Today's Reading
CHAPTER TWO
No. 30702
She was the kind of person you were just drawn to. You know? When she walked into a room, it lit up. Everyone paid attention.
Addie rolled her eyes at the TV and gave Edgar's soft black fur a stroke. Why did every murder victim's best friend feel the need to say that? It was doubtful that many people were capable of lighting up rooms. She hit pause on Keith Morrison, who was nodding his head along sympathetically, and got up to get a pint of ice cream. She shut the freezer door to find Edgar staring up at her plaintively with his yellow-green eyes. He yowled.
"Ah, sorry, boy," she said. "I forgot your lunch, didn't I?" She opened a pouch of cat food and filled his dish.
She sank back into the couch. The TV went dark for a moment before cutting to a commercial, and Addie caught a glimpse of her reflection in the blank screen. She was wearing a stained Buffy T-shirt, surrounded by unopened moving boxes, and watching Dateline, the murder-mystery equivalent of empty calories. A far cry from five months ago, when she was toasting her engagement to Brian over a Michelin-starred dinner. Though she was pleased that she was letting her hair go back to its natural state: red and curly. For the last three years, she'd been straightening it and dyeing it auburn because Brian preferred it that way.
She switched from Dateline to an episode of Poirot. From empty calories to comfort food. David Suchet was just what she needed right now. The undisputed GOAT. Branagh, Finney, and Ustinov all paled in comparison. She selected "Appointment with Death" and hit play.
Her watch buzzed with a text message from her friend Sarah:
What time are you seeing Martin? I took the day off too.
Addie checked the time.
Yikes, didn't realize it was already noon. In an hour.
Want to meet at our spot after?
Sure, see you soon.
Switching off the TV, she got dressed and then walked downtown in a rush of anxiety. As she took in the confident geometry of the Chicago skyline, she felt a deep loneliness. It struck her that the sense of ownership she once felt for her city was now gone.
Arriving at the Law Office of Martin Statler, she double-checked the address. She had envisioned an enormous glass skyscraper, but this was a narrow nineteenth-century row house, an anachronism wedged between two high-rises. It looked almost whimsical.
The reception area was cozy and filled with plants. Natural light streamed in through a large bay window. A tall man resembling a weathered version of Martin Statler's LinkedIn photo appeared in the hallway, wearing a rumpled suit.
"Ms. Paget?"
"Hi, yes," she said, standing up to shake his hand.
"My sixteen-year-old is going to be jealous that I'm meeting the creator of his favorite game."
Addie looked down, embarrassed. "Well, co-creator," she replied.
"Aha. Precisely the issue we're going to fix," he said, guiding her into his wood-paneled office.
They sat down in a pair of pleasantly worn leather club chairs. A tall plant sat on the table between them, partially obscuring their view of each other.
"Zanzibar gems are my favorite," said Addie, peering through its shiny leaves to get a better look at Martin. Was he dodgy or paternal? She couldn't decide.
"Aha," he said warmly. "A fellow plant enthusiast. I knew I was going to like you."
Cynicism bubbled up inside of her. Was he faking the plant connection to lure her into a raft of exorbitant legal fees? Was his son really a Murderscape fan? Did he even have a son? It was hard to trust anyone anymore.
"I do have a green thumb," she responded flatly, "although I left most of my plants behind at Brian's."
Brian. Saying his name squeezed her throat. Why had she believed him when he said he loved her? How could she have been so brainless, so gullible? Bitterness clenched her heart.
...
