by Kim Karr
The dude opened the door and my eyes immediately went to the animal-print robe he was wearing.
“You Derrick?” Miles asked.
He pulled his robe closed to hide his junk. “That’s me.” He stepped to the side. “And you must be Miles.”
He nodded. I preferred no introduction and Miles kept it that way.
I stepped in and knew I was never bringing Elle here. Everything was trimmed in red, but the pillow on the bed that read “Wicked Smaht” sealed the deal. The pillows were decorated with a Boston accent?
I walked over to the bathroom and glanced in. It was empty and I gave Miles a nod.
He opened the closet. “Clear,” he said.
I nodded again.
“I’m alone,” Derrick said and flopped on the bed. “So how can I help you?”
With my arms crossed, I leaned back against the red lacquered dresser.
Miles took a seat in the chair opposite the bed. “Tell me what you know about Michael O’Shea.”
The dude twisted his lips. “The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
Miles looked annoyed as he pulled out his phone. “This guy.” He flashed Derrick a picture of O’Shea’s Facebook profile, and just the sight of his dark hair and icy blue eyes had me seeing double.
Derrick looked hesitant.
Frustrated, Miles went on. “It’s the same picture I sent you when I contacted you.”
With his blond, chin-length hair falling forward, he slicked it back with his palms. “Yeah, right, that dude. I remember him.”
Miles’s glare almost made me cringe. “You’d better. That’s why you’re here, to tell us what you know, not because we wanted to splurge on your sex life.”
He straightened his spine and gave Miles a wry smile. “By the way, thank you for that.”
If looks could kill, Derrick the dude would be dead. “Start talking,” Miles demanded impatiently.
“What do you want to know?”
“When did you meet with him?”
He scratched his chin. “It was four, maybe six weeks ago.”
“How did he contact you?”
“Through my email on Evan Marks.”
“What was the purpose of the email?”
“He told me he was looking to watch his wife get off and that he wanted to tape it.”
“He phrased it just like that?”
He laughed. “No, I doubt it. He was much more uptight.”
“What exactly did he ask you, then?”
Derrick ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t remember his exact words, man. Something like he wanted to schedule an appointment for him and his wife, and was it okay with me if he taped the encounter.”
“Do you still have the email?”
“No. I can those daily.”
Miles gave him a look.
He shrugged. “Can’t take the chance of a scandal. You have to understand, I get contacted with messages like that all the time.”
My stomach felt like iron bars and that someone had just clanged them.
Miles sat up a little straighter himself. “Okay, so you see a lot people, and yet you remember Michael O’Shea?”
The doubt was in his voice. I could tell he thought this guy was bullshitting us.
“His eyes, man. They were icy blue, almost haunted. Kind of gave me the creeps.”
Miles seemed to believe him then. “Okay, so what happened?”
“I met them in a hotel room and he sat in a chair like you are in right now and never got up, and I mean never got up. His wife answered the door, his wife and I got it on, and she walked me to the door afterwards. He watched and didn’t even jerk off.”
Miles still had his phone in his hand. “Is this the woman that was with him?”
Derrick nodded in confirmation.
This meant it was Lizzy with O’Shea during the time she was supposedly missing.
Miles glanced at me, then back toward him. He’d drawn the same conclusion. “Did she seem like she was into it or more like she was being forced?”
He crossed his legs at his ankles. “To be honest, I’m not really certain. She seemed okay but not completely into it. I mean she consented, went along with it, got off, got me off, but said nothing.”
“Did you think she was high or drunk?”
“She definitely wasn’t drunk. High, I couldn’t really say. She was just really sad.”
Miles shifted a little in his seat and I was ready to jump out of my skin. “Do you remember anything else unusual?”
He gave another small laugh. “The dude started reciting some kind of prayer while we were going at it.”
Miles’s eyes shot to mine. “Do you know what prayer?”
“Something about repenting for her deeds.”
“Anything else?”
“Look, threesomes are more my thing. That whole night was just freakin’ bizarre. It was like they were putting on a show and neither one of them wanted to be there. Other than that, no, nothing unusual happened. Straight-up sex. Nothing kinky. He paid me, he never asked to see me again, and never contacted me again.”
Miles stood.
I straightened.
“Thanks for the info.” Miles handed him his card. “If you think of anything else, call me.”
The dude didn’t get up. “Yeah, no problem.”
I started for the door and Miles followed.
“Hey,” Derrick called. “I have the room for the morning, right?”
“Yeah, man. It’s all yours,” Miles answered.
There was nothing about what I’d just learned that made me feel any better. In fact, I felt myself twitching everywhere and I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
“Why would he do something like that?” Miles asked.
“I have no fucking idea.”
My mind was warped. I couldn’t think straight right now. My thoughts couldn’t even be vocalized. O’Shea was with Lizzy when she was “missing.” He’d never told Elle about it. He’d videotaped this fucked-up event for a reason.
I mean why?
What the fuck?
We walked toward the elevator and Miles managed to at least say what I couldn’t. “What the fuck kind of guy does that with his wife?”
“The one who wants to lay claim to my girl,” I muttered.
He pressed the button and turned his head toward me. “What did you say?”
“The same one who wants Elle,” I said and closed my eyes.
The very thought was enough to drive me crazy.
ELLE
I opened the back door of my townhouse with my hands full.
I had my laptop on one shoulder, my purse on the other, and a giant plush elephant clutched in between. Logan had picked it up yesterday for Clementine. It was so big it had to be the size of her. I’d been unsuccessful in replacing Rosie and although Clementine had long forgotten her once precious rattle, he hoped this would fill any void the lost toy might have created.
It was really sweet.
Much to my chagrin, when I glanced toward the dark sky filled with gray clouds, I knew it was going to rain again. Boston in the spring was proving that my investment in a good raincoat was well worth it. I’d also picked up a red rain hat and red rain boots. Luckily, I had already shoved the hat on my head before stepping foot outdoors, but unfortunately my rain boots were at the boutique.
I took in the beautiful green colors that surrounded me—the trees, the grass, the stems of the flowers. Everything was starting to get so green and lush. I loved the Northeast and couldn’t believe I’d spent so much time anywhere but here.
After a few moments of taking in the fresh air, I turned on my heels to lock the kitchen door. When I did, I felt something strange beneath my soles. The giant elephant was blocking my view but still, I managed to glance downward.
Black rose petals covered the stoop. Hundreds of them. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I felt a chill that was not from the cool temperature. I glanced around. No
thing. No one. Where did they come from?
That unease I’d felt earlier crept right back inside my soul.
Worrying my lip, I locked the door and hurried up the sidewalk to the street. The Porsche was parked behind the Mercedes, but there were no signs of anything or anyone unusual.
Today I was taking the Mercedes and as I rushed toward it, my mind was whirling. What I knew about black roses came from reading books and watching movies. Possibly total folklore, they meant to symbolize a warning for something like an impending death or a plot for revenge. Were these left for me or were they a prank by some neighborhood goth kid who dabbed black food coloring in his grandmother’s rose garden? I tried calling Logan to tell him about it but the call went right to voicemail. I hung up. I was being silly. I’d tell him about it later.
I eased down the accelerator. Was it just my imagination, or could I smell the woodsy, pine-like smell of the outdoors in the car? I glanced around. Nothing. Odd. I was really losing it.
Driving fast, it still seemed to take me forever to get to Michael’s. As I pulled onto his street, I looked in the rearview mirror and told myself I had to focus on what was important. I had to be brave. For Clementine.
I parked out front and double-checked that the thumb drive was still in the pocket of my black palazzo pants. I’d selected an outfit where the pants were loose and the top sheer so as to hide any evidence of what I was carrying on my body and draw attention up to the top. It wasn’t the best plan, but I also hoped it wasn’t one that was needed. Hopefully, Michael would stay at work during my weekly breakfast date with Clementine—he always had. But then again, he hadn’t propositioned me before now and wasn’t awaiting an answer, either.
Knock. Knock.
I didn’t want to scare Mrs. R and just go on in. This was her first week and she was still learning the ropes. In fact, I hoped Michael had reminded her to give Clementine only a small snack until I arrived.
There was no answer and I knocked again.
For some odd reason, I started to sweat even though it was cold outside.
The lock finally gave way and I felt a swoosh of relief. The door swung open and Mrs. R stood before me in her plain taupe pants, white blouse, and practical shoes. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back in a tight bun. She was very proper. Like an English nanny. I both liked and disliked the idea of it. I wanted Clementine to have the freedom to express herself while understanding the rights and wrongs of the world. I wasn’t certain Mrs. R would allow for the former, but at least I knew I would.
She moved aside. “Good morning, Miss Sterling. Clementine has been waiting for you.”
I stepped inside. “How’s everything going with her?”
“Very well. Thank you for asking.”
I had the oddest feeling that I was like a stranger to her. Of course she didn’t know me, but still, she knew I was a part of Clementine’s life. When I’d first met her, I thought she would be ideal for Clementine, but maybe my state of mind wasn’t exactly in top shape then because today she seemed cool, aloof. It was as if she didn’t like me for some reason.
“Mommy!” Clementine called, barreling toward me at toddling speed with her juice cup in her hand.
“Don’t run,” Mrs. R warned, but her smile told me it was concern in her voice and not the need for obedience I’d heard in my father’s voice every day of my young life.
I dumped everything in my hands and bent down with my arms extended. When Clementine reached me, I scooped her up and kissed her. “Good morning, silly girl. How are you today?”
Her hands clasped my cheeks and she opened her mouth for another kiss. Open-mouthed kisses were her thing. She breathed on me and she smelled of Cheerios and orange juice. A scent I had grown to cherish.
I held her tightly, the wave of love I felt for her as powerful as blood. She might not have been mine, but I felt like she was. “Look, I have a new friend to join your others.” I set her down and handed her the stuffed elephant.
She giggled and threw her arms around the soft fur. “Rosie,” she beamed.
My heart leapt at how much she loved her new Rosie.
“Mrs. Sterling, would you like me to prepare her breakfast now?” Mrs. R asked.
Still in the foyer, I glanced around at how tidy everything was. In the family room, all the toys were in the toy chest, the board books were placed neatly on the shelf, and Clementine’s stuffed animals were nowhere in sight. “Oh, no, we do that together, but thank you. Did Traci come?”
She tidied her bun. “She came Monday and will come again tomorrow.”
“Oh, it’s just everything is so neat.”
Mrs. R’s eyes lit up. “Yes, Clementine and I did some straightening up of her things yesterday. They were in quite a disarray.”
Panic set in and I didn’t know how to stop it. “She has to be allowed to play,” I found myself saying, knowing I was being ridiculous.
“Mommy,” Clementine said again, but when my eyes darted down to hers she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking at Mrs. R.
A twinge of jealousy struck and it was followed by unreasonable disappointment.
Mrs. R bent to Clementine’s level. “Now sweetie, we discussed this. I’m Nanny and,” she pointed to me, “this is Aunt Elle.”
Clementine was oblivious to the entire conversation as she pretended to give Rosie some juice, but I could see in that moment that Mrs. R truly cared for her and that my tension was tainting my view of the situation.
“How about I bring Rosie upstairs to your room to join your other friends in our tea party and you go make breakfast with your aunt.”
She was correct. I was her aunt, not her mother.
I plastered a smile on my face and took Clementine’s hand. “Come on, let’s get those pancakes going.”
Mrs. R gently took my arm. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m trying to make the situation clear for her. We were in the park yesterday and she was calling every woman there ‘Mommy.’ I’m certain she misses her own mother and with no one constant woman in her life, she sees everyone as her mommy.”
The sucker punch came out of nowhere, but I knew it wasn’t intended to hurt me. Clementine did have a parade of women in her life. Nannies, housekeepers, Michael’s sister, me, but none were here all the time. “No, not at all. You did the right thing.”
Clementine and I went into the kitchen while Mrs. R left us alone and went upstairs. As always, I enjoyed my time with her. We made the batter, cooked the pancakes in the shape of princess tiaras, and then ate them with lots of syrup.
I shoved my own issues aside. Mrs. R was good for her. She was stable and reliable and could see what I had failed to see.
“How was it?” she asked Clementine as she entered the kitchen.
“De . . . lick . . . is,” she said, rubbing her tummy.
My heart fluttered. She was cute beyond words.
“If you don’t mind, Miss Sterling, I’m going to take her for a walk before the rain starts. It looks like it might just storm all day.”
I was washing the frying pan. “Please, call me Elle, and that’s a great idea. I’ll just finish up here and be off. I have to get to work by ten.”
“You can leave those. I’ll clean them up later.”
I pushed the hair from my face. “I’m almost done.”
“Okay, then, we’ll be off.”
I wiped my hands on a towel. “Give me a kiss, silly girl.”
In her shiny patent leather shoes she came over to me. “Bye, bye.”
I gave her a big squeeze and kissed her. “I love you and I’ll see you this weekend.”
She gave me that open-mouthed kiss and then took Mrs. R’s extended hand.
As soon as I heard the door close, I ran into Michael’s office.
Sightless eyes were watching me, or that’s how I felt as I plugged the thumb drive into Michael’s computer and a series of letters and numbers flashed before me. The bar at the bottom moved at a snail’s pace. I dug my
fingernails into my palms as it inched ever farther toward one hundred.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
I glanced around and noticed the bouquet of roses on Michael’s desk.
“That’s it,” I thought, and ran toward the tile that hid the keypad.
With shaky fingers I tried to move it. Nothing happened. I tried to turn it. Nothing happened. Had he relocated it?
Feeling defeated, I pushed in as I went to shove away and the tile popped open. I entered 7673—the numbers that corresponded to Rose, Michael’s mother’s name. The dead woman whose pictures were everywhere. The mother he had obviously loved.
I couldn’t believe it, but the bookcase to the left of the fireplace slowly started to open. My heart was racing and I bit my bottom lip in an attempt to steady my shaking body.
Anticipation clogged my throat. I wanted to run inside and see what all the fuss was about, but I was cautious and I waited for it to fully open. My eyes glanced back to the computer screen and the bar read 100 percent. Torn between the safe room and the computer program, I decided to eject the thumb drive first.
Once I did, I turned back and the door was still fully opened. I shoved the thumb drive in my pocket and wondered how long I should wait to see if it closed on its own. I should have asked Miles. I patted my pockets for my phone but it was in my purse, which was out in the foyer, and there was no way I could leave Michael’s office with the door to the safe room, panic room, or whatever you want to call it the way it was.
It remained fully open. I stared at it. It hadn’t closed by now and I knew it wasn’t going to. I was certain of that. I saw a large five-prong handle on the inside and knew it was there for someone to pull it shut and lock the door quickly by turning it.
Bracing myself, I took a tentative step forward . . . nervous but filled with hope that going inside would lead me closer to the truth.
One step.
Two.
Three.
And I was inside.
It was smaller than I had imagined. Twelve by twelve at the most. The air smelled musty and dry like the basement. But it was neat and clean. The walls were a deep blue. There were three clocks across the one directly opposite me. Each was labeled—Tokyo, London, and Washington. Under them was a desk that stretched the entire length of the room. Two monitors were located on each end of the desk. To my right was a couch sandwiched between open shelves with bottles of water, cans of fruit, and first aid supplies. There was another couch sandwiched between cabinets.
