The Bride Wore Size 12
Page 46
Nor do I dare call Detective Canavan, as I promised Cooper I would, since Sarah will eavesdrop on the conversation, and overhear that Jasmine’s cause of death wasn’t natural, something I’d prefer to keep secret as long as possible. I could slip out to call the detective on my cell, but I’m still feeling a little shaken by my run-in with Prince Rashid’s bodyguard. At least with my backside planted firmly in my office chair I know Hamad can’t sneak up behind me.
Instead, I bend over my messages. One of them is from Julio. He’s written only two words—No trash—but I understand exactly what he means. As I’d expected, Eva’s request for DNA analysis had come too late. All the trash from Rashid’s party has already been put out and picked up at the curb by DSNY, the Department of Sanitation, New York City. Julio and his crew are extremely thorough.
“Did Mrs. Harris say what she wanted?” I ask Sarah. There are three messages from the front desk saying that Kaileigh’s mother needs me to call her. Both the “Urgent” and “ASAP” boxes are checked.
A concerned mom is the last person I feel like speaking with at the moment. I hesitate to even pick up my office phone. I can see the red light flashing ominously. She’s probably left me voice messages as well.
“What else?” Sarah asks. “She’s upset her kid’s RA is dead, and she wants Kaileigh to have a room change.”
Sarah is making quick work of her cheeseburger, which looks—and smells—like a particularly good one. My stomach rumbles. It seems like it’s been a long time since the finger sandwiches in the president’s office.
“I told Mrs. Harris yesterday that only Kaileigh can fill out the paperwork to request a room change,” I say.
“Yeah, well, according to Mrs. Harris, Kaileigh’s roommate Ameera saw their RA’s dead body, and now Kaileigh is too emotionally caught up in her roommate’s trauma over that horrible experience to be asked to do something as mundane as fill out paperwork,” Sarah says.
“Are you serious?” I ask. “Does Kaileigh even want to move out? Or is her mother still trying to make her move out?”
“Who knows? Apparently, Mr. Harris is going to be contacting their attorney to get Kaileigh out of her housing contract because we’re so incompetent we allowed someone to die down the hall from Kaileigh’s room, so we can expect to be hearing from him soon.”
“Oh God,” I say, and lay my head on my desk. “I wish it had been me who died, and not Jasmine.”
“Well, that’s a psychologically unhealthy statement to make,” Sarah says primly. I can hear her licking ketchup off her fingers. “Especially from someone who’s about to get married. Isn’t this supposed to be the happiest time of your life?”
“That’s what people tell me,” I say.
My head still on my desk, I lift one of the many messages from the pile. It was taken by Gavin, from my mother. Please call, it says. Urgent.
Oh God.
“Anyway,” Sarah goes on, “the Harrises aren’t wrong about Ameera. I saw her going in to see Dr. Flynn this morning. She was crying about as much as she was yesterday. It’s hard to believe such a skinny little body could hold that many tears. Maybe that’s why the prince sent her flowers too.”
I lift my head from the desk to stare at her. “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean? I mean Prince Rashid sent Ameera flowers too. I saw them at the front desk when I had the florist drop Lisa’s off there.” Sarah looks a little uncomfortable. “I have to admit I was being a little nosy checking who they were for. I thought they might be for me because, after all, I’m the one who discovered the body. If anyone should get flowers, it should be me. But no, no one ever thinks to send the graduate assistant flowers, only the pretty girl and the hall director and her—”
“Why would Rashid send Ameera flowers?” I interrupt, asking the question of myself more than of Sarah.
“How should I know?” she replies. “I assumed he was only sending them to you and Lisa to suck up because he knows he’s been busted for throwing that party.”
“But it’s not like Lisa can discipline him,” I say. “The college would never let her, considering how much money his father’s donated. So he didn’t have to send us flowers. And he certainly didn’t have to send them to Ameera.”
“No,” Sarah admits reluctantly. “But Ameera’s gorgeous. And she’s sad. He’s probably hitting on her while she’s in an emotionally weakened state because he wants to get in her pants.”
I glare at her.
Sarah’s right, of course. It’s likely Rashid sent Lisa and me the flowers out of guilt because he—or one of his employees—is somehow responsible for Jasmine’s death, and Ameera the flowers because she’s hot.
Still, I can’t shake the memory of Rashid’s face the day before in our office when he’d heard Ameera was ill, how his dark eyebrows had knit with concern. That concern hadn’t seemed fake. He’d forgotten all about his glamorous lunch reservation at Nobu, even offering the use of his chauffeur-driven Escalade to transport her to the hospital.
Maybe I’m a romantic fool, but any boy willing to do that can’t be all bad . . . or thinking solely about getting into a girl’s pants.
“You don’t think there’s the slightest possibility,” I say to Sarah, “that he might have done it out of genuine decency—”
Sarah rolls her eyes. “Really, Heather? After everything you’ve been through, you still think there are decent guys out there? And that Prince Rashid might be one of them? Prince Rashid?”
“Well . . .” I say. “Okay, it was bad that he threw that party, but he isn’t from this country, and he was only trying to make friends—”
“Oh my God, you’re so naïve. But it’s not totally your fault. You didn’t really have a normal childhood—” Now Sarah has launched into her psychologist’s tone. “And you got the last decent guy. And Cooper’s a total exception to the rule.” She thoughtfully chews a french fry. “Well, Tom Snelling is decent too, but he’s gay, so he doesn’t count. There are definitely no decent heterosexual guys left.”
Even though I know it stems from her having been disappointed in love, I find Sarah’s jadedness a little annoying.
Instead, I bend over my messages. One of them is from Julio. He’s written only two words—No trash—but I understand exactly what he means. As I’d expected, Eva’s request for DNA analysis had come too late. All the trash from Rashid’s party has already been put out and picked up at the curb by DSNY, the Department of Sanitation, New York City. Julio and his crew are extremely thorough.
“Did Mrs. Harris say what she wanted?” I ask Sarah. There are three messages from the front desk saying that Kaileigh’s mother needs me to call her. Both the “Urgent” and “ASAP” boxes are checked.
A concerned mom is the last person I feel like speaking with at the moment. I hesitate to even pick up my office phone. I can see the red light flashing ominously. She’s probably left me voice messages as well.
“What else?” Sarah asks. “She’s upset her kid’s RA is dead, and she wants Kaileigh to have a room change.”
Sarah is making quick work of her cheeseburger, which looks—and smells—like a particularly good one. My stomach rumbles. It seems like it’s been a long time since the finger sandwiches in the president’s office.
“I told Mrs. Harris yesterday that only Kaileigh can fill out the paperwork to request a room change,” I say.
“Yeah, well, according to Mrs. Harris, Kaileigh’s roommate Ameera saw their RA’s dead body, and now Kaileigh is too emotionally caught up in her roommate’s trauma over that horrible experience to be asked to do something as mundane as fill out paperwork,” Sarah says.
“Are you serious?” I ask. “Does Kaileigh even want to move out? Or is her mother still trying to make her move out?”
“Who knows? Apparently, Mr. Harris is going to be contacting their attorney to get Kaileigh out of her housing contract because we’re so incompetent we allowed someone to die down the hall from Kaileigh’s room, so we can expect to be hearing from him soon.”
“Oh God,” I say, and lay my head on my desk. “I wish it had been me who died, and not Jasmine.”
“Well, that’s a psychologically unhealthy statement to make,” Sarah says primly. I can hear her licking ketchup off her fingers. “Especially from someone who’s about to get married. Isn’t this supposed to be the happiest time of your life?”
“That’s what people tell me,” I say.
My head still on my desk, I lift one of the many messages from the pile. It was taken by Gavin, from my mother. Please call, it says. Urgent.
Oh God.
“Anyway,” Sarah goes on, “the Harrises aren’t wrong about Ameera. I saw her going in to see Dr. Flynn this morning. She was crying about as much as she was yesterday. It’s hard to believe such a skinny little body could hold that many tears. Maybe that’s why the prince sent her flowers too.”
I lift my head from the desk to stare at her. “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean? I mean Prince Rashid sent Ameera flowers too. I saw them at the front desk when I had the florist drop Lisa’s off there.” Sarah looks a little uncomfortable. “I have to admit I was being a little nosy checking who they were for. I thought they might be for me because, after all, I’m the one who discovered the body. If anyone should get flowers, it should be me. But no, no one ever thinks to send the graduate assistant flowers, only the pretty girl and the hall director and her—”
“Why would Rashid send Ameera flowers?” I interrupt, asking the question of myself more than of Sarah.
“How should I know?” she replies. “I assumed he was only sending them to you and Lisa to suck up because he knows he’s been busted for throwing that party.”
“But it’s not like Lisa can discipline him,” I say. “The college would never let her, considering how much money his father’s donated. So he didn’t have to send us flowers. And he certainly didn’t have to send them to Ameera.”
“No,” Sarah admits reluctantly. “But Ameera’s gorgeous. And she’s sad. He’s probably hitting on her while she’s in an emotionally weakened state because he wants to get in her pants.”
I glare at her.
Sarah’s right, of course. It’s likely Rashid sent Lisa and me the flowers out of guilt because he—or one of his employees—is somehow responsible for Jasmine’s death, and Ameera the flowers because she’s hot.
Still, I can’t shake the memory of Rashid’s face the day before in our office when he’d heard Ameera was ill, how his dark eyebrows had knit with concern. That concern hadn’t seemed fake. He’d forgotten all about his glamorous lunch reservation at Nobu, even offering the use of his chauffeur-driven Escalade to transport her to the hospital.
Maybe I’m a romantic fool, but any boy willing to do that can’t be all bad . . . or thinking solely about getting into a girl’s pants.
“You don’t think there’s the slightest possibility,” I say to Sarah, “that he might have done it out of genuine decency—”
Sarah rolls her eyes. “Really, Heather? After everything you’ve been through, you still think there are decent guys out there? And that Prince Rashid might be one of them? Prince Rashid?”
“Well . . .” I say. “Okay, it was bad that he threw that party, but he isn’t from this country, and he was only trying to make friends—”
“Oh my God, you’re so naïve. But it’s not totally your fault. You didn’t really have a normal childhood—” Now Sarah has launched into her psychologist’s tone. “And you got the last decent guy. And Cooper’s a total exception to the rule.” She thoughtfully chews a french fry. “Well, Tom Snelling is decent too, but he’s gay, so he doesn’t count. There are definitely no decent heterosexual guys left.”
Even though I know it stems from her having been disappointed in love, I find Sarah’s jadedness a little annoying.
