Thorne’s exposé was always the most entertaining, so Varla felt he needed to go first.
Okay.
As long as Gambrielle wasn’t falling apart I had no qualms. As Thorne plugged his USB into the right port, Reyes cocked his head toward me and whispered, hissing “Does she even like you??!!!”
“Not for now.” I muttered through the corner of my lips.
“What if she bats for the other team, hmm? Have you thought about that?” He eagerly tapped my shoulder in a desperate attempt to get my attention. “You might be putting us through all of this hell for nothing!”
I shot him a deadly gaze. “Not. Now.”
“I’m just sayin…”
“Say less.”
Before Thorne began his entertainment, he turned to face his audience and pushed his long, blonde hair away from his face. With his attention solely on Gambrielle, he flashed one of his charming, boyish smiles, and said, “Hey Gambrielle, my name is Thorne Walsh, and I’m from Venice, California.”
Reyes’ voice was back at my ear, “Why does he sound like a contestant on The Bachelorette?”
He made a valid point.
“I like surfing, and I hate shirts.” Thorne chuckled. Varla whistled for him to show his washboard abs but he ignored her, keeping his full attention on the newbie in the room.
Now it was my turn to cock my head in Reyes’ direction. “I’m going to need a cigarette for this.” He slapped a lighter and cigarette in my hand and I wasted no time lighting up. Taking a long draw of the sweet nicotine, I snapped my fingers and gestured for Thorne to wrap-up his speech. I was ready to show Gambrielle what the boys of Hawthorne were made of.
Fourteen
Gambrielle
“Breaking news of the hour: the boyfriend of murder victim, Stacey Hurd, has been arrested and charged with suspicion of murder. This comes four days after Hurd’s body was found abandoned in a Los Angeles warehouse. Reporter Tamara Poe has more. Tamara?”
A woman appeared on the flat screen, her perfectly manicured pointer finger directing attention to the brick warehouse behind her. “That’s right, Dan. I’m here at what used to be the most popular floral shop in town, Floral Bay Creations. It’s hard to believe but two years ago this building was the go-to leader for wedding bouquets; women across the world traveled to this location to see the hundreds of arrangements created weekly by Jan Bay.”
Murder at an floral shop?
Dear Lord…cold chills went down my spine.
“Stacey Hurd, an aspiring ballerina from San Francisco, was found hanging from a closet on the second floor. There was no suicide note, and her family says there was no indication of any mental illness. They say she was a quiet soul who spent most of her free time in a dance studio.”
An older woman, who I assumed was Stacey’s mother, appeared on screen. “She had everything to live for—which was why we found it so odd that she had taken her own life. I just couldn’t wrap my mind around what happened. Even after the detective told me his findings, I shook my head and said no, not my Stacey.”
I took a generous sip of my soda and forced a smile at Thorne, who was reciting each word from memory. Omg…my soda caught in my throat and I coughed—which earned me a soft pat on the back from Laces.
This was a bad idea.
Really bad.
I looked back at the screen. A photo of a ballerina with long, black hair, and a trim waist faded in and out. “Everything was going fine until she met him.” Her mother said.
“By him, Stacey’s mother was referring to model, Thorne Walsh. The two had met in early 2016 and became inseparable, with Stacey often telling her mother that Walsh was the one.”
“He had the looks, money—um, a nice condo in the city.” Stacey’s mother said, wiping away a tear. “Anything she wanted, he gave her.”
“That included a full ride to California University, a flashy Mercedes, and her own credit cards to spend to her heart’s desire.” Reporter Tamara Poe said. Images of shiny cars, stock footage of a university campus and candid shots of Stacey toasting at an elaborate birthday party entered the screen. “So what went wrong?”
I waited with baited breath for Tamara to explain, hoping and praying that maybe there was some kind of misunderstanding. Maybe they were doing this to me as a joke? But then the clip cut to Thorne sitting in a well-lit room with a reporter named Carlos. “Did you kill Stacey Hurd?” he asked.
Thorne rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. “Define kill.”
My breath caught.
“Did you put a noose around Stacey’s neck and push her off of a chair?”
“No.” Thorne’s voice was very even as he spoke. “Did I say things to her to promote the suicide—Yes.” He didn’t bat a lash. “I’m not going to be polite and mince words when someone I love says, Thorne, I’m pregnant with your best friend’s child, we’re going to get married...”
The reporter held up his finger. “So she cheated, but did she deserve to die for it?”
Thorne shrugged. “Did I deserve to be cheated on?”
“It’s not the same.” The reporter argued.
“I beg to differ. She put me through hell, and now she’s in hell.” Thorne crossed one leg negligently over the other and smiled back at the reporter. “The only reason I am being thrown shade is because I’m being honest. Honesty scares people.”
The reporter quickly clapped back, “or maybe you’re crazy?”
Thorne didn’t miss a beat. Flashing a brilliant smile he nodded, “Maybe, I guess that’s for the court of popular opinion to decide.”
With each passing minute I became morally torn about Thorne’s past. Stacey—God rest her soul—had been living the high life from model, Thorne Walsh. She had everything, except what she really wanted, his best friend. And now she was six feet under because of her stupid decision. Wait, that’s awful to say, isn’t it? My features screwed up as I looked at Varla, who was throwing back chips like they were going out of style.
“Pssst.”
She leaned toward me.
“I don’t know how I feel about this. I want to feel pity for the poor girl but…” I trailed off and looked back at the screen, which now had a photograph from Stacey’s funeral being shoved in Thorne’s face by the reporter. Thorne waved him off like an insect and the entire room broke out in laughter.
“That is the best part.” Reyes caroused as he clapped his hands. “He’s going to suffocate you with the funeral YOU PAID FOR Thorne!”
Hmmm… I chewed on my lower lip. “What am I supposed to be feeling right now?” I blurted out. Thorne paused the clip. “I guess what I want—no, need to know—is do you feel um, the slightest bit bad for pushing her over the edge?” Yes, that’s a good way to put it. He had driven poor Stacey to madness until she couldn’t take it anymore.
Thorne and Laces exchanged glances, and then Laces gave him permission to explain—which I found out technically wasn’t allowed, but they were making an exception tonight.