Page 73 of Scripted for Love and Poison
“We believe it was you who poisoned Jason,” Sol said. Saying those words out loud had been much harder than she’d anticipated.This is the last time she got herself entangled in one of Luke’s cases. She allowed herself a microscopic glance at him and Divya, who were perched atop stools at the restaurant bar, pretending to be a couple of influencers, judging by the amount of selfies they were taking. Luke was disguised in such a way—long, wavy blond wig, Hawaiian shirt, and colorful shorts—that it was difficult even for Sol to recognize him. But she felt better by having them so close, and she knew that even if it looked like they weren’t paying attention to her,they were.
“We?” Emily questioned.
“You know my partner is a private detective,” Sol said. “He and his colleague were hired by Jason’s employer to investigate what happened to him.”
“I know,” Emily said, no longer the amenable, nice woman. “Marquee Media, of course, called me to let me know. I found it strange that they’d chosen a couple of out-of-towners, to be honest.”
“They have a knack for Hollywood affairs, even if they don’t always advertise it,” Sol said, unable to disguise the pride she felt when she said those words. “We know that you and Jason got hired by the same publication years ago and started working first as entertainment reporters and then as critics. We don’t know exactly what happened, but you stopped being a contributor. I have my suspicions.”
“Which would be?”
“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say layoff,” Sol said.
“Easy bet in this field, but yes,” Emily said. “But so that we’re clear, I’ve admitted to having been let go, not to having killed my pitiful husband. I’m still not sure what exactly you think you know.”
“Understood,” Sol said. “But I think your pitiful husband was even more pathetic than we give him credit for. I did some reading this morning, everything I could find online from your writings back in the day and from Jason’s articles. You were funny, down-to-earth, compassionate, and a joy to read.”
“Thank you,” Emily said. Sol knew the easiest way into a writer’s heart was to show them you appreciate their work. But she’d been sincere in her words about Emily’s writing.
“But Jason was a self-important blowhard who didn’t seem to care if all the words in his reviews were comprehensible,” Sol continued. “Of course, he was the one to keep the job.”
“I don’t have to tell you how this profession works,”Emily said, and she really didn’t. It made some kind of twisted sense that the better, more straightforward writer had been the one to lose her job.
“Did you try to find another job after that?” Sol continued, and she would normally have never asked someone that. She was big on not pressuring people into having to feel purposeful all the time. But in this case, it was pertinent.
“I did,” Emily said, and Sol could hear it in her voice—she hadn’t appreciated the accusation. “I’m sure you know I didn’t necessarily need the money.”
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t need the thrill, right?” Sol said with a genuine smile. “What I can’t understand is why, at some point, you started doing Jason’s writing. I couldn’t help but notice how his clippings got much better after you no longer published under your own byline.”
“He certainly could use my help,” Emily said, not even trying to deny the fact she’d been doing Jason’s writing for him. It was almost as if she needed to tell the story, and Sol was giving her the chance to do it. “I found the thrill again, even if it was under Jason’s name. It was very Zelda Fitzgerald of me, if you want. We were in love, we were married. Everything was a partnership, even our writing.”
“So what happened?” Sol asked, and she really wanted to know.
“The idiot got tired,” Emily said, and there was so much exasperation and disappointment behind those four words. “You know how it goes. Writing is so draining. And even ifIwas doing most of the actual writing, he said he was getting tired of pitching and fighting his editors every single day.”
“So he switched into an editor position.”
“And he thoroughly hated it. And it wasn’t as if having to deal with someone else’s writing wasn’t draining as well,”Emily said. “Of course, I told him that was going to happen, but by then he’d stopped listening. He’d stopped loving me too.”
If, when she had boarded a plane headed to Los Angeles almost two weeks before, someone would have told Sol that the trip was going to force her to confront her past relationship and divorce multiple times, she would have laughed at them. She’d been that good at avoiding recalling anything that had to do with David. But there she was, hearing some words that ringed too close to her not-so-distant past life.
“My second ex-husband also managed to stop paying attention to an incredibly annoying degree,” Sol recalled. “I think that tipped the scales for me and helped me fall out of love with him.”
“Oh, I fell out of love, alright,” Emily said, seeming almost offended by the insinuation in Sol’s words.
“But you didn’t want to be the one who left him, because that would have meant he’d get to keep part of your money,” Sol said, and again, she dreaded that conversation and promised herself never to offer her services as an amateur sleuth ever again. Let the professionals deal with the could-be killers who also happened to be extremely sympathetic.
“Can you blame me?” Emily inquired, and Sol didn’t want to have to answer that question. “But you have it wrong. You believe this whole carnage was because of money. It wasn’t.”
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“Why don’t you tell me what it’s about then, Emily,” Sol said, purposely using Emily’s name to create rapport.
“A few days ago, you didn’t know my name,” Emily told Sol. “Even if we’ve met at several work functions. For years, I’ve been eitherJason’s wifeor simply no one because people couldn’t remember me. You certainly didn’t.”
“Oh, come on! Don’t measure anything by my inability to remember a name!” Sol replied. “I’m the fucking worst. I’m a self-centered, selfish brat who gets upset if her hairstylist is running late or if she can’t secure the hottest restaurant reservation in town.”
“Yet you still get people to like you and remember you. You have friends. You managed to get yourself a boyfriend who looks like the love child of Daniel Day-Lewis and Monica Bellucci!” Emily said in an almost reproachful tone.
