might not have actually been alive. But then she hung a right into a bank parking lot.
âHere, check my iPhone tracker,â Joe instructed me. âIâve got Holly on there, itâs the icon at the top right. Just click it, and itâll tell you exactly where she is. And it better not be the Gucci store.â
âSheâs still on Palm Avenue,â I told Joe, peering at the screen, where a small circular icon on a map showed Hollyâs location.
âItâs part of a manic episode brought on by Howard being away in Indianapolis,â Joe sighed, shaking his head. âThatâs why sheâs been working out so much, too.â Joe paused at the stoplight before the causeway and looked at me with a concerned expression under his jaunty straw hat.
âSheâs in the middle of a full-Âblown Howard meltdown,â he said, then gunned the car when the light turned green. âAnd this time, I donât think sheâs inventing a problem.â
I was truly upset to hear this. And worried for Holly, especially since she seemed so manic. Sheâs naturally skinny and hates exercise, so when Holly starts working out excessively, thereâs something seriously bothering her. I mean, once in a while, sheâll put on a tennis outfit and go to lunch in it, but thatâs mainly because she looks good in a short white skirt. She doesnât actually pick up a racket or anything.
Everything had seemingly been going well in Hollyâs marriage over the last six months, or at least Iâd thought. She and Joe had even created a âman roomâ with brown walls, a huge antique desk, and a pool table for Howard at their house in Bryn Mawr, since Howard didnât share her obsession with airy, all-Âwhite and pale-Âgray modern decor. And, understandably, he wanted one small space in their nine thousand square feet of house where he could drink a glass of red wine without fear of leaving a ring on a white marble table. Holly had also received a gorgeous antique ruby ring from Howard as a getting-Âback-Âtogether present, after which they had thrown a non-Âdivorce party at their newly renovated house.
Then Howard had actually taken time off, which he never does, and theyâd spent August in Tuscany. I mean, how bad could things be?
âHolly had a Google freak-Âout last week,â Joe said, turning left onto the Dixie Highway, which had a charmingly run-Âdown, old-Âtime Florida look to it. There were high-Âend antiques stores in low-Ârise shopping centers, and next to the fancy shops, I noticed a few consignment stores. There were also, I noticed, quite a few liquor stores.
âGoogle Images, actually, was what triggered the Palm Avenue shopping,â Joe clarified further. âAnd the obsession with working out.â
âWas there a picture of Howard doing something, you know, illicit?â I asked, worried.
Howardâs truly devoted to Holly, or so Iâd always thought. He never gets riled up by anything she does or suggests. Take their trip to Italy: When Holly bought out the row of first-Âclass seats behind theirs so that her new leather goods would have their own seats and wouldnât get smooshed on the flight home, did he say anything? Not at all. He just smiled and dutifully toted boxes of Valentino sling backs and Miu Miu leather satchels to seats 3A and 3B. I guess the shoes and bags hadnât wanted to ride in coach.
âHowardâs been out in Indiana for almost a month now on that garbage-Âcompany takeover,â Joe reminded me. âHe told Holly he couldnât come down here to Florida last weekendâÂwhich heâs been doing every Friday since weâve been hereâÂbecause the company heâs buying in the Midwest was doing a major charity event that Saturday. It was like Habitat for Humanity.
âOr something,â Joe added vaguely, waving his hand dismissively at