like Grace and every other female friend here, Alex knew nothing about. So when she switched topics and said, “But hey, we’re still on for this weekend, aren’t we?” I was furious at how unconcerned she seemed. It was a minute before I could calm myself and pull back.
Alex, Jessa Hutton, and I were binge buddies, meeting Saturday nights whenever Jessa’s hunter-husband did his upcountry thing. In the last two years, we had worked our way through Homeland and Girls. We were now into Game of Thrones.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I managed and, with a casual, “Let me know if you hear anything more?” ended the call. Two seconds passed before another came.
“Grace could have a problem,” Nina said without preamble. “Those Twitter accounts belong to some important people.”
“Do you know who?”
“Griswold wouldn’t give me names,” Gary Griswold was our Police Chief, “but he’s sitting in his office with his chest puffed out like he had something to do with the investigation, which he did not. This has been a Federal operation all the way.”
“There must have been talk. The press would be panting for it.” Like rabid wolves, I thought, but didn’t say. “Did you catch any names at all?” I might recognize a few. I did VIP makeup often, had certainly done my share of visiting celebs. As flattering as it was to be asked, now I wondered at my own hubris. If a client of mine was the victim here, my probation officer wouldn’t like it. His parting shot at the end of each monthly visit was to warn me to give trouble a wide berth, and though, after all this time, he made it a joke, I took it to heart.
“I didn’t pick up a thing,” Nina said, “and, trust me, I asked. But Griswold said he. He’s in town. He’ll be at the courthouse later. Want to meet me there?”
“God, no,” I cried, trying to make light of the suggestion. My own clients were female, but Grace worked on a lot of men. Frightened for her, but not willing to go anywhere near the zoo of a press conference, I asked, “How was your meeting?”
“A quick vote yes. All they wanted to talk about was hacking. I saw Grace at the station. She’s a basket case. Did you see the media trucks?”
I said that I had, and took a single, long breath to quiet myself while Nina gushed over the various news outlets that had come. I suspected she was having flashbacks to New York and loving it. Me, I was having flashbacks to Boston and not loving it at all.
“There’s going to be a press conference later,” she said. “No doubt Griswold wants to get the biggest bang for the buck. And hell, Maggie, it’s not hurting the town. Guess where the press is staying tonight? The Inn.”
I knew what the Inn charged. Rates were up there in the stratosphere along with rates at the Spa. I would be surprised if the average reporter’s expense account allowed for the Inn—unless there was a press special going on—which would be a stroke of genius, come to think of it. Talk about generating goodwill.
By every other measure, this would be a PR nightmare for the Spa. Nothing good could come of illegal access to personal information that we had promised our clients would never, ever get out. The new owners couldn’t possibly be pleased. I wondered if Edward was the messenger who had to bring them the news. Best case scenario? They called him back to wherever they were and canceled the sale.
* * *
By the time Kevin called, my insides were a snake pit. Needing him, I answered with a quick, “Hey.”
“Devon is crawling with enemies.”
I barked out a high laugh. “Tell me.”
“What’d your friend do?”
“Absolutely nothing. Her son is the one in custody.”
Kevin snorted. “That little shit? If anyone’s the hacker, it’s Grace.” He and Grace had never hit it off. She was too drawn to straight men to allow for a friendship with one who wasn’t. Or maybe it was simpler than that. My therapist suggested she was jealous of my friendship with Kevin. I suppose she had cause.
“What else have you heard?” I asked. As focused as the pottery studio was, Kevin kept an ear to the ground. It helped that his significant other worked at the police department.
“Not much yet, but I was thinking you’d need company. Meet me for pizza?” We often did that, and if there was anyone who could