by Brenda Novak
“Why’d my mother have to get with you?” she grumbled and pressed the Talk button. “Hello?” She used a sleepy voice, hoping to convince him he’d awakened her from a nap, but he didn’t seem to care.
“Sam?”
Did he expect someone else to be answering his phone? “Yes?”
“You’re not leaving the TV projector on all day, are you?”
That was why he’d called? “No.”
“Good. The bulb doesn’t last very long, and they cost over three hundred dollars to replace.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said. But it was just her way of being a smartass without getting in trouble for it. He’d told her about the bulb at least a hundred times. He had her mother so nervous she’d break his stupid projector that Zoe had bought Sam her own DVD player and asked her not to even use his TV. Fortunately, Sam liked movies. She liked to read, too. But it’d be nice to watch a TV show to break up the monotony. It wasn’t as if she had an unlimited source of movies and books.
“It’s not a toy,” he was saying.
Did she treat it like a toy? “Got it.”
“So, what are you doing?”
“Not destroying anything.”
“What?”
She’d mumbled the words because she knew it wouldn’t be smart to let him hear. “I said I was sleeping.”
Again, he ignored the opportunity to apologize for disturbing her. “You’re not out by the pool, are you?”
Was there something wrong with that, too? “Actually, I am. I thought I might as well tan while I slept.”
“Don’t get any oil on the cushions of those lounge chairs.”
“They were expensive,” she mouthed as he said the words, and rolled over in disgust. “I’m not using any oil.”
“You’re not upset, are you? Just because I’m trying to teach you to take care of personal property?”
He’d noticed her tone. Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused her energy on hiding the irritation that made her want to scream, “Go away and never talk to me again!” She would’ve done it if not for her mom. Zoe was so excited to finally have something and be someone. Samantha didn’t want to ruin it for her; she’d already ruined enough just by being born. “I’m not upset.”
“Good girl. Have you heard from your mother?”
Not half as often as she heard from him, although Zoe’s calls were far more welcome. “She checks on me when she can. If the people at her work weren’t such jerks, we’d be able to talk more.” Her mother had tried to stop by for lunch last week and nearly been fired because the length of the drive had made her late.
“They’re not jerks. That’s the real world, Sam. She has to be responsible to her employers, just as you’ll have to be responsible to your employers someday.”
Thanks for the lecture. How did her mother put up with this guy?
“Sam?” he said when she didn’t answer.
“I’m here. But…I’m really tired.”
“Okay, I’ll let you go back to sleep.”
“Thanks. By the way, I turned off all the lights in the house.” She was making fun of him again, but he didn’t get it.
“Glad to know you’re listening. I’ll see you later.” Not later enough for her, but she forced herself to end the conversation on a positive note, mostly because she thought it was funny to be overly polite.
“Thanks for calling.” She smiled. He had no clue how she really felt about him, or that she understood exactly how he really felt about her, despite what he pretended to her mom.
As she hung up, she was distracted by the sound of a door opening and closing in the neighbors’ backyard. Tiffany and Colin Bell weren’t normally home during the day.
Drawn by signs of life beyond her own lonely existence, Samantha got up and crossed the freshly mowed grass. Still weak from mono, she walked slowly, but she could tell she was getting stronger. The doctor said she’d be back to her old self soon. She was almost two weeks into what he called a “four-week cycle,” whatever that meant. As long as she could return to school, she didn’t care.
She managed to reach the fence. She could already hear Anton scolding her for stepping into the flower bed the gardeners had planted a month ago, but purposely ignored the fact that it would make him mad. It was because of this stupid flower bed, and all the others in the yard, that she’d had to give up her dog to that family Anton had found. She still couldn’t believe her mom had gone along with that.
Hoping whoever had come outside hadn’t gone back in, she peered through a knothole. The wife of the attractive couple she occasionally spoke to out front was there. But Tiffany Bell wasn’t dressed for work as she’d expected. An employee at some nursing home, she usually wore a uniform—a cheery floral smock with blue scrubs and squishy white nurse’s shoes. Today, she had on a holey pair of jeans, some grubby tennis shoes and a T-shirt tight enough to make her boobs look even bigger than they did beneath her nursing smock.
“I bet those are fake,” Sam muttered, glancing down at her own flat chest. At thirteen, there was no reason to give up hope, but she didn’t seem to be developing very fast. While her best friend, Marti Seacrest, was already a B-cup, Sam didn’t even need a bra. Her mother called her a “late bloomer,” as if it wasn’t a big deal. But the boys at school ignored late bloomers. Any guys who bothered to notice her called her Brainiac, but they didn’t stare at her the way they did Marti.
“What am I gonna do?” Tiffany moaned.
Samantha looked around the yard. She didn’t see anyone else. Could Tiffany be talking to her?
“Excuse me?” she said.
Tiffany’s head jerked toward her so fast Samantha could almost hear the bones in her neck crack. “Who is it? Who’s there?”
Sam immediately realized her error, but it was too late. Palms against the rough wood of the fence, she leaned closer. She could see Tiffany’s body but not much of her face. Her neighbor was standing in the shade of the patio cover. “It’s me. Sam. I’m home from school today. Actually, I’ve been staying home for a while.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been sick.”
“You seem okay to me.”
“I’m getting better.”
“So what are you doing, staring through the fence?”
“I’m bored.” She missed her friends. She missed her mother even more.
Tiffany didn’t answer. She remained on the porch, clicking her nails. Sam couldn’t hear it, but she could see the motion of her fingers.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.
“What makes you think something’s wrong?”
Not only was Tiffany acting strange, she was dressed like a bum. She never grubbed out. She always wore stylish, name-brand jeans, heels, nice sweaters or pretty summer blouses.
“You seem…nervous. And you’re not usually home this time of day.”
Her neighbor raised her voice. “You know my schedule?”
“Not really. I—”
“You just said I’m not usually home this time of day.”
“Because…don’t you work?”
“You tell me, since you seem to be keeping track.”
“I’m not keeping track of anything,” Sam said.
“Then what makes you think I’m nervous?”
Sam could feel it. But she could also tell that she was somehow saying all the wrong things. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“Wait!”
She wasn’t interested in talking anymore, but Tiffany’s voice caught her before she could step away.
“How long have you been staying home from school?”
The suspicion in those words made Sam uneasy. She’d heard that tone from adults before, generally from Anton since he’d come into their lives. But Sam hadn’t “misbehaved.” She closed one eye to see through the knothole more clearly. “For the past ten days or so.”
Her neighbor moved outside the shadow of the patio cover. In the sunlight, Samantha could see that Tiffany had been crying. M
ascara ran from her eyes, which were red and puffy.
At least now she understood why her usually very nice neighbor was acting so weird. No one liked to be seen crying. “Can I help?” she asked.
Tiffany crossed the lawn. The Bells didn’t own a pool or even a barbecue. “How often do you do this?”
“Do what?”
She motioned toward her house. “Watch us.”
Her alarm increased. “I don’t…watch you.”
“You were just staring at me through the fence, weren’t you?”
“No. Not really. I mean, I heard you come outside and I was bored, so…” She cleared her throat. “I thought I’d say hi.”
Tiffany was close now, close enough that Samantha could see a dark-red substance smeared on her shirt. It looked like…blood. Had she cut herself? Maybe that was why she’d been crying.
“Are you hurt?”
Tiffany’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
Sam nibbled at her bottom lip. “That’s not blood?”
Her neighbor glanced down, staggered to the side and rubbed her forehead. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit! I—I didn’t realize!”
“Do you need help?”
“I can’t…I don’t know what to do. It’s been a bad day. A very bad day.”
“I could call the paramedics.”
“No, don’t call anyone!” Fresh tears made new tracks in her mascara. “Just tell my husband I…he needs to come home.”
“Where is he? At work?”
She stripped off her shirt and threw it away from her as if she couldn’t bear the feel of it, and didn’t answer.
Surprised that her neighbor would stand outside in her bra, which was skimpier than most and definitely too small, Samantha tried again. “What’s his number?”
“His…what? I can’t…I can’t remember it right now.” Suddenly, she doubled over, struggling to catch her breath and vomited on the grass.
What was going on? Samantha had no idea, but it was obviously serious. She had to get Colin. He’d know what to do. “Is your husband listed in the directory of your cell phone?”
“Yes, that’s it.” She was breathing hard, but she wiped her mouth and tilted her head back as if she was done being sick for the moment. “My cell.”
“Okay. Stay right where you are.” Sam ran toward the gate that would let her in the front yard but stopped when Tiffany started crying.
“I’m sorry,” she moaned to no one in particular. “I’m so sorry.”
The torment in Tiffany’s wail drew her back to the fence. “For what? Tiffany, it’ll be okay.”
Falling silent, Tiffany rocked into a sitting position. “Yes, it’ll be okay. It wasn’t my fault. He won’t blame me.”
“What’re you talking about?”
With a sniff, Tiffany wiped her eyes, spreading mascara even farther. “Nothing. I’m not feeling well. Not…thinking straight.”
“Don’t worry, I’m on my way,” Sam said and hurried over to do what she could to help.
CHAPTER 3
Zoe frowned as she hung up the phone. She’d been trying to reach her daughter for the past two hours, but she couldn’t get Sammie to pick up. Was it because she couldn’t hear the phone? Maybe she’d fallen asleep with the radio on—
“Excuse me?”
Jan Buppa, the office manager, stood over her desk. Preoccupied with worry, Zoe hadn’t heard even a rustle or a footstep, which wasn’t surprising since she sat out in the open with the other clerical support staff and had learned to ignore most of the noise and movement so she could get her work done.
Generally, ignoring the chaos was a good thing—but it was always better to see Jan coming.
“I hate to interrupt a daydream that looks as absorbing as that one,” her boss said, “but you do plan to finish those leases before you go home, don’t you?” She waved toward the stack of folders Zoe had been working on since she came in. It was enough to keep her busy for three days, but Jan expected her to finish before five.
Zoe remembered Anton telling her how lucky she was that he’d been able to get her on at Tate Commercial and forced a smile. The owner was one of his tax clients. She had to be careful so her behavior never reflected poorly on him. “Of course. You promised the agents they’d have these by tomorrow morning, and they will.”
“Glad to hear it. Just wanted to be sure you hadn’t forgotten that we’re under a deadline.”
Zoe gritted her teeth as Jan turned on her heel and marched to her own desk, wishing once again that she didn’t need this job quite so badly. If she stayed to finish the leases, she’d get home even later than usual. She hated that Sammie was on her own so much as it was.
She imagined telling Jan to go to hell. That distracted her for a few seconds but, as usual, the temptation was soon countered by Anton’s voice in her mind: Jan’s just mad that you got the position instead of her daughter-in-law. Anyway, the first year might be tough, but you have to do something while you get your license. Where else will you be able to learn more about the kind of real estate you hope to be involved in someday? Being successful requires sacrifice.
He said that as if he had a corner on sacrifice. It annoyed her that he could be so patronizing when he’d always had a nice place to live, a hot meal. But, in some ways, he was right. If she meant to significantly improve her situation, she had to make concessions. Except for Jan, she would’ve been happy working at Tate Commercial. It was a great opportunity, the perfect start to her career. Zoe wanted to make good, to prove to herself more than anyone that she could be everything her father was not. But she was so worried about Samantha….
Despite Jan’s lingering gaze, she called her fiancé.
“Hello?”
“Anton? Have you spoken with Sammie today?”
“I checked in at noon. Why?”
“I can’t get her to answer the phone.”
“She’s sleeping. I woke her when I called.”
Zoe glanced at the clock on the wall. Noon was three hours ago. “She’s got mono, Anton.”
“Which is why she’s napping. It’s not unusual.”
The tone of his voice told her he thought she was overreacting. Maybe that was true, but Zoe didn’t want to take any chances. “What time will you be home tonight?”
“Six or seven.”
“Why so late? Tax season’s over.”
“And now I’m taking care of all the clients who filed extensions.”
“Come on, can’t you spare twenty minutes to drop by the house and let me know she’s okay?”
“You want me to drive over there?”
Zoe had been battling a headache all day. Absently, she rubbed her left temple in an effort to ease the pounding. “Yes.”
“That’s ridiculous. What could possibly have happened to her?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I want you to check. Maybe…maybe she decided to go swimming and hit her head.”
“She’s not allowed in the pool. The water’s too cold, anyway.”
Sunlight, coming from the closest floor-to-ceiling window, spilled across her desk. “The weather’s been unseasonably warm the past few weeks.”
“Not warm enough for swimming. And she’s thirteen years old. She knows better than to get in the pool alone.”
“Anton, I’d do it myself if I could, but I’m stuck here until—” she bowed her head so Jan couldn’t see that she was getting upset “—who knows what time it’ll be when I finish.”
This statement was met with a lengthy pause. Finally, he blew out a sigh. “Okay. I’ll go over there. But I’ll only call you if something’s wrong. Just last week they told you to reserve personal calls for your lunch break.”
She didn’t care half as much about her job, or even Anton’s reputation, as she did Sammie. “Call me in any case. As long as I finish the work on my desk before I go home, I should be okay.”
“Fine. I’ll talk to you in ten minutes.”
After he’d severed the connection, Zoe
dragged her attention back to her computer, where she’d been inserting special clauses in a seven-year lease for some retail space in the South Natomas area. She finished that document and sent it to the printer, then started on another, but Anton didn’t call. Had he gotten busy and forgotten he’d promised to check on Sam?
The clock indicated that it’d been twenty-five minutes since they’d hung up.
He’ll get to it, she told herself, and decided to wait ten more minutes. If she hadn’t heard from him by then, she’d call him again whether it risked an argument or not.
The seconds ticked by. Slow. Ponderous. Filled with anxiety.
Eight minutes later, her cell vibrated and she snatched it off her desk. Caller ID showed the house number. There you are.
“Anton, is she okay?”
A strained silence followed.
“Anton?”
“I can’t find her,” he said.
Zoe might’ve thought he was teasing her for worrying, but he was far too serious for that. His words hit her like a punch to the gut, so hard it was several seconds before she could speak. “What do you mean you can’t find her?”
“I’ve looked everywhere. The back door is unlocked, and there’s a book by the pool, but she’s gone.”
Zoe’s heartbeat grew so loud it drowned out the clack, clack, clack of typing from the desks of the other administrative staff, the conversation of two agents standing at the edge of the bullpen near the copier, the hum of the printer. “Did she leave a note?”
“Not that I can see.”
“But…that doesn’t make sense. Where would she go? She knows she’s not supposed to leave the house. The doctor said she’s probably still contagious.”
“I’m guessing she walked down to the Quick Stop for a candy bar. I’m heading over there right now.”
“You checked the pool?”
“I checked the pool.”
Thank God her daughter wasn’t floating in the water. “Did you notice any sign of a struggle?”
“None. Don’t even let your mind go there, Zoe. You know we live in a safe neighborhood.”
Rocklin was one of the most desirable suburbs in the Sacramento metropolitan area, and the crime rate was among the lowest in California. It was a completely different experience from the seedy L.A. trailer park she’d grown up in. Maybe kidnapping, theft and murder happened regularly in her old neighborhood, but not here.
