Клэр Донелли - Hiss And Tell

“Beau’s always on call at the hospital,” Carson said, trying to smooth over his friend’s brusque response. “This is his first chance for some solid rest in years, really. Not to mention his first visit in these parts.”

The Neals, Tommy and Yardley, were more polite but still vaguely dismissive, in the same way that Sunny had seen rich people treat servants. They followed the proper forms, but seemed to look right through her.

Only Carson’s other groomsman, Peter Van Twissel, met Sunny’s eyes as they shook hands, and he greeted her with a skeptical smile. “I hope they didn’t tempt you into this job with a promise of fun-filled days.” He gestured around the pool. “This is about as close as it gets to a resort around here.”

“I’m a local girl,” Sunny told him. “A pool beats most of the swimming around here.” With that, she removed the towel she was wearing and slipped into the water, letting out her breath in a big puff at the shock of the cool water.

But despite the water’s low temperature, she had told the truth. Compared to the local lakes and the ocean, even in summertime, the pool’s water was sun warmed and a lot more comfortable. She swam a few laps just to give her muscles a stretch, keeping a covert eye on the wedding party. Beau had apparently gone back to sleep, sprawled on a scatter of pillows and towels. He’d pulled a green cotton surgical shirt over his baggy surfer-style swim trunks. Carson and Priscilla moved to the far side of the pool, their heads together in conversation.

Tommy and Yardley Neal were in the same pose as the betrotheds, but they sat by the entry gate of the pool, out of effective earshot from anyone. Peter took his ease in a long beach chair, slathering lotion all over himself in preparation to take some sun. With the dark glasses he had on, Sunny couldn’t tell whether his eyes were following her or not.

She continued swimming until her arms began to feel pleasantly tired, and she figured she should have settled into the background a bit. Then she pulled herself out of the pool, toweled off, and draped the terrycloth around her neck like a stole. The afternoon sun felt pleasantly warm after her dip.

Sunny took a seat in the deck chair next to Peter. “Could I steal some of your sunblock?” she asked. “I didn’t think to bring any with me.”

He reached down and passed over the bottle. “Hope you’re not disappointed it’s not some hand-compounded rich man’s potion,” he said. “I picked it up at Target before all the excitement hit.”

“Target, huh?” Sunny looked him over. Peter seemed an odd friend for Carson. He was tall, skinny, and naturally pale, with wispy hair that couldn’t make up its mind to be brown or blond. Not a frat-boy type like Carson or Beau. Sunny noticed that Peter’s bony fingers had dozens, maybe hundreds, of tiny scars.

He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “Unlike some people in this compound, I’ve been known to patronize discount stores,” he said. “I may be hanging out with the de Kruks, but it’s more because of my potential rather than what I’m worth right now. You see, my dad is in computers—special orders—and I’ve been messing in them since I was a kid, working my fingers to the bone coding on the keyboard when I wasn’t burning them with solder or acid or some other nonsense. Now Carson and his dad are bankrolling me, hoping I’ll be the next Steve Jobs or Bill Gates.” He gave a very boyish grin. “Or both rolled together. Augustus made his fortune from construction projects, honest-to-Pete bricks and mortar. Carson is betting on information being the next frontier for his family to conquer.”

“And you’re going to help?” Sunny asked.

“He has faith in me. When we got stuck together in the same room as freshmen in college, I figured ‘here’s the rich kid who’ll expect me to do his homework.’ As it turned out, he tutored me in French. And yeah, I built him a computer. It didn’t hurt that we both had Old Dutch names. There aren’t many New Yorkers like that anymore. But it’s more about the future than the past. I’ll spare you the nerd-speak, but with de Kruk backing, my company is poised to do big things.”

It sounded like the American Dream, twenty-first century style. But Sunny wondered how Peter felt being included in such an intimate party. Was it a sign of Carson’s friendship? Or was it a business decision, a mark of de Kruk favor for someone they hoped would be a moneymaking asset?

The problem is, once you start thinking that way, the whole Kingsbury-de Kruk affair starts looking more like a business merger. Sunny frowned at the thought, glancing over toward Carson and Priscilla. They seemed happy enough together, but not the stuff of a heart-flopper romance. Had they naturally gravitated to one another in the rarefied social orbits they occupied, or were they making the best of a deal between their families?

Maybe I’ll get a better idea when I meet the rest of the family at dinner, she thought, but it was not to be. Dinner was an excruciating meal, like dining at the grown-ups’ table times ten. Instead of lowered guards, Sunny got a lot of not-in-front-of-the-servants civility from Priscilla’s older brothers. Meeting the Senator was another kind of trip. It wasn’t just that the man acted as if she should kiss his ring. He conducted himself as if he were always on camera, as if every word and action were being recorded. Sunny had covered enough political races to know that nowadays candidates labored to come across as just plain folks. Not Thomas Neal Kingsbury. He was of another generation, giving off a feeling of noblesse oblige and rose-garden campaigning.

No wonder he never made president, Sunny thought.

As for the de Kruks, Carson’s parents had yet to arrive. Some sort of business hitch was keeping Augustus in New York.

The meal itself was a lavish buffet arranged on sideboards—no staff visible—in the dining room of the main house. After serving themselves, the diners then sat at a table that could accommodate all the guests plus another half dozen or so.

Caleb Kingsbury arrived late, still drying his hands on a paper towel. He gave Sunny a conspiratorial wink, then got a lot more formal as he approached. “I apologize, sir,” he said to the Senator, who of course had taken a seat at the head of the table. “I was getting my hands dirty aboard the Merlin . By way of apology, I’d like to invite anyone who wishes to join me for an after-dinner sail.” He grinned at the group. “A shakedown cruise, to make sure the new fittings work as they ought.”

“I like the sound of that.” Priscilla took Carson’s hand.

“Anything that’s a little different,” Beau Bellingham agreed, still looking half-asleep. At least he’d combed his hair for dinner.

“You’re sure it will be safe?” The Senator’s wife didn’t sound like a grande dame, more like the anxious mother she was.

“Everyone will wear life vests, and we’ll be back before nightfall, mother,” Cale soothed. At the table, Sunny found herself seated between Deborah Kingsbury, Governor Lem’s wife, and Fiona Ormond, the wedding planner. The cool blonde asked a couple of questions to determine just how big a media deal Sunny was, but after hearing that Sunny would just be blogging for a local paper with zero help for her husband Lem’s political aspirations, Deborah pretty much left her alone. Fiona, on the other hand, had lots of questions about local businesses.

“Currently, my big interest is transportation,” she said, displaying perfect manners and taking small bites. “The people coming to this event will have certain expectations. After arriving in a private plane, they won’t want to be ferried here by the Podunk car service.” Fiona asked about several livery car companies, but Sunny had to admit complete ignorance. Kittery Harbor was a pretty blue-collar town. Except for weddings and funerals, there wasn’t much call for limousines.