Fatal Connections

Chapter 16

Given that Amy had removed herself from her parents' social media circus, I wondered how much intel I could actually get from her. Of course, one never knows which random scrap of information might end up being useful. So I continued.

"In that case," I said. "I don't suppose you know much about their recent online activities. Or even their offline activities."

"Can't help you much there. Once I started college, I had no involvement at all with their business." Not a terribly helpful answer, but one with enough of a defensive edge to set off a silent alarm. Careful, I thought.

"Do you know why they wanted to hire a personal assistant?" I asked, hoping I wasn't pressing my luck.

Her mouth contorted into a knowing smirk, but her eyes radiated incredulity.

"Really?" Amy said. "Another one?"

I smelled blood. "How many have there been?"

She shook her head. "I've lost count. Some have been with them for years. Others couldn't put up with the . . . ." Her voice trailed off.

I considered what she was saying, not at all sure whether I should ask what she stopped short of telling me. "You make it sound like they had—"

"An entourage?" Amy cut me off. She laughed without mirth. "I'd call it a fleet, considering the number of assistants two people thought they needed."

So much for my impression of mouse-like shyness. This girl was opinionated. And not at all shy about expressing herself.

And since we were on the subject, I asked, "How closely did you work with their various assistants?" I scrambled for the exact question that I needed here. "How well did you get to know them?" I added, burying the question of how much their childhood had been like having a job.

Amy frowned. A moment passed. "I don't know about Jaden. My brother. But I didn't get very involved with them. Lupe was cool. She was our cleaning lady. And, of course, I got to know Sasha, and Ingrid, and Astrid."

Astrid Gunderson was the nanny Nick had interviewed. "And what did they do?" I asked, as if I didn't know or couldn't guess.

"They were in charge of the house. Looked after my brother and me when we were too young to live on our own while my parents did their thing."

All three were nannies then. I nodded and made a mental note.

"So, they were cool?" I asked.

"I had no problem with them. Jaden, though. Well, you'd have to talk to him about that."

Jaden was getting more interesting by the minute. So were the nannies.

"My parents have every right to do what they do, but that doesn't mean I want to join the family business," she said, her expression open. She looked straight at me. "I think what bothers me most are what people assume about me based on my parents' . . . occupation."

Was it my imagination or did she struggle to conjure up that last word? I was getting into some potentially sensitive areas here, so I needed to word my questions with the greatest of care.

"What assumptions are those?" I could easily imagine, but I didn't want to make any assumptions of my own.

"People who don't know me figure my life is perfect. That I can go anywhere and do anything, so I'm living the dream." Her face contorted briefly in an expression of combined ferocity and puzzlement but relaxed seconds later. "That makes it hard to actually reveal my true self to other people. It also makes it hard to figure out what I really want. I do know that I don't want to be an internet influencer. I don't like being scrutinized like a specimen under a microscope. But I am trying to figure out my purpose in life."

I nodded and let that sink in. "You did some traveling with your parents when you weren't in school, correct? Did you enjoy that?"

She nodded, but her expression radiated uncertainty. "I went to some really cool places, and I realize I was privileged to be able to do that. But after a while . . . people develop all these expectations . . . ." Her voice trailed off and, for the first time, the strain of her parents' death revealed itself. Amy blinked rapidly to hold back welling tears.

"Don't get me wrong." She choked up, but forced herself to speak. "Saying all this makes me sound ungrateful. It's hard to explain. I don't have the words."

God, I felt like a heel.

"How about your brother?" I said. "Are you guys close?" I had a million other things I wanted to know about their relationship, but peppering her with questions about her brother seemed more intrusive than necessary.

Amy reigned in her sorrow and became nearly stoic. "I think growing up together as the kids of famous-but-not-really people brought us together. But when Jaden turned 15, everything changed. While I was trying to adapt—to be more like the image my parents projected—he totally went out of his way to show everyone he wasn't part of it." She let out a sigh. "Unfortunately, we rarely talk now. I haven't heard a word from him about . . . this. And I'm trying to figure out what to do. How to handle this. It's just overwhelming."

Sensitive subject? I think I've poked that sore spot quite enough.

Switching gears again, I asked, "I'm sorry if this is difficult, but would you mind if we go over a few more details about who worked for your parents? Now and in the past." She seemed uncertain how to respond, until I added, "Focusing on the ones who left under less-than-ideal circumstances, if you know what I mean."

Amy then gave me a laundry list of assistants (mostly from the past and some barely remembered), including cooks, cleaning ladies, a personal trainer, a hairdresser, and two organizers her parents had hired and who either had been let go or quit. She also gave me the name of the Harcourts' first publicist plus the three nannies, two of whom had quit for "personal reasons" and one who'd been fired for reasons Amy could only guess.

My efforts may not have solved anything, but they certainly yielded more possible sources and entries on my flowchart.