Getting Away Is Deadly

by Sara Rosett

  Vicki said, “Ivan, here’s your helper, Ellen.”

  “It’s Ellie, actually,” I said as I reached out to shake hands with the largest man I’d ever seen. His tight black turtleneck and leather pants emphasized his size. He was the size of a professional football linebacker. Except he looked like he could fill out a football uniform without the shoulder pads. He seemed to take up most of the space in the small room. My hand disappeared in his hug paw of a hand.

  “Ivan Flint. Flint Designs,” he said and I realized he was an interior designer.

  Vicki turned in a slow circle and said, “A fairly tale theme. Knights, castles, dragons, everything. Murals?” She switched her gaze back to Ivan. “You can do murals, right?”

  He ran his hand with several rings over his shaved head and said, “Of course.”

  Summer stepped closer and said, “Vicki decided this morning that you and Ivan would make a super team for the redo of this room.”

  Great. That “tiny” thing had turned into collaborating with an interior designer. I kept my smile on my face, but inside I winced. It was hard enough to get my clients to make decisions about organizing, but now we were adding an interior designer to the mix. I could practically see the speedy job disappearing like fog in the morning sun. Well. Nothing to do about it now. I’d agreed to help Summer and I couldn’t back out now.

  Vicki seemed to be edging toward the door, so I said, “Let’s go over a few things quickly. Storage? Would you like more? We could put in some window seats under the dormers.”

  Vicki looked at Ivan and he nodded. Vicki said, “Great. Do it.”

  “What about sorting through the toys? You could probably thin the amount of toys. Some look like they’re for infants.”

  Vicki looked down, seeming to notice the toys for the first time. “Yes. In fact, toss them all. We’ll buy new ones to go with the room.” She took a few more steps to the door and motioned for Summer to follow her.

  “Wait. What about Emma? Doesn’t she have some favorite toys she’d like to keep? And it would be really helpful to talk about how you use this room.”

  Vicki’s eyebrows drew together over her buggy eyes. “Emma sleeps here,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “She really doesn’t play here because she spends most of her day at school. On the weekends we have activities. Ballet, gymnastics, that sort of thing.” She tilted her head from side to side, like a metronome. “She’s not attached to any of these toys. She’ll love new toys. Now. I have five minutes. I’ll leave you here with Summer to work out the details, but I need to go over a report with her before I leave.” Vicki headed out the door and Summer hurried after her.

  Summer wanted to work for this woman? I shook my head and turned back to Ivan. He smiled and said, “Looks like we have carte blanche. I’m thinking black walls and ceiling.”

  Maybe I hadn’t heard him right. “Black?”

  He nodded, gazing up at the ceiling. “I’m thinking nighttime enchanted forest. Paint every thing black, string twinkle lights across the ceiling to simulate a starry sky, rip up the carpet, if there is carpet under all this mess, and paint the floor green for the forest floor. Midnight Enchanted Forest.”

  I was speechless for a moment. It sounded more like the Brothers Grimm to me. Finally, I managed to say, “Do you have kids?”

  “No. I’m single.” He took his gaze off the walls long enough to focus on me. He must have been able to tell it was going to be hard to sell me on his idea, because he continued. “It’ll be striking. Original. Unprecedented. No one else is going to have a room like it.”

  “Ivan, kids don’t like the dark. I don’t think a four-year-old is going to like an all-black room. In fact, I think it sounds a little morbid. Now, if she were a teenager, it would probably be a different story. And what about the murals? You can’t have murals on black walls.”

  “Of course we can do murals. We’ll use shades of brown and gray. They won’t stand out, but they’ll be there, lurking, so that when you look closely you’ll see a dragon wrapped around a tree or something.”

  “Lurking. That’s a nightmare waiting to happen. You can’t paint that on a little kid’s wall. You’re going to have to come up with something else. What about pink? Emma likes pink.” I was all for using clients’ ideas as inspiration for organization. Surely the same principle worked for interior design.

  “No pink. Pink is hackneyed. Blasé. Worn out. This space has to stand out. Be unique. One of a kind.”

  Summer reentered the room and said, “Don’t worry about the toys. Emma’s got a few favorites and I’ll stash them away for her. How’s it going?”

  “I can’t work with her.” Ivan threw his thick arm at me. “She has no vision. No inspiration. No insight.” He stormed out the door and pounded down the stairs.

  “He’ll be back. Artistic temperament and all that. Seems he has to storm off every job at least once to keep his reputation.”

  “So you’ve worked with him before?”

  “Yes. He did Vicki Archer’s reception area. An ice cube was his inspiration.”

  “Well, that explains the subzero temperature in there. Oh, Summer, I don’t know if this is going to work.”

  “I know it looks bad but, please, just give it a try.”

  “Okay. Let’s get everything down on paper.”

  Two hours later, Summer parked her car in the lot next to the Metro station. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you at the hotel?” she asked.

  “No, this is fine. I’m an old hand at the Metro now.” Summer had a night class and I didn’t want her to have to go out of her way to drop me off at the hotel. Emma’s room had occupied all our time up to this point. We’d made two exhaustive lists, one of things that needed to be done to Emma’s room and another of everything that needed to be purchased to get it organized. It seemed like Summer was focusing on Emma’s room so she didn’t have to think about her new designation as a person of interest.

  I pulled Nadia’s photos out of my purse. “Here’s the pictures my friend took.”

  Summer didn’t snatch them out of my hand like I expected. She took them gingerly and studied each one carefully. The first ones were photos of the crowds in the Metro, commuters and tourists mingled together.

  The last one was the clear photo of Jorge with the redheaded woman nearby. “Ellie, that does look like me. I thought I’d be able to see something that proved it wasn’t me, but there’s nothing—the jacket looks like mine. I have a beret like that. It could be me.”

  The paper trembled in her hand. “What am I going to do? I’m a ‘person of interest.’ If my name and face get on the news I won’t be able to get a job—probably ever. It won’t matter if it was me or not. All people will remember is that I was a suspect. I might as well be guilty. Four years—well, actually five—years of college for nothing. Wasted. No one will hire me.”

  I didn’t have an easy answer for her. She was right. If her name got out and she was portrayed as a murderer, her career would be over before it had begun, never mind that no evidence would have reached a courtroom. This investigation had all the hallmarks that media cable shows gravitated to: young, beautiful woman in danger, a murder, a stalker. There was even alliteration, murder in the Metro. I cringed when I thought of what the text and graphics people at the cable news channels could do with that phrase.

  But what troubled me even more was that I doubted the police would look too hard for other suspects since they had circumstantial evidence pointing to Summer.

  “Look, Summer, we know someone near Jorge pushed him. The woman who looks like you is a coincidence.” There was panic in her face and I could tell she wasn’t really listening to me, so I used my calmest voice and asked, “Where did you get your denim jacket?”

  That got her attention. “The Gap. Why?”

  “Okay, there have to be thousands of jackets exactly like yours out there. Someone who had red hair happened to be standing beside Jorge when he
was pushed.”

  “Wearing a beret like mine.”

  “That’s not as common as the jacket, but I’m sure there are lots of black berets in the D.C. area, too.” I realized I sounded like a defense attorney, so I quickly moved on. “We just have to find something that will convince the police that one of those other people around Jorge might be a better suspect than you.”

  I pointed out Wellesley’s dress and told Summer about the conversation between Wellesley and Jorge as well as the encounter I’d seen earlier in the day. “We don’t have enough to take to the police right now. I don’t think they’d be very excited about a scrap of fabric in a photo, but I’ll see Wellesley again tomorrow and I’ll ask her about it. If nothing else, she might have seen something.”

  Could Wellesley have pushed Jorge? I didn’t know. I did feel a bit guilty about searching the photo for someone else to throw to the police, but I steeled myself. I had to keep my focus on Summer. If Wellesley didn’t push Jorge she didn’t have anything to hide and she’d be able to dispatch the police quickly. Then there was also Irene’s face in the photo and her weird behavior. I shut off any mental speculation about Irene. She couldn’t be involved in Jorge’s death. Not Irene. She was too sweet, too motherly.

  Then a thought jumped into my mind. Unless it was an accident. No. That couldn’t have happened. Irene would have said something if it had. She wasn’t the kind to hide things. She loved the news and would relish being part of the news. I closed off that line of thought and put my attention back on Summer.

  Summer looked at the photo again. This time she focused on the faces. “You’re right. All we need to do is throw suspicion on someone else.”

  She looked a bit more in control, so I brought up the other topic that had been bothering me. “I’m going to tell Mitch about the investigation.”

  “Why? Do you have to?”

  “Yes, I really do. I hate to hide things from him, and this is starting to feel a lot like hiding.”

  “All right.” She sighed. “But can you keep it kind of vague? I promise if my name shows up on the news, I’ll tell him everything. I know you think this is crazy, me not wanting to tell him, but he’s always rescued me and I want him to see that I’m grown up now. If he knows about everything he’ll come charging in and take over. I need to work this out without him. Maybe he’ll see me differently then.”

  “You’re always going to be his kid sister.”

  “I know. I don’t want that to change, I just want him to see that I’m grown up.”

  Later as I swayed with the rhythm of the Metro car, I thought about her response to the picture and the different conversations we’d had. Had she ever flat-out said that she wasn’t on the platform that day? I didn’t think so. And she hadn’t told me about Jorge stalking her until the police brought it up. Was there something else she wasn’t telling me?

  The train slowed down and I braced my hand on the silver pole as I leaned back to counter the motion of the train. I checked the station. One more stop to go. A couple of people squeezed into the already crowded car, erasing a little more of our personal space. A man holding a little girl of about two in the crook of his arm shifted the girl from one arm to the other and changed his stance as the train sped up.

  As he moved, I saw a familiar floppy hat and tote bag. I couldn’t move around to see better, but it looked like Irene in her incognito getup again. What was she up to?

  I didn’t want to think about it, but she had been in those photos near Jorge, too. As soon as the doors opened, I’d catch up with her and ask her about it. There had to be a simple explanation.

  But she was quick. One minute she was digging through her tote bag, and the next, the doors opened and she was gone. I turned in a circle a few times before I left the Metro, but I didn’t see her anywhere. I walked through the underground shopping complex, thinking what an odd place it was, keeping an eye out for the hat and tote bag. You never had to actually step outside in this part of Washington. You could do everything in these underground tunnels: shop for clothes, groceries, do your banking, get to and from work. Really, you could live like a mole and never see the sun if you wanted.

  I was almost to the hotel entrance when I saw the floppy hat again. I made my way through the small restaurant and sat down at the table across from Irene. Her huge sunglasses were on the table and she was using a paper napkin to wipe her eyes.

  An Everything In Its Place Tip for an Organized Trip

  Traveling with pets

  Make sure you’ve got identification tags on your pet as well as any vaccination tags that are expected like rabies tags.

  Book accommodations with pet-friendly hotels, which can be found online or in guidebooks specifically focused on travel with pets.

  Request a ground-floor hotel room with easy access to outdoor areas.

  Don’t forget pet food, food and water bowls, collar and leash, and any medications your pet needs.

  If you’re traveling by car, a few practice runs around town in your car before your trip will help your pet feel more comfortable in the car.

  If your pet is flying, check for regulations about the type of kennel you can use and for temperature restrictions. Some airlines won’t ship pets during times of extreme heat or cold.

  Chapter Eleven

  Her miserable face wasn’t what I’d expected. Any questions I’d wanted to ask her flew out of mind, except for one. “Irene, what’s wrong?”

  “Oh, Ellie.” She sounded almost relieved. Was she relieved to see me or relieved I wasn’t someone else? “It’s nothing. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, okay?”

  “No. You’re not okay. What’s wrong?”

  She burst into tears and I pulled a few more napkins out of the dispenser for her and patted her shoulder. Could things get any more reversed? Me, mothering Irene?

  After a few seconds her sobs tapered off. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and set her hands in her lap. “There. Sorry. I’m done. It was too much, you know? I got the results back and then I saw the little girl in the Metro.” Her eyes watered but she sniffed determinedly and went on, “I just lost it. I can’t go up to the room, looking like this. So I stopped in here and I just couldn’t quit crying. I’d been so hopeful…”

  “About what?”

  She tucked her sunglasses away in her purse, then gathered the wadded napkins. “It’s nothing to be upset about, I know that, but…” She shrugged and the waterworks threatened to burst again. She fought her surging emotions before she could speak again.

  “You don’t have to tell me. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  She dabbed at the corners of her eyes and said, “No. It’s okay. It’ll be a relief to tell someone, actually. I had some tests done and the results weren’t what I wanted.” She saw my face and hurried on, “Nothing bad. I…well, this is going to sound silly, but I want to have another baby.

  “I had some problems last time and the doctor told me I was done. It would be too dangerous to have another baby. But then I heard about this experimental treatment that a research clinic was doing. It was in D.C. and since I was going to be here anyway it just seemed like it was meant to be, you know? I was so sure it was going to work out.” Irene paused and looked at the ceiling as she blinked several times.

  I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I knew Irene had a passel of kids. Five? Or was it six? I knew she’d had twins at least once. Anyway, my first thought, to be perfectly honest, was along the lines of don’t you have enough kids already? But I managed to restrain myself from saying anything. I took a few seconds and thought about Irene. She did enjoy her family and she was wonderful with kids. She’d even taken care of Livvy for me when Livvy was in the middle of her worst stages of separation anxiety, and Livvy hadn’t even missed me. I finally said, “I’m sorry, Irene.”

  “Thanks. I tried to take it in stride. I thought I was going to be okay, but then I saw the girl in the Metro and I lost it. I know that I have a big, beauti
ful family and I should be happy with the family I do have, but…” She shrugged again. “It’s hard to describe. I love kids, you know? I don’t want this stage of our life to be over, I guess. But it is.”

  “You don’t have to explain it for me. You’re a great mom.”

  At least that made her grin. “Thanks, Ellie. I know I dither about everything, but I do love my kids and this may seem limited to you, but I’ve always wanted to be a mom and a housewife. You’ve got your organizing business and you’re busy with that, so you might not understand, but being a mom is everything for me. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s almost like it’s a gift or something. I hear other moms complaining about their kids and I know I have bad days where everyone drives me crazy, but I love it and I don’t want it to change.”

  “I think you’re right. You do have a gift. Look how you’ve taken care of us on this trip. You’re nurturing and caring and you’re so much more patient with your kids than I am with Livvy.” I paused, debating if I should go there, but then I said, “Have you ever thought about adoption or foster care?”

  “I haven’t, not really. Of course, it’s kind of crossed my mind, but I’ve always pushed it to the background, you know? Because I absolutely love being pregnant. I feel very special and powerful at the same time, you know?”

  “Ah—no. I just feel tired and cranky. And huge.”

  Irene laughed and shook her head. “You’re so funny. Being pregnant is the best. It’s something to revel in.”

  I wasn’t making a joke, but I didn’t let Irene in on that. If she liked being pregnant, then that was great. I sure knew I wasn’t reveling in my pregnancy. I just wanted it to be over so I could finally meet the little fellow.

  Irene’s face turned serious. “You’re right, though, about foster care. I wonder what Grant would think about it. I should think about it, check into it?” She looked at me questioningly.