So Pretty It Hurts (3 page)

“Devon, please,” Cap said.

“You
have
to tell her,” Devon declared petulantly. “You said you would, but you haven’t.”

I jerked back my upper body and, after quietly taking two steps in reverse, stopped in my tracks. It wasn’t polite to eavesdrop, but as a reporter, my good-girl instincts had long since left the building.

“I
will
tell her,” Cap said. “I promise. You know I always take care of things, and I will this time too.”

“
When
?” Devon demanded.

“Very soon. But you know as well as I do that we need to handle this carefully, or it could all blow up.”

Devon digested his comment, then spit out the word “
Fine
,” in a tone that implied that she expected results.

Were Devon and Cap having an
affair
? Wow, that could add some spice to this crazy little house party. I heard a scraping of shoes on the deck, as if they were about to move. I quickly retraced my steps around the big barn and made my way over to the smaller one.

Back in my room, I felt a sudden urge to call Beau. I wondered if he had decided to come back Saturday after all. But it was close to ten in Sedona, and if he
was
leaving tomorrow, he may have gone to bed by now. I would have to wait until tomorrow to talk to him. I sent a text that he’d find in the morning. Just a quick hello.

I pulled on my flannel jammies, slipped into bed, and pondered again what I’d just witnessed on the deck. The conversation had suggested something secretive and intimate. It didn’t sync with the picture presented by Cap and Whitney earlier in the evening. They’d acted like the devoted couple—they’d even snuggled up to each other a couple of times, her arm snaked around his waist.

And if Devon was having an affair with Cap, how did that explain the sexual tension between her and Tommy? You could almost feel the heat when those two were within five feet of each other—and clearly Tory wasn’t amused. Maybe Devon was flirting with her ex to make Cap jealous.

Wouldn’t it be wild, I thought as I drifted off to sleep, if things came to a head this weekend?

I awoke the next morning just before eight. I checked my BlackBerry but there was no message yet from Beau. After dressing in a thick sweater, jeans, and hiking boots, I headed over to the big barn. Based on the bacon-y breakfast smells that greeted me when I stepped into the foyer, I expected to discover a handful of people upstairs, but it was only Richard, hunched over his iPad at the island, reading the
Times
from what I could see, and Sandy stirring something on the stove. She was wearing a huge tartan shirt that made her look as if she should be draped over the back of a car at a tailgate picnic.

Sandy offered the same perfunctory smile she’d flashed last night, the kind with just the mouth, not the eyes. Richard glanced up from his iPad. He looked bleary eyed, like someone in need of the hair of the dog that bit him rather than the gooey pile of French toast and syrup on his plate.

“Morning,” I said. “Everyone else still snoozing?”

“Apparently,” Richard said. “You slept well, I trust?”

“Very well, thank you. And you?”

“Yes—though I was roused several times by the pitter-patter of not so little feet outside my door.”

Interesting. I wondered who it might have been.

“So I see there’s WiFi here,” I said to Richard.

“Yes, fortunately. I know we’re only a few hours from the city, but it feels as if we’re in the middle of Patagonia.” He glanced over toward Sandy. “Is there even a town near here?” he asked her.

Before she could answer, we heard the sound of panting as someone mounted the stairs. It was a large woman with a mass of long, black, curly hair and stuffed into a pair of very tight jeans. She was in her mid- to late twenties. I realized it was Jane, the same woman I’d seen in the passageway last night.

“I hope you have green tea,” she announced in a surly tone to Sandy. “That’s what she wants.”

“You know they do have certain customs up here in the north country, Jane,” Richard said, his voice thick with mock charm. “One is that you greet people whenever you first step into a room.”

“Good morning,” she said, grumpily. I introduced myself, and she accepted my hand without enthusiasm.

“Now
please
tell me you have green tea,” she said, turning back to Sandy. “Or both of us are going to be fucked.”

By this point, Sandy had reached into the cupboard and taken down a small basket stuffed with individual bags of herbal teas. She set it on the island.

“I believe you’ll find some in here,” she told Jane evenly. Next she took out a white pot, a cup and saucer, and a small wooden tray to set them on.

“You don’t have it
loose
?” Jane complained as she poked through the packet with her chubby fingers.

“I’m afraid not,” Sandy responded, though she sounded almost pleased with the news. Jane let out a huge, annoyed sigh.

“Does your boss enjoy British customs?” Richard asked. “I don’t know many Americans who prefer loose tea.”

“I don’t know why anyone would want tea to
begin
with,” Jane said. “My
grandmother
drinks tea. And she’s like a hundred.”

We were spared more of her sour attitude by the arrival of a man I hadn’t seen yet, zipped up to his leathery chin in a red parka that was limp and stained with age. Sandy nodded to him and told the rest of us that this was her husband Ralph. He looked close to sixty, about ten years older than she.

“Any takers for the first walk today?” he asked hoarsely, like someone fighting a cold.

“I’d love to go,” I said.

“Count me in, too,” Richard said.
That
was a surprise. Based on how wasted he looked, I wondered if there might be a need later to have him medevaced out of the woods.

“I’ll meet you by the front door of the barn in ten minutes,” Ralph said. “Just be sure to dress warm.”

While I chugged the last of my coffee, Jane waited impatiently for Sandy to finish setting up the tea tray. Before lugging it away, she ripped open several tea bags and shook the loose leaves into the teapot.

“
Don’t
say anything,” she told us—as if we’d actually take pleasure in squealing to Devon that she was the victim of a major tea-leaf hoax.

“Would she like a muffin?” Sandy asked.

“Sure,” Jane said snarkily. “If you can slice off one tiny crumb and feed it to her with tweezers.”

Something was definitely going on with Devon’s eating. I wondered if she might be suffering from anorexia and decided to pay close attention later at lunch. But for now, I needed to grab my coat. After retrieving it from my room, I knocked on Jessie’s door just to see if she was up for the hike. There was no reply. I suspected she might have bunked down with Scott. I hurried downstairs, taking a few extra seconds to sign up for a late-morning massage on the clipboard by the door.

Ralph was waiting outside for us, a dusty old pair of binoculars dangling from his neck. Without chitchat, he led us single file along a trail that wasn’t difficult but kicked up my pulse rate a little. Richard did his best to disguise the fact that he was huffing and puffing at times.

We stopped at just a few spots, once for Ralph to point out an owl pellet lying on the ground, the regurgitated indigestible bits and bones from the bird’s last meal. A few minutes later he showed us a fox den just off the trail. A tuft of gray fur had been snagged by a branch just in front of the mouth of the den.

“Looks like Jane paid him a visit last night,” Richard whispered in my ear.

“
Stop
,” I said, pretending to elbow him.

We continued walking, and after a few minutes, we fell behind Ralph a bit on the trail. He was clearly giving us some breathing room.

“How are you enjoying our little house party so far?” I asked Richard.

“I’m having a marvelous time,” he said sarcastically. “Though I must admit it’s difficult keeping up intellectually. I’m guessing tonight we’ll tackle Francis Fukuyama’s latest thoughts on the consequences of the biotechnological revolution.”

I laughed.

“It sounds like we’ll be treated to a preview of Devon’s album,” I said. “Do you think she has a shot at making it as a singer?”

“Well, the same plan worked for Carla Bruni. And then some. It depends on how good her voice is and how well she’s managed.”

“Cap seems to be doing a good job guiding her so far.”

“Yes, but he might be in a little over his head in this instance. Up until now his biggest achievements had been helping models snag parts in movies like
Scream IV
or become the spokesperson for something like the magic flab blaster. Music is a whole different arena.”

“Do you think she might drop him?”

“A wonderfully sane, loyal, clear-thinking girl like Devon?” he said sarcastically. “Oh, I doubt it.”

There was a sudden honking sound above us, and in unison we glanced up to see a V formation of what looked like thirty geese slicing their way across the sky. After they’d vanished, I continued to stare upward. Clouds had muscled in during our hike, and the sky had a bruised, swollen look—the kind that at this time of year promised snow.

“Have you heard a weather forecast for the weekend?” I called up the trail to Ralph.

“Snow,” he said. “Maybe six inches.”

“Oh gosh, I hadn’t heard that. Will that create any problems for us getting out of here?”

“It shouldn’t. We’ve got our own plow here.”

“Oh, come on, Bailey,” Richard said. “Wouldn’t it be fun to be snowbound together? Maybe Devon will throw her cell phone at Jane’s head for not providing loose tea leaves and we’ll have to make a citizen’s arrest.”

A few minutes later I could tell from the position of the sun that we had begun to circle back. At around ten thirty, we emerged from the woods just a little farther south than where we’d entered.

“That was wonderful, Ralph, thank you,” I said. He accepted my thanks while coughing into an old bandana.

While Richard headed off, claiming to be in need of sustenance, I moseyed around, checking out the rest of the buildings on the property. In addition to the two large barns, there were three smaller structures, all made of barn wood. One was more of a cottage, a residence it appeared, and I assumed it was where Sandy and Ralph lived; another seemed to be mainly for storage, and the last served as a large garage. There were curtains in the windows on the second level, suggesting more living space.

I wondered if people were still sleeping because there wasn’t a soul in sight. But just as I passed the garage, I was startled by the sound of someone clearly crying. I followed the sobs to behind the building. Several feet into the woods, by a giant pine tree, stood Devon in her jeans, black knee-high boots, and pea coat, smoking a cigarette and twisting her body back and forth.

“Are you all right?” I called to her.

“No, I’m
not
freaking all right,” she said with equal parts anger and fear.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. I wonder if she’s broken a heel, I joked to myself.

“I’m not safe,” she said, catching me by surprise. “I need to get the hell out of here.”

Chapter 3

“W
hy—what’s happened?” I urged, edging my way through the dead, brittle brambles. A little alarm had started to go off in my head—clearly we were dealing with more than a broken heel here—and as I drew closer, I saw that Devon looked terrified. Her eyes, wet with tears, bounced around randomly, as if behind them she was thinking frantically, trying to hatch an escape plan.

“Devon, tell me,” I said, since she hadn’t answered. “What’s going on?”

I couldn’t help but wonder if her worried state related back somehow to the conversation I’d overheard between her and Cap last night.

“Can’t you hear what I’m saying? It’s not
safe
. Someone knows something.”

“Knows what?”

For the first time she made direct eye contact with me, and from her look it appeared something had just clicked in her mind. I sensed she now regretted having been so candid. She quickly wiped away her tears and surveyed me coldly.

“I just shouldn’t be here—in a
barn
,” she said. “In the
woods
. I need to be back in the city as soon as possible.” She made the proclamation almost defiantly, as if I had challenged her.

“But something’s frightened you. Tell me what it is.”

“I told you. I just don’t want to be here.”

I sighed. Apparently no amount of coaxing on my part was going to dig out the truth.

“Well, let me know if I can help in any way,” I said. She climbed out of the brambles and brushed past me, looking irritated, as if I’d asked for an autograph while she was eating a meal in a fancy restaurant. Though, of course, it didn’t seem like she ever
ate
a meal these days.

I received a much warmer response when I knocked again on Jessie’s door a few minutes later. Wrapped in a white, terrycloth bathrobe, she was blotting her wet hair with a towel.

“There you are,” she said, pulling me into her room. “I’ve been dying for you to get back.”

“Did you just wake up?”

“Sort of.”

“Meaning?”

“I stayed with Scott last night. In
his
room. It’s on the ground floor of the big barn. I snuck back here a little while ago.”

“Ahhh, so you weren’t just eye candy after all. How’d it go?”

“It was pretty damn dreamy. And he’s fun. Though the first thing I’ll do when we get married is make him sell this place and buy a beach house instead.”

It was almost time for my massage, and I told Jessie I’d catch up with her at lunch. I scurried downstairs and tapped lightly on the door next to the clipboard. A woman with an East European accent, who introduced herself as Nina, beckoned me inside.

Nina turned out to have awesome hands, strong enough to tear the head off a chicken. I’d just let myself go limp on the table when I heard what could have only been a shot from a gun. I let out a grunt of anxious surprise and jerked my head up. But Nina pressed lightly on my shoulder, indicating I should lie back down again.

“Don’t vorry,” she said, as another shot filled the air. “Eet’s joost the skeet shooting.”

I realized suddenly how jumpy I felt. It was due in part to our isolation but also to the encounter I’d just had with Devon. Her comment about not feeling safe had unsettled me. Of course, in the end Devon had tried to take it back and blame her tears on being stuck over a hundred miles from a Louis Vuitton store, but I was sure, from the look on her face, that she really
had
been frightened. Someone, she said,
knew
something. If Devon was having an affair with Cap, Whitney may have gotten wind of it. Had Whitney provided Devon with a reason to be afraid?

After my massage, I made my way over to the large barn. As I passed through the glass passageway, I saw that those swollen clouds I’d spotted earlier hadn’t been kidding. Snow was falling. It wasn’t coming down hard, but the flakes were the size of flapjacks.

I expected to find a few people already gathered in the great room, eager for lunch, but only Sandy was there, laying out a feast on the countertop of the island. There were all sorts of antipasti—cheeses, prosciutto and salami, white beans, olives, roasted peppers, onions and asparagus, and an arugula salad. Not wanting to be in her way, I found a spot on one of the couches on the other side of the room and opened the book I’d brought with me.

While I read, Sandy hummed quietly, clearly lost in her work. The woodsy scent from last night’s candles still hung in the air, mixing in a good way with the deliciously garlicky smell of the food. From the windows in the barn I could see the snow gently falling outside. Despite my earlier worry, I finally let myself relax.

It only lasted twenty minutes, though—until Tommy and Tory came up the stairs, the sound of their boots as sharp as firecrackers. They waved perfunctorily at me and then turned their attention to the food on the island.

“Don’t tell me we’ve missed breakfast,” Tory said.

“I can fix you something if you like,” Sandy said without even a morsel of enthusiasm.

“Christ, Tory, don’t make her drag the breakfast back out for you,” Tommy chided. “Just wad up some ham and cheese, stuff it in your mouth, and tell yourself you’re eating an omelet.”

“I don’t
eat
cheese, you know that. Or ham either.”

“Oh, that’s right.” He turned toward Sandy. “Maybe you could scramble up an egg white and smear it on a rice cake for her.”

“Never mind,” said Tory. “I’ll just have juice.”

“Suit yourself. As for me,” Tommy said, turning now toward Sandy, “I’d like a little of everything. Just pile it all up on a plate, my lady—okay?”

Clearly he hadn’t picked up on the serve-yourself-buffet concept. Even from where I sat, I could see how tight Sandy’s jaw was set as she lifted one of the creamy white plates and began scooping food onto it for him. I wondered if she
always
found Scott’s houseguests to be irritating, or was it just this particular batch.

More clomping on the stairs, and then Devon appeared. She’d shed her pea coat somewhere along the way and was carrying a half-empty bottle of water. She ignored me and strode toward the island.

“Hi,” she said to Tommy and Tory. “What’s up?” Miraculously, she no longer appeared the least bit wigged out. And though she’d only said a few words, I detected impishness in her tone.

“So what are we supposed to
do
today?” Tory asked.

“You can hike,” Devon said. “Or you can shoot. Or you can just stay in your room and fuck if you want.” She’d said it playfully, with a naughty glint in her eye. Tory lowered her gaze, clearly uncomfortable, and Tommy just stared at Devon, obviously trying to assess what she was up to.

“Lunch is served, Miss Barr,” Sandy announced from behind the island. She seemed to derive pleasure from challenging Devon about the food.

“I want more green tea,” Devon said.

“Here it is,” Sandy declared, reaching behind her for the basket of tea bags. Peering above my book, I saw that the edges of Sandy’s mouth were turned up in a tiny smile.

“I want the
loose
kind, not the tea bags,” Devon said.

“I’m sorry, we only have the
bags
,” Sandy said, almost unable to contain how delighted she felt to be delivering the news.

“But—” Devon said. You could tell by the expression on her face that she’d just figured out what ploy Jane had played on her earlier.

“Never mind,” she said, clearly pissed. She took a swig of water and set the water bottle down on a side table. “Where’s Cap and Whitney?” she demanded of no one in particular.

“They’re out shooting with Mr. Cohen,” Sandy told her. “They probably won’t be up for a bit.”

Devon turned on her heels, strode toward the stairs, and headed down. A minute later, I tossed my book aside and sprang up from the couch, deciding to catch up with her.

She was still in the foyer when I reached the bottom of the stairs, her back to me. Her hand was stuffed in her brown hobo-style handbag, which was parked on a wooden bench. She spun around in surprise at the sound of my footsteps.

“Why are you creeping up behind me?” she demanded.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I
told
you I was. Isn’t that enough?” She stormed across the foyer and flung open the door to the passageway.

I trudged back upstairs and waited for Jessie. After she arrived we piled our plates high with food and carried them over to the table just as Tory and Tommy departed. Jessie was in a giddy mood over Scott, and kept glancing up in anticipation of seeing him again. He finally arrived, along with Cap, Whitney, and Christian. They joined us at the table and I couldn’t help but note how lovey dovey Cap and Whitney appeared. Richard and Jane each stopped by for food at different points but took it away with them, Richard saying he was finishing up an article in his room, and Jane announcing sullenly that she was going to eat while she watched a movie in the media room downstairs. I wondered if she’d been chewed out about the tea.

Once lunch wound down, Scott said that he’d be leading a short hike himself before the snow got too deep. The others all volunteered to go, but since I’d had my hike earlier, I passed. Instead, I curled up on the couch once more with my book. I checked my BlackBerry again and found a text from Beau. He’d decided to return on Sunday, after all, and suggested we talk later. What did that mean? I wondered. Maybe he really
had
wanted to please me by coming back a day early, but since I wasn’t going to be home, he’d decided there was no point.

At around five I finally headed back through the passageway to the small barn. I was stunned to see how much snow had fallen. It was the heavy, wet kind that sparkled in a million places and turned the woods into a wonderland. At this rate of accumulation, it was hard to imagine we were going to end up with only six inches.

Despite the sluggish feeling the afternoon had produced in me, I told myself that the evening was bound to be more entertaining. We’d all be together at that big dining table, and there’d be less of a fragmented feeling. At about seven fifteen, showered and dressed in tight black jeans and a sleeveless silver sweater, I knocked on Jessie’s door. She was flashing major cleavage and had her brown hair half up in a totally fetching style.

“Let’s go the outside route,” she told me. “The area right outside is shoveled, and I want to see how pretty it is out tonight.”

“We haven’t got our coats on,” I said.

“We’ll run,” she said, laughing.

No sooner were we out the door than Jessie promptly slipped on her butt. We both burst out laughing as she dusted off the smattering of snow from the seat of her pants.

The barn looked spectacular as we pushed the door open. There were dozens of votive lights flickering on surfaces. Sandy and two young female helpers were bustling about quietly in the kitchen area, and Scott, Whitney, Cap, Richard, Christian, and Jane were already gathered on the couches around a huge platter of cheeses, talking animatedly. Everyone appeared to have dressed for dinner, particularly Whitney, who was decked out in a low-cut deep blue dress with sapphires to match on each ear. Snuggled in her deep cleavage was a tiny diamond-encrusted cross dangling from a chain. It seemed positively sacrilegious for it to be ensconced there.

Even Jane was gussied up—in a black spandex dress with her hair pulled back in a curly ponytail. I couldn’t help but notice, though, that her fishnet stockings had a run as wide as a two-lane highway.

“I was just about to send out a sleigh for you two,” Scott proclaimed.

“I insisted we come the outdoor route, and I fell flat on my ass,” Jessie said.

“Well, come right over here and rest it,” Scott said, scooting over to make room for us on the couch.

“You’re not really injured, are you?” Whitney asked, oozing concern.

“No, just my pride,” Jessie said, smiling.

“How about a glass of wine to take away the sting of humiliation?” Richard asked. His dark blue eyes seemed almost bright tonight and his skin even ruddier, suggesting he’d gotten an early start on the evening.

Jessie and I gave our drink orders and then settled into the group. The mood was relaxed, with Scott playing maestro.

Dinner wasn’t served until close to nine because Devon, Tommy, and Tory were so late to arrive—and when they did, both Tommy and Tory looked stoned. Sandy had set out place cards at the table, and I discovered that I had Richard on one side—with Whitney to his left—and Cap on the other, with Tory to
his
right. Tory immediately grabbed Cap’s attention, so I swiveled my head toward Whitney and Richard, who’d guzzled down two G and T’s just since we’d been at cocktails.

“Were you born in Texas?” I asked Whitney, since Richard was studying the contents of his soup bowl with a blurry-eyed expression.

“Yes, Fort Worth. Born and raised. My mother passed ten years ago, but my daddy’s still there—though he’s not in the best of health.”

“What made you decide to write a cookbook—do you have a food background?”

“I do, yes—but not in the restaurant business. I was in TV news in Dallas, and I specialized in health, nutrition, and food.”

“How did you end up in New York?”

“I came up for a foodie event, and I met Cap while I was here through mutual friends. We spent an amazing week together—and I moved to Manhattan a month later.”

“Do you miss Texas? I assume the answer is yes, since you’re writing a book about the food there.”

“I do—and the good news is that Cap and I are planning to buy a ranch near San Antonio so we can at least vacation there. He’s going to like it as much as I do. People just connect better with each other in that part of the world. It’s all about good, strong values.”

Richard had begun to devour the squash soup with boozy concentration, but at the sound of the word
values
, he stopped, his spoon poised mid-air. He turned toward Whitney and eyed her, feigning perplexity.

“Don’t you think values are highly overrated, though?” he asked. “I mean, where have they really gotten us?”