Penelope nods, then settles into a seat at the table, motioning for our guests to do likewise. September is informing us about her family’s social standing when Joan bustles in to extend September and Sapphire the courtesy of our beverage service. Sapphire accepts a bottle of chilled spring water. September takes a horrified look at the Mr. Coffee brewer on our side table and waves the offer away.
Penelope smiles at the girl. “You were friends with Megan?”
Sapphire nods.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Penelope says softly.
September, apparently unhappy to be shunted aside, leans in and injects herself back into the proceedings. “Was Megan Walton’s cell phone recovered?”
“You’d have to ask the NTSB about that,” Penelope replies.
September isn’t pleased with the answer. She turns to me and demands to know where Megan’s cell phone is.
I shrug. “If it wasn’t recovered with her body, it’s probably at the bottom of Lake Michigan.”
She’s either bewildered or scandalized by the possibility. “How can that be? Why wouldn’t they try to find it?”
I’m tempted to reply, “Plane crash. Little object. Big lake,” but simply offer up another shrug instead.
“The aircraft wasn’t intact when they found it,” Penelope says.
“But surely they looked?” September presses.
Penelope ignores the question and focuses on Sapphire. “As I explained to your mother over the phone, we will be treating this as a legal deposition, complete with a stenographer and a digital recording of our conversation.”
Sapphire seems a little startled.
Penelope sits back, carelessly throws one leg over the other, smiles, and says reassuringly, “It helps us capture the information accurately. No need to be nervous. Okay?”
Sapphire smiles tentatively and nods.
“Are you ready?” Penelope asks Joan, who presses the Record button on the digital recorder and positions her fingers over her court reporter thingamajig.
“When did you last see or speak with Megan Walton?” Penelope asks once the preliminaries such as date, time, and names are out of the way.
“The July Fourth weekend.”
A teeny lifting of Penelope’s eyebrow mirrors my own surprise. September had intimated that her daughter and Megan Walton were BFFs. How likely is it that best friends, especially best girlfriends, wouldn’t see each other for over two months?
Penelope is on my wavelength. “Were you both in Chicago over the summer?”
“I think so.”
Penelope leaves it there and asks, “What did you wish to share with us about Megan?”
September steps in. “Would Megan’s phone be usable if they found it?”
Sapphire rolls her eyes. “For God’s sake, Mother, I told you they don’t need Megan’s phone to see her social media feeds.”
September shoots her daughter an indulgent smile and then looks from me to Penelope and back again. “Everything these kids say or do or even breathes is on social media nowadays. Did you know?”
I nod. Hell, even I know that.
Penelope refocuses on Sapphire. “What did you want to tell us about Megan?”
“Have you seen her social media accounts?” Sapphire asks back.
Penelope shakes her head. “Megan’s accounts were shut down immediately after the accident.”
“That’s not surprising,” September says with her mouth twisting into a spiteful grimace. “That girl was the epitome of the spoiled high school rich bitch who grows into an irresponsible party girl. Megan didn’t give a damn about other people. You have no idea how that little witch simply brutalized poor Sapphire during high school. It’s just like her mother to hide the evidence by shutting her social media accounts down.”
This is some sort of high school Mean Girls vendetta? Please, God. Spare me.
September’s face morphs from spiteful to hateful with her next outburst. “If someone had put that girl and her bitch of a mother into their places years ago, perhaps none of this would have happened.”
This dates back to Mommy’s high school trauma? There better be more to this than September hoping to stick a knife in an old rival.
Sapphire seems to be embarrassed by her mother’s bullshit. She ignores September and leans in to say, “There’s something from last spring you probably need to see.”
“What’s that?” Penelope asks.
“Megan was bragging about bribing her way into whatever she needed—a qualification or something—to fly the planes her uncle’s tour company uses.”
Even sleepy-headed, hungover me is electrified by this revelation.
Penelope sits up straighter and asks, “Megan said she paid a flight instructor to get her rating for the Cessna 210?”
“Is that the kind of airplane Megan was flying when she… she crashed?” Sapphire asks.
“Yes, it is,” Penelope replies softly.
A veil of sadness washes over Sapphire’s face.
“Do you remember who else might have heard Megan talk about that?” I ask.
“Oh, everyone,” she replies.
“Was this at a party or something?”
Sapphire shakes her head at me. “Megan posted about it on social media.”
My spirits sink. All record of Megan’s social media has long since been scrubbed by her family. Sapphire leans across the table to Penelope with her cell phone in hand, taps the screen a few times, does a finger swipe or two, and presents the screen for inspection. I inch sideways to look. Apparently, not even the Walton family has the clout to erase all record of their daughter’s social media presence.
“I’m in!” exclaims a social media post under a photo of a smiling Megan Walton. “Uncle Jonathan had to pay the asshole instructor a boatload of money to get him to pass me, but I’m rated on Cessna 210s! Yay! Come fly with me on Windy City Sky Tours starting next Thursday!”
Penelope gets Sapphire to text screen shots of a couple of dozen pertinent posts, befriends her or whatever they call it on this year’s hot social media app, and thanks her for coming in. I’m happy to usher September and her daughter out of the office. What we’ve just heard may well put Billy and Rick in the clear. Great news! I’m almost as happy to see the last of September Larkin.
My good spirits evaporate by the time we set about returning my office to a respectable executive suite.
Penelope notices. “What’s up, partner? You look like a ghost just
