Page 98 of Love & Other Disasters

“He’ll still put up a defense.”

“He disappeared the day Jordan started asking questions, suspicious.”

“Purely circumstantial.” Elle plunged her fork into the container of potato salad. “I assume they’ve traced the money to Melvin, and that’s the nail in the coffin. But, that type of man will always fight. He’ll admit no wrong doing and act like everyone is out to get him.”

“That’s just disgusting. I can’t believe I ever trusted him. Why would I ever trust any man again?”

Elle raised her eyebrows. “Good ones exist.”

“You’re not talking about…”

“Nope, he’s scum and should rot.” There was something different in Elle’s tone. It took Violet a minute to place it.

“Why are you lying?”

“I’m not.” She took a large bite of her sandwich.

“Yes you are. Why the change of heart?”

Elle shook her head, pointing to her full mouth.

“What’s happened?”

She drank then said, “Maybe you should talk to him.”

“Something’s happened. You threatened to castrate him if I even thought about talking to him.”

“He still crossed a line, but, if I discovered one of my employees embezzled… I’d probably investigate my entire staff just to be on the safe side.”

Violet opened her mouth, but couldn’t find words and closed it again. She reeled from Elle’s near 180. She was holding something back. “What do you know?”

“Nothing,” Elle insisted. “But, it might not hurt to talk to him about leaving.”

Violet growled. “You’re so irritating.”

J.P.’s phone lit up with alerts on Melvin’s arrest. He waited for elation to hit. The moment of a shaggy, gray-haired Melvin with an overgrown beard in handcuffs was what he’d expected to put an end to this. In his mind, it would have culminated with him saving the company and celebrating with Violet. But, in reality, he read all of the articles while slumped in a chair in his mother’s room.

She watched an episode of The Price is Right, calling out numbers to the items shown, and insulting the intelligence of the contestants. Today, she was out of bed and dressed in the pants from a velour tracksuit, and a large T-shirt that read, “Grannies do it better.” J.P. refused to ask where that came from.

“Well, for that price, that coffee maker better wash itself. Who spends that kind of money on a coffee machine?” she asked.

“There are people who buy artisanal coffee drinks every morning. After a few homemade drinks, the machine would pay for itself,” he said, absently scrolling on his phone.

“The world is full of morons,” she looked him over. “What’s wrong with you today?”

“Nothing. Why would you think that?”

“You’re particularly moody looking,” she said.

Moody looking? “What does that mean?”

“You look like someone gave you a puppy, then took it away, and kicked it.”

He shook his head. “Just stuff with my old work this morning, and it reminded me of something else.”

“A girl,” she said.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

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