About Face

by Fern Michaels

  He’d tried running Casey Edwards down, but it hadn’t worked. Maybe he needed to take a different approach. Where in hell was his prospective renter? Didn’t she know he was a busy man?

  He looked at the lone clock the last tenant had left hanging on the wall. Five more minutes, then he’d leave. He didn’t need this shit anymore. The real estate business certainly left something to be desired these days. He consoled himself with the thought that he would be closing up shop very soon.

  Robert was about to pack it in when he heard the knock at the door.

  A woman in her mid-fifties, wearing a smart-looking navy suit with matching shoes, held out her hand in greeting. “Helen Bishop. You must be Robert?”

  “Yes.” He opened the door and stood aside.

  “I need office space and I need it fast.” Helen walked across the large room, stopping once to look around. “This looks big enough, and the price is right. One Peachtree Center is a good address. Let’s do it.”

  Robert was curious about this woman. A possible mystery beneath the coifed coiffeur of Ms. Bishop?

  “Would you like to go over the terms of the lease? I have it here.” He thumbed through a stack of papers in his briefcase.

  “No. If it’s standard, I’m sure it will be fine. I’d like to start moving in first thing tomorrow.” She said all this as she wrote her check. When Robert saw she’d paid an entire year’s rent up front, he decided to keep his mouth shut, but he was curious. Why did she want the space so quickly when she’d made this appointment with him weeks ago?

  “Yes, it’s standard,” he said. “Tomorrow will be fine.” He gave her the required papers to sign, then returned them to his briefcase.

  She held her palm out to him, “Good doing business with you, Robert.” She clasped his hand. Her handshake was surprisingly ladylike.

  “The same here. Now, I’m sure you’ll understand if I leave now. I’ve scheduled another appointment in this building, and I’m already running late.”

  “Certainly.” The new tenant slid her copies of the lease into her purse and left him alone with his thoughts.

  The entire transaction had taken no more than five minutes. Robert liked that. This woman, whoever she was, reminded him of himself.

  He’d lied about having another appointment in Peachtree Center. Why, he had no idea. Just that he wanted the busy woman to think she was one of many waiting clients, he supposed. God, why did he need constantly to boost himself? What was lacking in his life? He had things most men would be envious of. Norma’s family home, his home now, would rival any wealthy man’s estate. A Lamborghini, the Jag, a classic Corvette, and three BMWs and Norma’s Mercedes. His clothes were tailor-made. He and Norma belonged to The Oaks, one of Brunswick’s finest country clubs. Outwardly he had all the material possessions most men spent their entire lives trying to accumulate. And he’d never been satisfied. He knew what was lacking. And by God, he’d have it no matter what. Which brought him back to Dewitt. No way would he let the man intimidate him.

  The elevator door hissed open, and Robert quickly stepped out. He hated the damn things; you never knew when you’d get stuck in one. Not that he had, but he’d heard of some people actually dying in them.

  Bright sunshine and a warm breeze greeted him as he entered Peachtree Center Avenue. Office workers young and old thronged the sidewalks. Hot dog vendors were scattered downtown, and Robert almost wished he weren’t so disciplined. He’d like to eat one, maybe two, covered with relish, gobs of ketchup and mustard. But if he succumbed to such primal cravings, he’d be right up there—or down, he mused—with the lower classes who stuffed themselves with the nasty things all the while wondering why their weight couldn’t be controlled.

  At Auburn Avenue he stopped and crossed with a crowd of workers scurrying toward Georgia’s State Capitol building.

  He had one more stop to make, and just enough time to do it before his return flight to Sweetwater. He waved his hand for a taxi and seconds later hopped inside the Yellow Cab. He gave the driver the Buckhead address, observing the man as he mentally calculated his fare plus tip. Buckhead being one of the best addresses in Atlanta, it was doubtful the cabbie delivered passengers in this area too often since most residents had their own personal chauffeurs.

  Robert took a twenty from his wallet and looked at the ticking meter before he grabbed another. While he didn’t want to appear cheap, he sure as hell didn’t want the driver to think him nouveau riche. Hell, he doubted the driver even knew what it meant.

  “Thanks,” the man said as Robert stuffed the cash into the cabbie’s outstretched hand, then made a mad dash for the condo.

  She didn’t know he’d had a key made on their last trip. While she showered, he’d taken the keys from her purse. A wax impression took seconds. The next day, while in Brunswick, Marv, the manager at Ace Hardware, made several copies for him. You never knew when you might lose one.

  He slid the key into the lock. A click and the door opened. Perfect.

  “You!”

  His heart rate tripled when he saw he wasn’t alone. This situation could be handled.

  She wore a black skirt with a rose-colored blouse half tucked in. Pale pink nylons encased her slim legs. Her shoes were nowhere to be seen. She looked rumpled, as if she’d dressed hurriedly. Normally, there was never a hair out of place. Now, however, her sleek bob looked like she’d encountered hurricane-force winds.

  “Yes, me. So what?”

  “I didn’t expect you.”

  He gave her a quick glance as his gaze came to rest on her flushed face. “Apparently not. What in the hell have you been doing, or should I ask who have you been doing?” He knew her sexual escapades included others besides himself. Since he practiced the very same habits, he could not have cared less whom she bedded.

  “It doesn’t concern you. However,” she called over her shoulder as she walked toward the bedroom, “your presence concerns me. I know you think I’m nuts, Robert, maybe I am.” She gave a deep laugh. “But I know I never gave you a key to the condo. That alone makes me wonder what else you’ve been doing behind my back.”

  He didn’t know if he could hold off any longer. He had to. Just a few more days, and all this would be his.

  “Big fucking deal. Did it ever occur to you that I run a business? I’m in Atlanta all the time. You should’ve given me a key to this place. Sometimes I stay over. I didn’t want to ask you for a copy, so I had one made. End of story. Nothing up my sleeve.”

  “Lots of things occur to me, Robert. More than you’ll ever know.” She came out of the bedroom looking fresh as a daisy. “I’ve got things to do back in Sweetwater. Need a lift?”

  He’d have to deal with Dewitt later. He’d wanted at least an hour of undisturbed time to make his calls. He needed to get rid of the stash of LSD he carried in his pocket. Airport security would stop him for sure. He had to leave it somewhere. With her in the way, it would be impossible. He’d never been too sure how far she’d allow him to go with their plan. He knew murder was easy for her, but he wasn’t sure how particular she would be when it came to the victim. No way would he conduct business in her presence. Dewitt could wait another day. The drugs would be easy to dispose of.

  “Sure. You have a car here?” She usually hired a driver on her trips to Atlanta.

  “I rented a Benz. I’ll leave it at the airport for the rental company.”

  “Fine. What time is your flight scheduled, or do you have the Cessna?” The obvious hiding place for the drugs suddenly occurred to him: The rental car.

  Once outside, Robert looked around, making sure he wasn’t being observed. It wouldn’t do for anyone to catch them together. Years of planning would be sucked right down the tube if that happened.

  “American flight 442, Robert. Same as you.” She shot him one of her know-it-all smirks before leading him to the underground parking garage.

  The woman surprised him sometimes.

  Before opening the passenger door
, Robert walked around to the driver’s side. Not allowing her the chance to resist, he took her in his arms and kissed her, long and hard. This he had control over. This she had no control over. At first she resisted, then he forced her lips to part with his tongue. Teasing her, he nipped her lip, then felt her submission as her mouth opened to him. It worked every time.

  A Buckhead address in Atlanta signifies being wealthy, or one of the South’s trendsetters, or, quite often, both. Normally Adam would lunch at a Waffle House or Shoney’s but that day his patient, a wealthy widow in her fifties, newly recovering from agoraphobia, had insisted they meet at Bone’s, a masculine steakhouse right in the heart of the Buckhead district.

  Black-and-white images of celebrities who’d dined there in the past lined the dark-paneled walls along with framed photos depicting Atlanta through the years. The place was noted for its lobster bisque and extensive wine list. Adam laughed to himself as he waited for Ms. Bishop to return from the ladies’ room.

  Helen Bishop couldn’t embrace her newfound freedom fast enough. Locked away in her family home for more than ten years, after her only son was killed in a car accident on his way home to visit, she’d been unable even to go downtown. For the past two years Adam had aggressively treated her agoraphobia.

  They were celebrating the opening of her new marketing business. She’d taken an office on Peachtree and was moving in the next day.

  Adam assumed that this was a farewell luncheon, too. Helen had been going out on her own for almost a year, and that day was the culmination of her long bout with the mental disorder that had confined her for so many years.

  She emerged from the ladies’ room all smiles. Taking her by the elbow, he escorted her to the front entrance of the restaurant, which faced Piedmont Road. She broke loose from him and walked to the street.

  “That’s him!”

  He saw where she pointed. Something about the figure seemed familiar.

  “Who?” Adam walked to the curb and stood next to Helen.

  “The man I rented my office from.” She took another step, almost into the oncoming traffic. Adam grabbed her arm and pulled her out of harm’s way.

  “Helen, I’d hate to think we’ve gone through the past two years of therapy to have it wiped out by your curiosity.”

  “Oh, Lord, Adam. I’m sorry. I thought I’d say hello is all.”

  Helen looked behind her one last time as Adam led her back to the sidewalk.

  “I wonder who she is?” she asked no one in particular.

  Adam turned around just in time to see Robert Bentley and Eve Worthington headed for the underground parking lot.

  Together again.

  While her husband, his father, lay in the hospital.

  Chapter 20

  Blake leaned back in the kitchen chair and patted his stomach. “If I ate like this every day, Flora, I’d weigh a ton.”

  “Me, too,” Casey said as she put the last plate into the dishwasher.

  “Well, I say it ain’t gonna hurt neither of you to gain a few pounds. ’Specially you, young lady. Another twenty pounds and you’ll look as fit as a fiddle.”

  “No, Flora, I’d look as fat as a house.” Casey folded the dish towel and placed it on the countertop.

  “Ladies, it’s getting late,” Blake said. “I think I’d better head on out. I’ve a few things to catch up on this evening. Thought I might go over to the hospital and check on John. I tried Adam’s place here on the island. He isn’t there. I’m hoping to catch him with his father.”

  He stood and gave Flora a gentle squeeze. Casey felt her heart flutter when he centered his gaze on her. She smiled at him. “Then get out of here, Doc. If you see my mother at the hospital, tell her I asked about her.”

  “I will. Now, I want my two favorite beauties to relax this evening. Watch TV, do facials, paint your nails, you know, girl things.” He winked at Casey.

  “Are you saying we need facials and painted nails, young man?” Flora asked as she swatted Blake’s rear end.

  “Yes. I’ll call you later, Casey.” He squeezed her hand and gave Flora another hug. “Tomorrow, Flora, I’ll want that pecan pie again.” He gave a last wink, and the three of them walked to the front door.

  They could have been a family, Casey thought as she stood next to Flora, watching Blake’s taillights wind up the hill. She closed the door and went to the kitchen.

  With a pot of tea between them, Casey knew Flora wanted to talk. While Blake’s innocent images of girl talk accompanied by facials and glorious pink polishes were his idea of how they’d spend their evening, Casey knew better.

  “All right, Flora, out with it.”

  “Well, girl, you sure are gettin’ to know my moods. I had a call this afternoon. From that young lady down at the courthouse.”

  “Brenda?” Casey questioned.

  “No, the other one. Marianne. She wanted to speak to you. I told her you’d taken a walk. And by the way, young lady, if you ever decide to sneak out again, you’d best let me know.”

  “If I did, then it wouldn’t be sneaking.” Casey laughed.

  “You know what I mean. I thought I’d die when Julie came down and said you were nowhere to be found.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry or upset you. I just needed some time alone. And I wanted to go to . . . that house.” She rubbed the small bandage beneath her hair. She’d managed to arrange her short hair to hide her injury. Flora didn’t know about her wound, and Casey had made Blake promise not to tell her. She’d think about that later.

  “What did Marianne want?”

  “Seems you were looking for some records. I told her I’d give you the message.”

  “Maybe she found the copy of the report Blake and I were looking for.” Casey wondered what Marianne’s last name was and if it was too late to call. When she talked to Blake later, she’d ask him.

  “She didn’t tell me. Just said it was important. She said she’d call back.”

  Casey took a sip of tea. “You know, Flora, I can hardly believe the past few days. I try to think back to just a few months ago, when I was incoherent from all those medications Dr. Macklin gave me, and now I don’t even seem to be the same person. I’ve remembered things that I never imagined. The day Ronnie died, I saw Robert Bentley in my room. Do you remember hearing anything about that?”

  Casey watched Flora’s expressive face for a sign of recognition. “No, not that I recall. Of course I have to keep remindin’ you that I’m not as young as I used to be. My memory fails me a lot these days.”

  Casey wondered if Flora’s memory failed her only when it was convenient.

  “I’ve been thinking. Mother said this Marc was responsible for molesting me.” She used the word with such ease. “Did I ever even hint to you that he’d hurt me? I just feel so . . . oh, unsatisfied I guess. I wanted to know the person, wanted to put a face to him. I guess I need to have someone to center my anger on.”

  “Like I said, Missy, I never heard of this Marc person. And the day I took you to Doc Hunter’s you never said a word about anything or anybody. My thought is this: If you’d wanted to tell someone, anyone, you’d a told me right then and there. I don’t see you goin’ to your momma and tellin’ her that. Those are just my thoughts, Casey, nothing more.”

  Flora was right. That’s what didn’t fit. It all seemed so out of character for the child she’d been at the time. Reserved and maybe frightened.

  Suddenly her memory of that day was crystal clear.

  “Casey, sweetie you’ve been hurt by someone, haven’t you?” Doc Hunter questioned.

  She remained quiet, her hands folded in her lap. She counted the tulips on her dress.

  Thirty-six, thirty-seven . . .

  “Now I want you to listen to old Doc here. You don’t have to say anything, you hear? Just listen.”

  She nodded.

  “I know you’re just nine, but, Casey, I know what a bright girl you are. Flora tells me how good you do in school,
makin’ straight As on your report card. So that’s why I know you’ll understand what I’m about to tell you.

  “Sometimes people . . . Men do awful things. Women, too, but men have been known to do things to girls, both young and old. When you’re older you’ll probably understand this better, but right now you need to know what happened to you wasn’t your fault. Men go to jail for doin’ things like this to young girls. But, in order for them to be punished, someone has to tell about all the bad things they do.”

  Then she looked at him, and whispered, “Nobody did nothin’ to me.”

  “Well, Casey, it sure doesn’t look that way to me. You see, we doctors go to school for a long time jus’ so we can tell when people are hurt and what to do for them. Why, some of us can even tell what’s ailin’ a person without them ever openin’ their mouth.”

  Frightened green eyes looked at the doctor. “I ain’t stupid. Quit tellin’ me those baby stories. I ain’t believin’ it. You can stuff your lies.”

  “They’re not lies, Casey. I promise you. I’d never tell you a lie. I want you to make me a promise. Will you do that for me?”

  “Why?”

  “Well, because I’m your friend, and friends make promises to each other.”

  “I ain’t got no friends. Don’t want none, either.”

  “Okay, then. I understand.”

  “Then let me go!”

  “I will Casey. But I’d like for you to go home and tell your mother what he’s doin’ to you. If you do that, I promise he’ll go to jail, and you’ll never have to be afraid again.”