Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 69536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“How do you even know what they are? No prices are showing in those displays.”
“That’s my point. You know it’s got to be exuberant when nothing has a price tag.”
“Price doesn’t matter to the people who shop here.”
She sighs, and a look of wistfulness passes over her face. God, does she want this kind of stuff?
No, she can’t possibly. I met her family. They’re down to earth. Her father was a SEAL.
“I want to understand something, Aspen,” I say.
“What?” She gazes into the Gucci window.
“Why do you like to do this? Why do you like to look at all the stuff that you don’t want or need and that you can’t afford anyway?”
She turns, meets my gaze. “There were a few girls on my team who were from money. It’s not that I was envious of them so much as I just wanted to experience their lives. Just for a moment.”
“Why?”
She doesn’t answer right away, and then her eyes widen farther, and her brows nearly jump off her forehead.
And at the same time—
“Money?” I ask. “How much money exactly?”
“My God, Buck, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Most likely. Someone with money could have gotten rid of you very easily.”
“But Katelyn… She told me about her cousin who had her kidnapped. He did it for the money.”
“Right. But we don’t have any evidence that the person who sold you out did it for money. They could have done it for your spot on the team, for Gloria.”
“Gloria doesn’t come from money, though.”
“What about her girlfriend? Taylor Wallace?”
Aspen stares at me, and she drops her purse to the ground. She picks it up quickly.
“Baby… Tell me.”
“Wallace Leathers. Taylor’s an heiress.”
“I’ll be goddamned.” I rake my fingers through my hair. “It’s all making sense now.”
“Is it, though? We still don’t have any evidence.”
“No, it’s all circumstantial,” I agree. “But Taylor was sitting in the aisle seat across from you. She could’ve easily put something into your drink without you noticing. Especially if you got up to go to the bathroom or something. You would have had to put your Coke on the tray next to you, and Taylor could have easily slid into your seat under the guise of talking to armpits or something, and—”
“No, I wasn’t sitting next to Margie. I’d remember that.” She chuckles then.
“What’s so funny?”
“You called her armpits.”
I shake my head. “Not my best moment. Sorry.”
“You’re right. But it was funny, Buck. The woman stank to high heaven.” She gazes into the next window. “But Margie was a really nice girl. Besides, she wasn’t next to me. I’d remember.”
“We need to figure out who it was,” I say, “because if Taylor had money, and the person next to you didn’t…”
“Oh my God…”
“This is still all circumstantial,” I say. “We’ll get more information this afternoon when we talk to Gloria.”
“Yes, if she’s forthcoming.”
“If she’s the person you think she is, she will be forthcoming. And if she’s not? Well, then we’ll know the truth.”
36
ASPEN
“That’s her,” I say.
Gloria Delgado hasn’t changed hardly at all. She still wears her black hair long—a bit longer now—although it’s pulled into a high ponytail this time. For games, she used to French braid it. She’s wearing pink Capri pants and a white button-down, gold flip-flops.
“You recognized her that quickly?” Buck asks.
“Yes. She looks the same. Maybe she’s put on a little bit of weight, but she still looks great.”
“You want me to go with you?” he asks.
“No. Not yet, anyway. I don’t want to scare her off.”
“Good enough. I’ll be here, and you have your phone.”
I nod and click the passenger door side of our car open. I walk briskly toward Gloria.
“Excuse me? Gloria?”
“Do I know you— oh my God! Aspen?” Gloria’s hand flies to her mouth.
“It’s me.”
“It can’t be. Everyone said you…”
“Died? Announcements of my death were premature, Gloria.”
I drop my gaze to her left hand. She’s wearing a gold band. Is she married? To Taylor? Or to someone else?
No, not Taylor. Taylor comes from money. Gloria probably wouldn’t be working, or if she were, she’d be doing something a lot more exciting than teaching history at a high school. She’d have a coaching position at some elite university. Or maybe it’s always been Gloria’s dream to teach high school. I have no idea.
“What are you doing here? What happened to you?”
“It’s a long story, Gloria.”
“Oh my God,” she says. “When the news broke about that island in the South Pacific. Derek Wolfe’s Island…”
“So you knew?”
“No, I didn’t know. But I had this feeling. I had this feeling that one of those surviving women might be you. The news said one of them was a volleyball player.”
“But you didn’t look any further?”
“How could I? No one was releasing your names. But I just thought… maybe…”
“You were right on target,” I say. “And I wonder, why did you have that feeling?”