Uncovering Sadie's Secrets

by Libby Sternberg

  “Oh, no, I don’t think so. It’s in Glen Burnie. They’ve got a great new mall down there. With a Gap and everything.”

  I knew exactly what she meant. There was no need to stray far from one’s home mall if it offered what you needed. If Sadie had been in the Towson mall, it was because she lived nearby, and probably in the Barrington Arms. The Barrington Arms, however, was a plush high-rise condo. Lawyers, financial gurus, and doctors lived there as well as a few retirees who had invested well. And the pedigree of most of the folks in the building was blue-blood Baltimore. Sinclair or not, Sadie didn’t strike me as the Barrington Arms type.

  “What are you going to do?” Kerrie said. “And what about your date?”

  “I have some time,” I reassured her. “My sister and I will just do a quick drive-by to see if everything is okay.”

  “Bianca,” Kerrie said, and I thought for sure she was going to tell me to be careful, “what are you wearing—the peasant blouse or the silvery tee?”

  “The peasant blouse,” I told her. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll call you.”

  “You better!”

  We hung up and I gave the scoop to Connie, who just raised her eyebrows and stepped on the gas. “Okay, sis,” she said, “we’ll do a little look-see at the Barrington Arms if it’ll make you feel better.”

  THE BARRINGTON Arms was a huge curved building on a prime piece of real estate in Towson. Its rows of windows looked like some crazed jacko-lantern’s teeth, with some of them blacked out and others shining brightly. As I stared at it, I wondered how I would ever know which lights belonged to Sadie’s apartment.

  “Come on,” Connie said after parking the car. “Let’s go inside.”

  We walked along the darkened street toward the large, brightly lit foyer. No doorman. Hmmm, I would have thought a ritzy place like this would have a doorman. But then I saw the rows and rows of buttons next to intercom speakers. Obviously, we wouldn’t get in the front door without being buzzed in. And we wouldn’t get buzzed in without knowing which apartment to buzz.

  Nearing the door, I noticed a big expensive black car parked right out front. It was the Deadly Duo’s car! Man, oh man, they sure had lots of great parking karma.

  Connie looked at the names next to the buzzers.

  “We’re in luck,” she said. “I know one of these.” She pressed the button next to “Glyndon, A.” She pressed it again. And again. Nothing. A. Glyndon was out.

  “Guess we’re not in luck,” I murmured sarcastically.

  “Hold your horses,” Connie shot back and made a twirling motion with her finger as she decided which button to land on. She ended up on “Houston, C.” A few seconds later, an elderly woman’s voice answered “Yes?”

  “Hi, Alex? It’s Connie!”

  “Who?” the woman asked, obviously perplexed.

  “Connie! Is this Alex Glyndon? I’m sorry. I must have pressed the wrong number. Alex is expecting me.” She used her most innocent voice to ask the woman to let us in, and I fully expected the older woman, after being smothered in Connie’s charm, to buzz the door open. But it was not to be. With a final harrumph, the woman said caustically, “Well, I guess you better wait until your friend gets in.” Ouch.

  Before I had a chance to chide Connie about this failure, a dashing older man raced through the lobby and pushed open the door. Before it could close, Connie grabbed me, flashing a triumphant smile as if she had planned it this way, and escorted me into the posh lobby.

  Covered with a rose-patterned rug, The Barrington Arms lobby had potted palms and chairs placed casually throughout the space in conversation groups that I couldn’t imagine ever being used.

  “Who’s Alex Glyndon?” I asked her as we waited for the elevator. “And where are we going?”

  “Alex is a lawyer. I’ve done some work for him. And we’re just going fishing, sweetheart. We’re going to take a quick stroll through all the hallways of Barrington Arms.”

  The elevator arrived and she pressed the button for the top floor. When we reached our destination, she silently but briskly led the way through the hall.

  “What are we looking for?” I asked, struggling to keep up. I had never seen my sister so purposeful before. I was impressed.

  “Not looking. Listening. For an argument, for a familiar voice. Shut up and get to work,” she said.

  She strolled the halls, pausing a little in front of each door and looking at me inquisitively to see if I heard anything. Nothing on the top floor. And nothing on the floor below, or the one below that. Silent as a tomb, as a matter of fact. The Barrington Arms did not appear to be a jumpin’ kind of place.

  But on the next floor, I heard music, a song by Destiny’s Child, just the kind of song often played by my favorite radio station, the station that had been playing in the background at Sadie’s place during her phone call to me. A pop song meant someone young was behind that door. I stopped, holding up my hand to my sister to indicate this door had promise. I leaned my head against it, listening intently. A low murmur of troubled voices came from inside along with the sounds of muffled sobs. Was that Sadie crying? Connie pulled me aside.

  “What is it?” she asked me in a whisper.

  “The radio station. I think.” I grabbed my sister’s purse. “Do you have your phone on you?” I found it before she could answer and punched in Kerrie’s number while Connie just stared at me both amused and annoyed.

  “Kerrie,” I whispered into the phone when my friend answered. “Turn on WKDY. . . don’t ask. . . just turn it on. . . I’m in hurry. Now tell me what song is on.” When Kerrie confirmed it was the Destiny’s Child hit, I knew with every fiber of my being that we had located Sadie’s home. I told my sister.

  “You go hide around the corner,” she instructed me. “Sadie and her mother would recognize you.” I did as she told me and peered around to watch her knocking on the door. It opened slowly after someone called through asking her name, which she gave as “Constance Moran from St. John’s.”

  “I’m so sorry to disturb you,” she said in a perky, business-like voice. “I’m Constance Moran from the Alumni Association of St. John’s Academy. I live in 803 and I’m trying to visit all new St. John’s students in my neighborhood and I understand that Sadie Sinclair lives here.” She even pulled a piece of paper out of her purse and appeared to be consulting it as she said Sadie’s name. She also mispronounced it—a nice touch—saying “Sah-dee” instead of “Say-dee.”

  Someone said something to Connie that I couldn’t make out. Then Connie, perky smile still on her face, backed away. “I’m sorry. I’ll be sure to try again. Let me leave a card. . .”

  She rummaged through her purse for a few seconds. “Well, I can’t seem to put my hands on one right now, but I can leave one when I come back. I’m so glad you’re at St. John’s. It’s a terrific school, isn’t it?” It didn’t take long for the door to shut on her.

  Chapter Eight

  “WELL?” I asked Connie, coming out of my hiding place and joining her as we walked down the hall together.

  “Well, if that’s Sadie Sinclair in there, she’s not harmed as far as I could see. Just a little teary-eyed. She was in the distance. A man was standing by the window looking out. And a redhead spoke to me. Had a cigarette voice and too much make-up.”

  “Yeah, that was her,” I said.

  “That was who, her mother?”

  “I guess. So you don’t think anything was out of the ordinary? That’s a relief.” My mind immediately turned to thoughts of my date. If we hurried, I’d get there right on the dot of six.

  Just as we rounded the corner to the elevator bank, we heard a door open. Looking back, we saw it was Sadie’s door. Connie grabbed me and pulled me forward. “Come on. If they see you with me, they’ll know I was faking.”

  We ran silently on the plush carpet and Connie hit the elevator button. We couldn’t turn back. The staircase was behind us, in full view of Sadie’s door. We could hear footsteps in the hall as
we waited, an excruciatingly long three seconds until the doors whooshed open.

  But it was too late. They also had heard the doors open and were racing to catch the same elevator. Just as they rounded the corner, Connie pulled my face into her shoulder and whispered emphatically, “Start sobbing.”

  I responded like a robot and pretended to cry while she whipped out her cell phone with her other hand and faked a conversation. “Uh-huh. . . yeah. We’re on our way now. . . are you sure? Okay. . . okay. . .”

  I could tell the others had boarded the elevator, but I couldn’t see them because my face was buried in my sister’s shoulder.

  “Her dog just died,” she said to them as the elevator started moving. “Was with her all her life.” Geez, she even put a catch in her throat. “My sister is taking it pretty bad.”

  After an interminable ride, during which Connie comforted me in halting tones, we finally reached the lobby and walked out behind them. I lifted my head an inch and saw all three of them together. Sadie was walking ahead of the other two as if she knew where she was going. They didn’t get in the car but headed down the street instead. Connie held me back and just stared at them.

  “There is definitely something weird here,” she said looking at them walking together.

  “I think you ruined my hair-do,” I said, touching my crushed strands.

  “Come on!” She grabbed my hand and followed the three down the dark streets.

  “Con, my date!” I hissed at her.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get you there. We’re one minute away from the mall, for God’s sake.”

  With that reassurance, I happily joined in the chase. Connie was staying close to buildings and ducking into store overhangs every few seconds. No one else was out and about so the chances of being caught by Sadie and her crew were high. We had to proceed cautiously and at a fair distance. At the corner of York and Dunston Lane, they stopped.

  Connie pulled me back suddenly into a store door, but it had one of those old-fashioned gates pulled over it to keep thieves out. We were in the middle of the block and like sitting ducks. If we did-n’t do something soon, they could look back and see us. Connie tugged at the gate.

  To our amazement, it gave way and we were able to slip behind it, into a small entrance way. We cowered in the shadows as Connie pulled out a small pair of binoculars from her purse, crouched, and looked through the store’s glass showcase down the street.

  “What are they doing?” I asked, pulling at her arm.

  “They’re at a bank. It looks like Sadie is using an ATM machine.”

  “She’s giving them money?”

  “Wait a minute! Don’t jiggle my arm. This is hard enough.” A few seconds later, she put the glasses down. “Sadie just gave them an envelope. My guess is it’s filled with money. She’s paying them off for some reason.”

  “Why would she pay off her mom?” I said.

  “Maybe that woman isn’t her mother,” Connie whispered.

  “Sadie told me she is.” But then I remembered my conversation with Sadie and how noncommittal and distracted she had been. “At least I think she is.”

  “Shhh! They’re turning back!”

  “Let’s get out of here,” I yelped.

  “Too late. We have to hide.” Connie looked around our dark corner and grabbed a grungy welcome mat. It was black rubber with rough grippers on one side that held all sorts of unmentionable dirt and bugs. To my horror, Connie pulled this mat in front of herself and grabbed me underneath it.

  “My blouse!” I hissed to no avail as Connie mashed her purse way back in the corner where it couldn’t be seen. She kicked off her shoes and tore mine off too, shoving everything back into the corner.

  “Shut up,” she hissed right back.

  To any passer-by who happened to glance our way, we just looked like two homeless wretches sleeping off the night in a warm doorway. A few minutes later, we heard the three walk by. When their footsteps faded out of earshot, Connie pulled the gross mat off of us and laid it on the ground, kicking up a storm of dust that made me sneeze.

  “Be quiet,” she warned. “They might still hear you.” She stood and reached for the gate to open it.

  “I’m a mess,” I whined, feeling awfully sorry for myself. Here I had planned a look that was so perfect, so casual, yet so alluring. So neat, yet so carefree. So attractive, yet so. . .

  “That’s the least of your worries,” Connie said as she yanked at the gate.

  And yanked. And yanked again.

  It was locked. My eyes widened and my pulse raced as I realized our predicament.

  “You got us in here!” I nearly shouted at her. “What’s the problem?”

  “The gate was accidentally left open,” she said, fiddling with its lock. “I must have locked it when I pulled it shut on us.”

  “Connie! I have a date! My first date with Doug! I can’t be trapped here. It’s getting late! What time is it anyway?” I paced our small cage like an animal, unable to really believe that I was trapped with my sister in a dingy doorway while Doug waited for me at the mall. Connie, meanwhile, let out a curse as she unsuccessfully tugged on the gate after another attempt to maneuver the lock.

  “Forget about your date! What do we tell the police when they find us here? Oh, gee, Officer, I thought it would be funny to see what it feels like to be in a zoo? That’ll sit real well with the PI licensing folks.” She worked at the gate lock with fervor, trying various keys and other pointy objects from her key ring that I didn’t know she had.

  “Guess you were absent on Lock Picking Day,” I said sarcastically, folding my arms over each other. I didn’t dare look at my blouse. I knew it was probably smudged with dirt from the rubber mat. And my hair—my hair felt like a matted rug that had a certain odor now, what I’d call L’Air du Wet Dog. I was sure to make a big impression on Doug. That is, after he forgave me for being late.

  “You could help, you know,” she muttered between clenched teeth. “Grab the gate and hold it up a little. If I can jimmy the latch. . .”

  I did as she said. And I did it again and again. But a quarter hour later, we were still trapped and I was beginning to see my dating life flash before my eyes. It didn’t take long.

  “All right,” she said emphatically. “That’s it. Time to call in the Marines.” She grabbed her purse and pulled out her cell phone, hit a speed dial number and pursed her lips while she waited for someone to pick up.

  “Hi. I need your help. . .”

  FOR A HALF hour, Connie and I hid in the shadows to avoid the gaze of occasional drivers, and I whined about the fact that we were trapped in the doorway of a weird comic book store instead of the vintage clothing shop across the street (“clothes for the tragically hip”). Finally, a hunky specimen of the genus manus arrived.

  Despite my frantic state, I couldn’t help but admire this fellow’s appearance and my sister’s ability to summon such a guy with the briefest of calls. His name was Kurt and Connie seemed to know him really well.

  Kurt was over six feet and built like a muscle man. He had a military close-shave haircut, a nose that looked like it had been mashed once in a fight, an anchor tattoo on his left upper arm, and thick lips.

  But his eyes were so blue I could see their color even through the shadows, and he was kind, and smelled like English Leather after-shave, which was always a favorite of mine. He almost made me forget about Doug. Actually, not even near.

  He was Connie’s “friend,” first of all, and too old for me. My guess is he was maybe thirty-five. He pulled some metal objects from his pocket, and soon had the gate open.

  “That was a tough one,” he said. “Took me two minutes.”

  Connie smiled at him and patted him on the arm. “So I should-n’t feel bad for not getting it?”

  “It was rusted. Show me what you were using.”

  This, I decided, was no time for a comparison of lock-picking tools. I had a guy of my own waiting for me. At least I hoped he was st
ill waiting for me. I could barely bring myself to look at my watch. When I did, I let out a muted scream. It was seven-thirty, an hour and a half after the time I had said I would meet Doug.

  “Connie! My date!” I pleaded with her.

  “Okay, okay,” she said to me, brushing dust off my shoulder.

  “I can give you a ride,” Kurt said, pointing to his Jeep. Connie graciously sat in the back so I could hop out of the front seat the second we got to the mall. Kurt pulled away from the curb with the speed and precision of someone used to maneuvering vehicles through tricky situations. In less than a minute, we were not only at the mall, but at the exact entrance closest to the prearranged meeting spot. Maybe, just maybe, Doug was still there.

  “Do you want me to wait?” Kurt asked as I unfolded myself from the front seat.

  “No, no thanks.”

  Connie piped up from the back seat. “You can call me if you need a ride.”

  With that optimistic send-off, I ventured into the mall.

  I WAS already too late. I couldn’t risk stopping in a ladies room to undo the damage of my evening of investigating. So, my plan was to locate Doug, give him a breezy kiss on the cheek that would make him oblivious to the fact that I looked and smelled like I had crawled out of a sewer, and then excuse myself, making a quick trip to the ladies room, where I would spray myself with perfume, brush my hair, reconfigure my make-up, and assess the damage to my self-esteem.

  Good thing I had to think of that plan. It kept me from thinking of the inevitable—that I wouldn’t hook up with Doug at all. Why should he wait nearly two hours for a no-show, I thought mournfully as I scanned the area in front of the food court where we’d agreed to meet.

  I walked around hoping against hope to find Doug window shopping while he waited for me. No luck. I ran to the door we would have taken to walk to the theater, and scanned the crowd there. Still no Doug. I wandered slowly back to the Food Court, a lump in my throat now as I contemplated my loss. What must he have thought?