“I don’t think anything, but if you’re getting a funny feeling about it, you should follow your instincts. See if it leads anywhere.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
While Zachary was considering whether they should have coffee, or whether he should ask Kenzie if she wanted dessert—maybe they should share one—a group of men and women in fancy dress went to the front of the restaurant and gathered around a microphone. Zachary’s heart sank.
“We should go,” he suggested. “We’re not going to be able to talk over that—”
“No, no,” Kenzie protested as they started singing. “I love carolers! They always put me into such a Christmas spirit.”
Zachary tried to signal to the waiter for the bill. He needed to get out of there. Kenzie watched the carolers, enthralled. She barely noticed Zachary getting the bill and paying it. Zachary tapped on her arm. “We can go now, Kenzie…”
She looked at him, startled. She took in the fact that he had paid the bill and was rising to his feet, eager to get out of there.
“What’s your hurry, Zach? Relax for a few minutes and listen to the Christmas songs.”
“I really… I really need to go, Kenzie.”
“What’s wrong? You didn’t seem like you were in any hurry before. Where do you need to go?”
“Out of here.” He knew his voice was angry, the words bitten off, but he couldn’t explain it to her. He couldn’t put it into words.
“The music isn’t that bad,” she laughed. Then she studied him more closely. “Is it the music? Is it some sensory thing?”
He made a gesture toward the door. Kenzie got up, and without any further protest, led the way to the coat check where they retrieved their winter gear.
Zachary breathed a sigh of relief. The door closed behind them, blocking out any residual sounds of the music. Kenzie took his hand, watching his face.
“Better?”
Zachary took a few more deep breaths and nodded.
“What was that? Sensory overload? Flashback? Can you explain it to me?”
“No… I just… don’t like Christmas.”
“You don’t like Christmas.”
“No.”
“So, Christmas songs, decorations, movies, cookies, you avoid all of that?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” Zachary gave a little grimace. “Sorry, I didn’t know they did that here, or we could have gone somewhere else.”
“Somewhere else where you might not accidentally hear Christmas music.”
“Uh-huh.” His face was hot, and he was sure it was bright red, but maybe she couldn’t tell in the darkness.
“And where does this pathological fear of Christmas come from?”
“I’m not afraid of it. I just…”
“That was more than just not liking Christmas songs. I saw your face.”
Zachary looked away from her, trying to put some distance between himself and the emotions. “Can I take you home? Or do you want to go somewhere for a coffee?”
Kenzie was staring at him, not ready to let it go.
“It’s just a bad time of year for me,” Zachary said. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t have to ruin our night, does it? Let me take you for ice cream.”
“Ice cream?”
He could see their breaths as they talked. The cold wind was cutting through his jacket and biting his cheeks.
“Uh—hot chocolate?” he amended.
Kenzie laughed, and after a moment of consideration took him by the arm.
Chapter Six
Dave Halloran was the producer of The Happy Artist. He was a large man, balding, with a florid complexion, who always seemed to be panting and trying to keep up with some unseen race. Zachary had talked to him on the phone, and while Halloran seemed reluctant to meet with him, he eventually agreed when Zachary repeated that he had been hired by The Happy Artist’s family, and she wanted him to interview everyone.
In reality, he wasn’t sure how Isabella would feel about him interviewing her coworkers. Zachary’s employer was Isabella’s mother, not Isabella, and the scope of his job was to investigate all avenues to help put Isabella’s mind at ease and help her to avoid a breakdown.
He could justify it to Isabella. If any of her coworkers were jealous of her, they might want to harm her through her son. Therefore, he had to talk to them. But he didn’t think that was really the case. She was their bread and butter, and if she had a breakdown, the show would be canceled. What he wanted was their take on Isabella herself. How she had behaved since her son’s disappearance and death compared with how she had behaved before.
Zachary looked around the room as he sat down. A small office, considering that the producer was the top man on the network’s most popular show. It looked more like the size of an accounting student’s office than a big-shot TV producer’s. There was paper everywhere, reminding him vaguely of Isabella’s studio. Binders lined up on top of filing cabinets, stacks of paper and scripts in piles on his desk, a colorful wall calendar so filled with symbols, arrows, and squiggles that it might as well have been written in Greek. There were framed pictures, certificates, and awards plastering the walls.
“We’re all very sorry for what happened to Isabella,” Halloran said tentatively.
“It’s tragic,” Zachary agreed. “And from what I understand from Isabella’s mother, she has changed since her son’s death.”
Halloran’s eyes were hooded. “I suppose.”
“Is that not accurate?”
“I really don’t feel comfortable talking about Isabella behind her back.”
“This investigation is for her benefit.”
“Still…”
“Isabella’s mother is very concerned for her welfare. If something was to happen to her…”
Something changed in Halloran’s face. “You don’t think she would do anything… to harm herself… do you?”
“I’ve met Isabella once. You’re the one who has known her for several years, who sees her almost on a daily basis. You tell me. What would happen to your viewership if you lost The Happy Artist?”
Halloran’s ruddy complexion drained of color. When he spoke, his tone was flat, but that didn’t fool Zachary, who was more interested in the nonverbal indicators. “Of course, that would be bad for the network, but we do have insurance in such cases, which would give us some protection while we changed our
