“The other saying I can’t stand,” said Diana, leaning to her in a conspiratorial manner, “is, ‘It could have been worse,’”
The bark of laughter that sprang from Elizabeth’s lips surprised even her. “People tell me, ‘It could have been worse,’ and I say, ‘Yes, but it could have been better.’ But they still insist it could have been worse. Why do they do that? How would they know?”
“They don’t. And you know something?”
Elizabeth angled her head, waiting to see what she would say next.
“They don’t have to. They never did and maybe they never will. They offer you the words they think you want to hear—or, at least, the words they think they should say, and then they go home and forget. But when you go home, you take it all with you.”
Elizabeth eyed her with suspicion. Was this some technique reporters use to coerce their subjects into giving away their darkest secrets? Would she awaken tomorrow to find the blackness that tainted her soul spread across the morning’s first edition?
As if recognizing the look, Diana smiled. “You’re skeptical. I don’t blame you. I’m a reporter, after all. I’m here to get a story. I make no apologies for that. But I’m not interested in blame or how the police are doing with the investigation, I’m more interested in what you’re going through.”
“That’s very kind,” Elizabeth told her without emotion. She didn’t think it was kind at all. The woman was there to do a job. She’d freely admitted it herself. This was money to her—end of story.
“I understand more than you think. Not so long ago I wrote a story on a woman whose daughter was born with Aicardi Syndrome.”
“Oh, really,” Elizabeth replied in the same dull tone. “I must confess, I don’t know what that is.”
Diana hugged her purse in under her arm. “No, of course not. It’s not common. When the mother told me about her daughter, she said she was the most wonderful child. She was so good, slept like an angel, never cried …” Again her smile broadened. “That alone should have been a warning, but of course, being a first child, she had no idea. Lauren. That was her daughter’s name. Her beautiful little Lauren.”
Elizabeth wasn’t the slightest bit interested in yet another person’s pain. It’s what she lived with night and day. It’s all she’d heard about in all the support groups and Mothers Coping with Down Syndrome groups and God only knew what else. One depressing story after the next. And rather than benefiting from the experiences of these people, Elizabeth had always left their company feeling overwhelmed and powerless.
“When Maggie first went to the doctor,” Diana continued on, “well … that’s when it all started. MRIs, EEGs, CT scans. She once told me that one minute you’re a mother, the next you’re a walking encyclopedia of medical terms.” She clutched her purse in front of her, smiled again. “I’m sure you’ve heard all this before.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “That’s very sad.” But a voice in her head was saying, Here we go. Whatever this reporter had intended, all she’d managed to do was annoy Elizabeth. However sad the story, her own pain would be diminished in the face of someone else’s, turning it into another form of “It could have been worse.”
Perhaps sensing she had lost the connection between them, Diana glanced at her watch and quietly said, “I think we should go. We’re due at the hospital in forty-five minutes and the traffic’s dreadful.” She turned towards the door, then paused and added, “But I think we’d better find your shoes first.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DAY TWO: 6:17 AM—KELSEY
Kelsey found Maria Puentez’s house sitting two doors from the corner of Washington Avenue in a run-down backstreet in Lorain. She pulled the Impala to the curb, shut off the engine, and surveyed the street.
Much like the place she had stayed in the previous night, Maria’s house was a clapboard single-family residence with a covered porch. This one, however, was painted a dirty pale pink that somehow made the house look even more run-down than it really was. A slatted railing ran the length of the verandah with a gap in the middle where four steps led up to the front door. Out front, a rusted blue Ford Taurus sat on the crumbling driveway like an exhausted animal waiting to die.
The place looked deserted. Kelsey got out, locked the Impala and paused briefly to scan the street. This was still L21 territory. The last thing she needed was another run-in with Frankie. She had been lucky so far. Pushing that luck wouldn’t be smart.
She tucked the car key into her pocket and walked quickly up the driveway, ducking her head briefly to check the front seat of the Taurus. A pair of turquoise shoes with spike heels sat on the passenger’s seat. That alone told her she had the right place.
Still with one eye to the street, Kelsey headed down the side of the house and stood on tiptoes to peep through the windows. There were no signs of life inside. Casually checking out the houses on either side in case a neighbor was watching, she went to the back door and tried the handle. It was locked. A neighborhood like this, she’d have been surprised if it wasn’t, but she had to try.
She returned to the front of the house, quietly moved up the front steps and cupped her hands to the window. The interior was in darkness but she could make out the shapes of furniture and the highlighted outline of a door leading to the rear of the house. After checking the street again and finding no one around, she reached across and tried the door handle. No surprise, it was also locked. Four glass panels were set two up, two down in the top half of the door, and behind them hung a grubby lace curtain. She took her glass-cutter out of her pocket, etched a circle in the glass panel above the handle, then tapped the disc she had cut. It let out a soft crack, then fell inwards onto the floor and shattered on the wood floor.
Kelsey froze. After a silence of around five seconds, a woman’s voice from somewhere inside the house called out, “Who’s there?”
Kelsey put her hand through the hole in the glass and reached around to find the key had been removed and she couldn’t unlock it. Sighing heavily, she stood back, took careful aim at a point just below the lock, and kicked the door. The entire quarter of glass she had cut the circle from shattered and fell out, while cracks radiated throughout the panes next to and above it. But the door held fast.
“Who is it? Who’s out there?” the voice called. She now recognized it as Maria’s. She sounded frightened. She was probably alone in the house. Kelsey stood back, took aim at the door and kicked again. This time two panes of glass shattered and fell onto the floor with a splintering crash and Maria screamed. But the door remained solidly in place.
“Jesus H.,” Kelsey groaned. She couldn’t have made more noise if she had brought a shotgun and blasted the windows out. Standing back, she gave the door a third kick and the latch finally gave and the door wobbled inwards, sending the final pane crashing to the floor with the others. She stepped inside with glass crunching beneath her shoes, and looked around. The place stank of stale cigarette smoke and overly sweet perfume.
She was just moving toward the rear of the house when Maria appeared, framed in a doorway, flinging a heavy robe around her shoulders and hugging it to her waist. Her hair was tousled, her makeup smudged into two black smears down her cheeks. Eyes still puffy with sleep, she looked first to the door, then the glass on the floor. “What the fuck are you doing?” she shrieked. She recoiled briefly at the sight of Kelsey’s bruised face, then gathered herself. “Get out. Get the fuck out of my house,” she yelled and pointed at the door.
Kelsey stayed where she was. “Is this your place?”
Maria ignored her and swept across to inspect the damage to the door. “What? Are you fucking loco? Look what you done! You broke the fucking door.”
Kelsey crossed to the bedroom Maria had emerged from, opened it and leaned in. “Ange told me where to find you. You live here?” she asked her in disgust and closed the door.
“When did Ange tell you this?”
“Ten minutes ago when I called her.” Kelsey crossed to a bookshe
lf, took down a book that turned out to be something written in Spanish, then put it back.
“Ange got no right telling you shit! Now, get out!” Maria shouted and pointed to the door again.
“Tell me where Matt is.”
“What? You smash my door and you think I’m gonna tell you where Matt is? You are fucking crazy.”
“Hey. I got an idea. How about you call him, tell him how I’m gonna knock all those beautiful teeth of yours clear down your throat, and ask him to get over here and protect you. Sound like a plan?”
“You are crazy in the head. And you know what? They gonna lock you up and throw away the key. The police know you took that kid. They don’t know nothing about Matt.” She pursed her mouth and hugged the robe in tighter. “Me and him will walk away free with ten million dollars. And you know why? Because you are too stupid to know when to leave, is why.”
Kelsey shifted her weight. “Just tell me where he is, Maria, then I can get the hell out of here.”
“What if Matt don’t want you to find him? What if you’re not part of the plan no more? You think of that? Huh?”
“All I want is the kid.”
“Well, Matt and me are together now. He don’t need you no more.” Maria jutted her chin in defiance, as if that was the real reason for Kelsey’s visit. “You are just a … dyke,” she said and gestured dismissively. “You’re a crazy person—fighting and stealing and shit. Matt wants a woman that treats him right. And when we got all that money, we’ll have blue sky and water, far as—”
“—crystal clear … actually,” Kelsey interrupted. “The water. It’s crystal clear water. You’re gonna steal someone else’s dream, get it right.”
“Fuck you. Go away and don’t ever come back.”
“Fine, congratulations, Matt’s all yours and you’re welcome to him. But I’m not leaving till you tell me where he is. And if you don’t, I’ll have to start smashing your house up. And listen, I’m really hoping you hold out a little, because after I’m done with the house, I’m starting on you.” Kelsey stuck her hands on her hips and gave the place a once over. “Although,” she added thoughtfully, “I don’t know if smashing this place up is gonna make any difference. This place is a worse shit-heap than the last place we were in.”
“Hey, watch your filthy mouth. This is my mother’s house,” Maria said.
Kelsey stepped in so close to Maria, they were toe to toe, almost touching. Maria stood her ground, staring back, chin high …
… until Kelsey spun her into a headlock so fast, all Maria had time to do was gasp. With one arm levered against Maria’s throat, Kelsey put her lips to her ear and said, “Now, tell me where Matt is or I’ll forget about trashing the house and Matt’ll come home to find he’s dating a corpse.” She tightened her hold a notch, adding, “And remember, I have nothing to lose here.”
“He’s …” Maria croaked out, so Kelsey loosened the lock. Maria swallowed and hissed, “He’s taking her to a construction site. Lemme go.”
Kelsey released her and gave her a shove that sent Maria stumbling across the floor. “Where? Which construction site?”
Maria gathered herself slowly, pouting and clutching at her throat like she should be hospitalized. “I don’t know. All I know, it’s a big construction site somewhere.”
“Why did they go there? What’s there?”
“I don’t know—buildings and shit, how would I know?”
“Dammit,” said Kelsey. “And they’re at this construction site now, right? Is that what you’re saying?”
Maria shook her head, still swallowing hard and holding her throat to emphasize her pain. Which was also pissing Kelsey off. She moved toward her and Maria retreated, yelling,
“He went to make some arrangements with the bank transfers.”
“At the bank? What bank?”
“I don’ fucking know!”
Kelsey took the Impala key from her pocket and tossed it on the coffee table.
Maria eyed it like it was something dangerous. “What’s that?”
“It’s a car key. What does it look like? It’s for the car outside.”
Maria hesitated, then sidestepped around her, moving to the window with one eye on Kelsey. She drew the curtain aside and looked out to the street, then turned with a confused frown. “You mean that car?” she asked, thumbing towards the Impala.
“Yeah. It’s yours. It’s a little damaged, but let’s call it a gift. I’m taking your car.”
“You want my car in exchange for that car?”
“You got a problem with that?”
“Why do you want my car?”
Kelsey couldn’t believe it. Talk about your gift horses. “Because my car handles like a whore in a mud-wrestling match. It reminds me of you.”
“Yeah, well,” said Maria, searching for a witty retort, “my car handles like a … like a piece of shit. And that reminds me of you.”
There was a tense moment as the two women regarded each other. Kelsey shifted, head tilted. “So, do we have a deal, or don’t we?”
Maria pulled the robe in around her waist. “Yeah, we got a deal.” She swooped on the key and tucked it down between her breasts. Smug little grin on her face. “Actually,” she said, “my car is stolen and there is no key.”
“Actually, so’s mine,” said Kelsey. “And I don’t need one.”
And she turned and walked out.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DAY TWO: 7:45 AM—ELIZABETH
By the time Elizabeth and Diana du Plessis were riding the elevator back to their floor, the press conference downstairs had broken up and half the journalists had trailed Richard upstairs like a swarm of angry wasps. Now there was a crowd of them camped outside the door, waiting for that inside scoop, that million-dollar photograph. So, as soon as the elevator doors opened, cameramen, reporters and television crews rushed the two women, swamping them in a crush of bodies, shoving microphones at them, and calling for comments as they carried them along on a wave of humanity.
When they reached the room, Elizabeth swiped her key card and the second the door opened, both she and Diana fell into the room, groaning with relief as they pushed the door closed.
Richard turned from where he was sitting at the desk, then quickly got to his feet. “Are you all right?”
Diana had one palm flat to her chest, the other clutching her purse. “The paparazzi are definitely in town, Mr. McClaine.”
Across the room, Alice swung around on them, holding the phone she’d been talking on away from her ear. “Where the hell have you two been? You’re due at the hospital in forty-five minutes. Dear God, the woman’ll be cured before you get there … no, not you,” she barked into the phone. “I’m talking to Elizabeth … yes, she’s here. Well, how would I know?” she snapped at the caller. “Yes, she’s only just walked in.” She held the phone away from her ear again, saying, “Well, what are you waiting for? Go, get moving. It’ll take you fifteen minutes just to get to the car. Richard!” He looked up from where he was going through files with a peeved look. “We’ve got a meeting with Blake in ten. Get your tie on, and get yourself organized. Are you there, Blake?” she said back into the phone.
Elizabeth collected her shoes, leaving Alice issuing orders left and right like a drill sergeant while she and Diana went back to the elevator. Even in the escort of four burly security guards they were jostled by reporters and camera crews, first to the elevator, then to a waiting taxi.
When the car doors thunked shut, the cab inched its way through the crowds, while all around them, lights flashed and cameras rolled and people yelled for them to look this way and that. Diana let out another long sigh of relief. “Oh, my goodness. Mrs. Cressley takes no prisoners, does she?”
“No, she does not,” said Elizabeth. She was watching the furor outside with a mix of horror and curiosity as hands and bodies pressed to the windows as people crushed in on them.
“And she certainly knows how to put on a performance,” D
iana said, turning to look out the rear window.
“I have no idea where all these people came from,” said Elizabeth. “I can’t even think what they want.”
As the car finally turned in to the street and sped up, Diana visibly relaxed. “We should have brought my car. It’s a nondescript little, gray box that nobody ever notices. I sometimes think it has a cloaking device. People ask me why I don’t get something bigger, but I like it.” She tucked her purse at her feet and smiled across at Elizabeth. “It’s not an easy road, is it?”
The comment surprised her. “I’m sorry, Miss du Plessis, I’m not sure I know which road you mean.”
“Please, call me Diana,” she said, settling back with her hands clasped in her lap. “I was saying, I know the road you’re on. I’ve seen people who have walked that road. It can be a very lonely place.”
“I suppose it can be. I never thought about it.” Elizabeth returned her attention to the view out the window. Whatever road she was on, and however lonely it may have been, was none of this woman’s business and she wanted to keep it that way. She had learned early on that she was, indeed, walking this path on her own because everyone else—including Richard—had run for the hills and left her to it.
Every now and then, she had caught herself lost in this sullen reverie. Looking back, she couldn’t believe how much she had changed over the years. These days she barely recognized the person she once was. She was gazing sightlessly at the world, watching it skim by, when she realized Diana was speaking again. “I’m sorry, you were saying …?”
“I was asking where you and Richard met,” Diana replied.
Elizabeth now noticed she had a notepad positioned on her lap and a pen poised over it. At least she could handle this part of it. She must have done it a million times before—answering with the same stock answers she always used. With the hint of a smile, she said, “At Harvard. We were both studying economics. We never really spoke for a long time. And then we both found ourselves pitched against each other in a debate.” Her smile broadened at the memory. “I was independent and outspoken in those days. Probably a little too feisty for some people’s taste. And probably a little naïve, as well,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the realization of just how naïve she had been. “I fell into politics in college. I had an insatiable hunger to change the world and I didn’t care who I went up against to forward my beliefs. I headed up political drives and instigated rallies against pollution, abortion, poverty; you name it. I challenged anyone and everyone who’d sit still long enough hear me out.”
The Elizabeth McClaine Thriller Boxed Set Page 15
