Page 67 of Her Dark Lies
No, for me, the invasion of their private world, that’s the best part. I think ultimately, they would be horrified to know what I know, and that makes me...happy.
Have I always been this way? A voyeur? Possibly. I’m sure you imagine me as a delinquent child peeping through keyholes and lingering outside of cracked doors. I was never so obvious, so crass. There was a fabulous store down the street from the protective services offices that catered to the private eye Hollywood set. The owner took a liking to me, allowed me to test out his wares so he could have firsthand samples to show his clientele. I had a deft hand, and my mentor explained things well. It wasn’t long before said clientele wanted to know how he got such excellent compromising shots. So, he pimped me out. Not in the sexual sense, but for my skills at getting in, placing the cameras, and getting out unnoticed. No one pays attention to a child playing happily while waiting for their mother to finish with whatever shopkeeper or home visit they are on. Oh, you think they do, you hear stories all the time of people being taken to court for negligence, but trust me, so long as nothing seems amiss, no one gives a second glance. They’re all too busy wrapped up in their own world.
As I got older, I started researching on my own. And then tinkering. Taking the cameras apart, putting them back together. Stripping out the unnecessary components, so they were smaller and smaller. Easier to place. Easier to hide.
My mentor was my first client, naturally. He spread the word.
I got my first round of VC money when I was in college. I got the second round right before I met Jackson.
I didn’t need anything else after that. I had the man, the ring, the education, the career, the reputation.
But I liked to watch.
It was dirty, and it was wrong. But nothing could cure me of that desire. It lived deep within me. Nothing else could fill me, not food, not drink, not love. Nothing could stop me.
Not even death.
39
Ching Ching
We head down to the breakfast room. Though smaller than the expansive dining room we ate in last night, it is straight out of Downton Abby—a long, graceful space with a double tray ceiling, crisp white wainscoting and crown molding, and an antique sideboard covered in silver chafing dishes. Bottles of Dom Perignon and jugs of freshly squeezed orange juice are chilling in a massive silver tub. A veritable display of meats and cheeses line the sideboard: bacon, prosciutto, salami, mortadella, ham, slices of Swiss and cheddar and mozzarella. The chafing dishes hold more treats, these of the eggish variety: cheesy scrambled eggs, eggs Benedict, hardboiled, spinach frittata; fragrant, crumbly quiches. The usual European selections of tomato, yogurts, muesli, and Nutella finish out the choices.
Jack has a grin for everyone, and I feel my own shoulders drop a notch. Jack will know what to say, what to do. He always does.
“Good morning, good morning,” he says heartily. There is a babble of conversation—teasing jokes about our late arrival, comments about the house and the weather. More people are filtering into the room, and Jack is consumed with greetings, hugs, handshakes, slaps on the back. I see the Crows standing at each entrance, unsmiling. Malcolm catches my eye for a moment then glances away. Do I look guilty of my sin? Does he look guilty enough for me?
I am presented to a few new-to-me friends, and a few I’ve met before. The lawyers, Maggie and Henry, are there, plates already full, with special smiles for me. Elliot glides in, and Amelia follows, slower, still looking out of sorts. Poor girl. Jack gives Elliot some serious side-eye. They aren’t getting along, and I’m not entirely sure what’s happening.
Tyler, the youngest of the Compton boys, enters the room from the courtyard doors, his dark blond hair damp from the rain. When he hugs me, I swear I can smell the sea.
“Sis. How’s tricks?”
“Tricks are...good. I’m a little overwhelmed, but good.”
“You’ll get used to it. Mom and Dad like things to look grand for guests but when no one’s around, we’re all just piled together in our pajamas, drinking coffee out of paper cups and fighting about who has to go fetch thecornettifrom the baker by the beach.”
“That sounds idyllic. What the hell is a corn...thingy?”
Tyler smiles. “It’s like a croissant, basically. Hey, I brought my boyfriend, I hope you don’t mind a plus one. Claire, this is Peter Mayfair.”
Peter Mayfair also has floppy dark blond hair that’s wet from the rain, and though they are the same height, nearly as tall as Jack, Peter has broader shoulders and a more chiseled jawline, complete with a deep dimple in his chin. He is devastatingly handsome.
“Good to meet you. Any friend of Tyler’s is a friend of mine.”
“Thanks for letting me crash the party.” Peter loops an arm across Tyler’s shoulders, gives his new boyfriend a smile. Tyler beams back.
I know Peter is a new addition because we talked to Tyler on FaceTime three weeks ago and he was very single and bemoaning the fact that he’d be flying solo at the wedding. It’s good to see him with someone. He’s pushing thirty and has been alone too long, in my opinion. He works insane hours in difficult conditions, and he deserves some peace and happiness. And boy, does he look happy now.
Jack joins our conversation. “Ty. And Peter! How wonderful to see you. I didn’t think you were going to be able to get away. Claire, Peter’s one of our doctors in the Brigade.”
“Well, at least I know if anything happens there are two doctors in the house.”
There is a small commotion in the hall and my mother and Brian enter. Mom’s looking rough, slightly green around the gills, eyes red and puffy. When I hug her, I can smell the must in her breath, leftovers from the night before, even though she’s brushed her teeth. Great. She’s sporting a hangover. What’s happened to get her started drinking again?
Brian hugs me, and he smells like soap. I don’t catch the scent of alcohol coming from his pores.
“I was getting worried that you weren’t going to make it. How are you guys? How was Rome?”
