Free If It Bleeds by Linda L. Richards

not,” I agreed.
    As he walked away, I found that I liked watching him move.
    He started chatting with a beautiful brunette in a clingy dress. He responded to something she said with a laugh that was more than polite. Just then, he lifted his head and looked straight into my eyes. I flushed at the look and hoped he hadn’t noticed in the room’s dim light.
    I pulled myself together and got to work. He’d finished chatting with the clingy brunette, so I crossed to her and chatted her up myself, knowing her cleavage would be the perfect fit for my column.
    Before long we were joined by a tall blond in a jade-green dress. More cleavage. When a third friend showed up—a redhead this time—I knew I had my money shot. I lined them up near the sign about arts and schizophrenia.
    As I got ready to leave, I looked around but didn’t see the beautiful man in the custom tux. It was unsurprising to me that Prince Charming would show up early and be gone before the evening became full. Story of my life.
    And then he was there, standing right in front of me.
    â€œTrying to get away?” he said.
    I smiled back, asking my heart to be still.
    â€œNot trying. This isn’t my only party tonight. I have to run, but it was nice to have met you,” I said, extending my hand. “I’m Nicole Charles.”
    He smiled at that. “I know who you are, Nicole,” he said, taking my hand. “I’m Reston Marsh.”

SEVENTEEN
    I t was hard, after that, to keep my mind on my job. I tried to connect the dots. Had I ever heard Reston Marsh’s name before? It didn’t ring any bells. How many society Marsh families could there be in Vancouver?
    And Reston Marsh had sought me out, I knew he had. Why? Sure, I was an attractive young woman alone at a charity function. But the place was crawling with attractive women.
    â€œAre you related to the artist Steve Marsh?” I asked.
    â€œYeah. Our fathers are brothers.”
    â€œSo he was your cousin?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œNot close, I guess?”
    â€œNo,” he said. “We weren’t. You might say we lived on different sides of the tracks.”
    â€œOn which side of the tracks did he live?”
    â€œAll that artsy stuff. He had an apartment in Yaletown and a studio at 1000 Parker.”
    I didn’t think Yaletown was the wrong side of the tracks. It also wasn’t a surprise. I’d known where he lived. But the studio? That was news to me.
    â€œYou guys weren’t close,” I said again.
    â€œWhat makes you keep saying that?”
    â€œYou’re here instead of off crying in your beer someplace. I did the math.”
    â€œWell, we weren’t tight, but we weren’t unfriendly. Some bad blood with our dads when they were kids, so Steve-o and I never really hung out.”
    â€œBad blood?”
    â€œSomething about his dad, I think it was. But no one was ever really talking about it.”
    â€œWhat about his girlfriend?”
    â€œCaitlen?”
    â€œSure,” I said.
    â€œWe’ve both known her since school. I never got it, really. She always seemed a cold one to me.”
    â€œIn what way?”
    He looked at me carefully. “Off the record?”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œShe was never quite right.”
    â€œRight?”
    â€œJust this”—he searched for the right word—“distance? She just wasn’t someone you could talk to. Even when we were kids.”
    â€œDid they live together?”
    To my surprise, he laughed. “Oh no. Steve lived in Yaletown.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œBut I’m pretty sure Caitlen had a place on English Bay.”
    â€œThat seems an odd detail for you to know.”
    â€œNot really. Our family has owned the building for decades. I got the idea Caitlen’s family had money problems a few years ago. Steve had to get the family trust to approve her living there. This is turning