The Wedding Guest

Chapter 40

Milo’s seven a.m. text asked me to be at his office half an hour before the ten o’clock with Garrett and Brearely Burdette. I arrived at nine fifteen, found him hunched at his keyboard. He waved me to sit, kept typing.

An empty box from a West Hollywood baker and the crumbs that went with it littered his desktop. Ditto for a grease-splotched take-out carton from a pizza joint near the station. A mug filled with cold coffee sat perilously close to the edge. Toss in an unsmoked panatela, smudges under his eyes, black hair worked wild by nervous fingers, sweat stains in the armpits of his shirt, and a tie knot yanked down to mid-belly, and he’d been there for a while.

“Morning,” he said. “For what that’s worth. Went over the wedding list again, no overlap with the condo list. Doesn’t eliminate anything with all those owners shielded by corporate bullshit, so I searched those to see if I could find a link to Academo. The geniuses at Google failed me.”

He nudged the mug to safety, looked inside, shook his head. “You have breakfast?”

“I’m fine.”

“You always are.”

“When did you get here?”

“Six thirty but who’s keeping tabs?” Wheeling his chair around to face me, he examined his Timex. “Forty minutes, let’s strategize.”

I said, “Nothing I say is going to teach you anything.”

“Try me.”

“Don’t scare them away.”

He nodded. “I called at eight to confirm. Garrett answered and said, ‘Of course, sir,’ but he did sound like someone with a gun to his head.”

“Any indication why he got in touch?”

“Didn’t ask. Tell you one thing, he stands me up, I’m going after him big-time. And his parents. They all know something and they’re going to give it to me.”

I said nothing.

He said, “Fine, I’m posturing. Apart from not freaking them out, what’s the strategy?”

“Don’t know that the concept’s relevant.”

“Why not?”

“Too many unknowns.”

He rolled his shoulders, then his neck, a great ape chafed by a zoo cage. “I’ll ask it this way: What if it was you doing the interviewing?”

Collecting crumbs, he sprinkled them into his wastebasket. Creating a delicate beige rain that he studied with weary but sharp eyes.

I said, “I’d treat it the same as meeting a new patient. Keep things friendly, do very little talking and a lot of listening.”

“Psychological warfare.”

“That’s not exactly how I’d put it—”

“Fine, emotional manipulation. And if he tries to leave, I chain the goddamn door.”

He’d returned with a cup of biohazard coffee from the big detective room downstairs when his desk phone rang.

“Really... be down in a sec.”

Knotting his tie and smoothing his hair, he said, “Ten minutes early, ol’ Garrett is eager.”

I said, “Maybe you won’t need the chain.”

We walked up the hall where a couple of interview rooms sit.

He opened the door to the first, flipped the Interview in Progress switch. “Wait here, no sense overwhelming them with a welcome party.” Winking. “Psychological sensitivity and all that.”

I entered to find that he’d prearranged the furniture for The Soft Approach: table positioned in the center, rather than shoved into a corner to make an interviewee feel trapped. The chairs were also socially configured: three of them placed around three sides.

Like friends dining out, rather than two against one.

No equipment was visible but this room had been retrofitted last year with invisible audio sensors and video cameras. Flip the switch, it’s a go.

I’d barely settled when Milo stepped in toting a fourth chair. Following him were Mr. and Mrs. Garrett Burdette.

The newlyweds were both adorned by subtle tans and stylish clothes. For the bride, a white silk blouse with billowing sleeves, black skinny jeans, and red crocodile stiletto pumps. I’d never seen the groom duded up but a few days in Italy had changed that: bright-blue linen shirt, white gabardine slacks, brown basket-weave loafers, no socks. An impressive dark stubble beard sparingly flecked with gray lent Garrett Burdette’s face some grit and gravitas. So did black-framed Le Corbusier eyeglasses and a gold pinkie ring set with a tiny carved cameo.

A matching stone three times the size dangled from a gold chain nesting in the hollow of Brearely Burdette’s smooth neck. Her lush, dark hair bore lighter tints than at the wedding. The hand not enhanced by a diamond ring led to an arm graced by half a dozen gold bangles.

Milo said, “You guys look great.”

Objectively, the two of them did. But they hung their heads as they shuffled in, gripping each other’s hands, waiting passively as Milo arranged four chairs on four sides.

“Sit wherever, Mr. and Mrs. B. Make yourselves comfortable.”

The look that passed between the couple said that was impossible, but they cater-cornered from each other and held hands atop the table.

“Coffee? Tea? Coke?”

“No, thanks,” said Brearely Burdette. Hoarse voice, low volume. Slight redness around the sclera of her eyes suggested a tough morning. As she stroked the top of her husband’s jumpy hand, his Adam’s apple took an upward elevator ride before plummeting downward.

“Okay, then.” Milo shut the door. As he sat near Garrett, Garrett sucked in his breath and looked at Brearely.

She said, “It’s okay, honey. You know what to do.”

As if she’d coached him. She probably had.

He blew out enough air to flutter his lips and turn them rubbery. Scratching his stubbly chin, he said, “All right... this is something I’ve been thinking about. I wasn’t sure what to do so I waited to see if it would stay on my mind. It did. I told my wife. She convinced me.”

“Sweetie-doll,” said Brearely, “you would’ve done it anyway. You know what’s right.”

She gave his cheek a quick, light peck.

He said, “Thanks, babe — Lieutenant, I probably should’ve come forward earlier. I guess I just — all the stress, who goes through something like what we did?”

Brearely nodded.

Milo said, “Unbelievable.”

Garrett said, “So we needed to get away. Like I told you, a honeymoon now wasn’t our original plan, we really were going to wait. But then things... piled up. My firm said okay. So.”

Shrug.

Milo said, “Italy was good?”

Brearely said, “Amazing.” To Garrett: “You chilled, you had time to think, you figured it out, here we are.”

“More like you figured it out, babe. You gave me moral clarity.”

“No, doll.” She squeezed his hand. “I just listened. You knew. You know.”

Her smile swung around, encompassing three sides of the table. Every man in the room graced with a share.

“I suppose,” said Garrett. He pressed his wife’s palm to his cheek.

She said, “You opened yourself up.” The smile expanded. “And you also found out you’ve got a great beard. Look at my man’s macho pelt, guys. Just a few days.”

Milo said, “Impressive.”

Garrett gave a mournful look. “Yeah, that’s me, Mr. Macho. Sorry, Lieutenant, no sense delaying. We’re here because we might know something. I might. About what happened. Or maybe not, you be the judge.”

Milo sat back and crossed his legs.

Garrett said, “What we said initially was true. We don’t know her... the victim.”

“We even went over the invite list,” said Brearely. “Even though we knew she definitely wasn’t on. Then we remembered. Someone who almost was going to be there. And when you said Poland.” Heaving chest. “Wow.”

Garrett said, “We’re talking about a friend of my sister. Amanda, not Marilee. She asked us to add him to the list. Last minute. It was annoying, a hassle, we didn’t want to do it but Amanda persisted and got all...”

“Obnoxious,” said Brearely.

Garrett bit his lip. “Amanda can get like that.”

Milo said, “Persistent.”

Brearely said, “Obnoxious and pushy. Who does that at the last minute? The table plans took forever to figure out, we used two separate computer programs. Then five days before, she comes up with that?”

Milo said, “A friend of hers.”

“Some kind of genius,” said Garrett. “She called him The Brain.”

Brearely said, “You’re obnoxious, who cares what your IQ is?”

Milo said, “A friend.”

“Or maybe more like a mentor,” said Garrett. “An academic type.”

I said, “Type?”

“She said she met him at the U., he was brilliant, had done endowed research” — deep inhalation — “in Poland. I said sounds like he’s way older than you and she gave me one of her looks.”

“The death-ray stink-eye,” said Brearely. “We’ve all been on the receiving end. Especially Garrett, he’s so nice to her, she thinks he’s a sucker. But he’s learning. It’s like a learning curve.”

Kissing Garrett’s cheek again. She turned to us. “She’s got anger issues, which she showed when we said no way, it’s five days. Then his mom said couldn’t we do one thing for Amanda, she has no friends.” Sigh. “So we said okay and I had to go at the table charts again thinking OMG what the F am I going to do?”

Garrett said, “Amanda’s different. Always has been. So when she said there was someone she wanted to invite, a guy, even though it was... a little late — I figured maybe she’s turned a corner.”

“Crazy late,” said Brearely, eyes flashing. “A humong-o hassle. But you explained, doll, and what did I say?”

“You said okay, babe.”

“I said sure. And then what happened?”

“Then I went to Amanda and said no problem, give me his name and address—”

Brearely broke in, “He goes to her, I’m working on the chart, you’re not going to believe this, guys, she says, hold on I have to ask him if he wants to come. I mean, think about it, now it’s four days, she’s made demands, pulled a hissy fit, and she hasn’t even asked him? Now poor Garrett has to come and tell me, and yes I kind of freak out.”

Garrett winced, remembering. “You were great, considering.”

Brearely laughed. “I wasn’t fine, I lost it. I mean I’ve been rearranging tables trying to fit some nerd in, he’s probably going to come dressed all wrong, and now she’s telling Gar we need to hold on? So, yeah, I pulled a monster freak.”

Pouting at her husband. “I took it out on you, doll. I’m sorry.”

“No big deal, babe.”

“Because you’re the sweetest.” To us: “You know what it’s like. You guys work with pressure. Don’t you sometimes just say enough?”

Milo and I nodded.

Brearely turned back to her husband. “I was a total bee-atch and you didn’t deserve it but water through the bridge.” Back to us: “Then it got worse. Tell them, doll.”

Garrett sighed. “I didn’t hear from Amanda so two days before the wedding I texted her and asked what the story was.”

“ ’Cause I was pressuring him,” said Brearely. “ ’Cause my mom was pressuring me. Tell them what happened then, Gar.”

“She didn’t answer my text,” said Garrett. Abashed, as if divulging a creepy family secret.

“Two days before,” said Brearely.

“I tried calling,” said Garrett, “got voicemail. Finally, I got hold of her and she made like it wasn’t an issue anymore.”

“No, no, tell them exactly what she said.”

“She said he didn’t want to come. The venue was too — it wasn’t right for him.”

“No, no, no, the exact words, Gar.”

Garrett looked down at the table. “He said it sounded crass.”

“Crass,” said Brearely. “Try to do something a little different and you get ripped apart. He’s a crass ass!”

Tears filled her eyes. “We wanted it to be special. Instead...”

Garrett said, “We made it work. In Rome. That trattoria. All the things we saw.”

She sniffled. “Yes, we had a beautiful time. Our life is going to be beautiful forever.” Shaking her head, she mouthed, Crass.

I said. “The guy sounds like a jerk.”

“A jerk and an asshole and an effin’ shitty-butt-wipe,” said Brearely. “So now I’ve got to take him out of the table arrangement and move people around again. Like those Sudoku things Garrett does. One number doesn’t fit, it effs up everything else.”

Milo said, “You never got a name.”

Dual head shakes.

Brearely: “We didn’t think much about it. Then you guys came to see us at our apartment and you mentioned the Polish thing and I said, ‘Isn’t that weird, honey? Same as that guy your crazy bitch sister hassled us about.’ ”

She squeezed her husband’s hand. “Then I saw your face. You got it right away, like you always do with that big brain of yours. You looked so freaked out, I had to give you my best shiatsu back rub.”

Batting her lashes. Garrett blushed around his stubble.

Milo said, “Did Amanda give you any other details?”

Garrett said, “No, just what I told you.”

I said, “An academic.”

“She didn’t use that word, I guess I assumed it because she met him at the U. and if he’d done endowed research I figured he had to be someone relatively accomplished. My sense is she was a little awed, which is why she tried to arrange it in the first place.”

I said, “How’d she react to his turning her down?”

Garrett said, “She didn’t react at all. But that’s Amanda. Her... she’s different.”

“I’ll say,” said Brearely. “We’re going nuts on the tables and she doesn’t get it. Unbelievable. That girl is all about herself.”

Garrett winced.

I said, “The Polish thing. Do your parents know?”

Brearely said, “They know because I told them. Her. Sandy. So she’d know what her daughter was putting me through. She wasn’t very helpful.”

Garrett said, “You know weddings, guys.”

I said, “Supposed to be the happiest time, but.”

Brearely said, “But some people act like butts, so it’s anything but happy.”

Garrett said, “What led you to the Poland thing?”

Milo said, “Can’t get into it. So you talked to your parents about it.”

“I called my mom right before we left for Italy. I figured they should know, in case Amanda was involved in something over her head. I’m more concerned about that now because since the wedding she’s totally cut herself off from all of us. Not responding to my or my parents’ texts or calls. My mom called the apartment where she lives and the manager says she’s there, he sees her coming and going on her bike.”

Something Bob Pena had chosen to withhold. Cherry tomatoes rolled along Milo’s jawline. I began working my phone.

He said, “So that’s a big change for Amanda?”

“Not really,” said Brearely. “She’s never even close to friendly.”

Garrett said, “But normally, she would answer my parents. And me. Probably.” Sigh. “She’s a lot younger. Marilee and I were closer in age, we did things together. Amanda probably felt left out.”

Brearely said, “It’s not like you didn’t try. She was always in her little cocoon.”

No argument. Garrett looked ready to cry. “I’m just worried about her. That’s why I wanted to come in and tell you everything. The Polish thing. I’m hoping it’s nothing. I don’t even know what it means to you.”

Milo stood. “Thanks for coming in, you did exactly the right thing.”

Brearely Burdette beamed. “Told you they’d appreciate it, doll.”

Garrett Burdette rocked back and forth. “Great.” Sagging with each movement like an inflatable sock-me doll wounded by a pinhole leak.

Milo said, “Anything else?”

Synchronized head shakes. When they rose, her arm looped around his waist and his rested atop her shoulders.

Milo held the door open and they exited, walking in step.

For all their differences and the horror that had marked the onset of their life together, they’d achieved the kind of mutual ease you see in long-term couples.

Out in the hallway, Garrett stopped and bit his lip. “I really am worried about Amanda. The way she’s cutting herself off. And if this Polish guy is...”

Milo said, “Is what?”

“A bad influence. Trying to dominate her. I mean that could get bad. Right? Could you talk to her?”

Milo said, “We’ll find her and have a chat.”

“Thanks so much, sir. Thanks a million.”

“Thanks even a google,” said Brearely. “That’s like a gazillion. I thought it was just a search engine.” Nudging her new husband. “He taught me that.”