Page 60 of Pied Sniper

“Still asleep.”

“This is Grace, Jonathan’s girlfriend,” I said. “Grace, this is Tony Delgado. He’s been looking after Jonathan.”

Grace proffered her hand and shook Delgado’s. “Thanks, I appreciate it, but I can take over from here.”

“Be my guest,” said Delgado. “He’s right through there.” Delgado pointed towards the boardroom and Grace broke into a jog, leaning over Jonathan to check on him.

“He didn’t wake up at all?” I asked Delgado, handing him the sandwich we brought. I already consumed mine in the car.

“About time,” said Delgado, breaking into a grin as he unwrapped it. “Not for a moment. He’s using the table for a pillow ever since you left.”

“I think we should wake him,” said Solomon. “Whatever he knows about Tiffany, we need to know too.”

“I’m starting to wonder if he knows anything,” I said. “According to Grace, it’s not like he and Tiffany were ever really together. He might know nothing about her private life.”

“I can’t see him drinking himself unconscious just because they got pissy with each other over a stupid stunt like a fake relationship. I want to hear what he knows.”

Before I could agree, the door banged open behind us and a tall woman with unnaturally blonde hair walked in and struck a pose. With one hand on her hip, she pointed at me with the other. “You are Lexi Graves,” she said, the authority in her voice daring me to defy her.

Not that I would since she was correct, but I didn’t quite want to give her the satisfaction, so, I said, “Maybe.”

“Who the hell are you?” said Solomon.

“You!” yelled Grace, behind me.

“I am Flavia!” said the woman in a raised, offended voice.

“How did you get past security?” asked Solomon.

“I said someone was breaking into cars in the parking lot,” said Flavia. “As soon as he left to investigate, I walked up.”

“Go check on Jim,” said Solomon to Delgado. “And be sure to talk to him about security.”

“Sure, boss.” Delgado bit off a chunk of his sandwich as he brushed past Flavia. Surprisingly, she didn’t flinch.

“What do you want?” yelled Grace, appearing in the doorway.

Flavia leaned forward, putting her finger to her lips and shushing her. Grace blinked and backed away.

“You reallyareFlavia,” I said, squinting at her. She was taller than I thought, and older too. Her pink stilettos and white pantsuit demanded attention. A large purse swung from her elbow. “You look different.”

“I’m trying blonde this week.”

“But why are you here?”

“To help you find Tiffany, of course!”

“But you hate her!” I’d seen plenty of their spats online and read enough on the gossip pages to know that Tiffany and Flavia nurtured a long-running beef with each other. I wasn’t entirely sure how it started, but every few weeks, one of them committed a new infraction against the other and the whole fight started all over again. There were several public scenes that featured them screaming at each other. On one particular occasion, a hand-slapping fight occurred. The gossip magazines and blogs lapped it up.

“Pffft,” snorted Flavia. “We’re friends. The fighting stuff is strictly for social media. Everyone loves an ongoing frenemy conflict. It’s a great storyline for both of us.”

“Is nothing about Tiffany real?” I asked Grace.

Grace shrugged. “Not even her fingernails.” She jabbed a finger at Flavia again, “But that slap a month ago felt hella real! You bitch!”

“Sorry, sweetie,” grimaced Flavia. “You simply got in the way of my swing. Tiffany was supposed to duck it. But you were great. Very believable.”

“It stung like a bitch! You get why I’m leaving now, right?” asked Grace, flashing a look at me.

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