Beau walks through an open doorway to a bathroom and walks back out quickly with a small leather shaving kit in one hand and a bottle of what appears to be shampoo in the other. Next, he opens the only other door in the room, exposing a small walk-in closet. I hear a few clings as he pulls things from hangers before he walks out with a large suitcase. I don't see any other items around the room. Does he have no personal possessions?
"Shit," he curses.
"What wrong?" I ask, stepping further into the room.
"I can't find one of my bags," he announces after opening and closing the drawers of a tall wooden chest.
"Did you grab it yesterday when you left maybe?" He rubs the back of his neck
"No. I wish I had," he looks over at me. "I'm gonna check the master bedroom to see if she took it to her room." He adds, sounding hopeful but pissed off by Tasha’s possible antics.
I follow him out of the room but remain in the hall.
I hear Beau gasp as he opens the master bedroom. A light is on from inside.
"Tasha," comes out quietly from his mouth, like a question. I inch closer to where he is, confused by his reaction. Is Tasha here? He slams open the door and sprints into the room. I move closer to the door but do not enter, afraid of what I might see. I’ve never seen Beau act so quickly.
The room is dominated by a larger than normal bed that is a solid black with a large canopy. It looks almost like a cube. Beau is leaning over the bed, but I can’t see what has caused him to react so strongly. I move further through the open door to see what is wrong. Every stitch of the bedding is bright red, making the black cords stand out. I cover my mouth to stifle my scream.
Tasha is in the middle of the bed nude with the cords tied around her. Her eyes are open.
I rush out, pulling my phone from my pocket.
"Oh my god, oh my god." I dial 9-1-1 with shaky hands. I hear Beau call her name a few times like he's trying to wake her. The disbelief and sadness in his voice speaks to the truth. She has died.
“911. Fire, Medical, Police?” A woman’s voice asks in a calm tone.
"Medical, Police? We need help."
“What's your location ma'am?”
"The Dakota on the seventeenth floor. I think she's dead."
"Ma'am, do you have your eyes on the woman? Is she conscious? Breathing?"
"No," I whisper, "We didn't even know she was here. Her eyes—” I see them again in my mind, “—they are open. She isn’t breathing." I hear Beau yelling for me. “Please hurry.”
"Stay on the line ma'am. Someone is on their way. They will be there soon." She begins to ask me about Tasha, “Do you know what happened? Did she fall?”
I don’t know how to answer her questions. I stumble a reply that makes little sense. Her voice is strong and grounding when she asks.
"Ma'am can you tell me your name?"
"Samantha. Samantha West."
"Okay, Samantha. Can you make sure the door is open? The EMT will be there soon."
I walk to the door on autopilot and unlock it, leaving it ajar.
I reluctantly walk back to the hallway near the door with the phone still at my ear.
"Beau. I'm on the phone with the police. They should be here soon. Will you, will you come out here please?" I don't hear a response. I step over a few feet so I can see into the room, but stop when I hear his footsteps approaching.
His eyes are sad and shiny as he looks at me and says, "She’s gone." He drops his head onto my shoulder and hugs me so tightly I feel like I can't breathe. I rub his back with my free hand. "Ma'am the EMTs are in the building. What's the number?"
"Beau, what's the apartment number?" He doesn't lift his head from my neck.
"1703," he mumbles. I repeat it in case she didn't hear it herself.
"They should be there soon. Take care."
"Thanks," she hangs up, but I keep the phone to my ear, frozen. Only a minute passes, then I hear someone rushing through the front door. "Back here," I call out.
The scene is hectic as two officers come minutes after the EMTs. They ask both Beau and I to remain in the hall as they examine Tasha and her bedroom. One of the officers watches us intently while the other talks to the EMT about calling the medical examiner.
The medical examiner arrives at the same times as two detectives. Beau and I are separated.
I am standing in the kitchen with a Detective Cortez. He asks me about Tasha, and I tell him I only knew her since yesterday. When he asks about my being at her place, I explain the rather convoluted event of the previous evening. I am nearing the end of the encounter yesterday, “I left shortly after and went for a walk.”
He interrupts, "Can anyone account for your whereabouts during that time?”
"No, not really. I was by myself. I'm not positive what time I left here, but I got home about ten minutes after eleven."
He nods his head, "And why did you leave alone, after you arrived with Mr. Huntington, at what time did you say?"
"Almost nine? I guess. I left by myself because she…” I trail off. “Tasha. We didn't know she was here, and she and Beau were once together. She wanted that again. I left when she started saying ugly things."
"And Mr. Huntington stayed and didn't go with you?"
"He didn't even know I left because he was standing with his back to me. I just walked out. He didn’t see. He left shortly after that when he realized I was gone; he followed me." I feel the need to defend Beau because the detective’s voice sounds accusatory. He continues asking me the same questions, wording them slightly different each time. His focus is intent on when Beau and I left, and when we met up again.
I haven't seen Beau in at least half an hour. God, they can’t believe either of us could do this, or that we could hurt her do they? I don’t even know how it happened. I didn't see any injuries.
More people come and go from the apartment. I hear Beau's name whispered a few times, as Chris, Chris Huntington, or is that..? Finally Detective Cortez tells me I am free to go. He takes down all my information and says he'll be in touch soon.
"What about Beau, I mean Chris? Where is he?"
"I haven't spoken to my partner yet. Have a seat and I'll see what she says."
The minutes pass slowly, but eventually Beau walks out with his shoulders slumped and a female detective behind him. Her expression is stern. The flirty behavior I have witnessed as a near constant reaction to Beau is not present; she's all business.
When he looks up, spotting me. Relief is evident on his face. His steps quicken, and he pulls me to stand.
Embracing me, he says, "I'm sorry you have to deal with this."
"Don't worry about me. Are you okay?"
Our private moment is interrupted by a throat clearing. He releases me somewhat, keeping his arm around my back as he turns to face the detection.
"Excuse me, ma'am,” I look from Beau to the detective. “Mr. Huntington said he'd being staying with you?"
I nod then answer, "Yes."
She nods as well, "Alright, we'll be in contact soon." It sounds vaguely threatening the way she says it, stern and without question. I worry about what this might mean.
"Let's get the hell out of here!" Beau says as he steers me to the door. I stop before we leave. I look down at his hands that are holding onto my shoulders as he is guiding me out.
"What about your stuff?"
He sounds disgusted when he replies, "Evidence."
"For what?" I ask, walking to the elevator. He doesn't answer until the elevator doors close.
"They think she was murdered. Something about suffocation," He winces.
"Oh god. I mean I knew someone had to tie her up like that, but I guess I was just hoping—” I pause. I honestly don’t know what I was hoping for, so I say just that “—I don't know what."
"Yeah me too," he kisses my temple.
We pass through the very busy lobby, both of us moving automatically.
Chapter 20
We catch a ca
b to my place a few blocks away from the Dakota. Beau is quiet. He holds onto my hand while helping me into the cab and doesn't release my palm once in the jumble. I rub my thumb over the back of his hand trying to comfort as I watch him throughout the cab ride.
It's pretty late by the time we are dropped off. Neither of us have eaten since breakfast. As we walk in I quickly kick off my shoes and head to the kitchen. I make a couple grilled cheese sandwiches and some tomato soup from a can.
Beau smiles for the first time in hours, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.
I put the mug and plate in front of him, "God, I haven't had this in years. It’s a bit fancier than mom used to make, but it looks good.” His voice plays off as gracious, but there is a layer of sadness barely contained underneath. It comes out a bit when he whispers sadly, “Thank you."
I take a small bite of my sourdough grilled cheese with bacon. I nod, not knowing how to comfort him, especially when he is trying to conceal his sadness.
Beau finishes off both his sandwiches and slurps down the soup. I hope he is finding comfort in what I made, as I remain silent, unsure what to say.
He's on the couch fiddling with his phone, "She called me a few times last night. I didn't pick up." He looks down as he confesses this, a guilty look on his face.
"Did you tell that to the detective?"
"Yeah, I pretty much laid it all out. The last came through before three.” He sighs, shaking his head, “She didn't leave any messages. Do you...do you think she was calling for help?" He looks up into my eyes with his slightly glassy orbs, the guilt eating at him.
"Beau this wasn't your fault.” I repeat myself, filling my voice with conviction, “It wasn't your fault. Whoever hurt her is to blame, not you." He nods his head like he wants to believe me, but I can see the struggle in his face. I try to say something that might help, “I've heard of things like this going horribly wrong. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe things just got carried away.”
His face suddenly hardens, "No Sam. Things didn’t get carried away, but you're right. The only person responsible is the sick fucker that did it." The abrupt change in his demeanor startles me. His fists are clinched, and his eyes are intense as he stares ahead.
"Are you sure? Maybe she had a heart condition you didn’t know about?" His jaw tightens, and he's clenching his teeth, but his eyes soften when he looks over at me.
"Sammy, it wasn't an accident." He seems very confident. He was right next to her, so perhaps he saw more than I did. His hand reaches over to stroke my cheek. I search his eyes for the cause of his conviction. It's clear that he knows something I don't, but he's not telling me what it is. I'm not sure, but perhaps it involves more secrets from his past.
We climb into bed together. Beau pulls me close, holding me tight.
In the darkness I say what I've been thinking for hours, "I'm sorry about Tasha, Beau. Did the police contact her family? Does she have anyone nearby?"
"Yeah, I'm not sure who will notify them, but she has family in New York." The question I want to ask next is kind of selfish, and I don't know how to voice it without sounding unkind.
"I know it probably isn’t appropriate to ask, but what about the media? Will they be able to keep your name out of the spotlight? They don’t think we had anything to do with it, right?" I ask quietly, unsure how he'll feel about my self-centered worries.
He squeezes me tighter, "I'm not sure Sweets. I was surprised we didn't walk out to a media frenzy. That's why I didn't hail a cab until we were a few blocks away."
His breathing slows, becoming deeper as his large body slackens with sleep. Exhaustion calls him under quickly. It takes me longer to quell the thoughts running through my mind.
I wake up sluggishly to my alarm. It is twenty times harder to drag myself out of bed when there's a big warm body curled up behind me. My eyes close again before I can fully awake.
Beau's phone on the nightstand vibrates. Its persistent humming is what wakes me again.
"Baby, your phone is ringing," I say and nuzzle my face closer to his chest. He takes a deep breath, my head rising then falling with the movement. Realization dawns slowly. I flip over quickly and grab my phone. It's already nine. I wake.
"Shit," I curse and throw the blankets back, stumbling from the bed.
I rush to the bathroom. I brush my teeth while grabbing clean underclothes. I don't have time for a shower, but I spend two minutes putting on mascara and the addition of some much need blush to my pale cheeks.
I race to the wardrobe, pulling out the first thing my hands land on which ends up being skinny black jeans and a white sweater. I step into the jeans and slide on the sweater. My gray bra straps are exposed by the boat neckline, but I don't have time to change.
Beau is sitting on the sofa pulling his shoes on.
"I haven't worn the same clothes this long since I was a teenager," he wrinkles his nose and pulls the offending shirt from his body before letting it spring back. "I gotta get my stuff from Brian."
"I have to go to work Beau." I say, walking over to the door while sliding on a jacket and the boots I left out yesterday. I pull my purse over my shoulder, searching it for my keys when he wraps his arms around me from behind.
"Sweets why are you in such a rush? Worried about getting in trouble with the boss?" He asks playfully. I breathe in relief at the light banter. I am worried about him, but his small attempt at humor gives me some relief.
I stop my harried movements and absorb his embrace, placing my hands over his where they rest on my belly. I breathe in again.
"No one else has the keys this morning so I have to open up. Jess and the new girl, Erin, will be standing out front waiting for me."
"Okay Sammy. Let's get going." He says, sounding slightly amused. He opens the door, and we both walk out.
"You don't have to walk me. I can get a cab, so you can stay here." He shakes his head before I even finish
"No, I don't want you going anywhere alone." I want to tell him not to worry and that he had enough to deal with, but I don’t.
I'm rushing him along, but he doesn't seem to mind the pace. When I round the corner, I see Jess looking down at her phone and then up in our direction. I wave and pick up my pace.
"I'm so sorry guys, I overslept," I say, sounding winded. “I will give you the spare key, Jess. If this happens again, you shouldn’t have to wait.” Jess's face is set in a huge grin, completely unbothered. She looks between Beau and me, lifting a brow.
"Oh, I bet. Long night?" She teases. I wish it was just what she assumes. I don't answer as I bend down and fit my key into the rolling gate. Beau bends to lift the gate as the lock clicks open. I unlock the door and rush in to disarm the alarm. Jess and Erin are behind me with Beau bringing up the rear.
I'm seven minutes late opening the door, something impossible only months ago. I'm grateful no customers were kept waiting. Beau follows me to my office where I start my computer to check if we have any deliveries scheduled for today or any online orders needing shipped. Was it just a few weeks ago that I'd know all this before even coming in Monday morning?
I have seven orders to compile. One is exceptionally large, asking for fourteen books. Most are classic, but there is an obscure title or two that I might have to order.
There's a shipment due around lunch, so I let Beau, who's been sitting quietly since I sat down, know.
"I need to be out on the floor. I have a few orders to get ready to ship."
He nods, "I was going to make a few calls. Is it okay if I stay in here for a bit?"
"Of course. You don't have to ask. Do you want a coffee or anything?"
"No, I'll be out in a bit. I'll get something then." He answers abruptly. I can sense he wants privacy for his calls, so I rush to print out the orders and call for a UPS pick up after three, then leave the office closing the door behind me.
When I approach Jess to order a coffee, she beams at me. I’m not nearly awake for what she has in mind to talk about.
"Yup, he's him and I'm me, and I think we're kind of a we." I grin back, picking up on her excitement. I’ve always wanted to talk girl talk with her. I’m a bit giddy.
"What's he like? Did you really not know who he was? Is his body as hot in real life as it is in the movies?" She asks as one long, strung together sentence.
I laugh and tell her, "Slow down. I can't gush about him when he might walk out here. Besides, I have work to do missy." I mock scold, tipping her nose.
Her face falls and her shoulders slump, "Come on, you gotta give me something." She whines, stomping her feet behind the counter.
I look over my shoulder, making sure he's nowhere in sight, "I don't think I've even seen any of his movies, but if they showed anything close to the reality." I stop there and just fan my face dramatically, "Scorching!"
She sighs dreamily, "Wow. Chris Huntington dating my friend. Crazy."
I get serious for a second and say, "Please don't tell a bunch of people."
She waves a hand and steps over to the customer that just walked up.
"Hadn't crossed my mind." I smile watching her chat with her customer.
I grab the old wooden rolling cart and start collecting the orders. Mr. Brown was well stocked in first editions and antique books. The bulk of our online order requests are people looking to add an authentic book to their libraries or collections.
Nowadays, they make great reproductions that look just as good for a fraction of the price. We stock them as well and at market price, compared to overpriced copies found in big box book stores.
However, my online buyers specifically ask for the authentic collectables. Anything from the first editions of classics to early reprints of Nancy Drew. They are a small passionate group, and many are historians. As a bookstore owner, I love catering to them. So often my customers are limited to hipsters, flipping through the trending book section while they primarily are here to order coffee from our cart and charge their laptops.
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