Bright & Beautiful by Amber Belldene

Author:Amber Belldene
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amber Belldene
Published: 2020-04-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

NAOMI OFFERED ME HER elbow. "Shall we?"

Dara’s slightly too-small wrap dress showed off her lush curves more than her usual outfits. Memories of her ivory colored skin, the curve of her waist, the firmness of her strong thighs—they surfaced uninvited. I shoved them from my mind and stepped back into the tent. She was here to help me investigate, and I best keep my thoughts on meddling and my heart safe from the longing she stirred.

We people-watched, mingled, and she ate her pricey ticket’s worth of canapés. I abstained from the buffet since few items were vegan but nabbed a glass of champagne.

Shortwall and the lady in sequins gave a presentation about the plight of lemurs in Madagascar and improvements to their habitat at the San Francisco Zoo. The baronet was charming, and I caught no whiff of the hypocrisy Damien had mentioned coming off him. People began making donations via phone, and a total on the screen next to the photo of a small mammal with big-eyes ticked higher and higher until it reached a goal, then higher yet. The amount astounded me. It would pay rent for all the homeless folks I gave groceries to on Sundays for several years. Not that I don’t care about lemurs—I just think it’s sad they have a better quality of life than humans living in the same city.

To a round of applause, the fundraising ended, and Shortwall stepped off the dais. From the high-top table beneath a heater where we sat, Naomi kept her eyes trained on him, narrating his every move. Head lowered, I dug further back on his Instagram account, searching for proof of where he was last Thursday, the night someone had killed Dara.

“Do you think the woman in the jade-colored dress is his date, or his girlfriend?” she asked.

I glanced up to see a petite woman at his side with a swath of black hair. “Who knows?” I hadn’t seen her photo on Instagram at all. Then I went back to scouring his social media accounts. Most of his posts didn’t have location tags, so I had to use my sleuthing skills to examine the photos themselves. And since they largely featured gourmet meals, amber colored liquids in fancy glasses, and the occasional cigar cradled lovingly in his stubby-fingered hand, it wasn’t easy to place them.

“If she is his girlfriend, does that mean he has a thing for Asian women? There’s a name for that, right? Like a fetish.”

“Yellow fever,” I said, swiping to see the previous post.

“Ugh. How creepy. Don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. People are complicated.” Was she baiting me to see what I’d say, if I’d compare a racial fetish to her desire to date a nice Jewish girl? It was different, obviously, and I didn’t care about Shortwall’s preferences unless it had some bearing on the case. Or did she want me to absolve her, yet again, of being reckless with my heart before she recommitted herself to her life plan: have a big family who kept the traditions she grew up with.

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