ROUGH DRAFT of Loser || WlW

Twenty

It's pathetic to be so terrified of a building.

Or, at least, that's what I keep telling myself as we pull up to The Mariana where a glorified tuna melt costs forty-two dollars and fine wines are the only beverages on the menu.

"I'm not dressed for this." My voice shakes as I peer out at the docked sailboats.

"We'll be quick," Brittany promises as a short man in a suit opens her door. She hands the keys over and we walk down a stone path to double glass doors.

Brittany has that edge. The same edge she gets every time we're walking into one of her plans to solve Claire's murder. She's alert, picking up every detail that might spark a lead to the investigation.

She did some digging and found out Claire had been flirting and potentially cheating with some guy who practically lives at The Mariana. She thought it might be a good lead. Maybe the guy killed her to keep her quiet about the secret relationship.

"They're staring at me," I whisper as we pass an older woman and her husband. The woman rolls her eyes and her husband makes a disapproving noise in his throat.

Brittany stops and looks at them. "Oh, Mr., and Mrs. Henry." She holds a hand over her heart and moves her sunglasses to her head. "How lovely to see you two again."

The couple smiles as Brittany gives each of them a petite hug, not touching either of them. It's like rich people have an entirely different rule book on how to interact. I've never seen my father give someone a hug that didn't knock the breath out of them with sheer force.

"Especially you, Mr. Henry." A dangerous smirk plays on the corners of Brittany's lips. "We missed you at last week's poker night."

The gray-haired man swallows and loosens his tie as his wife's eyes snap to his face.

"Yes, well–" he starts.

"I thought you did go to poker night last week," the woman interrupts.

"Well, dear–" he starts again.

"We'll see you around. Tell Meredith I said hi." Brittany waves and we continue to the restaurant.

"What was that about?" I ask, half jogging to keep up.

Brittany shrugs. "Mr. Henry's been cheating on his wife for years."

"Really?" I ask.

"Everyone in this town has secrets. Some people are just better at hiding them." She leads us down a long hallway toward a room with glass panes for walls. The waves ripple around us, as customers clink their glasses of wine.

"Brittany?" A shocked voice comes from a few tables away as a girl walks toward us, holding her arms out for a hug. "Brittany!"

The girl squeals as they do that half-hug thing. "Oh my gosh, I haven't seen you in ages!" She pulls away but holds Brittany's shoulders as she begins rambling through different questions about life, high school, until finally, "Oh my gosh, I heard about your sister. How are you holding up?"

I can't keep up with how fast she's talking. I'm too focused on her fancy clothes and sparkly eyeshadow. How long does it take for her to look like a life-sized Barbie? Her brown hair has been straightened and bleached with streaks of blonde. Her eyelashes are uncomfortably long and her blush is a shade too dark. I miss Brittany's answer but am shocked back to reality when the girl says, "Yeah. I noticed you let yourself go. Are you even wearing eyeshadow? Is it because you don't have to compete with Claire anymore? That must be nice."

Brittany's lips pull into a forced smile. "It's not," she says, shaking her head. "It's not nice."

The friend makes a dramatic pouty face. "Aw, sweetie." She pops her lip gloss. "Well, come have a glass of wine." Her eyes flick to me. "You can bring your new friend." She motions for us to follow.