psychological, and romantic assessment from a woman with a ruthless sense of what she likes and does not like in all areas, especially men. But for her to offer no information, no opinion was completely out of character. “Maybe she just doesn’t have a sense of him yet,” I attempted.
Tricia’s nose twitched with derision. “And that’s why she abandoned me. She needed to go get a sense of him. Perhaps we need to get a sense of him and figure out why he’s making our dear girl do things that are so unlike her.”
I paused with my glass halfway to my mouth. Things that are so unlike her. I knew Tricia was talking about Cassady and, while I shared her concern, I found myself suddenly picturing Gwen Lincoln in all her lemony composure. When I’d interviewed her, I’d been painting a picture already framed by all the research I’d done: capable businesswoman, perfect hostess, always in control. But what if she’d
gotten into a relationship that had changed all that—especially if she’d gotten into it on the rebound from a relationship that had gone hugely sour, so she was looking to feel something completely different, be something completely different. What if Gwen Lincoln and Ronnie Willis were an item? What if they’d killed Garth to form a more perfect union, if our founding fathers would pardon the turn of phrase—a merger on every possible level?
I set my glass back down and Tricia gasped, a not fully unhappy sound. “What is it? What did you just figure out?”
I filled her in on my interviews with Gwen and Ronnie, and then on Peter’s parting shot. She wanted to go back and talk more about Peter, but I insisted that could wait. The day’s final tally had been that I wasn’t impressed by the possibility of Gwen killing Garth by herself or Ronnie doing it by himself. But the two of them together was an equation I hadn’t run yet. I still needed to get into GHInc. and talk to the Harem to get a sense not just of their worth to Ronnie, but what they thought of him—or more specifically, him with Gwen.
That’s when Tricia rebuked me for my honesty. “If you tell people you might be publishing what they say, they’re not going to speak very freely.”
“I’m not expecting a confession in the middle of an interview, Tricia. I need a sense of the dynamics between these people to see where the breaks in the chain might have been.”
“Still,” she insisted, “you should be more devious. And I only suggest it because I know you have it in you.”
“I’m saying ‘thank you,’ but I’m thinking a much more devious phrase that only differs by a few letters.”
Tricia sighed. “How can you be offended when I am so clearly complimenting you? Your ability to weasel information out of people is enviable—”
“Does that make me a devious weasel?”
“—and I’d hate to see you lose sight of that because you feel like you have to approach everything as a formal journalist now.”
“I do have an article to write.”
“Which will be much more delicious if you do it your own way,” she said with heartfelt enthusiasm. “I’m not suggesting you go all Jayson Blair or anything, just sneak up on these people. Get them to talk about things they shouldn’t be talking about.”
She had a point. I was so smitten with my officialness that I was forgetting the impact it had on the people I was interviewing. Naturally they were going to go out of their way to present me with a beautiful façade that was suitable for publishing, especially in a magazine like ours that specializes in beautiful façades.
I promised Tricia I’d rethink my strategy before my next interview, we ordered dinner, and she moved on to her next agenda item. “So how’s Peter?”
“Fresh coat of paint, but no real renovation.” I told her about his leaving the Times, the new magazine, and his pretending to miss me so I’d share information with him.
“How sure are you that he’s pretending?”
I laughed to
Tricia’s nose twitched with derision. “And that’s why she abandoned me. She needed to go get a sense of him. Perhaps we need to get a sense of him and figure out why he’s making our dear girl do things that are so unlike her.”
I paused with my glass halfway to my mouth. Things that are so unlike her. I knew Tricia was talking about Cassady and, while I shared her concern, I found myself suddenly picturing Gwen Lincoln in all her lemony composure. When I’d interviewed her, I’d been painting a picture already framed by all the research I’d done: capable businesswoman, perfect hostess, always in control. But what if she’d
gotten into a relationship that had changed all that—especially if she’d gotten into it on the rebound from a relationship that had gone hugely sour, so she was looking to feel something completely different, be something completely different. What if Gwen Lincoln and Ronnie Willis were an item? What if they’d killed Garth to form a more perfect union, if our founding fathers would pardon the turn of phrase—a merger on every possible level?
I set my glass back down and Tricia gasped, a not fully unhappy sound. “What is it? What did you just figure out?”
I filled her in on my interviews with Gwen and Ronnie, and then on Peter’s parting shot. She wanted to go back and talk more about Peter, but I insisted that could wait. The day’s final tally had been that I wasn’t impressed by the possibility of Gwen killing Garth by herself or Ronnie doing it by himself. But the two of them together was an equation I hadn’t run yet. I still needed to get into GHInc. and talk to the Harem to get a sense not just of their worth to Ronnie, but what they thought of him—or more specifically, him with Gwen.
That’s when Tricia rebuked me for my honesty. “If you tell people you might be publishing what they say, they’re not going to speak very freely.”
“I’m not expecting a confession in the middle of an interview, Tricia. I need a sense of the dynamics between these people to see where the breaks in the chain might have been.”
“Still,” she insisted, “you should be more devious. And I only suggest it because I know you have it in you.”
“I’m saying ‘thank you,’ but I’m thinking a much more devious phrase that only differs by a few letters.”
Tricia sighed. “How can you be offended when I am so clearly complimenting you? Your ability to weasel information out of people is enviable—”
“Does that make me a devious weasel?”
“—and I’d hate to see you lose sight of that because you feel like you have to approach everything as a formal journalist now.”
“I do have an article to write.”
“Which will be much more delicious if you do it your own way,” she said with heartfelt enthusiasm. “I’m not suggesting you go all Jayson Blair or anything, just sneak up on these people. Get them to talk about things they shouldn’t be talking about.”
She had a point. I was so smitten with my officialness that I was forgetting the impact it had on the people I was interviewing. Naturally they were going to go out of their way to present me with a beautiful façade that was suitable for publishing, especially in a magazine like ours that specializes in beautiful façades.
I promised Tricia I’d rethink my strategy before my next interview, we ordered dinner, and she moved on to her next agenda item. “So how’s Peter?”
“Fresh coat of paint, but no real renovation.” I told her about his leaving the Times, the new magazine, and his pretending to miss me so I’d share information with him.
“How sure are you that he’s pretending?”
I laughed to
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