The sun was at the zenith attracting suspicious frowns and glances as I strolled with fleets of pedestrians down hot Soliara City streets basting in humidity and sunshine.
Nothing uncommon about the heat. Most of the world manages to go on like normal, I called Candra to meet for lunch downtown at peak lunch bustle on Frons Street with sparse but desperate hope for a patio table. Pass a strip of dozens of empty patio tables, almost like normal, people either stare suspiciously at (but not right at) the sun or sit inside and avoid it.
"Is Franco meeting us at the restaurant?" I ask.
Never can tell if they're together. Candra resists the heat, not a drop or so much as a thin sheen of perspiration, white dress looks cool, open toes in high heels, red hair up off her neck in a red ponytail massive, must weigh at least two pounds. She was made for roasting sunstroke climate. I'm soaked about to die of sunstroke.
"Think so," says Candra, not glancing up at the sky.
"Thanks for meeting me. I'm avoiding going home."
"Do they know who's responsible yet?"
"No." I not they know. I know who's responsible yet. Pause for traffic, car street intersects pedestrian street, transit and a few remaining cars get to go. Don't think about who's responsible. Stream of traffic trickles to a drip and pedestrians flood over roads again. We flood in with (never against) the tide but south on Laurea Avenue is much more placid, like Candra's face when she's this pensive. "What are you thinking?" I ask, breaking her pensive process.
She shakes her head, tamed mane disagrees, red tail whipping left, right, left, as if she hadn't realized she was deep in thought and she really doesn't want to tell me what she's thinking about. "Nothing. It's nothing. I shouldn't say anything."
She really doesn't want to tell me, but I beg. "Please, Candra. Tell me what you're thinking."
"All right," she says, she looks from side to side (red tail whips left, right, left) at the other pedestrians and lowers her voice so no one will overhear. "It's just ... I always wondered why the orphan girl — Aurelian Nova — moved in with the Potestas family. And now this happens." Don't think about who's responsible.
"I don't follow." My jaw clenches, hard to speak through. Not sure I want to know any more, but it doesn't stop me from asking. "Why wouldn't we take in an orphan after her every living relative was murdered?"
"You're right. I just couldn't help but think a girl with her charm could have slipped in with anyone. She needed someone to take care of her, but she had her pick, didn't she? Why the boss, why not some handsome engineer?"
"Maybe because she isn't manipulative like that. She's not what you think she is."
"She's not?" says Candra innocently.
"I don't think so." Don't think about — "I guess if she has me fooled she's doing a good job." Or not. It might not take much to have me fooled.
Candra stops in the tracks of her open toed heels. "Stephen, what if she picked your father to cling to not because he's rich and powerful and can provide for her without the pesky bonds of marriage, but because she's after something else."
"Like what?"
Candra shrugs and leads me on. Toward the restaurant. Then she says, "Maybe she wants to hurt the boss. Maybe she thinks he was somehow involved."
"Involved in what?"
"In the tragic end and downfall of the Dasilva family. I know how ridiculous that is, but does she?"
I try to break in again but the sound dies in a grunt at the back of my throat when she goes on the offensive: "I'm not blind. I know you're infatuated with her." She smiles, reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder, doesn't trip on her heels and keeps walking. "But just because you like her doesn't mean you need to blindly trust her. I could be wrong — I don't really know her or what happened — but as soon as I heard her story I became suspicious of how she's entangling herself with the Potestases. Maybe I'm missing the greater plot, but I think Nova Dasilva is as much a suspect as anyone else. Don't let her fluttering eye lashes and smiles fool you. Contrary to popular belief, beauty is a virtue entirely independent of innocence. Or at least contrary to poetry."
I'm so proud of myself when I turn to her and point out, "The same could be said about you, beautiful." And I'm impressed I didn't get angry over Candra's accusation — after all, she might be right, don't think about it — I'm so sure she only brought it up because she cares. "If I thought like everybody else I'd be suspicious you were trying to play me as much as Nova."
Candra says, "Sometimes I think as long as a single person plays the game, we all have to. Otherwise we lose."
I grin at her so proud of myself and say, "So you admit you're playing. Looks like I'm getting better at this."
We reach the restaurant where Franco sits on a patio amid a hundred empty tables and chairs. Inside is packed. Inside would be magically cooled.
"I saved us a spot!" says our friend. He gestures with wide arms as if he's beaten off warring clans of business executives to secure a table and he's the champion. "Not sure why no one wants to eat under Sol, it might be about to start tap dancing. Careful, though — don't look right at it." He's laughing, Candra and I sit, a waiter pours us water and Franco says thank you.
"I ordered for you, smokey ribs for the man of the hour, and the house salad for the lady."
"Man of the hour?" I echo.
"Just a salad?" echoes Candra.
Franco shrugs. "You want something different, go for it." He throws the menu across the table at her and rounds on me. "And you," he pokes air at me with his finger, "are the man of the hour, maybe the year — not the decade, though, don't get cocky — for that scheme you orchestrated. That's right, I know all about how you connived to kill your father — who doesn't? Clever, too bad it didn't work."
"Franco, that's not funny at all!" Candra shouts at Franco before I have a chance. Hope I'm not coming between them, Franco's my best friend.
The food arrives. "How can you even joke about that?" I ask. Candra sniffs at her salad, smells my smokey ribs and takes one.
"Relax," says Franco. "I have no evidence. But just imagine — Exequi Ilan Potestas in his grave and Exequi Stephen Potestas head of Invernali, head of Sunyin Aura's campaign for the presidency, married to the ravishing Aurelian Nova Dasilva. If someone did take out the old man, you should at least give out a reward. And buy yourself a new wardrobe."
I'm scowling at my lunch, I bite, chew and swallow meat that tastes like dust dusted in smoke and molasses sauce. "You keep enjoying the scenarios you invent, Franco."
"Who do you think is behind it then?"
"I don't know," I say. Candra groans and looks up to the sky, rolling her eyes and her whole head. "Candra has a crazy theory about Nova Dasilva, but I think it's bigger than that. The stranger who prevented the assassination — Cri— Julian Somnare," I catch myself without knowing really why, "asked a lot of questions about the company. He says President Gaia Solin is done."
Franco sputters, like he's choking on his water. He punches his chest twice and says, "Someone wants to kill Invernali's head executive for one vote on the company presidency? You can't think of anything more to be gained from Potestas's death than taking away one single opponent?" He chuckles to himself and shoves a forkful of food into his mouth, chewing, and says, "You have more to gain than that, Aurelian."
"Maybe Nova Dasilva does too," Candra points out, won't let it go.
"Sure," Franco allows. "Tons of people have a plethora of things they could gain. Wealth, for example."
"Revenge," says Candra.
"Another rung on the ladder."
I suggest, "An end to his horrible parties," and laugh in spite of myself.
Franco chuckles and Candra's head shakes when she giggles, "That's too dark. Stop it, Stephen."
They calm down and we proceed to eat quietly. I can't eat, humor aside the heat is obnoxious but not as obnoxious as Franco. I let Candra take my food, lean back in my chair. "Well, I should stop avoiding home. Maybe the boss needs me for ... something. I don't know. Thanks for taking me away from that for a while ... although you're awful, Franco."
Stephen Potestas said, "It felt good to laugh about it."
Candra and Franco nodded agreement, and Stephen stood and walked away, back up the street.
"How's our man doing?" Franco asked.
"It's terrible," said Candra. "Just as in love with Lady Soulmate as the first time he looked into her beady, power-hungry little eyes."
Her tone became cold but petulant. "Why is Nova still alive?" She pounded her hand on the table, then she looked down at the newly chipped polish on her forefinger. "I need her taken out, Franco. Today. It's the one thing I asked for. I can take care of the rest myself." When she looked up, Franco sat stiff and uncomfortable in his seat.
"What is it?" she said.
He looked side to side for potential eavesdroppers before he leaned in to speak quietly. "We tried to fulfill your request. Three times. But unfortunately, it's become more difficult than we anticipated. With everything being done for this campaign, Nova Dasilva's death needs to look unrelated — and accidental. It would have been best to have taken care of her weeks ago, but ..." he trailed off, afraid of her reaction.
"What? What is it?"
"First, we ended up needing her. When it became clear Stephen wouldn't support the assassination attempt, we needed Nova to connect the assassins to the router instead." He shifted uncomfortably and took a sip of water to stall.
"And after that was taken care of?" she pressed.
"Everything I tried failed."
Candra was starting to fume, but she was reining it in — otherwise she would have more chipped nails by now. "What does that mean?" she asked quietly. If she hadn't whispered, she wouldn't have been able to keep herself from shouting.
"Every trap I laid for her ... she just walked away, not a scratch on her. It had to look like an accident, it was carefully yet cautiously planned, and certainly if it was just one time it would mean I made a mistake, but there's no explaining it. I tried again last night. And this morning. A chandelier dropped on her head and she skipped out of the way and ran off, didn't even think twice about it. She has no idea someone's trying to kill her, she's not even trying to dodge the attacks, her escapes are effortless. And if she's not dead by ..." he ignored the sun in the sky and looked down at his watch, "about this time, she must be immune to poison, too."
"Oh?" said Candra.
"I put some in her drink last night."
Candra laughed through her anger. "I suppose there's too little time left to blackmail Justin Marius to get what I want. It's too late, it'd be easier for him to kill me. I've already done everything he needed." She shuddered and took a deep breath, had herself under control for a second but then she pounded the table again.
"The attempt on Potestas failed, so he may still need her, but only for now. Be patient. It might not be today, but you did everything we asked, and we will reward you with everything you want: Exequi Potestas's job in Invernali, the executive place on the board to go with it, and his son wrapped securely around your delightful finger."
He avoided looking at the chipped nail polish, but he couldn't avoid the murder in her eyes.