“Bea? This is Brian. I just wanted to let you know that the service will be on Sunday.” He gave me the details, and I assured him I’d be there. It was difficult for me to talk to him knowing what I knew, but I managed to hide my disdain. In the corner of my eye, I could see Owen and Sidney leaving, so I waved to them before refocusing my attention on Brian.
“I’ll see you there,” I said, eager to get off the phone. Apparently, Brian didn’t share my sentiments because he held on, saying nothing. Finally, he broke the silence.
“Hey, you never told me what was in the other envelope,” he said casually. “Did you happen to look?” I was immediately suspicious at his innocence. I had given the photos to the cops, and I would bet my life savings that they would have interviewed Brian by now. Was he trying to pump me to find out what I knew? I decided to turn the tables on him.
“Why are you asking me? Didn’t the cops talk to you about it?” I asked bluntly, too tired to be more tactful.
“I’m seeing them in the morning,” Brian said glumly. “How about that? Just what I need—more time with the cops.” My mind raced. So he didn’t know what was in the envelope. Did Mrs. Rodriguez? I had to guess no since I would think she’d tell Brian if she knew. Unless she was planning on hanging him out to dry.
“It was personal,” I said, hedging my bets. Lydia had marked it not for his eyes, which made it personal in my book. “It’s not something I can talk about with you,” I added, trying not to be too rude. I guess it didn’t work because he got snippy with me.
“Fine. It’s not like I was her boyfriend or anything like that. It’s not like she was the most important person in my life—oh no. I’m just some Joe Schmo down the street. Why bother telling me anything?” No, asshole. You were the Joe Schmo who was fucking his girlfriend’s mother. That’s pretty abominable in my book.
“Look, Brian, I’m just honoring Lydia’s wishes. You want me to do that, don’t you?” Oh, how mean of me to play the ‘respect your dead girlfriend’ card, but how satisfying. There was no way he could say disagree without sounding like a total jerk. I waited with bated breath to hear his response. He mumbled something less that complimentary under his breath before saying in a forced jocular tone, “No, of course you’re doing what you think is right.” He didn’t sound like he meant it, though. Telling me that he’ll see me on Sunday—and not sounding too happy about that, either, he hung up the phone. Rafe and I said our goodnights and went up to my room for some after party fun.