of course we do." Shelock rolled her eyes. "Bruton is nothing if not consistent, he always stays in the same suite."

I narrowed my eyes at her.

"How do you know what suite that is?" She remained silent. I rapped on the console. "Shelock. I asked you a question."

"I heard your question, and you can surely surmise the answer."

My mind flipped back to the bachelorette party—all those nights Shelock went unaccounted for. Surely she couldn't have . . .

I reversed this line of thinking. Of course she could. That snake slept with her ex!

"Were you going to tell me?"

"I'm telling you now. Well, in so many words."

"Were you investigating something or just . . . just . . . "

"Do you want me to say the word, Watson, or will it displease you?"

"Oh my God, you are such a hypocrite!"

"I have no idea what that means, besides," she continued, pulling off the road and spinning into the roundabout of the Ritz. "You always ask the wrong questions."

She pulled the car to a halt. Throwing off her seat belt, she meant to exit before I placed a hand on hers. Relaxing, she faced me.

"All right, friend, I'll play this little game."

"It's not a game to me. Nor is it for Burton's father."

"Ah, I believe you've hit on it. For this fact brought me closer into the orbit of Bruton's psyche."

"Explain," I said through gritted teeth, shaking a hand at the valet to give us more time.

She ordered her thoughts, her eyes half-lidded.

"Bruton's symptoms didn't alarm me initially. In every aspect of his character, he is weak-willed. But when his father grew ill, grew distressed. I needed more information, and could only obtain it from the person who knew his father best—and who had business dealings with him."

"So you seduced your ex to get it?"

"I wouldn't call it seduction, Watson. Bruton is so easy to manipulate. Most men are, a few well-placed compliments and . . . "

"Spare me the color commentary. What did you find out?"

"I found out that Bruton's relationship with his father was much more complicated than I originally surmised."

"Yes, the business dealings, I told you Andrew's theory."

She shook her head.

"That cannot be the complete truth. Failed real estate assets are part of the game. In fact, they can be a useful foil for someone as rich as Bruton's father—tax purposes to start. I knew there must be another reason for the strain."

"And you found it out?"

She remained silent, tapping her finger distractedly.

"I uncovered only that Bruton was very, very sensitive about the subject."

"Which suggests he's hiding something."

"Which suggests he's hiding something." Shelock smiled. "See, Watson? I've told you everything."

I gave her a long, unsmiling look.

"This explains why he was so pissed at you when he saw you in his hospital room."

"Bruton does have a conscience. It is frightfully annoying at times. Especially since I am attempting to save his life."

She mused over this.

"What else do you hope to find?"

My heart leapt with the thought of yet another break in, at a hotel no less!

"I'll know that when I see it. Now." She glanced at me. "Have I answered your questions to your satisfaction? If so, we must be heading up."

Silently, I got out of the car, giving the valet a shaky grin before striding into the hotel. Shelock caught up with me in the elevator, selecting the top floor.

"Penthouse?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"This is all booked on hotel points, don't let the façade fool you." She waved her hand around. "Besides, Bruton's biggest weakness is his vanity, always has been."

"I wonder who else has that in common."

"Was that a joke, Watson?" Her eyes lit up. She chuckled, a melodic sound that echoed before the elevator doors opened. "How I adore jokes." Clipping off the words, she exited, walking over to room 1207.

"And tell me you have some super-secret way of getting into this room."

She turned to face me.

"You will, rather."

"How?"

"Take off your shirt."

"What?"

"I said." She rolled her eyes. "Take off your shirt." I stood there, flummoxed. Shelock grew impatient. "Watson, we haven't time for these games!"

"Can I ask why?" I said, feeling my face burn red.

"It is a simple question of trust." She gave me a hard look.

"Fine." I threw off my jacket, tearing off my black top.

"Now the pants."

"Seriously?"

"Hurry, my dear, we don't want you in your skivvies longer than absolutely necessary."

In a rush of anger, I tore them off.

"Now the boots."

"Good lord!" I kicked them off into a pile. "Someone is going to come!"

"I hope so, how else will you get inside your room?" She pointed at the suite, turning to leave with my clothing.

"Where are you going?" She didn't respond, disappearing into the stairwell. Hearing the door close with finality I felt myself shivering. "Oh my God. What is happening?"

I stood there, clad in bra and underwear, knees fairly knocking together. Every time I heard a sound I jumped. I must have suffered five heart attacks before I heard an elevator open.

"Well this should be interesting," I grumbled, as a housekeeping cart came into view.

The woman behind it gave a little jump.

"Hi! I need help!"

"Miss, miss!" she cried, hurrying over.

I didn't have time to create a plausible story as she sped over. Moving quickly, she took a key from her apron.

"I um, I . . . "

Without waiting for an explanation, she opened the door, offering a toothy grin.

"Go in, go in!" she assured me in broken English.

I blessed her and skipped inside, closing the door with a thud.

"Well that was easy."

Scarce believing how quickly I'd gained entry, I listened for the cart wheeling away, before walking further into Bruton's hotel room.

The man liked a tidy space, I'll give him that. I wondered if Shelock got the room right when a tap came at the door. I knew who it was.

"Get in here," I growled.

She handed my clothes at me, before taking in the room.

"Brilliant, Watson. Nice work."

She eyed me up and down. I decided to ignore her, hastily assuming my garments.

"Why couldn't you have done that?" I snapped.

"Because, Watson, I'm a realist above all things. Who do you think makes a better damsel in distress—a blonde, blue-eyed coed with ample assets." She gave me another look. "Or," she gestured to herself. "The brown girl likely mistaken for a high-end call girl?"

I swallowed.

"I never thought of that."

She gave me a vacant look.

"White girls never do. Come, come. I need anything that looks financial in nature."

I hastened to search with her, looking for any paper I could find. While I located several wedding-related invoices, there was nothing related to any properties.

"I don't see anything. Would he have it with him?"

"Watson, you've hit on it." She rubbed her temples. "Your instincts do you credit. At the hospital, someone brought him a bag."

"Barbie?"

I frowned, crossing my arms.

"You made me go through all this when his damn briefcase is at the hospital."

"I'm not certain. We were kicked out of the room, as you remember. Are you certain you didn't see a duffle bag in Andrew's condo? Barbie left her things there. It's important, Watson. She may had placed something in that condo to bring Bruton later."

My mind flashed back to the duffle bag I'd seen at the condo.

"Yes, I did find a bag."

Shelock leaned forward.

"And?"

"There were financial documents in the bag." I paused, embarrassed I could provide no other details. I tried to pass off my ignorance. "I didn't think anything of it. I just thought they were related to the properties Bruton acquired. I did think it was funny they were in the bag itself."

"Watson, this is extremely important." Shelock locked eyes with me. "You must remember what was written on those documents."

"Oh God, don't stress me out."

"There is reason, my dear, to be stressed. Please Watson, concentrate!"

"Can we do this somewhere else?"

She shook her head. Then it came to me, the one phrase I remembered.

"Oh God, you are going to think I'm such a dumbass."

"Tell me this instant, before you forget!"

"Now, don't get excited." I shifted my weight. "I remembered the term because it sounded so funny. One of the documents referenced a balloon payment."

"Balloon payment?"

"I told you." I shook my head. "Honestly, I'm the freaking worst private eye in the history of the game."

"Not at all." Shelock tossed her hair behind her. "You have discovered pertinent information from what I'm sure seemed to be a disparate and confusing sheaf of documents."

"Yeah, what you said." I hopped from one foot to the other. "Now can we get out of here?"

"Yes." She took another turn about the room before stopping. "What is that?"

I glanced at the bed.

"A bed."

"No, under the coverlet."

I removed it, revealing a slim Apple laptop.

"A laptop?"

Shelock flew to it, opening the screen and quickly receiving a password log in.

"Well come on, tell me you know the password."

"In fact, I don't know it, Watson," Shelock said, studying the laptop with an intensity that alarmed me. "In fact, I don't need to know it."

"What?"

She smiled, shaking her head.

"Bruton is a notorious luddite, which is why this find is so very significant."

"Well Apple computers aren't exactly intuitive. But they are expensive."

"This one is as well." She moved her hands around the outlines of the laptop, almost caressing it. "Dear Bruton has changed, Watson. This confirms it."

She tucked the laptop back.

"You don't even want to try to guess the password?"

Ignoring me, she walked to the door and held it open.

"After you. Unless you'd like to exit the way you entered?"

"Ha, ha."

I followed her, moving quickly towards the stairwell.

"Do you want to discuss the case?" I called out to her.

She shook her head.

"I know your current pet theory. To talk now would only cause us to row in circles. You know how I detest that. Besides, we have a wedding to attend tomorrow. We need our beauty rest."

"You mean I will." She held the door to our floor for me. I nodded thanks. "God knows when you slept last."

"Then I shall retreat to my coffin and ponder what we found today. I suggest . . . " she gave me the side eye, " . . . that you do the same."

"Yeah, yeah."

Trailing her to our room, I felt a stab of worry. I didn't think we found anything today. And those mortgage papers might as well been written in Chinese.

Contented with this fact, I retreated to my room. I thought I'd watch some TV before going to bed, but I slipped off to sleep so quickly, I didn't even have time to take my makeup off.

# 12

I woke the next morning, still annoyed. What had Shelock learned in Bruton's hotel room that I had not? Rising, I took a hot bath, stewing amongst the bubbles for a good hour or so. I checked my phone, responding to a few messages. The wedding wasn't until 5, but I had slept until 12. Might as well make it a lazy day.

I rose, toweling off before walking into the sitting room. I glanced over at Shelock's closed door. Shrugging, I returned to my room. Firing up the TV, I called room service for breakfast. I splurged—waffles again with strawberries and cream and a large carafe of coffee. I sat before the heaping tray, contented to eat the entirety of it. I smiled to myself, convinced of my pet theory. Bruton faked the illness to evade censure from daddy. Now his dad is in a home, there was no need to stand on ceremony.

Today, Bruton would greet his guests as a healthy groom. I envisioned Shelock schlepping my laundry around for a year. Hopefully her fancy new job gave her plenty of leave. I chuckled over this, polishing off my breakfast. Taking a breather to watch some reality TV, I slowly began pulling myself together. I plugged in my hot rollers and studied my face, applying a mask while they heated up. After moisturizing, I applied some serums and then set my hair. That task complete, I applied my makeup carefully, doing some contouring before applying the rest with a heavy hand. I drew back, pleased with the results. I looked like somebody with somewhere to go—I felt glamourous.

I left my rollers in, sauntering around the condo in my plush robe. I checked Shelock's room, still dark. I'm sure she would emerge from it, nary a hair out of place, not five minutes before the wedding started. Checking the time, I took out my hair, teasing and setting it with a coating of hairspray. Moving to my closet, I selected my emerald green gown and heels before spraying a generous amount of perfume. Checking my reflection one more time, I grabbed my purse and exited into the sitting area.

Shelock sat in a long, slinky dress with matte red lips and heavy brows. She wore a gold pendant in the center of the plunging neckline—her skin gleaming like polished stone.

"Are you really a vampire?" I asked, half serious.

"Ha," Shelock said, tapping away on her laptop. After a few moments, she closed it. "Let's get on with it."

"Regretting our bet?" I asked, as she held the door for me.

Her expression was deathly serious.

"I fear tonight's consequences, Watson. Stick close, should things take a dramatic turn for the worse."

I shook my head, sticking to my theory. I expected nothing out of the ordinary. After all, weddings are all the same. Watch the vows, cringe at the speeches, cut the cake. We would be home tomorrow, and I would spend the last days of the semester with Nick. This detective work was cake! I ran through these scenarios as the elevator proceeded down to the lobby. I studied our appearance in the glass. I looked confident and proud. For her part, Shelock stared into space, her expression set.

We exited, following signs for the reception. The sound of laughter and music swirled around us. I took in the sight, having never been to an event this grand. Waiters twirled around with appetizers and champagne flutes, and guests mingled in their evening wear. Shelock grabbed the first glass she saw, handing it over to me before selecting one for herself.

"Here, you'll need this."

"A cocktail hour before the wedding?"

"These people never resist an opportunity to drink, Watson," Shelock announced, before turning to mingle with perfect strangers.

Stumped at her boldness, I found Allison in a corner. She wasn't kidding about the funeral comment. Sporting a severe black dress, her only accessories were large diamond studs.

"How are you?"

"Fine. I guess," she replied, sipping her champagne. "I just want this all to be over."

"It will be, only too soon," I said calmly. For some reason those mortgage documents sprung into my mind. "Do you know what a balloon payment is?"

"What?"

Cries of pleasure from the audience interrupted my response. Turning, I watched as Barbie twirled around in a short, ivory cocktail dress. I anxiously looked beside her. There stood Bruton, looking healthy and virile in a tux.

"Wow, they showed up early!"

"I'm sure Barbie wanted to show off." Allison retained her dour expression. "Bruton as well."

I found Shelock in the crowd, locking eyes with her.

"See!" I mouthed. I gave her a brilliant smile, one which she didn't return.

I watched the couple as they made the rounds. I could see Barbie's eyes find us, steering Bruton away to the other guests.

"Well, that isn't obvious," Allison said, an edge to her voice. "It's clear she wants nothing to do with us. I doubt we'll talk to him again."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," I said, though I detected a pearl of truth in her statement.

Bruton looked elated to be next to his bride. The way he fawned over her told me everything. Barbie represented his one and only, the rest of us were just a handy backdrop.

"Are her parents here?"

Allison gestured to a couple Barbie was now embracing.

"There."

"They look, different . . . " I said, trailing off as I studied them.

While still rotund, the mother of the bride looked frozen from a heavy dose of Botox. Her father had black hair, clearly dyed, and an expensive-looking suit.

"Think she paid for some nipping and tucking," Allison said, the disdain in her voice palpable.

I didn't know what to say to this, so I just stood there. Their rounds completed, the bride and groom retreated from the room. A hotel representative, decked out in pearls, rang a mini-gong.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she cried, smiling broadly. "Kindly join us for the ceremony in the main hall."

We discarded our champagne flutes, following the ushers into an adjoining room. Nothing prepared me for the transformation of a lowly event hall. I entered into a kind of fairytale—lush greenery pervading the space, leaving a sharp scent of evergreen in the air. In the front of the hall hung a gigantic, gilded set of antlers. Bruton stood in front of it, smiling ear to ear. I sat next to Allison, taking in every detail. Even though the decorations were completely over the top, I appreciated the display. Barbie may have extravagant tastes, but it worked.

Settling in, I casually searched the crowd for Andrew. As a groomsman, I would expect him to be part of the wedding party. But as the procession began, the space next to Bruton remained vacant.

"Where's Andrew?" I hissed.

"He's not feeling well," she said in a monotone.

I turned around, finding Shelock's steely gaze staring back at me. She must have crept in behind us. I studied her broad grin.

"Why are you smiling?" I hissed.

"You'll see," she whispered confidently.

I turned, waiting anxiously as the wedding began. As soft harp music played, Barbie came strolling down the aisle with her father. I noted she changed her gown into an ivory dress with an exposed corset, covered with strategic bits of lace. Studying her sweetheart neckline, I realized someone else had work done before the big day. Her mother was practically hyperventilating in the front row, taking photos and cooing in a loud voice.

Barbie reached the front, fussing with her veil before clasping hands with Bruton.

"That's it?" I whispered to Allison. "No one else in the wedding party?"

Allison shook her head. Facing the front, the service began. While the priest began his introduction, Bruton began shifting his weight. As they reached the vows, Bruton drifted to the right before catching himself.

I turned around, locking eyes with Shelock. Her expression remained passive. I studied the other guests, finding only vacant stares.

Maybe it's in my head . . .

"We are gathered here today, in the sight of God . . . "

Bruton slumped forward. The audience gasped as the priest reached out and steadied him. I could hear them whispering to one another, punctuated by Barbie's cries as she clung to him. Bruton turned to the audience.

"Just a fainting spell. You'd faint too if you were about to marry this woman!"

Forced laughter from the audience. Bruton faced the priest, nodding for him to continue. The man looked concerned, but returned to his reading. I felt my body flush with heat as I watched Bruton's face turn pale. This time, the priest didn't seem to notice.

"And now, the rings."

Barbie's mother rose, handing them over. Before he could exchange them, Bruton keeled over. He landed with a crash, knocking over a display of white lilies. Barbie screamed, falling down on top of him. Her mother tried to pull her off, frantically trying to rouse Bruton. The audience watched in horror, as did the priest, who stood above them, mouth agape as he took in the scene.

"Someone call an ambulance!"

Barbie's mother moved swiftly to conduct CPR, but something in the stillness of Bruton's body made my breath catch. After a few moments, Barbie's mother sat back, sitting on her haunches. The priest hunched down, trying desperately to assist as pandemonium erupted around us.

The wedding coordinator flew in to the front of the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you would join me in the reception hall. We need to attend to this emergency."

In a state of confusion, the guests erupted in nervous conversation, filing out of the room while alternatively rubbernecking to watch Bruton's prostate form. In a trance we went into the reception hall, finding our tables and sitting down passively. Unaccountably, dinner service began.

"They are serving us dinner?" Allison asked of the group.

She didn't react much to Bruton's episode, if anything it seemed to wake her up. Shelock materialized at our table.

"Are we just going to ignore what happened?"

Shelock didn't respond, instead calmly reaching for a roll.

"Whoever made this executive decision should have their head examined," Allison quipped.

The band began playing, adding yet another bizarre enhancement to this scene.

"And why did they put us at this table?" Allison snapped.

"I'm not sure," I muttered, wondering why she should care at a time like this. I glanced over at Shelock, who made quick work of her entrée. She removed her compact, fixing her lipstick. "How can you be so calm at a time like this?"

She snapped the mirror shut.

"There is no need for dramatics, Watson. I do, however, think a council of war is needed." She rose. "Come—you'll both need to witness this."

I didn't need an invitation. I stood, hastening for Allison to join as Shelock wove through the crowd. I followed her trailing black gown as she entered the hotel lobby. Looking around, she identified the wedding coordinator speaking animatedly with one of the paramedics. Striding forth, she stopped in front of them.

"I need to get inside," Shelock demanded.

"Sorry, Ma'am, they are working on him now."

"Did you also call the police?" Shelock said, crossing her arms.

He looked at her with a frown.

"What for?"

"Because what we are dealing with is attempted murder," Shelock said confidently.

Had it been anyone else, he surely would have ignored her. But Shelock's tone and regal demeanor compelled a response.

"Just a moment," he said, melting away, the stunned paramedic moving to join him.

"What are you doing?" I hissed.

"Have faith, Watson," Shelock commanded, tapping her heels on the marbled floor.

Shortly, the wedding coordinator returned. This time, a man in a suit and a buzz cut joined him—hotel security.

"Shelock," she said, offering her hand.

"What's this about attempted murder?" he asked.

"Please alert the authorities. This man has been poisoned."

"Is he ok?" I asked quickly, worried Shelock was coming on too strong.

The man paused, glancing to the coordinator before turning to us.

"He's slipped into a coma. You'd better know what you're doing," he said, glancing at Shelock. "That's a serious accusation."

"Sir, I always take murder seriously," Shelock responded, rolling her eyes.

The man with the buzz cut whispered a few words to the wedding coordinator before melting away. Shelock turned to the man, who flinched.

"Where are you taking him?" she insisted.

"The paramedics are finishing up now. They are taking him to the hospital."

"Perfect, will the detectives meet us there?"

He glanced over to me, as if I could relieve him of this duty. All I could do was shrug.

"We are calling them this moment," he said, moving quickly away.

"Dammit, Shelock," I cried, grabbing her elbow. "You've gone and stirred up . . . "

"Shhh!" she cried, eyes big as saucers. "Here he comes."

A door opened, and a stretcher emerged. Bruton lay strapped to a gurney, his face deathly pale. A weeping Barbie trailed the grim procession. When she saw us, she pointed a finger.

"Get away from him!" she cried frantically. "I never want to see you again as long as I live."

"You may get your wish," Shelock said, clutching her purse. She turned to me. "Come Watson, we have to prepare ourselves for the police."

As she said the words, Barbie's mother exited the room.

"Police?" she said, glancing at her daughter nervously.

"We'll see you at the hospital," Shelock said.

"Come on," Barbie said, towing her mother behind her.

Allison edged forward.

"What are you going to do?" she asked quietly.

Shelock turned to her.

"I need you to go to this address." She opened her purse, removing a slip of paper. She forced it into Allison's palm. "I need you to find a set of papers in a duffle bag. Describe it Watson."

I jumped.

"Um, Vera Bradely, pink and red floral with roses, I think."

Shelock glanced back at Allison.

"Bring whatever paper you find, and then I need you to hide."

"What?"

"Hide," Shelock said, looking at her if she were hard of hearing. "There is a closet just off the main room that no one will be looking in. Lying in wait, I need you to remain there for example one hour. Do you have that clear? One full hour?" Shelock paused, watching for recognition.

Allison nodded.

"You are to observe what happens in the condo during that hour and you are not to intervene. When the hour is up, I want you to come to the hospital to meet us."

"What will I see? Is it dangerous?" Allison said, beginning to unfold the note. Shelock closed her hand around the paper.

"It's important, go immediately."

Allison scooted off, her heels clicking away as Shelock began marching towards the hotel exit. I stood in confusion, wondering where to go—with Allison or Shelock. Suddenly, Shelock twirled around, her gown pooling around her feet.

"Watson," she demanded. "The dramatic conclusion is upon us. Aren't you coming?"

# 13

Shelock couldn't wait for the valet, so we took a cab. I only thought of more questions to ask her, so instead I stared out the window. We didn't bring our coats, and even though it was freezing, I didn't even have the energy to hold my arms around me. In contrast to my anxiety, Shelock seemed excited.

"Watson, what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking you'd better know what you're doing," I said, shaking my head. "The police, Shelock? You had better have evidence."

She drew an envelope from the folds of her shawl. She patted it with a smile.

"All I need is right here. I prepared it while you were languishing in the tub."

"Oh," I said.

I took it, pulling out several documents.

"What is this?" I said, studying several official-looking seals.

Before I could take a closer look, she snatched it from me—stuffing it back into the confines of the manila paper.

"And you thought I would let you have all the fun," Shelock said, chuckling to herself as the taxi pulled into the hospital. "What's contained in this envelope is the evidence we need to punish the culprit. Well, one of them at least."

We entered the hospital in a trail of evening wear. Checking in at the visitor's desk, a woman directed us to the lobby. I noticed a uniformed officer and a man in a long parka with a sheriff's emblem on the front.

Shelock walked over to him. Small in stature, and quite compact, he took her outstretched hand and shook it warmly.

"Shelock." His tense expression loosened.

"You know him?" I asked, hastening beside her.

Shelock turned to me.

"While you were gathering intelligence, I made pains to reach out to Sheriff Mead. An old friend of my father's. Sir, this is Kay Watson."

He gave me a curt not.

"My deputy, Officer Brownsmiller." He gestured to a portly man beside him with a wave of the hand. He turned to Shelock. "You have what we discussed?"

She handed over the folder.

"Right here."

"And the others?" he asked, peeking inside.

The arrival of Barbie spared any response. She came scuttling into the lobby, still outfitted in her wedding dress.

"They have arrived," Shelock responded, before Barbie marched over to them.

"I want her gone," Barbie cried, inches from us now. "You can bar her from the room, can't you? Can't you see she's stalking us! She won't leave us alone!"

The sheriff watched the exchange with interest. Emerging from behind, a nurse tapped the deputy on the shoulder. He nudged his boss, who turned to the woman.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt." She glanced at Barbie, chest still heaving from the confrontation. "The patient is awake. You can see him now."

"Good," Barbie cried, whirling around to follow the nurse.

"Ah, just one moment," Sheriff Mead said. Barbie came to a halt, turning to him with a grimace. "I'll accompany you," he said firmly, glancing at us. "We all will."

Barbie looked at him for a few moments, calculating the odds of defying him. At length, she relaxed.

"Ugh, fine!"

"Nurse," he said genially. "Please lead the way."

We proceeded single file through the hospital and into Bruton's treatment room. He looked comatose, his face a mask of death.

"Are you sure he's stable?" the sheriff asked, stopping short at the sight of him.

Barbie went into full dramatics as the nurse studied his vitals. I stood behind Shelock, unsure of what to do. As the nurse continued fussing with his IV, a loud alarm went off. The nurse jumped as the room erupted in confusion. Barbie began shouting over the din as the nurse turned to our party.

"Out, all of you—out!"

More people rushed inside as we were hustled out by the nurse—with the officer forcibly removing Barbie. Towing her back to the lobby, we stood around in awkward silence. Finding a vacant bench, Barbie sat down, before starting to weep loudly. Shelock disappeared into a corner with Sheriff Mead, leaving me to bear the brunt of the bride's anger.

"This is all your fault," she said, glowering at me.

"I'm just a guest!" I cried in my defense.

I glanced over at Shelock, having an animated conversation with the sheriff.

What on earth were they talking about and how the hell did she set that up behind my back?

I tried to change the subject.

"How is Andrew?" I asked.

Barbie looked at me as though I had two heads.

"I don't care about Andrew right now."

Her mascara ran onto her cheeks, and wayward eyelashes were plastered to her temples. I felt bad for the girl. Watching a man in a lab coat approach the sheriff, I found my opportunity to interrupt.

Rising, I scooted over to where Shelock stood.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take," I hissed.

"Give it a moment," Shelock said, placing a cold hand on my arm.

I glanced over to the sheriff. He looked deathly serious, but I was still unprepared for what happened next.

"Well," he began, looking at us calmly. "Bruton Wollenhaupt was just pronounced dead. This is now a murder investigation." He looked directly at me. "I'm going to have to ask you a few questions if you don't mind. We can use one of the empty rooms."

Stunned, I glanced over at Shelock. Her face appeared blank, expressionless. I expected some degree of emotional distress. Instead, she turned to me, nodding reassuringly.

"It is necessary, Watson," she instructed.

Swallowing heavily, I followed the sheriff and his deputy into an exam room. Despite the fact I had nothing to do with Bruton's death, my hands began shaking. I held them tightly as he began with a few leading questions. Several minutes into it, the sheriff gave me a hard look.

"Were you aware of a romantic relationship between Andrew Goldsmith and Barbie Bransma?"

I swallowed hard.

Apparently, Shelock brought him up to date.

"I heard rumors. But I didn't witness anything," I added, taking a breath. The sheriff held his gaze. "I was told that they were lovers."

"By who?"

"Allison."

He nodded.

"She's on our list. You can go."

_That's it?_ I thought to myself as I exited the room. When I did, I saw Barbie and her mother arguing with another uniformed officer. I wonder where she ran off to. After looking around for Shelock, I slinked closer to overhear.

"I have no idea why you want to question us," Barbie said, her eyes flashing. "My hus . . ." she broke off, glancing over at me. "Bruton is dead and all you care about . . . "

"Police procedures ma'am," the officer said, shooting me a glance. "If you could take a seat," he gestured to an area of the lobby away from the dramatic scene.

"Sure, no problem."

I turned, as Shelock materialized next to me, towing me over to the seating area.

"Where did you go?"

"The bathroom, Watson. I am human, you know."

"Oh."

I felt stunned, almost numb with everything that was happening. Shelock seemed to sense this. She placed my hand in hers.

"How did it go?"

"Fine, what the hell are you doing?" I asked, my emotions quickly returning.

She patted my hand,

"We have to put a stop to it," she said knowingly. "Another life is at stake."

"What? Who's life?"

Allison entered the hospital, her eyes falling to our party with a determined look. Shelock perked up as she sat down.

"I did as you asked," she said breathlessly.

But we were interrupted as the sheriff's deputy walked over.

"Allison Kavanagh?"

She nodded, eyes wide.

"This way please."

"But . . . " She gave Shelock a questioning look.

"There's no need to explain it twice," Shelock said calmly, sliding the papers Allison clutched into her hands. "Tell them what you saw." She looked up at her. "I already know what you witnessed."

Allison walked away with a confused look. I watched another office approach Barbie's mother. Though she complained at length, she went along. I turned to Shelock, grateful for some private time.

"What did Allison give you?" I whispered. "Is it those documents I told you about?"

"Never mind that," Shelock said, studying Barbie closely. "It doesn't matter now."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Shelock refused to answer, staring straight ahead of her like some exquisite statue. We sat in excruciating silence until Allison rejoined the group. The officer turned his attention to Barbie, who pretended not to see him.

"If you don't mind, Ms. Bransma, we have a few questions."

"I do mind," she snapped, though she rose, stomping behind him.

Allison sat across from us, looking pale.

"How are you?" I asked quickly, as wet tears ran down her cheeks.

"What's happening?" she cried, melting into sobs.

"Wickedness," Shelock said, her voice low. "Actions conducted in the shadows are always unnerving once brought to light." She glanced up, eyeing Allison coolly. "I don't wish to cast doubt on the boys in blue, but this is getting rather tedious."

"How much faster do you want this to happen?" I cried, moving to console Allison as she sobbed. "I'm not sure what you told them, but Bruton is dead. You act like you don't even care!"

Allison pulled away.

"Oh my God, he's dead! He's dead, he's dead!"

Shelock looked at her display of emotion with disgust. Ignoring Allison, she turned to me.

"The truth, Watson! The truth!" she said, her raised voice making Allison cry harder.

Shelock remained silent after that, and with me trying to console a weeping Allison the minutes seemed to creep by. Finally, Barbie returned, turning to face the group with a grimace.

"This is all your fault!" she cried, to no one in particular, walking as far away from us as possible before plopping down.

Her mother had not yet returned. Something I found highly suspicious. Sheriff Mead entered the lobby, moving with intention towards Shelock.

"Sheriff," Shelock said, rising. "Are you ready to interview Andrew?"

Barbie flinched.

"Why do you need to do that?" she called out.

"Let's see," the sheriff said, glancing down as his own notepad. "Andrew Goldsmith. The groomsman who fell ill this morning?"

"The very one." Shelock took hold of her purse. "He's being treated at this hospital, in fact."

"Andrew is here?" I asked.

Allison nodded.

"I told you he wasn't feeling . . . "

Shelock cut her off with a glance. Sherriff Mead turned to our party, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Would you care to join me?"

"Why does she get to go?" Barbie asked, her eyes darting from one to the other.

"Well, why don't you all come?" Shelock said, turning back to the sheriff "That is, if is ok with you?"

"Certainly, think of it as an informal occasion," he said with a wicked grin.

The two of them seemed to be having fun. I wondered how the hell Shelock had ingratiated herself so quickly. Clearly—she'd been busy. That or her father was just as well-connected and terrifying as she was. I paused on this disturbing fact as we gathered our belongings.

In a bizarre trail of evening gowns, we walked through the hospital to one of the treatment rooms—entering en-mass. Andrew lay awake, propped up by several pillows. As soon as I entered, I noticed the remarkable resemblance to Bruton—especially given his current position. I thought again about Shelock's statements about the two of them. They could be twins; even in his sickness, the likeness couldn't be denied.

He stared at us with amusement. Though ill, Andrew was still Andrew.

"Come for the after party?" he asked, his expression falling when he noticed the insignia on Sheriff Mead's jacket.

"My name is Sheriff Mead. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"What happened?" Andrew said, his voice deepening in concern.

"Bruton Wollenhaupt passed away on his wedding day," the sheriff said curtly.

Andrew hung his head, shaking it softly.

"Damn."

"Did the two of you have a falling out?" the sheriff asked.

Andrew looked at the group of us and then back to the sheriff.

"What's this, an inquisition?"

"Just a few initial questions until we can conduct a full interview at the station. After your recovery," the sheriff added, his greying incisors appearing like sharpened knives.

I wondered if Andrew would talk with a full court of people staring at him. I realized this perhaps was Sherriff Mead's intention. Andrew swallowed hard, gazing up at him.

"I'm sorry he passed." He blinked, clearly in shock. I thought of Andrew's pet theory. How guilty he must feel right at this moment. "What was the cause?"

"Why weren't you at the wedding today?"

"To be perfectly honest with you I didn't feel well. But yeah," Andrew continued, shifting in his bed. "We had words."

He moved to one side, grimacing in pain. It seemed whatever illness that had attacked Bruton seemed to be making its way through the rest of the group. Perhaps there was a bizarre contagion on the loose. I belatedly wondered who would be next.

"He made all kinds of accusations," Andrew said seriously, glancing at each of us in turn. "I think you can blame his illness for that."

"Can you comment on your symptoms now?" the sheriff asked, careful to keep his tone even.

"Stomach pains," Andrew admitted, with a sheepish look at the ladies. "That's all I want to discuss in mixed company."

"Totally understandable," the sheriff said, glancing down at his notepad. "When did you fall ill?"

"Yesterday evening," Andrew said.

"What were you doing?"

Andrew paused, opening his mouth.

"I ah, helped get things ready for the wedding. Setting up for the rehearsal dinner, that sort of thing."

The sheriff put the pad down.

"Walk me through your day if you could. You rose around what time."

"Around 7."

"And then what?"

"I had breakfast."

"Did you feel ok then?"

"Yes, it wasn't until lunch when things went south."

"What did you eat?"

Andrew paused, running his hands through his hair.

"Can this wait until I'm feeling better?"

"Andrew—Bruton is dead," I put in.

The sheriff glanced at me, the gaze communicative. I fell silent as he shifted forward.

"I'm afraid it's very important, Mr. Goldsmith—please answer the question."

Andrew sighed heavily.

"I ate at the hotel bar."

"Alone?"

He didn't answer immediately. The sheriff moved closer. There was nowhere for Andrew to go, the body language felt claustrophobic.

"Mr. Goldsmith, please be forthcoming," he intoned in a low voice. "A man is dead."

"A man who had no one but himself to blame for his illness," Andrew said with unexpected heat.

"Why do you say that?"

Andrew sat up to get away, before moving to wretch into the plastic bin that sat beside his bed. None of us moved as he finished, wiping his face.

"I'm sorry."

"No bother," the sheriff said, acting as if he'd simply blown his nose. If Andrew levitated from the bed, I doubt this man wouldn't have bat an eyelash. Leave it to Shelock to join forces with such a monster. "You were eating with someone?"

"A friend."

"Mr. Goldsmith," the sheriff said, folding his arms as Barbie began fidgeting. I noticed her reaction, as did Shelock. "Your reticence is becoming suspicious."

"It was me, ok?" Barbie cried out.

Allison snorted, giving her a look.

"Well, what a coincidence."

"You, shut up," Barbie said, pointing a finger at her former friend.

"You dined with Barbie, is that correct?" the sheriff asked, noting the exchange with amusement.

"Yes," Andrew said.

I watched his hands, they were shaking.

"I went to my room after and took a nap. I woke up a few hours later feeling like complete shit." He paused. "Sorry. And then I began feeling worse. I went to go to the rehearsal dinner but I realized I was really unwell so I checked myself in here."

"Did you tell Bruton what was going on?"

"I texted him. He called me. He was angry I was, in his view, ditching him. He was busy with a last-minute fitting. I thought he wouldn't mind. But he was pissed."

"After arriving you never once left the hospital?"

"That's correct," Andrew said, nodding for emphasis.

The sheriff eased back, just as Shelock strode forward.

"I think Mr. Goldsmith should rest now," she said sweetly.

"We have what we need," he added, giving Andrew a shrewd look. "There are a few administrative things we need to go over. We'll come back in when you're discharged. Oh." He handed Shelock her manila folder. "Thank you for this."

"Anytime," Shelock said.

Barbie's eyes locked on the folder, though she said nothing. Shelock waited until the men exited before staring at Andrew. It was a bit like watching a cat study a plump mouse. Though Barbie, Allison and I were still present, it was as if only the two of them existed.

"What the hell are you looking at?"

"Oh, Andrew," she said, shaking her head. "How could you?"

"How could I what?"

"What the hell are you implying?" Barbie said, her voice cutting through the quiet of the room.

"Answer me," Shelock demanded, eyes locked on Andrew's face.

"I don't know what the fuck you want," he stammered. "You're fucking crazy, always have been." As he related the words, I saw sweat begin to trickle down his neck.

I didn't know what else to do, so I stood there—watching the bizarre scene unfold.

"Allison," Shelock turned to her. The woman jumped. "What job did I give you before you came to the hospital?"

Allison cleared her throat

"You told me to wait outside a condo in Vail."

Shelock turned to Andrew.

"That would be your condo." She whipped back to face Allison. "And did you?"

"Yes." She cleared her throat. "Yes," she said, louder this time.

"What the hell?" Andrew cried.

Shelock held a hand out to silence him. Shockingly, it worked. He slumped back into the bed.

"And who did you see there?" Shelock tossed a lock of hair behind her shoulder.

"Barbie's mother."

"What was she doing?"

"She removed a Vera Bradley bag from inside."

The word sparked my memory—of course! I had seen it myself.

"What did she do with it?" Shelock asked.

Allison shrugged.

"I heard some rustling once she closed the door. But that's it. I have no idea where it is."

"Some rustling." Shelock turned to Andrew. "You have a beautiful landscaped condo, don't you?"

Andrew remained stone-faced. Studying us each in turn, Shelock continued.

"Clearly hiding the evidence of Bruton Wollenhaupt's murder."

"Lies," Barbie seethed.

I thought of the mortgage documents I'd seen Allison slip over to Shelock. What else did I miss?

"What else was in the bag?" I asked.

"You shut up," Barbie snapped.

Shelock turned to the both of us, asserting control over the narrative.

"It's what wasn't in the bag, Watson. The item Barbie's mother needed to access was on her very person. It had to be, for use at the rehearsal dinner." She glanced over at Andrew. "Do you know what's I'm talking about?"

He gulped.

"Why are you asking me this?"

"You knew Bruton was sick, but you didn't know the cause of his illness. You knew he was growing weaker, you assumed that Barbie was the reason—but she hid the poison she was using, didn't she? The only other person who knew was her mother."

"That's ridiculous," Barbie said, looking incredulous.

Shelock continued to ignore her.

"Did you know," Shelock continued. "That she is using the same poison on you?"

Andrew blinked, swallowing hard.

"What?"

Shelock threw her head back and laughed.

"Then you have no idea, none whatsoever?"

He stared at his hands, before swallowing hard.

"I told you—I have no idea what you're talking about."

Shelock sighed dramatically. Her eyes glimmered like black crystals, her lips curved in a smile. I knew that look. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, cocking her head at Andrew.

"Then you have no use, then, for the antidote?"

Andrew looked directly at Barbie, who took a tentative step towards them.

"Andrew . . . " she began.

"What do you mean?" he stammered.

"Prussian blue," Shelock said. She reached into her purse, removing a vial. "This is what you'll need to reverse the effects of the poison administrated by your lover. But, you're claiming you know nothing. You have no idea what happened to Bruton. I must be mistaken—about all of it."

She went to put the vial back into her purse, before Andrew lurched forward.

"I didn't know what she gave him—only that it made him sick."

"Shut up!" Barbie screamed, stomping her feet on the floor. "Shut up. I had no reason to kill Bruton." She turned, as if appealing to the group. "Why would I kill him? I get nothing! We aren't even married!"

"Not true," Shelock removed an article from the manila folder, I could see it from my vantage point—the legal document I had tried to make out in the car. Now I saw it plain as day. It was a marriage certificate.

"You were hoping the officials would not check with the registrar—given the groom hit the ground before the ceremony was over. Coupled with his medical history, you had a hope this minor detail would evade notice. But really, Barbie, it was badly done." Shelock offered a condescending glance. "An autopsy will reveal high doses of heavy metal in Bruton's bloodstream. Plus, they remembered you at the registrars' office. You had married Bruton several days ago. You nearly slipped up when he was last in the hospital, referring to him as your husband. You remember, don't you, Watson?"

I shook my head in disbelief. It was true—I distinctly remember Barbie referencing Bruton as her husband. She had married Bruton, and now his death had made her a very rich woman. Not only his death. I did the mental calculation. With Bruton's father and mother close to their own demise, the inherited wealth would be hard to fathom.

"You were hoping your little story about Bruton faking his illness would be believed. Who knows, maybe you even convinced yourself it was true. Some of Bruton's investments had gone bad, but in concert with his father's portfolio, it hardly made the situation dire." Shelock stared at the group, offering the barest of pauses. "This fallacy was meant to insert a seed of doubt in Bruton's mind that his illness was not legitimate. Something the labs supported. Heavy metal poisoning is tricky, but can anyone guess." She glanced at the group. "Who instructed her?"

Allison straightened.

"Her mom's an RN!" she cried.

Shelock broke into a Cheshire grin.

"And she procured deadly doses of the toxin through her work at the retirement home; advising her daughter when to administer the poison to evade discovery. This neatly explains Bruton's periods of remission." Shelock paused, clearly revealing in the spotlight. "Just now, Allison witnessed an attempt to remove the evidence from Andrew's condo before the police searched it."

After she said the words, the sheriff walked into the hospital room with the look of someone who had been eavesdropping. He gestured to the flowered bag he was holding.

"Which an officer of mine located a few moments ago."

He held it out, as his deputy brought in Barbie's mother. Handcuffed, she held her head in shame.

"Mommy!" Barbie cried.

Before she could reach her, the sheriff dropped the bag.

"Hands where I can see them, Barbie, you're under arrest for the murder of Bruton Wollenhaupt."

Shocked into silence, Barbie allowed herself to be handcuffed. The sight of a bride in full regalia with her hands on her back proved a shocking sight. She walked out in silence as we stood as a group; each hoping someone else had something useful to say. Andrew ran his hands through his hair, before erupting into tears. Shelock removed the vial from her purse. Drawing a syringe, she filled it. Wordlessly, she placed it in Andrew's IV, passing the antidote into this veins. He watched her carefully, rubbing his face.

"Good God," he said, shaking his head. "I just thought . . . it was only . . . "

"You knew too much of her plan," Shelock said. "As soon as the marriage was final, Barbie had no use for you."

"But how . . . " he stammered, looking aghast.

"The poison she used was tasteless and odorless, she slipped it into your food the way she passed it into Bruton's." Shelock turned to me. "You remember, Watson, a pair of pink heels seated near the head of the table the night of the bachelorette dinner? Barbie poisoned not only Bruton, but his father—perhaps by sprinkling poison on his plate, in their water glasses, the salt shakers—the options are endless. I assume both his parents are suffering from large doses of the drug. If we hurry, we may be able to save their lives."

"But why them?" Allison asked.

"Bruton is an only child," Shelock said. "Do the math; it's an incredible amount of money. Barbie trusted one person, her mother." She looked to Andrew. "One can't say the same for a WASP playboy. You served your role, Andrew, allowing them access to the condo which you owned in Vail. They used this to put their deadly plan into action; meeting at odd intervals to plan Bruton's demise."

"What about the zip line?" Allison asked, glancing over at me. "Watson's accident?"

Shelock turned to Andrew, who hung his head. I gasped audibly.

"You asshole!" I cried.

Shelock began to laugh maniacally. When she was done, Andrew lifted his head.

"Barbie was worried you'd seen her," he said softly. "She saw you exit the restaurant."

"Damn you," I said.

Shelock turned to Andrew, nodding at him swiftly.

"Well, don't stop now, relieve yourself," she commanded.

Andrew spoke softly, his eyes never leaving his hands.

"At the adventure park we let everyone go on ahead of us. Then we used a pair of wire cutters she'd taken from a maintenance closet at the hotel."

"What's another murder?" Shelock said, shrugging her shoulders. "She hoped to eliminate all the heirs in one fell swoop. And since Bruton met his end right before the wedding, she hoped to fly under the radar of the authorities while doing so. Fortunately, when you fell sick and Bruton collapsed, her house of cards did as well."

"Thank God," Allison said, moving to take a seat. "Thank God it's all over."

I frowned, a seed of suspicion growing in my mind. Something so horrible, it made me shiver.

"Thank God indeed," I forced out, an edge to my voice.

My tone wasn't lost on my compatriot, who met my gaze with a long, level look. Shelock drew her coat around her.

"What are you going to do?" Andrew asked quickly.

"Andrew, you of all people should know." Shelock turned to exit the room, spinning around at the last minute to face him. "I like to keep my account balances high. So in the words of a loan shark, think of it this way." Her eyes glittered. She placed her hands in her pockets. "I own you."

# 14

"A bit maudlin, don't you think? That arrangements for Bruton's wedding brunch should be used for his funeral?"

"Is that what this is? I thought it was a celebration of life."

"Or some other such nonsense."

"Indeed."

I breathed in deeply, trying to stay warm in the cold. We had made an impromptu pharmacy run in Vail village and were now headed back to the hotel.

We had extended our stay a week. There were things to be taken care of, and with Barbie incarcerated, Shelock had seen to the scheduling of Bruton's funeral. His parents were grateful, or so she said.

While cold, the sun blazed down on us, the breeze kicking up a hint of powdery snow. Shelock wore her shearling jacket, looking like an exotic Anna Karenina. I clothed myself in a luxurious fur, but on that morning I felt like a fraud.

I stopped walking. Shelock turned, studying me with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't tell me," she said with a sigh.

I had to say something. The suspicion in my mind had been bubbling for days. I forced out the words.

"How long did you know?"

"Know what?" Shelock tilted her head. Her gaze bore into me, but this time I wouldn't be frightened off.

"Bruton left you at the altar," I said, feeling my confidence grow. "You never forgave him for that, did you? You only made it seem like you did."

She remained silent, watching me with those shark-like eyes.

"Go on," she said, in a tone that made me even more furious.

"You knew Bruton was being poisoned. You knew!" I cried, my breath catching in horror. "How you orchestrated this invite is beyond me." I shifted my weight to remain warm. "You probably used his weakened state to claim you could make things better. You convinced him that you were his salvation!"

"And I fully intended on being so," she responded, watching carefully as the other patrons filed past us.

I didn't care who overheard. Drawing closer to her—I pointed a finger.

"Lies," I hissed, feeling my cheeks flush. "You knew he was being poisoned, you even knew how. I should have known when you showed up in scrubs. From that moment on, you had the antidote." I pointed to her purse. "The answer to his salvation was in your possession. And you did nothing. You let him die."

She didn't respond, a hint of a smile on her face. It made my anger burn brighter. My next words were intended to harm.

"You know when my friends found out we were hanging out, they thought I was nuts. They told me you were crazy. Well, you know what, they were right. You are a criminally insane, crazy bitch."

"Watson," she said, in a droll tone. "How elementary. I told you from the start that I am far from normal."

I felt like crying. Here she stood, basically admitting to me that she watched her former fiancé and lover wither; slowly dying from a cause that she could have reversed. And she did nothing. It was inhuman, it was vile. It made me shake in fear, for myself—and for her.

"Do you think the police won't question you?" I asked.

She chuckled.

"The police, the police." She took a step towards me, her boots crunching on the icy ground. "They are good people, Watson, but don't expect creative thinking from that pack of cavemen. Sheriff Mead is quite satisfied with the story I presented him."

"The story!" I cried. "That's what you think this is, a story? These are people's lives."

She studied me for a few moments before crossing her hands behind her back.

"Watson we all have much to learn in life, but as I'm two years older let me impart some advice." She began pacing. "You can place your trust in the world to your heart's content." She glanced up at me. "You may get somewhere, Watson—you may build a life that makes you happy." She strode towards me, stopping inches from my form. "But when life finds you, and it will, you are going to have to use another playbook. Once which I have just utilized. One that relies on basic instinct; as hard and brilliant as those diamonds you're wearing."

I clutched my earrings, remembering all the things I had been given for this journey. They may as well have been made of paste. I calmly removed them, offering them to her.

"So be it," she said, accepting them with a nod. "I can understand why you're upset. It does you credit, Watson. And confirms what I thought of you from the start."

I needed to hurt her, I felt so confused. Taking several steps back, I tried to look superior.

"Which was what? That I'm some blithering idiot you can invite along to your adventures? To humanize the creature that you are, to make you somehow above suspicion?"

"Close," she said, nodding gently. "You are far from a blithering idiot, Watson, how dare you talk about yourself in such a way!"

I almost felt ashamed before I remembered why I was so angry. That was the thing with Shelock. As furious as she made me, the more she talked, the more I gave in to her line of thinking. I resolved to remain firm.

"You played me and this entire group of people for your own ends. You must be a lonely, scared, insecure person to do so such a thing. They were the closest friends you had!"

Nothing I could say seemed to have the least effect as she calmly took in my insults.

"Oh, God." She rolled her eyes. "If I called these people friends I'd be very lonely, indeed."

"If there aren't your friends then who is?"

"Why you, Watson!"

I stood there breathless, feeling cold. I thought I could make it work. I assumed I was strong enough. Slowly, I shook my head.

"I like life's rules. I like order in the world—cops and robbers; good and bad. I don't want to function in this parallel universe where we take matters into our own hands—manipulating those around us. I believe in the good of people, Shelock, even of you. Come back with me. Let's go home. Forget everything that happened and let's start from the beginning."

Even as I said the words, I knew it was a lost cause. Shelock could no sooner start over than Barbie could redeem herself. This beast, this creation I saw before me, was something too powerful to be subsumed by any system. As I stood before her, I knew we would part ways. Who knows, maybe we would never see each other again.

Turning, I stormed off, walking as fast as my feet could carry me. I couldn't get the confrontation out of my mind—the look on her face when she told me that I was her friend.

Perhaps her only friend.

I realized then, in dawning terror, that she spoke the truth. I had befriended this creature, and now her talons were so deep into my psyche that I would never be the same again.

Returning to the room, I packed in a frenzy, deciding to leave then and there. Packing my things and lugging the trunks into the living room, I'd completed my task. Glancing around at the luxurious suite, I felt sick to my stomach.

"Never again," I whispered, moving to call for a taxi.

I didn't fear Shelock returning. Knowing her, she give me my space. I'm sure she found her crew, or what's left of them. Perhaps she he took the opportunity to be the savior of the situation. She would feel it was her right, having brought this ugly business to a close.

Right now, all I cared about was getting home. I texted Nick on my way to the airport. I'd almost forgotten about him. He seemed elated to pick me up.

_Men_ , I thought to myself.

If I wrote a book on dating advice it would have one phrase in it, "Ignore, text, repeat."

The journey back to Indiana felt quicker than I remembered. When I saw Nick's friendly gaze at the baggage console, I nearly threw myself into his embrace.

"Whoa, miss me?" he asked.

I kissed him firmly before drawing back.

"God, it's good to be home."

"Wow, you did miss me," he said, reaching down for my bag.

"Is this all you brought?"

I turned, watching the carousel spring to life. The bags began popping out, my trunks among them. But my feet felt wedded to the spot.

"Yup. I travel light."

I thought of all the clothes, the gowns, the jewelry. I could no sooner keep them than a bag of money from a criminal. It all felt too dirty. I strode straight ahead, not intending on answering any questions. Nick seemed to take the hint.

"How was your trip?"

"Illuminating," I said, smiling at him.

"I read this weird story on Yahoo while I was waiting. A groom collapsed as his wedding and his wife was arrested for poisoning him."

I kept my gait even.

"Oh?"

"Doesn't it make you wonder about people?" he asked.

We reached the parking lot. He opened the door of his busted jeep. For once, I was grateful it wasn't a limousine. It felt like home.

"Yeah, I do wonder," I said, as she shut the door. "Sometimes," I added, watching him cross to the driver's seat.

Climbing inside, he gave me another peck on the cheek. Smiling to himself, he pulled out of the parking lot.

"Hungry?"

"Famished."

"Where to?"

"As long as you decide, I don't really care."

*

Returning to my dorm room, I placed my bag on the bed.

"Shortest unpack job ever." Placing my hands on my hips, I realized I wasn't up for it.

Not yet.

Besides, I had my social capital to think of. I went in search of Beth, finding her and Jess trying on dresses.

"Hey dudes."

They turned, greeting me with tentative smiles.

"There she is," Jess said, letting the red mini-dress fall to the ground, offering me a bear hug.

"How was the wedding?" Beth asked, studying her form in the mirror.

"Fine. Are you guys up for happy hour? We could go to Bullwinkle's."

"Don't you need to study?" Jess exchanged glances with Beth.

I looked over at a bottle of vodka placed on the table. Taking it, I took a large gulp.

Clearing my throat, I smiled at them.

"Fuck that!"

They squealed.

"Kay is back!" Beth cried, moving over to give me a huge hug.

With partying on my mind, we made quick time over to Bullwinkle's. I stayed too long and drank too much. But I needed it. I had to get out of my system the festering resentment I'd felt in Vail.

After closing down the bar, we headed back to the sorority house en mass. As we drew closer, I noticed several unmarked vans parked outside the sorority house.

"What are those for?"

"Didn't you hear?" Beth slurred her words, draping an arm over Jess to steady herself.

"Hear what?"

"I'd of assumed you've be the first to know, since you've been so buddy buddy with Shelock."

My heart began to pound.

"Know what, has something happened?"

"Why anyone would want to graduate early is beyond me," Jess cut in, holding the door opened for our party. "4

[p;'[''I'm hungry, do you guys want to order pizza?"

"Yes!" Beth stumbled inside, kicking off her Ugg boots with elation.

"When did this happen?" I asked, just as several burly men came down the staircase, boxes in their hands.

"Word is she got approval from the dean to turn in all her work from senior year."

"What a freak," Jess said, looking around. "I guess I can say that now. Ding, dong the witch is dead!"

Beth joined her, the two of them alternatively screaming at the top of their lungs and falling up the stairs. I trailed behind. The men continued around us, and I got a closer look. The rumor appeared accurate. Shelock hired a private moving company to remove all of her belongings.

Seeing those boxes made my stomach heave.

"Oh man, I'm going to be sick."

"Make sure you aim better than Jess did last weekend," Beth cried as I flew up the stairs. "I had to pick out ramen noodles from the drain."

Running to the bathroom, I rid myself of all the vodka—and from the looks of it, the dinner I'd shared with Nick.

Sitting back on my haunches, I breathed a sigh. Knowing Shelock would never return created a sense of loss I'd never experienced. It felt like someone died.

Moving to the sink, I washed my mouth out and brushed my teeth. After returning to my room, I sat on the bed, feeling numb. I sat there for a few moments before turning to crack the shades, watching as the men continued to load boxes into white vans.

They must have been at it for a while. Remembering Shelock's room, filled to the brim with her books and notes, it must be quite the undertaking.

Her books and notes . . .

I stood up, moving on autopilot I exited my room, walking quickly to the stairs. I glanced down, seeing the men exiting the house.

Now or never.

Fueled with adrenaline, I ran up to Shelock's floor, her room almost completely empty. It wouldn't be much longer. They'd done a decent job thus far, only her desk remained, along with her fridge. I sorted through the desk first, looking for anything that confirmed my accusations in Vail.

Ones she never responded to, nor acknowledged.

I felt a growing alarm as my search continued.

Could I have missed something?

I hit pay dirt, finding a sheaf of papers covered in her signature scrawl. I couldn't make out her notes, but I did recognize the medical records of one Bruton Wollenhaupt. I checked the date, the lab work taken just a week before the wedding.

My heart began to pound as I flipped through the findings. None of it made sense to me. I had to show someone who knew. Tucking it under my hoodie, I skipped out of there. Moving quickly to my room, I passed the men on the stairs, careful to avert my gaze.

Back in the safety of my room, I threw the files on the bed, next to my bag.

"Better unpack," I grumbled, exhaustion replacing my earlier adrenaline rush.

Pulling the items out of my bag, I tossed them all on the floor with a huff.

"This shit can wait until tomorrow."

I pulled the covers back, feeling like I was going to be sick again. Cuddling my head between my hands, I waited for the blackout to come save me from the guilt that spread like a cancer in my mind.

# 15

"Wow, you're up early."

"Do me a favor. Meet me for lunch?"

I could feel Nick pause.

"Everything ok?"

"Yeah, yeah," I quickly adjusted my tone. "Remember that friend I told you about a while ago?"

"Remind me?"

"The one that had all that lab work done and like no one could find out what was wrong with him."

"Oh yeah, what's up? Are they ok?"

"Um, yeah. Actually he let me see some of his lab work, but it's Greek to me. Mind looking at it for me? This stuff's kind of over my head."

"Sure!"

I knew it would work. Men can't resist a damsel in distress.

"Great, give me until 1?"

"Late night?"

I felt a stab of insecurity. I'd fallen back into bad habits.

_Who cares_ , I thought to myself. _You aren't under Shelock's spell anymore._

"Let's do the union," I said, ignoring his question. "They have those personal pan pizzas I want to marry."

"Someone has a craving."

My heart skipped a beat. Maybe it was time to sleep with Nick. He'd been patient enough.

"You could say that."

After some mindless flirting, I let him go. Studying my schedule, I realized I'd already missed several classes due to my extended stay in Vail. Only this time, I didn't think I'd have the gumption to do all that extra work. It just felt easier to do nothing. To not got to class; to not care.

I didn't feel the same about my workout. I had to get this booze out of my system. Being back, I knew I'd have mixers to attend and parties to host. I had to be on my best behavior. Especially since I didn't have the Kappa president in my back pocket. Socially I'd never been this vulnerable. I couldn't be blackballed, not after how hard I fought to get into this place.

Heading to the gym, I pounded away on the elliptical before doing some stretching. I stopped to chat with every sister I saw, careful to watch their expressions as I approached. It confirmed some of my fears, my time with Shelock put me on the blacklist. Still, some considerable effort to socialize may just save me.

Now running out of time, I hit the showers before making my way over to the student union. By that time, my stomach was growling. I spotted Nick by the pizza place, a smile on his face.

"I'm ready to instruct my pupil," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Ohhh, what do I get for detention?"

It took everything in me not to just shove the lab work at him and eat my pizza, but I knew I had to butter him up. After another mindless banter tinged with sexual innuendo, I figured I could place my cards on the table.

We took our food into the dining hall. As we sat down, I pulled the lap work from my purse, placing it in front of him. While I relieved my hunger pangs, he quickly flipped through it.

"Whose notes are these?"

"A physician," I said, lying easily, a new and horrible habit of mine. "He's been going to all these different clinics internationally."

"This lap work is done in Colorado."

"Second opinions," I continued, layering on more lies. "He'll get his bloodwork done and then send it around. They fax back their comments, but since I can't read . . . whatever this is, I figured you would know."

"Well I don't know all these tests." Nick frowned, turning the lab work around. "Let me take it with me to class and I'll have something for you later on this week."

My heart fell, and my reaction surprised me.

Why should I care so much now? It's over, right?

Nick noticed my response.

"Is that ok?"

"Yeah, I'm just, like, worried is all."

"I'll make it a priority." He tucked it into his bag, moving to rub my hand. "Anything for my little bunny."

Ew.

I forced a smile, taking the moment to pull my hand away and attack my pizza. Fighting my emotions during the rest of lunch, I walked him over to his next class.

Offering him a cheek, I smiled.

"Thanks again, for doing that."

"Will I get a reward?"

His expression said it all.

"Sure," I flapped my lashes at him. "Depends on how quickly you get back to me."

"Well say no more!"

He leaned in, kissing me full on the mouth. I leaned in, trying to get more into it. You can't fake a kiss. I couldn't get in the mood. Pulling back, I offered my goodbyes, eager to get back to my room.

I hadn't unpacked more than dumping the contents of my carry on. Before I even thought about having to tackle my syllabus, I needed a clean room.

Starting with the closet, I organized everything, pulling dirty clothes into a pile and straightening shoes that lay tumbled together. Then I attacked the bed, stripping it and throwing the sheets into the laundry. I'd spent a few hours on the room before studying the pile of items on the floor.

I'd saved it for last intentionally. Seeing the ticket stubs sobered me. I sat down on the bed, running my hands over them. Turning my bag right-side up, I heard the distinct crackle of paper.

That's odd, I thought I got everything out of here.

I looked inside, seeing a worn manila envelope. I'd last seen it in Shelock's possession. I must have grabbed it and thrown it into my bag during my hasty pack job.

Pulling it to me, I opened it, staring down at the files before me. I flipped through them, finding a copy of Barbie's marriage license, along with a sheaf of other financial documents.

I honed in on these, taking each one in turn. I'd seen them before, in the bag I'd searched in Andrew's condo; the one Barbie had been staying in. I felt the familiar urge to throw them down, confused by the lingo.

"No." I held them in front of me. "Concentrate, Kay."

The first document appeared to be an agreement between Bruton Wollenhaupt and his father. It referenced the acquisition of properties by Bruton, the down payments financed by cash--courtesy of his father, Robert. The letter stipulated that Bruton covered any interest payments, with a balloon payment on the full mortgages due to his father on April 13th; a few short days after the wedding.

"That's the phrase, balloon payment."

It seemed to make an impression on Shelock. So what did I learn from this? Bruton and his dad were in real estate acquisitions, something I knew already.

I flipped through the other documents. They were mortgage notes, indicating the interest paid on the properties acquired by Bruton. From the correspondence, these were faxed to his father, Robert.

So he goes into real estate business with daddy and shows his homework, so what?

Frowning, I placed the papers into a neat pile, still unsure on what I'd learned. Tucking them back into the folder, I placed it on my desk, determined to mull it over. Nothing else to do, given I wanted Nick's review of Bruton's labwork.

I'll give it to the boy, he knows priorities. Just hours later in the dining hall, I got a text.

Ready when you are. My place?

I answered in the affirmative.

"Who's that?" Jess asked, studying my phone with interest.

"Nick."

"Are you going to make an honest man outta him?"

I wanted to, don't get me wrong. But something felt cheap about it. Like I was trading something I couldn't get back.

"I guess."

"Wow, you sound excited. Nick's hot, what's wrong with you?"

I snapped back into social mode.

"Oh nothing, I'm so behind in my classes again, it's just so aggravating."

"Good old Kay!" Beth cooed.

_I hate good old Kay_ , I thought to myself.

Faking a smile, I grabbed my purse.

"Might as well walk over. Need to burn off all this freaking food."

"Don't I know it. Why don't you just throw up like the rest of us?"

Beth laughed heartily. I gave her a look I hoped she didn't see, and swiftly departed. Meeting Nick in his frat didn't seem like the best plan of action, so I convinced him to tag up in the library. I didn't have on a heavy enough jacket. Half my body froze by the time I got there. I'm not certain Nick enjoyed the meeting location. By the time I joined him at a study table, he had a set look on his face.

"Not what you envisioned for your evening?"

I threw my things down, warming my hands together.

"Not exactly," he said, glancing around. "I feel like I live at this place."

"Not like I don't want to snuggle with you." I traced a finger down his forearm. "But I really am concerned about my friend."

"Damn these hands are cold. You should wear gloves."

He began rubbing life into my fingers. I eased into his touch.

"That feels good."

Of all people, I thought of Shelock. Where was she? What was she doing?

"There, better?"

"Yes, thanks." I pulled my hands back.

"No probably." He sat at attention, bringing the lab sheet out. "I have good news and bad news. Which do you want to start with first?"

My stomach did a little flip.

"Good news."

"Ok," he faced the lab work towards me. "No red flags."

He stopped talking, looking at me expectantly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this lab work is totally normal."

I felt queasy.

"No heavy metal poisoning or anything like that."

"Not at all."

"Well, then what's the bad news?"

"Cholesterol. Your friend is going to have to make some serious dietary changes."

"It's a little late for that."

I soaked in this news.

"You should be happy," Nick said, frowning at me. "This is good, this means nothing is wrong."

I couldn't breathe.

"Everything is wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sorry, I have to go." I grabbed my purse, turning quickly to leave.

"Kay, is everything ok?"

"No it's not, I'm sorry. I have a headache . . . I . . . " My lies petered out. I stood there motionless for a moment, the news making my head spin.

Nothing was wrong with Bruton after all.

After several charged seconds, I looked back to Nick. He sat staring at me, the way men do when they encounter a stray Rottweiler or an angry woman.

I forced a smile.

"I'll be ok, sorry. Must be something I ate."

I turned with finality, making my way back into the cold. This time I felt nothing. The walk back felt faster, but closer to the sorority house, I felt a distinct shiver. As if someone walked several paces behind, waiting for me to turn.

Thinking it was Nick, I spun around. Seeing only a lonely-looking park bench, I continued, walking quicker this time. Trying to shake the feeling, I finally reached my destination.

Walking inside, I shied away from the other sisters in the front hall, eager for some alone time. First, my frozen fingers. I made myself a cup of tea in the kitchen, before climbing the stairs to my room.

Settling on my bed, I left Nick's words wash over me. I couldn't make sense of what it meant.

"It can't be possible."

But it was fact.

What did Shelock always tell me?

Start with the facts, Watson, and wash all other competing evidence—the intuition, the heresy, the rumor away. The narrative reveals itself, like a sculpture out of formed rock.

Moving to the manila folder, I spread out the lap work and financial documents. The answer lay before me, it must! One couldn't explain all these loose ends away. There was a link somewhere.

And Shelock figured it out.

I shook my head, feeling guilt over my role in the affair. Shelock may have played dirty, a dangerous play, but she also clearly pieced together a larger picture of what happened. Something I'd missed, and judged her badly for.

Staring at the documents, I kept coming back to the lab work. A clean bill of health didn't jive with what we knew. Bruton supposedly had been sick for much longer than that. Taken weeks before the wedding, wouldn't poisoning show up on the lab work?

Which means he wasn't poisoned, at least not yet. And there is something else.

I glanced at the financial documents, peering over them one more time.

Focus, Kay.

I spoke out loud, trying to make sense of the senseless.

"Bruton invested closely with his father on real estate. His dad fronted the cash, Bruton made the deals."

Balloon payment, what the hell did that mean and why is the date so significant?

"I looked into the real estate myself. There were lots of properties, but Shelock said not all the investments were failures. Then why do they keep popping up?"

Sighing, I downed my tea. I would get no further tonight. I felt blocked by something, be it an assumption or a misinterpretation. Gathering up the papers, I tucking everything away. My brain felt like a fried egg. Could have been from the endless hangover I'd suffered since arriving home, but I felt something else. A sense that someone was watching me. Curling onto the bed, moving the comforter over my freezing feet, I ran through the list of suspects.

Barbie is in jail, she can't hurt you . . .

Another name occurred to me, making me colder than ever before.

Andrew Goldsmith.

# 16

I called Allison that very next morning. The line went straight to voicemail so I called again. She picked up on the first ring.

"Hi Kay."

She sounded flat. No wonder. I probably wouldn't want to hear from me either.

"Sorry to bother you. You've been on my mind. How are you?"

"Fine, considering."

She fell silent. I realized she was going to make me work for it.

"Thanks for chatting. I mean, I'm still processing everything also." I paused, seeing if this softened her. Hearing nothing, I continued. "I've been doing something thinking, you know, about what happened. Maybe I could have done something different; or could have helped Bruton."

"Yeah." She sighed. "I'm sorry Kay I'm just not really up for reminiscing. It was a really shitty time and I just want to forget it."

"I just have a few questions," I said, dispensing with my routine. If I didn't get her talking this would be over before it began and then what would the point be? "Before the wedding did Bruton appear stressed, about money?"

"Not particularly. I mean, he was stressed, yeah. Probably had more to do with his parents."

"Yeah he seemed pretty surprised to hear they were in homes."

"Why would that surprise him? He was the one who put them there."

My heart began to thud. I remember Bruton in the hospital. He claimed to know nothing about their conditions, let alone the fact they weren't coming to the wedding.

"So he oversaw all of that?"

"Well yeah, he had power of attorney, the whole kit and caboodle. A shame he had to take this on during the wedding. He was already . . . " Her voice broke. She paused for a few moments, collecting herself. "Is this really necessary?"

"I think so, but I'm not sure yet. Did his parents . . . are they still alive?"

"His dad passed away a day after the wedding. I think his mom's mentally not there. I'm not sure what's up with the estate, especially since Barbie's in jail awaiting trial."

"I see. Hmm, ok. Last question."

"Shoot."

"Have you seen Andrew?"

"He skipped town shortly after the funeral. I have no idea where he is."

My breath caught. I thought of my walk home yesterday; the feeling of being watched. Would Andrew come and seek revenge?

"Well you called those two out."

"No one believed me."

"Well they do now."

"I guess." Another pause. "I have a question for you."

"Shoot."

"You and Shelock?"

"Oh, totally fiction."

"Ha, I knew it. I had a bet with Andrew."

"Were weren't that convincing? I guess my fantasy of being a famous reality star is over."

"We all know Shelock is into girls, but you were obviously miscast."

"I'll have to do better next time."

Not that there will be a next time.

"How is she?"

"Who?"

"Shelock?"

"I . . . ah, she's fine." A lie seemed easier than the truth.

"Well good, I'm glad someone emerged from that clusterfuck with some semblance of themselves. She seemed so self-possessed at the funeral. Almost like she expected it."

Or orchestrated it.

"Well listen, I appreciate you taking my call and if there is anything, you know, I can do for you."

"Thanks babe, you take care."

I killed the call, the information I'd gleaned ringing in my mind. Bruton knew about his parents—he placed them in those homes. Hoping to what?

Hearing a knock on the door I scooted off my bed.

"Jess?"

Swinging the door open, I stopped short. Shelock faced me, outfitted in a black trench coat and glasses, her hair slicked back.

"Kay Watson." Shelock removed her glasses. "For once, speechless."

"I, uh. How did you?"

She walked inside, closing the door behind her. Seeing the manila folder on my bed, she nodded.

"I see you've found my parting gift to you."

"You left that, for me? On purpose? Why?"

"Why do you think?"

She walked further into my room, looking around as if she'd never seen it before. Though weeks had elapsed since I'd last seen her she seemed older. The case changed us in ways I possibly never imagined.

"To help me." I shrugged. "Listen." I closed the door, turning to face her. "I'm sorry for coming across so . . . so . . . "

"Don't apologize." Shelock smiled at me. "Are you so sure you were wrong?"

I took a breath. I'd been envisioning this second confrontation for so long, I knew the words to reach for.

"You did let Bruton die, I know that."

She made no response, studying me coolly.

"Have a heart, Watson, I'm not so brutal in that my actions aren't without justification."

"That's what I'm wondering." I sat down on my bed. "You want to keep standing."

"As you see."

"Fine." She seemed to want me to speak first. I tried to order my thoughts. "I think everything, all the theories, all our conjectures, are true up to a point."

A hint of a smile, but no reaction beyond that. Taking this in, I continued.

"Bruton invested with his father in real estate, only I can't make sense of these documents." I gestured to the folder.

"They don't appear to make sense, do they?"

"No."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Almost as if something is inauthentic about them."

I perked up.

"It strikes me as really trusting that Brutons' dad would just let him buy whatever, fronting the money for all the deals and then . . . writing him a big IOU to cover everything."

"Ah, yes. That strikes me as interesting as well." Her eyes nearly sparkled, the dark smudges prominent.

"You think . . . " I closed my eyes, ordering my thoughts.

You can do it, Kay!

I opened them, taking up her line of thinking.

"What if it's all a lie? What if Robert Wollenhaupt paid for everything and Bruton. . . ."

So close I can feel it.

"Bruton was supposed to cover the interest payments—a minimal amount in how these loans are structured," Shelock put in.

"Bruton was supposed to have taken care of the interest payments."

I paused, watching her closely.

"Oh Watson, I can't let you have all the fun." Shelock took a seat next to the desk. She reached into her bag, removing a diet coke. "Forgive my rudeness, I don't have another."

"I'm fine, go ahead."

She took a swing, before fixing me with a stare.

"Bruton likes to appear wealthy, but the truth of the matter is he's the product of a very proud father. One who insisted Bruton 'earn his stripes' and make something of himself independent of daddy."

"I had no way of knowing this," I pointed out. "Since you knew him intimately."

"Don't assume Bruton laid all bare. He inherited his father's weakness for vanity, and was careful to present a picture of wealth. Which you yourself noted can so easily be assembled."

I nodded, eager for her to continue. After looking thoughtfully at a pile of my folded laundry she did.

"Bruton wasn't the hardworking kind. He liked shortcuts. He took the money his father provided for the down payments and kept the proceeds, funding his extravagant lifestyle. By keeping up the interest payments, the farce could continue. Until he met Barbie."

I snapped my fingers, jumping in as she took a large gulp of soda.

"Barbie changed everything. They want from stealing money to something much deadlier."

"Yes, and what do you think propagated it?"

"Well the fact they met, for one."

"Yes, Bruton's father certainly did not approve. But there's more. That funny phrase that Kay Watson first noticed on the financial documents."

"The balloon payments," I said. "God, what idiot I am. It's right there under my nose."

"The balloon payment reflected the total amount due to Bruton's father. A vast sum, one which Bruton could not hope to repay; given he squandered all the money. He must have begun feeling the pressure."

"Why do you say that?"

"Take a close look at some of the mortgage statements."

I went to the file, spreading them before me. Heart pounding, I tried to decipher what Shelock knew.

"Note the person those are addressed to?"

"Charles Wollenhaupt, Bruton's dad. These are . . . " I looked up at her. She smiled wickedly. "His dad probably didn't really trust Bruton, if what you're telling me is true. It meant he'd expect frequent statements on the state of the investments."

"Bruton couldn't provide those, given he'd been spending all the money. So he forged them."

"These are forgeries?"

"Yes. Very well done, don't you think?"

"How?"

"You remember the laptop we found in Bruton's hotel room."

I snapped my fingers.

"You knew then! Bruton wasn't a techy guy."

"No, but he's very good at outsourcing. With that laptop he could have anyone draft up forged mortgage documents."

I placed the manila folder to the side.

"And when does Barbie enter the picture?"

Shelock smiled wickedly.

"Her mother's profession is no accident. She knew how to coach Bruton to fake an illness. It must have been a delay tactic, primarily to stave off Robert Wollenhaupt and his questions both about her and his financial dealings with his son."

"When did things begin to change?"

"When the payment approached, naturally."

"They knew they didn't have the money; that time was up."

"And that Robert would likely cut them out of any financial support."

"You know that for a fact?"

"Of course not. But the essential point is, Waston, they did."

"So poisoning became real. I mean what began as an elaborate scheme to fake an illness became reality. What did they use?"

"Who knows?"

I snapped up.

"What do you mean, 'who knows?' what about all that drama in Andrew's hospital room? The Prussian Blue, or whatever."

Shelock laughed so hard I thought she would fall off the chair. I put two and two together.

"You made that all up? What did you put in Andrew's IV?"

"IV fluid." She rolled her eyes. "Shows you how well they watch their medical supplies in that hospital."

"But . . . Robert got sick, really sick."

"They were both being poisoned, both Sugar and Charles. I've no doubt all their ailments were caused by whatever means Barbie procured through her mother."

"But why don't you care . . . " I trailed off. "Because Barbie began using the same poison on Bruton. That's why."

Shelock looked somber now, sighing deeply. I thought back to her statements the night of the bachelorette dinner. Her distress at seeing Bruton's father so ill. It all made sense now. She knew Bruton was behind it, which is why she didn't lift a finger when Barbie decided to take him for all he's worth.

"I wonder when Barbie got greedy."

"I wonder if Bruton himself knew that. I'm sure the line between reality and fiction got so muddled he didn't know what to think about his condition. Not that it matters now."

"You still let a man die. You could have saved him, let him account for his crimes. And what about Andrew?"

"What about him? He'll get well, now he's no longer under the influence of Barbie."

"There were crimes committed, and you aren't going to tell the police, are you?"

She gave me an unsmiling look.

"No. How that makes you feel, Watson?"

I thought again about my words to her on that icy day in Vail. A shudder running through me, I brought my knees to my chest.

"Honestly, it makes me scared."

"Fine. I can live with that I think. And now." She rose, walking over to me. "I didn't have a chance to provide payment for your services."

"Payment? Oh, well. I didn't think . . . "

"Come, I know this school is horribly expensive. Your father surely won't mind help with tuition. Who knows, you could even buy off a dean or two and graduate on time."

"I'll graduate on time," I said, recognizing her familiar diversion tactic. "You know, I'm onto you. This whole insult and then deliver the goods thing is getting old."

"Imagine what it feels like to be on the other side of the exchange." She handed over an envelope. "Please, take it."

I let her slip it between my fingers. She held out her hand.

"A pleasure, Watson. I hope once you graduate, we will work together once again."

I grimaced.

"I'm not sure I have the stomach for it, but." I smiled.

"Never say never."

"Given our experience in Vail, that's the best response I think I deserve."

I wanted her to stay, but couldn't speak another word. I meant what I said, her actions horrified me. I grew sick thinking of justice delivered so cruelly and without any remorse. How could I be around such a person?

She walked to the door, and I knew it would be some time before I saw her again. What can one offer to someone who changed the course of your life? To what do you owe that person?

"Thank you," I whispered.

Her back to me, she opened the door before pausing. With a nod of her head, so slight I could have imagined it, she exited. The door closed with finality behind her.

I sat on my bed alone. For the very first time, I felt ok.

### * * *

