Satan’s Affair is tonight, and we always have the best fucking time. I know tonight won’t be any different. I’ll finally have a night where my headspace isn’t filled with dangerous men and a murder gone cold.
Or maybe a particularly dangerous man I haven’t seen in a week.
“That haunted fair you go to every year?” she asks derisively. “I don’t understand why you like going to those things. I swear there’s a mental condition associated with finding enjoyment out of horror.” She mutters the last part, but not quiet enough for it to clearly transmit through the phone.
Pesky radio signals.
I roll my eyes. “Was there a reason you called, Mom?”
Daya snorts, and I shoot her a glare.
“Yes, I wanted to know what your plans are for Thanksgiving. I expect you and Daya will be visiting?”
I suppress the groan working its way up my throat. Daya and I are like a married couple and split holidays between our families.
She has a large family, and they’ve always welcomed me with open arms. Their get-togethers are loud with laughter and games, and I die of bliss every time I eat their food.
While my family is small and stiff. My mother has mean cooking skills, but she lacks the warmth and comfort, and I usually end up going to bed early and leave in the morning.
“Yep,” I confirm. I roll my lips, contemplating doing something very stupid now that I have her on the phone.
“Hey, uh, Mom?”
“Hmm?” she hums, a note of impatience laced in her tone.
“Can I ask you a few questions about Gigi’s murder?”
Daya’s eyes widen almost comically, and she mouths, “What are you doing?”
She knows as much as I do that Mom might not take well to us investigating Gigi’s murder. But I have to ask.
She might have some valuable information, and getting in an argument with her might be worth it if there’s a possibility of learning something new.
She sighs. “If it’ll convince you to move out of that place.”
I don’t deign her a response to that, letting her believe what she wants if it gets her talking.
“Did you know Grandpa John’s best friend? Frank Seinburg?”
She’s silent for a beat. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time,” she says. “I didn’t know him personally, but your Nana spoke of him.”
“What did she say about him?”
She sighs. “Just that he was around a lot up until Gigi was murdered, then he kind of disappeared.”
I roll my lips. “Do you know about Grandpa John’s gambling habits?" I push, incapable of keeping the hope out of my tone. Unfortunately, she detects it.
“Why are you asking, Addie?” she deflects with a tired sigh. She’s always weary when it concerns me.
“Because I’m interested, okay? I met Frank’s son,” I admit. “Mark. He talked to me about Gigi. He remembered her, and he brought up some interesting things about John’s gambling.”
I don’t admit that I’m investigating her case myself. I’d prefer she assumes that we happened to have a connection and spoke on it, nothing more.
“How did you even come into contact with a man of that social standing? God, Addie, please tell me you didn’t sell yourself to him.”
A fly could buzz into my mouth, and I wouldn’t notice. My mouth hangs open, and all I can feel is hurt.
“Why… why would you think I’d ever do something like that?” I ask slowly, the heartbreak evident in my tone. I can’t keep it hidden—not when my mother just accused me of being a prostitute.
She’s silent again, and I wonder if she realized she went too far. “Well, then how did you meet him?” she finally asks, deflecting a question I’d really like to know the fucking answer to.
I sniff, deciding to let it go. It doesn’t matter why she thinks it, just that she does.
“Daya has friends in high places. We met at a dinner party and he said I looked familiar, so I told him who I’m related to, and he connected it from there,” I lie, working to keep my voice even. Daya quirks a brow but doesn’t comment.
It feels like an arrow has been shot through my chest—the sensation tight and sharp.
“Your Nana said that John put them in a dangerous situation with his gambling, but not too long before Gigi’s death, it all seemed to go away. He stayed out late and came home short-tempered just to fight with Gigi about whatever he was pissed off about that day.
“Frank was a sponge for their relationship. With their marriage failing, I think he was put in the middle of it a few times. Nana spoke of one incident sometime before Gigi died where she and Frank got in a fight. Nana didn’t remember much about what happened, just that Frank had grabbed Gigi and pushed her on the ground and said something about a betrayal. That’s all I know,” she explains stiffly, as if reciting a verse from the Bible.
That was her apology. And though the tightness in my chest hasn’t receded, I take it anyway.
I mull that over, curious as to why Frank was so upset because Gigi was cheating on John. Maybe because Frank was often put in the middle, he grew tired of it. John’s behavior was steadily declining, and it seemed to start when Gigi’s attitude changed towards him after she began falling in love with Ronaldo. It’s possible Frank blamed Gigi for John’s behavior and the fact that he was losing his friend to a dangerous addiction.
“Just one more question,” I barter, sensing her need to hang up. She called to ask about Thanksgiving dinner and got roped into an honest conversation with her daughter. “Do you remember Nana going up in the attic all the time? Do you know why she did?”
“Yeah. That was where she’d go for alone time when I was a kid. I don’t know the reason why, she had only ever said that’s where she went to think. We were never allowed up there. Why do you ask?”
My heart plummets to my stomach as an unwanted thought intrudes.
I don’t feel comfortable telling her what I found. So instead, I shrug and say, “I thought I remembered her going up there a lot, too, but couldn’t be sure. Just curious.”
“Okay, well, if that’s all, I have to cook dinner for your father. I’ll text you the details,” she says.
“Bye,” I grumble before hanging up the phone.
“What did she say?” Daya asks softly, but I know what she’s really asking. What did my mother say to make me look so damn wounded.
I scoff. “She thought I might’ve prostituted myself to Mark.”
Her mouth drops, but she quickly picks it back up. “That’s terrible, Addie. I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, her face twisting with empathy. Daya’s always had a wonderful family, but she’s been around long enough to understand what growing up with my mother is like.
I wave a hand. “She’s said worse.”
“What did she say about Frank?”
I reiterate everything Mom told me, and when I’m done, she just stares at me with wide eyes. I got the same reaction after I told her what I found out from Mark about Ronaldo and John.
“All I know is Gigi started a lot of shit by falling in love with Ronaldo,” I finish on a sigh.