This was a place of solitude and rest, but the corner by the gate had always bothered her. Today this would change. It was time for a face-lift. The ground in this section of the yard was difficult to dig. Putting all of her one-hundred and seven pounds on the spade, she finally made headway. Gaining a rhythm, the spade ploughed away, turning over the sunbaked dirt as if on autopilot. Emily lost her balance as her foot slipped off the shovel. Must have hit a rock, she thought, as she dug at the spot again. No, whatever it is, it’s not a rock. She dropped to her knees and swept away the dirt to reveal a yellow plastic bag with something heavy inside. She wiped away the mud and tore at the plastic. A black leather purse dropped to the ground. What on earth…? She stood, dusting the dirt from her knees, snatched up the purse and the plastic bag and took them inside.
* * *
The damp, leather purse showed its age. Mould grew in the seams, spreading outward across the leather in a grey-green film caked to the surface. The brass zipper was covered with a crusty green oxide that interfered with Emily’s ability to open it. This has been around for a long time, she thought as she struggled to get it open. The stubborn fastener parted, revealing a sundry of items including a wallet, keys, a folded note, nail file, notebook, receipts, pen, tampons, cheques and a bank book. The wallet contained a driver’s license, insurance information, notes scrawled with names and phone numbers, business cards, a birth certificate, coupons, health-card, bank card, credit cards, photos and thirty dollars in cash. Whoever this belonged to, her whole life was in this purse. Emily had to know who owned it.
The birth certificate said Kallita Robbins, but the driver’s license said Kallita Prewitt, as did the credit cards. The expiry date on the cards was 1993, and the license expired in 1995.
“I was only two years old when these expired. So, who was Kallita, and why was her bag buried in my backyard? Who would leave money and credit cards in the wallet only to bury it? Well, Em-Jay, it seems like you have a little mystery on your hands.”
Emily would often catch herself thinking aloud. She kept to herself most of the time. She knew her neighbours but didn’t bother with them much, and would be polite and pass the time of day if she happened to bump into one of them. She liked it that way. Keeping to herself kept her away from the local gossip and politics of the condo community. She had enough conflict at work; all she wanted when she got home was peace and quiet. Finding the purse was different, and it occurred to her that she might have to involve her neighbours since she knew that the ground in that section of her yard had never been disturbed while she lived there. Perhaps one of them knew who might have done it.
She sifted through the contents once more, this time looking for anything that might lead her to the owner. Everything was so old, and out of date, Emily wondered if it was even worth pursuing. Nevertheless, she felt she had to try. Two handwritten notes had names and phone numbers on them. The ink was blurred and faded, but Emily could make out the numbers. She dialled the first one.
“Hello.” The voice on the other end was male.
“H-hello, uh my name is Emily James,” she stammered, “I’m looking for a woman—”
“Who isn’t?” The male voice interrupted.
Jerk! Why can’t people give a straight answer?
“Her name is Kallita, Kallita Prewitt, would she be there by any chance?”
“No, we ain’t got no Kallita here.”
“Do you know Kallita Prewitt?”
“Nope, no idea who she is. Sorry, can’t help you.”
“Well, would you mi—” the line clicked and went dead. “He hung up on me. What a jerk.” She dialled the second number.
“You have reached the voice mail of Blackmore Building Solutions. If you know the extension of the person you wish to speak to, please enter it now or dial “0” for the receptionist.”
Emily stabbed at “0.”
“We’re sorry, please call back during business hours or leave a detailed message and we will return your call.”
Emily hung up. She abhorred answering machines and hated leaving messages even more. She would call back in the morning. Emily turned her attention to the third note. Folded neatly, she had almost missed it tucked away deep inside one of the pockets in the purse. She read it:
Kallita, Important!
Clarksville River Bridge on the boardwalk - 8:00 p.m. Don’t be late.
* * *
Gardening was easy compared to questioning her neighbours. Even though she talked to strangers every day, she found it difficult to approach people in person. She could never be a salesperson; that scared the hell out of her. A native son of Clarksville, Jim Roberts had lived here all his life. Emily figured he had to be pushing fifty-five, at least, it was a good bet that he might know Kallita, and since he lived right next door, he was as good a place to start looking as any.
She pressed the doorbell, secretly hoping no one was home. No such luck. As she was about to turn away, Jim Roberts opened the door.
“Emily! Well, this is a surprise, I don’t think you’ve ever knocked on my door.”
“I guess not—I’ve never had a reason. Do you have a minute?” Emily took a step toward the door.
“Sure. Come on in.” He swung the door open wider to let her through. “Please don’t look at the mess. Since Martha died, I haven’t kept up the housekeeping as well as I should. Come into the kitchen, have a seat. Can I get you a coffee or maybe tea?”
“No, thank you,” Emily spied the stack of dirty dishes in the sink. Jim’s place really was a mess.
“Here, Emily, use my chair.” Jim offered Emily a chair at the only uncluttered space on his kitchen table. “So, I guess today you have a reason.”
“Pardon?” Emily edged into the chair, distracted by the clutter and careful not to touch anything.
“A reason to knock on my door,” Jim said, noticing her discomfort at the mess in the kitchen. “Certainly, you didn’t come to clean my house, did you?”
Snapping out of her daze, she ignored the sarcasm and got down to business.
“Jim, I have a bit of a mystery that I hope you can help me solve. Does the name Kallita Prewitt mean anything to you?”
Jim’s eyes widened. “God! I haven’t heard that name in—must be twenty-five years.” He rubbed his chin as he tried to remember. “Yeah, God, I tell ya, now there was a woman who could make the Pope swear. If I remember right, she moved away, but not before making a ton of enemies. Damn, people hated her. Why do you ask?”
“I found her purse in my back yard.” Emily related the events of the previous evening. “So, you know her then?”
“Oh, no! No, I never met her, but I heard lots o’ stories about her. She wasn’t well-liked, and from what I heard, she was a real ball-buster—excuse my French.” He thought for a moment. “If memory serves, she went away. I don’t know anything about her. It just seemed like one day, people quit talking about her. Come to think of it, it does seem a bit strange. But then, I had no reason to care. So you found her purse, wonder what it was doing in your garden?”
“That’s the mystery.” Emily shrugged, standing to go. “If you can think of anything or if you hear anything, please let me know. I want to return her belongings to her. I’m sure she’ll be surprised after all these years.”
Jim showed Emily to the door. “I wouldn’t get too bent over it, Emily. After all, it’s been twenty, twenty-five years. I don’t think anyone has even heard her name, let alone heard from her. It’s just an old purse, after all.” He opened the door for her.
“Just the same, I’d like to give it all back to her, if possible. One last thing, Jim, is there anyone else in this complex who might be able to help me?”
“The only one I can think of is Audri up the street, number 51. She’s been here longer than anyone. I don’t think Prewitt lived in your unit if that’s what you’re thinking, but if anyone knows, it will be Audri Seavers. She knows everything.”
Emily smiled at her neighbour. M
ore sarcasm. Up until now, Emily had had no need to talk to Audri even though she was president of the condo corporation.
“Thanks, Jim, I’ll talk to her later. Now, I have to get to work.”
Jim watched as she made her way to her car. He continued to watch as Emily’s car turned left at the end of the street. Kallita Prewitt! Talk about a bad penny. Twenty-five years and I still can’t get that bitch out of my life.
Chapter 3
“I’m sorry Mrs. Prewitt—er ah, sorry, Johnson—I see from your records that—”
“That’s the second time you’ve called me Prewitt, young lady!” The voice on the opposite end of the line became angrier. “Do you even know who you’re talking to?”
“Yes, Mrs. P-Johnson, I do know who I’m talking to. I am checking your file right now for that payment.” Emily continued on in the hopes the old bat hadn’t caught the stumble with her name again. For whatever reason, Emily couldn’t put Kallita Prewitt out of her mind.
“Yes, ma’am, I see you have made your payment, thank you. I will note that you are on a pension, and that future payments will be made by the tenth of the month from now on. Your services will be restored within the hour, and hopefully, this will not happen again. Thank you for—” The line went dead before Emily could finish.
In the four years, Emily had worked at All-Comm; she had never been subjected to a reprimand. Today, however, she had received two cautions. Twice she had called a client by the wrong last name, and in one case, lost the call by inadvertently hanging up. This, no doubt, would be strike three. Emily glanced in the direction of her supervisor’s office. She heard the voice in her headset.
“What the hell is going on with you today, Em? We need to talk. Come into my office.”
Unplugging her headset from the console, Emily slow-walked the fifteen steps to Frieda’s office. She had never had to suffer the “walk of shame.” She’d witnessed many rookies pass this way, never to return, but she was no rookie. God, this can’t be happening. Am I going to get fired? Kallita Prewitt… She knocked at the office door then entered.
“Come in, sit.” Frieda Gerst sat behind her oak and steel desk covered with papers scattered here and there. A computer monitor with a picture of snow-covered Alps sat in the left-hand corner of the desktop. Removing her headset and setting it on the desk, Frieda locked eyes with Emily.
“Emily, what’s wrong with you today? Your standards have fallen way down. You of all of them out there—” Frieda waved her arm at the direction of the call centre— “You are my best operative.”
“Do you know what freedom 55 is?” She continued before Emily could respond. “It’s when I finally get to quit this place and begin living. In six months, I will be 55 years old. On my birthday, I intend to walk out those doors and never come back through them. Ever! Why are you trying to mess up my retirement?”
Emily sat mouth open, not knowing how to respond. Frieda continued.
“I have to recommend my replacement to the board. Do you know who that replacement was going to be? Emily shook her head, too stunned to speak. “You. Why are you trying to screw it all up? Three times in less than two hours.” Emily opened her mouth to talk. “No, no, you stay quiet. I’m not done. I want to know why you of all people have dropped the ball. You know the rules better than the rest. If you keep this up, I will have no choice. Now I have to explain to my bosses why I choose you over that horrible bitch Colleen. I’ve been quietly grooming you to take my job—so, OK, tell me what’s going on?
“Well, I’m—” Emily’s mouth was dry; she shifted positions in her seat, trying to think how to respond— “I’m not sure really. Something’s nagging me, and I can’t get it out of my mind. I don’t really know why.” She shifted in her seat again. “I found this purse last night, and I’m trying to find the owner, but the purse is old, and so is everything in it. It’s all there though, her ID, wallet, license, credit cards—everything, but it’s over twenty-five years old. All the same, I want to return it to the owner. I just can’t quit thinking about it.”
Frieda shook her head in disbelief. “You mean to tell me that you are screwing up my plans over a twenty-year-old purse that means nothing to anyone?”
“Well, when you put it that way, I guess so, but that’s not how I—well I didn’t know until just now—I mean—you never told—”
“Enough!” Frieda cut her off. “Who or what owned this purse, anyway?
“A woman named Kallita Prewitt.”
She looked away from Frieda, trying to hide her embarrassment at how frivolous it all sounded.
Frieda’s face paled. Her shoulders sagged, and Emily sensed that she had said something terrible. She watched as Frieda struggled to keep her hand from shaking as she wrote Kallita’s name in her journal.
“Kallita Prewitt? What do you know about Kallita Prewitt? You’re far too young to even know her.” Frieda’s eyes darted back and forth as her mind raced back twenty-five years.
Christmas 1991
They were married on December 15th, Frieda’s birthday. Ten days later, Frieda and Klaus Gerst celebrated Christmas with the enthusiasm of five-year-olds. Life was good for the newlyweds, and their future stretched before them like a golden highway lined with diamonds. Klaus was about to close a deal that would see his security business become one of the nation’s largest. Already a successful enterprise, one of the world’s largest security firms had made an enormous offer for the company, and in a few short days, Klaus would become a wealthy man. Married to the most successful businessman in town, Freida’s life couldn’t get much better.
Kallita stared at the numbers in disbelief. How could a farm boy like Klaus Gerst build such a fabulous business? He was nothing, a nobody. She had craved this kind of success all her life and worked tirelessly to achieve—what? Eight years earlier, as newlyweds, Kallita and Roy seemingly had the world at their feet. An offer of a partnership in a thriving diner had Roy begging Kallita to agree to let him accept the offer. Roy believed that opportunities like this didn’t come along every day and might never arise again. Kallita had agreed, but not without more than a few high-volume discussions. She agreed to the partnership, but she did not agree to liking it, and she let everyone she met know it. It was supposed to be better now, but it wasn’t. She hated everything about it, and she hated herself for even agreeing to return to this outhouse called Clarksville.
The more she dwelt on it, the more jealous she became of the success around her. Frieda and Klaus had been in the local news for weeks. First, the wedding, followed by Frieda’s birthday, and now this. It was too much. She didn’t even know these people, but she hated their success, and if at all possible, she would see to it that their fairy tale life had a little sour mixed with all the sweetness. The account belonged to Trudy. But she was on vacation, so it fell to Kallita to help in the final stages of closing the deal. Putting a fly in the soup was easy, and with a bit of manipulation, what, in reality, was an impressive bottom line became highly questionable on paper. As Kallita assembled the final report documents, she considered what the fallout might be and smiled.
B & D Accounting had completed the audit. All the happy couple had to do was wait for the reports. The smiles on their faces couldn’t get any wider as Klaus and Frieda walked into the conference room. With the due-diligence phase completed, all they had to do was sign the papers. Klaus’s exuberance faded as he spotted Kallita sitting in Trudy’s spot. He was not pleased. She sat next to his lawyer, explaining something about the figures. Klaus glared at Kallita. “What are you doing here? Where is Trudy, and where are the buyer’s people? They should be here by now.”
The lawyer turned to Klaus.
“It appears as though some of your sales figures aren’t correct. The WSI team is not coming today. They are questioning why such a large discrepancy exists at this point in the deal. They believed that your profits were much higher.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What do you mean they’r
e not coming? When did you find this out? My profits were in the seven figures for the last two years. What’s the problem?” Klaus leaned over to look at the report in front of his lawyer.
“They called me an hour ago and not according to these numbers. If this is accurate, you barely made a hundred grand last year. The WSI guys want to delay this while they re-evaluate your business.” The lawyer slid the audit figures in front of Klaus.
“What does that mean exactly? He snatched the report from the table. “Your numbers are wrong, you are wrong. I know my business; I know what we did in sales, and I know how profitable we are.”
His eyes narrowed as he read the report. “No! No! This all bullshit! These are not correct, what’s going on here? Something’s wrong.”
Klaus slumped into a chair and read the nightmare in the numbers. Tightness gripped his stomach. His heart pounded in his chest, and a hollow sense of fear squeezed his innards to the point of distraction.
“The numbers don’t lie.” Kallita pointed at the bottom line. “No way you made more than 100K profit last year.” A smug smile appeared on her face as though she had revealed the most closely guarded secret of all.
“What? NO WAY! These aren’t the numbers Trudy showed me two weeks ago. Where is she? Why isn’t she here?” Something was wrong. His bank statement showed millions in deposits. No, Kallita was wrong. Her numbers didn’t work.
“These are the figures. You can’t dispute them.”
The smug, self-serving smile on Kallita’s face said it all, and in that moment, Klaus understood.
“You did this. You fudged these figures. Do you know what you’ve done? Why? What have I ever done to you? You bitch!” Klaus knew that no matter how hard he tried regardless of who did the bookwork now, WSI would never return to the bargaining table.
Kill Her Twice Page 2
