Page 9 of She Doesn't Have a Clue
Almost.
Until a voice echoed through the hall of horrors. “Valentine, you sneaky lyingbitch.”
Chapter Five
Unfortunately for Kate, there were any number of guests that weekend who could have leveled such an accusation her way, and she wasn’t keen on confronting any of them. But there was only one person in the world who called her exclusively by her last name, claiming it was far superior to boring old Kate, and Kate’s mouth fell open in shock as a compact white woman with dark brown hair dyed a deep red at the ends appeared from a side room.
“Marla!” Kate said. “I didn’t know you’d be here. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“Hello to you, too,” Marla said wryly. “Nice to see your communication skills haven’t improved any since college.”
Kate met Marla Lynch her sophomore year at University of Washington, when Kate had been floundering as a business undergrad with secret dreams of being a writer. Marla was the queen bee of the UW literary scene, dubbing their group the Nights of the Round Table after the central fixture in their meeting space, and all Kate had ever wanted was to be in her orbit.
“Sorry,” Kate said sheepishly. “I’m just surprised! I mean, I guess you’re technically closer to Hempstead Island than I am now, since youmoved to the artists’ colony on Orca. I just didn’t think weddings, or Spencer, or Spencer’s weddings were your thing.”
“And here I was thinking public appearances were no longeryourthing,” Marla said in her smoky voice.
Kate winced at the implied accusation. After Spencer broke things off with her and her life went to hell, Kate had sort of gone MIA on everyone, Marla included. She’d left Marla in the lurch on more than one occasion and, based on their last text exchange, Kate wasn’t sure their friendship was on the most solid ground. “I guess people are still… mad that I missed the alumni awards?”
“If bypeopleyou mean me, who had to drag her happy ass on a three-hour ferry ride back to Seattle to present the distinguished alumni award to you, only to receive a series of increasingly deranged texts from you about having an obviously fake case of mono.”
“It was real!” Kate said, far too defensively. “I had a doctor’s note and everything.”
“Mono is for filthy middle schoolers with loose lips, not hermits whose lips haven’t touched more than a takeout order of eggrolls in the last year. But I convinced the dean to pick up the tab for dinner that night, so no lingering bad vibes, babe.” Marla’s lips quirked into a smile, turning her attention toward Jake. “Besides, I’m just happy to have some stimulating company this weekend. Is this Jake the Hotstralian, finally in the flesh?”
Jake returned her smile, holding out a hand. “And you must be the Marla Lynch I’ve heard so much about over the years. Seattle’s Rising Literary Star, eh?”
Marla was the first among the Nights of the Round Table to get an agent and a book contract, and she was also the reason Kate met Spencer that fateful evening during a Round Table discussion. Marla had just signed with Spencer, and Kate had been so in awe of meeting a real, honest-to-goodness publishing professional, that she’d basically begged Spencer to let her buy him a coffee. That coffee had eventually turned into her first gig as a ghostwriter on a Simon Says project.
Marla made a face. “Don’t believe everything you read. It’s been alot less literary output and a lot more boozy input lately. You know us artists. So, you and Kate, huh? After all these years she finally worked up the ovaries to make it happen?”
“That’s not… we aren’t here…” Kate paused. Would it cause problems for Jake if she outed him now as not her plus-one? Kate tried to swallow, her throat suddenly sticky and dry. “Did I hear there were cocktails?”
Marla snorted. “Come on, Valentine, let’s get you nice and liquored up, let all your little secrets come out like they do after a couple Jolly Rancher martinis.”
“Oh god, don’t bring those up,” Kate groaned as she followed Marla down the side hallway where she’d first appeared. “I still can’t smell watermelon candy without dry heaving.”
Marla navigated the halls like an expert, already familiar with the layout that still made Kate anxious if she tried to think about how to get back to the main entryway. She’d never imagined a single house could have so many twists and turns, or rooms, or cabinets full of old toddler-size dressing gowns with suspicious stains on them. But when Marla pushed open a door with a flourish and a little “ta-da,” Kate had to hand it to her. She’d hit the mother lode.
“Are these wine crates?” Kate asked as Marla pulled a bottle from a crate.
“Don’t get too excited,” Marla said as she poured. “It tastes awful, but it drinks the same as any alcohol. I was trying to find the good stuff, but apparently they keep it under lock and key somewhere. I’ll find a way. I always do. Like the time we drank Professor Gould’s Glenlivet.” Marla lifted her glass. “To Rebecca Hempstead and her cheap-ass booze.”
“Do you know Rebecca Hempstead?” Kate asked, thinking of the letter.
“I knowofher,” Marla said, waving it away like it was no big deal to know one of the richest women in the country. “Everybody in the San Juans does. She donates to the commune, along with a billion other nonprofits. She throws her money around so she can keep everybody in her stranglehold. But I’m not interested in the evils of inherited wealth,I want to know more about the infamous Jake Hawkins. We used to take bets that you were an AI-generated Ken doll that Kate invented since you never came out when we invited you.”
“I didn’t realize I was being invited places,” Jake said, giving Kate an arch look.
Kate’s face warmed. “It was a work thing! I was keeping it professional!”
She hadn’t been keeping it professional at all, and she had absolutely kept Jake away on purpose, though she’d rather guzzle all the cheap wine in the room than admit it. Marla had always belonged more to the “free love, nobody belongs to anybody” camp of dating, courtesy of her hippie artist dad. She didn’t let things like school policy stop her from sleeping with her professors, and she didn’t let a little thing like Kate’s long-standing crush on a guy get in the way of hooking up with him after a rowdy session of the Nights of the Round Table. So yeah, maybe she kept Jake to herself a little.
“That’s Kate, the pinnacle of professionalism,” Jake said. Something about the way he said it made Kate feel like she’d done something wrong.
Marla drained her glass. “But this weekend isn’t about boring professionalism or lab room sex or Kate’s extremely fake case of mono.”
“I had a doctor’s note!” Kate protested weakly.