Клэр Донелли - Hiss And Tell

He sounded so much like one of Sunny’s college boyfriends, she had to laugh.

They discussed the finer points of beer pong for most of the ride up to Wilawiport, with several disagreements over things like defensive deflections and penalties.

“That’s why you’ve got to download a set of rules from someplace,” Cale said. “Then they’ll be there in black and white. People will be stuck with them.”

“All right, all right,” Sunny capitulated. “I’ll take care of it after I get up in my room.”

The town car rolled past the roadblock, with no paparazzi jumping out of the bushes. Sunny felt a little disappointed. She’d been prepared this time, putting on large sunglasses and a baseball cap with a long peak.

They came to a stop outside the girls’ guesthouse. As Sunny got out and Cale got her bag, she asked, “Where will you hide the supplies? I don’t think you can just slip them into a refrigerator.”

“I’ve got ice and a couple of those Styrofoam chests.” He kept his voice down, glancing over toward the roadblock. “We’re a little too close to the outside world to go unloading things here.”

Shaking her head, Sunny took her bag and lugged it up to her room. She’d barely deposited her burden on the faded quilt bedspread when she heard a knock on the door. It was Priscilla.

I suspect that Trehearne’s not the only one using the security guards to find out who’s where, Sunny thought. Cillie just about confirmed that with her first words. “I heard you were back, and I wanted to catch you. It’s Beau’s turn to do the lunch run, bringing sandwiches and stuff from the kitchen of the big house. If you just sort of bumped into him over there, you could spend some time alone with him.”

Great, Sunny thought. Sounds like I’m being set up with a potential murderer.

Priscilla quickly convinced her otherwise, though, her expression darkening as she spoke. “I haven’t forgotten why you’re really here—so I talked to him a little bit.” She waved her hands. “Not telling him about why you’re here, just saying that he couldn’t lie around ignoring you. This will give the two of you a chance to talk. From the way you asked about him at breakfast, I’d have to be pretty dense not to realize that you’re interested in Beau, and I don’t mean romantically. I shouldn’t be surprised, after the way he and Eliza got into it the afternoon before—” She broke off her words.

Sunny nodded. “Do you know what the two of them were fighting about?”

Priscilla shook her head. “We’re supposed to be too well-bred to eavesdrop—and of course, there was music playing. By the time it got loud enough for me to notice, they’d sort of gotten to the generic insult stage. He called her a social-climbing bitch, she said he was just a general bastard. That sort of thing.”

Sunny frowned. So it sounded loud, but not exactly personal. Neither Beau nor Eliza seemed to be throwing actual dirt in each other’s faces. Well, that social-climbing comment was a bit sharp, but it’s kind of hard to imagine a spat like that leading to murder, she thought.

Still, Beau was Will’s prime candidate, with at least a possible check by his name when it came to opportunity. She ought to take a shot.

“Okay, just let me unpack,” Sunny said. It wasn’t so much about hanging up her things as it was making sure those suits got a proper airing. She’d already twitted Cale about him smelling like mothballs; no way was she going to sit down with the de Kruks in a cloud of eau de cedar.

Cillie bit her lip. “I don’t think there’s time. I stalled him as long as I could, waiting for you, but Beau was starting for the kitchen when I headed up here.”

“Then I’d better catch him.” Sunny followed Priscilla outside, thinking, Another plan shot to hell.

She managed to catch up with Beau on his way back down the path between the big house and the pool. He was carrying a big cardboard carton easily enough, but just as Sunny came up, a breeze sent a couple of bags of chips airborne. Sunny darted to pick them up. “Let me give you a hand.”

“Oh, thanks,” he said, “Sunny.”

There was a barely perceptible pause before he used her name. Had he been trying to remember it, or debating whether to use it?

“Put that thing down for a minute, and let’s see what I can help carry,” Sunny suggested.

Beau dropped to one knee, setting the carton down on the graveled walk. The breeze plucked at the Hawaiian shirt he wore over another green scrub shirt—or maybe the same one Sunny had seen him in yesterday.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked for the chips,” Beau said. “They had to put them on top, otherwise they’d get crushed. But I figured we’d better have some munchies around for later.” He gave Sunny a closer look as he knelt with the carton. “Did you really suggest beer pong?”

“Guilty as charged,” Sunny replied.

“What, are you trying to get us all drunk so we’ll talk about stuff we shouldn’t?” He broke off, running a hand across his eyes and then down his face. “Sorry, that didn’t come out very well. Carson and Cillie told me you’re a reporter, doing stories about the wedding planning and stuff. But after the whole mess with Eliza . . .”

Take the opening, Sunny decided. “How did you meet her? I understand she was in Priscilla’s crowd.”

“She is—was,” Beau corrected himself. “We hooked up when Carson and Cillie began getting serious. One of those big de Kruk mob scenes. How many parties have you attended where they’ve got a stage manager shepherding you in front of the cameras right on schedule to make the evening news? But we hung out and then dated a bit when my schedule allowed. Frankly, I think she was on the rebound. She’d been engaged, but it all blew up. She didn’t like to talk about it.”

He blinked, as if dealing with an unpleasant memory. “But Eliza was really on my case to be my plus-one when I got the invite to this get-together. I thought it was kind of pushy, but Carson and Cillie were cool. To tell the truth, I was really looking forward to taking a break up here. Carson said it would be nice and quiet.”

“But it didn’t turn out that way?”

Beau’s face tightened. “So now it’s about that stupid fight? Does everybody know about that? Will I see my face on Eagle Eye while they play detective and wonder if I’m ‘involved’ in Eliza’s murder?”

“I can’t promise what Eagle Eye will do,” Sunny said. “As you pointed out, I am a reporter, but there is such a thing as off the record. If you say that up front, reporters can’t quote you. Not all reporters follow that as strictly as they should nowadays, but those are supposed to be the rules.”

“Why would you even tell me that?” Beau frowned.

“Because I think you’re going to need a crash course in dealing with reporters.” Sunny gave it to him straight.

Beau paused for a moment. “You mean they think . . . ? Sure they do. That detective guy seemed like just a schlubby-looking older guy at first, but he’s like some of the surgeons in the hospital. Put a scalpel in their hands—”

He stopped again. “Does that detective think I killed Eliza?”

“I can’t reveal my sources,” Sunny told him.

Beau turned round to sit on the grass, his head in his hands. “This is like a nightmare. I came here to chill out.” He looked up at her. “You don’t know what a pressure cooker a medical residency can be. Becoming a doctor is sort of like joining the biggest fraternity there is, but getting there, they don’t just put you through hell week, it’s more like hell years. I’ve put in a hundred and twenty hours a week sometimes.”