Stunner

by Niki Danforth

  She fiddles with her camera and continues this amazing story. “Her beautiful face healed, of course, and she got a job at Disney in housekeeping. Actually, except for the attack when she first hitched down here and then Bobby Taylor turning up at the front desk some years later, Terry pretty much led a charmed life in Florida.”

  Carmela stops and quickly corrects herself. “Don’t get me wrong, Ms. La—I mean, Ronnie. Terry worked hard. Even when they gave her the grubbiest jobs in housekeeping that everybody gets when they first start, she put a smile on her face and did what was asked of her. Terry earned every promotion she ever got.”

  “Carmela, you said except for Bobby Taylor turning up.” I lean in. “What did he want?”

  “Money, and who knows what else,” she says. “I guess he always tried to copy Terry. So if Terry wanted to live in Florida, then he did, too. At least that’s what she told me.” She pulls a cloth out of her vest and wipes a smear off the camera’s viewfinder. Then she looks at her watch. “In the beginning, Bobby worked for a while on a fishing boat until he got fired, of course. Then he disappeared. We didn’t see him anymore for years. Good riddance. What a loser that guy was.”

  Not just a loser, but a bully, or so he seemed to me. “She must have been shocked to see him turn up again,” I say. “How’d she get rid of him the second time?”

  Carmela shakes her head. “Don’t have a clue, but then one day he stopped coming around. You know, in the beginning she was a rough street kid, even the way she talked. She scared most of us in the group home in Scranton.”

  Carmela sort of snorts and giggles at the same time. “So even though she was polished by the time she worked at the hotel front desk, I’m sure she could still handle Bobby and convince him to leave town.”

  She pauses a moment glancing away, and then she looks back at me. “Even though I’m pretty certain he knocked her around sometimes. But don’t quote me. I never actually saw it. And she never admitted it, maybe because he was family—you know, his being her cousin, and all.”

  “What do you mean—knocked around—and why do you think that, Carmela?” I steeple my fingers and tap my chin.

  “Like when she first turned up on my aunt’s doorstep with that fat lip from the guy she hitched with—well, she acted as if it was no big deal. She went straight for the ice for her lip and eye, as if she was an expert on getting beat up or something.” Carmela’s expression turns to one of disgust. “She made some comment that this guy wasn’t any worse than Bobby. So, you know, it sounded like Bobby had hit her, too, but that was all she’d say.”

  “Anything else about Bobby that made you suspicious?” I sit back on the steps. Carmela was opening new vistas on Teresa for me.

  “Well, after he turned up that second time, I remember seeing black and blue marks on Terry’s arm.” Carmela shrugs. “I don’t know. He may have been physically stronger, but my impression was that she was mentally tougher than Bobby. You know, like she could apply some kind of psychological pressure and force him to leave.”

  I think back to Linda Alvarez’s similar notion about Terry, and I nod. Then I look around the plaza in front of the castle and watch chance encounters between kids and Snow White and Belle from Beauty and the Beast turn into photo-ops for the parents. “I understand Terry first moved from housekeeping to working as a Disney character, so she must have done a good job cleaning up her act,” I finally say.

  “Yeah, she did, and she landed the Snow White job.” Carmela smiles for the first time. “She really wanted to be Cinderella, but she was happy playing Snow White for a couple of years. She also moved out of my aunt’s apartment and got her own place with two roommates. Then she applied for a front desk job at the Contemporary Resort, and she landed it.”

  “She did well working that new job?” I ask.

  “She did more than well.” Carmela gestures toward an adorable, tousle-haired three-year-old girl tugging on Belle’s costume, and she quickly snaps several candid shots.

  “Be right back,” Carmela says to me and waves to the smiling parents of the little girl, who is now hugging Belle. The photographer takes a few more shots and then scans the parents’ Disney’s PhotoPass ID number so they can access the pictures later. As they scoop up their daughter for the next fun adventure, Carmela returns and picks up where she left off.

  “What you have to understand about Terry—remember, she was the leader of the Scranton Gang—is that for such a tough kid, she loved this Cinderella Castle, because she wanted a Cinderella story for herself.”

  “How so, Carmela?”

  “First, she wasn’t waiting for any Prince Charming to come around. No, Terry was going to make her own Cinderella story. Second, she couldn’t pay for school, but she read books and newspapers all the time and took classes whenever she could at the Disney World learning centers here.”

  Carmela’s expression is now one of admiration. “Terry studied fashion magazines and changed her look to be more like a lady even though she didn’t have much money to spend.”

  “That’s quite something,” I say.

  “She even worked on the way she spoke by listening and copying other people, so that she would sound more polite.” Carmela chortles. “To look at her and listen to her a couple of years after she got here, you would have never imagined her as some tough juvie kid out of Scranton.”

  An image of Juliana comes to mind. “I wonder where she got that urge to improve herself.”

  I notice an adorable set of toddler twins with their slightly older sister trying to herd them toward Minnie Mouse. I nod at Carmela. “Photo op,” I say and gesture toward the kids.

  She raises her camera, clicks away, and then walks over to the dad to scan his Disney’s PhotoPass ID number. Carmela comes back and sits on the steps. “Terry told me somebody when she was very young inspired her to reach for a better life.” She rests her camera in her lap. “She never told me who it was.”

  “Hmmm. An inspiring mystery person who changed her life.” Who could that have been, I wonder. “So where’d she go after the front desk? Another job here?”

  “No. After about five years at the front desk, Terry decided to move to New York.” She catches my look of surprise and laughs. “I know. She grabbed me for coffee one day to tell me she was leaving. This woman who used to bring her kids here every year and always stayed at the Contemporary Resort was impressed by how well Terry did her job at the front desk.”

  “She offered her job as a nanny?” I ask.

  “No way,” Carmela says. “Turns out this woman ran a private club in Manhattan that a lot of big-shot businessmen, athletes, and celebrities belonged to. She watched Terry handle a very difficult VIP one morning and noticed how calm she stayed.” Carmela again checks her watch. I guess we’re okay. She goes on. “This lady was amazed by how Terry turned around what could have been an embarrassing situation for the hotel.”

  Carmela then snaps a few more pictures of kids and Disney characters. “The lady thought Terry had a lot of potential, and with some training would be great at handling difficult celebrities. So she gave Terry her card and told her to call if she needed a job in New York City. And the rest is history. After giving two months’ notice at the hotel, Terry went north.”

  “How old was Terry, when she left?” I ask, doing a quick calculation on my fingers.

  “Twenty-five,” Carmela answers. “I remember, because she said she was celebrating her quarter-century birthday by moving to the Big Apple.”

  I wish I could show Carmela the picture of Juliana at our party and definitively connect the dots between Teresa and my brother’s new girlfriend. But Carmela might still be way too jumpy, and I need more information from her.

  “Do you remember the name of the woman who offered Terry the job, or maybe the name of the club?” I pull out my phone to enter the contact information. “It might help me find her.”

  But Carmela shakes her head. “Can’t remember the name of the club, just that Te
rry said it was exclusive and lots of celebs belonged,” she says. “Don’t know the name of the lady either—sorry—but she was definitely the boss.”

  “Let’s trade emails and phone numbers in case you remember something later,” I say, and she fishes out her card for me. I enter her information into my phone and text her my email.

  “Did you and Terry stay in touch?” I ask.

  “Like I said, Ronnie, Terry and I were never actually close.” Carmela gets up from the Cinderella Castle steps. “She did send a couple of postcards from New York right after she moved, but I haven’t heard from her or seen her since.”

  Now what? Is this Manhattan club even around anymore? Where do I start? I groan.

  “Hey, Ronnie, are you OK?” Carmela asks.

  “I ate something weird last night,” I fib. “I have a little bit of an upset stomach.” Which I do at the mere thought of all the work ahead once I’m back in New Jersey trying to track down a private club that was big during the dot-com era and might or might not still be around. But if I get stuck, thank god I can ask Will for help.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I can imagine the three of you as kids running around this place, playing hide-and-seek,” Juliana says. “You all had so many good places to hide.” Her tone isn’t exactly cozy, but she’s OK.

  She and I stand together in the Meadow Farm cutting garden next to some purple phlox and coral-colored coneflowers, looking toward the house. I ask, “And where would you hide if you had been a child here?”

  Juliana gives me a funny look and glances around. “Let’s see.” She puts her finger to her chin and then points. “How about the tree house near the side terrace?”

  I look at her, surprised. Frank must have told her about our secret tree house hidden in the low branches of that huge leafy sugar maple.

  Juliana has a twinkle in her eye as she gazes toward the tree that now only holds broken boards, the last remnants of our childhood hideaway. “Growing up here must have been wonderful…” She returns to selecting and snipping the stems of several of the phlox and coneflowers.

  I lean against the stone wall of the cutting garden. “Frank told you about us as kids, huh? Even Peter?”

  “Well, not much about Peter. Only that you haven’t seen him in years,” she says. “That’s very sad.”

  “Yeah. It seems every family has some kind of drama. How about you?” I ask. “Do you see any of your family often? I remember you said you’re an only child…”

  Juliana carefully lays the flowers she’s cut in a large, flat-bottomed basket. “Not all of us are so fortunate to come from a family like yours, Ronnie. That’s a gift of God.” I hear a touch of sadness in her voice.

  “Where does your family live?” I ask. “Where did you grow up—”

  “Questions, questions, questions.” Her tone becomes guarded. “Why do you ask so many questions? Ronnie, what is it you really want to know?”

  “Just friendly curiosity—”

  “Oh, look,” Juliana interrupts. “There’s Frank!” She beams and waves to him.

  He signals us to come on over. “Rita just made this iced tea,” he calls out, holding a pitcher.

  “You go ahead,” Juliana urges me. “I want to finish up here, and then I’ll come.” She moves to another section of the garden to examine the multi-colored cosmos and zinnias.

  I walk across the small field and join Frank on the terrace. He pours a glass for me, and together we watch Juliana. It’s a lovely scene, this graceful woman working her way through the flower bed with her shears and gently adding blooms to others already in the basket.

  “She looks at home here.” Frank sips his iced tea with an expression of, dare I say, bliss on his face. Uh-oh.

  “She’s the perfect guest,” I throw in quickly.

  “Ronnie?”

  “Yes, Frank.”

  His voice is quiet. “What if Jules wasn’t always a guest?”

  “She’s definitely a triple-A guest over there, cutting flowers in Joanie’s garden.” I’m trying to stall what I think may be inevitable, and I keep my voice soft, too. “You always loved when Joanie cut fresh flowers from her garden. So it’s very thoughtful of Juliana.” Okay, so I mentioned Joanie twice in my little speech, as a reminder.

  “Juliana is thoughtful, Ronnie,” my brother says.

  “That’s great, Frank.” I suppose if I don’t want to anger him, I should bite my tongue. But I just can’t help myself. “This is such a nice, but new relationship for you. And given time, I’m sure the two of you will get to know each other even better.”

  “We already know each other well,” he says, his tone taking on an edge.

  I pick my next words carefully. “I mean really know each other, Frank.”

  “What are you trying to say, Ronnie?” my brother asks. I think he’s struggling to keep it civil. “Just spit it out, Sis.”

  I do, spit it out. “Do you know her family? Her friends? What do you know about her world? Her history?”

  “Well, she doesn’t have children—”

  “Are you making serious plans with Juliana?” I ask, managing to keep my voice low and glancing over at the woman in question, who is fortunately still focused on the flowers. “Like spend-the-rest-of-your-life-together plans?”

  He laughs. “Ronnie, we’re not there yet…but I can foresee a time—”

  “Have you thought about the financial consequences of marriage?” I blurt out. “Have you talked to her about money, or a pre-nup—” Ouch. Nothing subtle there. I’ve really stuck my foot in it this time.

  “Ronnie! Enough!” His voice is sharp. “You certainly know how to be a spoilsport.”

  “OK. Keep it down, Frank. You’re right. I’m sorry,” I answer. “But I’m thinking about your children, the kids you had with Joanie—”

  “That’s it. We’re not discussing this any further.” My big brother gets out of his chair. “I’m fortunate to have met Juliana. Why can’t you just leave it alone? You’ve always been this way, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Now back off.” He walks directly into the house.

  I glance over at Juliana, who has stopped snipping flowers and looks toward our terrace. I toast her with my iced tea glass, smiling at her, and all I can do is hope she didn’t overhear the exchange with my brother.

  She nods and goes back to her flowers. Does the nod mean she heard Frank and me or she didn’t hear us? But something familiar nags at the edges of my memory as I watch her. Just like the first evening when I met her at cocktails. I can’t put my finger on it. Hmmm. I’m going to have to hurry my investigation so I can speak up, and then Frank will understand my caution.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It’s noon class now at the dojo. This time we practice with tantos, a word that always makes my mind flash on an image of the Indian character Tonto in The Lone Ranger. But no, this tanto is a wooden weapon carved to look like a dagger.

  We spend the entire class working on disarming techniques. Since we switch partners every time we practice a different skill, I’ve worked with just about everyone in the room at this point.

  Isabella Sensei demonstrates the next technique, yokomenuchi gokyo with Will Benson. When they finish, he turns toward me and bows. I smile as I return the bow, agreeing to train with him. His quiet charisma is appealing, making him way more attractive than any of the macho big-screen Hollywood martial arts stars out there. Focus, Ronnie!

  I move toward Will with an attack intending to slice him diagonally across from one side of his head down the opposite side of his body with the pretend dagger. Rather than run for cover the way I myself would if someone came at me with a blade, Will quickly slides toward me and enters my space. As he does so, his arms come up as if he’s beginning to raise a sword.

  One of his hands nearly hits my face, but I jerk back in time to avoid being struck. At the same time, Will extends the edge of his other hand between the elbow and wrist of my knife-holding arm and stops my attac
k.

  While I try to regain my balance, the hand that first went for my face now grabs the wrist of my hand grasping the dagger, so his two arms are crisscrossed. As Will turns his body one-hundred-eighty degrees, he continues to hold onto my wrist and then clasps his other hand securely behind my elbow. My body lunges forward and down from the force of his turn with my arm twisted and stretched out straight in front of him. Will continues to drive me all the way down to the mat face first and kneels beside me. Not so gracefully, I land on my stomach and just miss getting my face smashed in.

  My outstretched arm holding the tanto now faces palm-up as Will lifts my elbow toward the ceiling to draw my arm upward, forcing the wrist he’s gripping to bend at a ninety-degree angle, a position that can hurt like hell! I tap the mat as fast as possible, letting go of the tanto, which is obviously the point of the disarming technique, and he releases the pin.

  I grunt and shake my wrist. “Need to talk to you after class, Will.”

  “Got more info for you, too, Ronnie.” He smiles, and I try to smile also, still shaking my wrist.

  At the car, he hands me a folder. “I’ve located the address of a woman on the outskirts of Scranton who may be Teresa Gonzalez’s great-aunt. If you give me the go-ahead, I’ll pay her a visit, try to find out more about Teresa. And Juliana.”

  “Let’s wait on that.” I quickly flip through the folder.

  He eyes me suspiciously. “Ronnie, I hope you’re not getting any smart ideas about checking this out on your own.”

  I widen my eyes in a way that I hope telegraphs whatever.

  Will doesn’t buy it. “Call me when you want to investigate or follow someone. You don’t want to end up in another alley—”

  “I may be thick-headed…” I put my hands on my hips and look at him, face to face, almost nose to nose. “…but I do try to learn from my mistakes, Will.”

  He raises his hands in surrender. “You’re the boss.”