Keeping Secrets in Seattle - By Brooke Moss Page 0,52
over next to an old man who was mowing his grass while his wife weeded the flower garden nearby.
As soon as he cut the engine to kick a pinecone out of his path, I said, “Excuse me, sir?”
He glanced at me. “Hmm?”
“We’re looking for the Von Longorials.” I tried to sound as polite as possible. “Could you tell us which house is theirs? We’re late for a cocktail party.”
“At noon on a Wednesday?” Betsy whispered.
I kicked the back of her seat and laughed innocently at the man, who was scratching his head.
“Well, I don’t know.” He looked at his wife, whose backside was sticking up in the air as she tenderized her flower garden with a trowel. “Hey, Marian.”
She turned, squinting her eyes. “Yes?”
“Von Longorial? Sound familiar?”
“No. Maybe have them go ask Nancy.”
“Nancy?” I repeated when the man turned back to me.
“Yup. She’s the chairman of the neighborhood association.” The man nodded. “She’s around the corner. In the taupe house. Should be out trimming her roses. I saw her there just a bit ago.”
Of course she’s in the taupe house, I thought. “Thank you, sir.”
We drove around the corner, and sure enough, a silver-haired woman tenderly pruned her rose garden. We pulled up in front of her, and I offered her the same excuse I’d offered the man with the lawn mower. She thought for a moment, tapping a finger on her chin. “Sorry. I don’t know of any Von Long…what was it?”
“Von Longorial.”
“Right. No, I don’t know any Von Longorials here in Minting Heights.” She pushed a pair of half-glasses up on her nose.
I bit my lip. “Is it possible that you just don’t know them?”
She frowned sourly. “I’m the resident association chairperson. I know everyone. That’s my job.”
“Congratulations,” I muttered, rolling my window back up. “Er, sorry. Thank you.”
We drove around in circles again, looking for another neighborhood that fit the description, but came up short.
“It’s okay.” Kim searched the passing houses while I pouted in the backseat. “None of the houses in that place looked big enough to be Alicia’s house, anyway. Didn’t you say that her dad owns all of the waste management facilities around here?”
I stared out the window. With every dead end we hit, it became more and more clear to me that I’d been right about Alicia all along. “Guys, I don’t know if there are any bigger houses in the South Summit boundaries. It’s very average around here. Working class people like us live here.”
“Maybe Alicia’s parents are the miser type?” Kim was pushing it now. “You know, they have all sorts of money, but live in a humble home, because they sit on all their money? Like Silas Marner?”
I snorted. “Silas Marner?”
“I have a hard time believing that Alicia was a product of a Silas Marner lifestyle.” Betsy shook her head, and her pigtails danced. “She wears the most expensive clothes I’ve ever seen.”
“Maybe she’s rebelling against her frugal upbringing?”
I glared out the window. “I was just hoping for confirmation that…” Closing my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Either Alicia was lying, or Shawn was. Or…I don’t know. That my best friend isn’t marrying a complete phony.”
Kim turned around in her seat. “Or were you looking for confirmation that he is?”
Guilt nagged at me. I hated it when Kim busted me. It was time to give up and buy my friends some food for their trouble. We pulled into a truck stop cafe close to the highway, disheartened. Once we were seated at the tiny counter facing the kitchen and all of our menus were open, Kim bumped me with her shoulder. “So what exactly were you going to do if you’d found Alicia’s house?”
I fidgeted with a pepper shaker. “I don’t really know. I guess I just wanted to know if Shawn was wrong about her.”
“Wrong? Why? You hate Alicia,” Betsy said.
“Yeah, but I love Gabe.” I looked down at the speckled countertop wistfully. “I wanted to know that she isn’t lying to him.”
The waitress, a girl in her mid-twenties, took our orders, eyeballing us. “Bad morning?”
Kim looked up from her menu. “We were trying to stalk someone. Unsuccessfully.”
Betsy elbowed her. “Hey. We’re on a covert operation. You’re gonna blow our cover.”
“It’s okay. The Von Longorials apparently want to live an anonymous life.” I held out my coffee mug for the waitress to fill. “We were trying to find someone’s family. She is marrying my best friend, and I was trying to—”