by K. Marie
“You’ve already wasted enough of my time, Vlad, so the sooner you spare me the bullshit and tell me what it is you’re after, the sooner you can leave. We both know you aren’t here for a family reunion,” I said curtly.
The idiot grinned. “I see you’re still a hard-ass, brother, but you’re wrong about the family reunion. You seem to forget, you and mother are all the family I have remaining at the moment,” he said passive-aggressively, attempting to re-open an old, healed wound.
I won’t be giving him that satisfaction, not today. Vlad’s usual guilt-tripping tactic doesn’t have the same impact it used to.
“You have two minutes before Viktor tosses your ass out of here,” I warned, patience having just ended.
He darted a look back at Viktor, who’d held his position near the door since escorting the fool in here. Unlike me; who’s had some sort of misguided guilt, and sense of responsibility for Vlad all these years, Viktor suffered from no such affliction. If he had his way, Vlad would have ceased being a problem for me years ago. And the man-child knows it.
Vlad quickly lost his bullshitting grin. “I find myself in a bit of a fix, brother, and I know you can help me out of it. I’m in for two-hundred with a group that’s grown impatient, I need a loan,” he said.
“The fact that you are already indebted for two-hundred thousand, yet continue to gamble, amazes me. It also tells me you’re a piss-poor manager of money, so I’ll have to decline your request for a loan. The probability of me receiving re-payment is almost zero percent,” I told him.
I knew he’d come to request money, of course—it was always the same thing with Vlad. That he thought he’d actually get it was astounding.
“I meant what I said, Vlad, I’m done cleaning up your shit. If you’re man enough to get yourself into these predicaments, you should be man enough to get yourself out of them.”
“I’ve not asked anything of you in two years! Surely, you can make an exception; these people are dangerous,” he said, a bit more desperation in his voice.
“Which means you should have exercised more self-control!” I snarled, beyond tired of his stupidity. “The answer is no, Vlad, the bank is permanently closed,” I said with finality.
He stood glaring at me like a sulking child, undoubtedly in disbelief. “Just remember that my death will be on your conscience, Vidov…along with my sister and nephew’s,” he hissed as a parting shot, before turning and lumbering towards the door.
I clenched my jaw as I watched him go, hoping like hell it’s the last time he ever darkens my doorstep.
Moving back to my desk, I stubbornly refused to give any credence to the little shits words. It was an old, tired game that Vlad liked to play, but I’ve long since stopped playing it with him.
“Asshole’s still delightful as always,” Viktor said, walking over to take a seat across from me. “I wager you he’ll be back, only with a different tactic,” he said knowingly.
I wished like hell he was wrong; but knew that he wasn’t. The idiot was going to force my hand, was intent on driving me to make some hard decisions.
“I know you don’t want my opinion, dvoyurodniy brat, but I’ll give it anyway. Vlad is self-destructive, and it’s only a matter of time before he comes to a bad end. Do yourself a favor and eliminate that problem before he brings trouble to your doorstep. For as much as you’ve distanced yourself from him, he continues to capitalize on your name,” Viktor said bluntly, not for the first time.
I didn’t disagree. I was painfully aware of Vlad’s inability to stand on his own two feet; of his apparent suicide mission. He knew that in his world of recklessness and hedonism, my name still carried a lot of weight. Only, he no longer had the protection of my name; which only made it more harmful to me, to my family. I came to Miami to live a different kind of life, a much quieter life, and Vlad’s presence here was in direct contrast to that purpose.
“As recently demonstrated, the old me hasn’t completely disappeared. I’ll deal with Vlad in due time, and on my own terms,” I assured Viktor.
C A M R Y
Getting back into the swing of things after the holidays, our normal routines commenced.
Now, at the beginning of my seventh month, I started to notice foot swelling by the end of a long day.
So, I sat relaxed with my swollen feet propped-up on the sofa in the Great Room; wrapped in my favorite leopard print blanket. And okay, I admit it, watching an episode of “The Real House Wives”. I’m immersed in a particularly riveting scene of drunken catfight, when my phone started to vibrate on the coffee table next to me.
I smile when I see “Dad” flashing on the display screen.
“Hey, old-man,” I said into the phone.
“Camry! How’s my favorite girl?” dad’s voice boomed from the other end.
“I’m huge, my swollen feet look like two loaves of bread, and I’m binge-watching crap reality television,” I reported happily.
“Sounds like you’re living the life, Sweet Pea, I think I’m jealous,” dad teased.
We got quickly caught-up on what’s been happening since we spoke a week ago—as in, what’s happened on the reality shows we both secretly loved to watch. Then, dad got to the real reason for his call.
“Uh, Camry, I was actually calling to tell you it appears John’s gone missing. The police showed up here today looking for you; stated a concerned co-worker reported him missing when he didn’t show up for work all week. They apparently haven’t been able to get in contact with him; I guess the co-worker mentioned your past relationship, and the police tracked one of your last known addresses here,” he explained.
I sat momentarily speechless, literally dumbfounded by his news. “What do you mean he’s missing?” I asked for clarification.
How does a grown man go missing?
“Well, he didn’t mention to his employer that he would be taking a vacation; and no one’s been able to contact him at home or by phone,” answered dad.
I mulled that over a moment, wondering what in the hell John was up to now. The last I heard from him was almost a week after Christmas—his last email to me. But it was unlike him to do something so irresponsible as to take-off without a word.
“Have you heard from John recently?” dad asked.
“Uh, no dad—why would I have spoken to John recently?” I asked guiltily.
I hadn’t told dad about John’s accusations, or of his harassment. I was hoping to never share that information with him or anyone else.
“Just thought I’d ask,” he said, “The police will likely be contacting you soon; considering your history and all,” he informed me.
“Why would they contact me? John and I have been broken up over seven months now,” I asked in alarm.
“It doesn’t matter, Camry, it’s routine for them to question anyone he knows. And considering the two of you were engaged not even one year ago, you would be at the top of their list. I gave them your phone number to contact you; didn’t think you’d mind,” dad said.
Jesus.
I closed my eyes and sighed in exasperation. I’m not heartless, of course I’m troubled by the news of John being presumably missing. But, I was convinced there had to be a perfectly good explanation—that John would resurface soon enough, only to have once again screwed me in the process.
The man just wouldn’t go away.
I sat staring into space for a while after hanging-up from dad, going over our conversation.
John couldn’t possibly be missing. I kept telling myself.
However, I knew that he was nothing if not a creature of habit, and also a rule follower. John’s always been a bit of a stickler when it came to punctuality, I couldn’t imagine him just skipping town or not reporting to work without having notified his employer. John’s sense of responsibility and morality was a point of pride for him. Though, in hindsight, I acknowledge it was also his rigidness with those things that eventually bored me in the relationship. The man was never spontane
ous or adventurous about anything.
But, to be fair, John’s need for structure and control likely stemmed from having lost his parents at an early age, and of having been raised in the unstable foster care system. I always marveled at how well he’d turned out, considering his rough childhood. I even admired him for it. John had graduated high school at age seventeen, went to college, earned his Master’s degree, and was gainfully employed. All in all, he was considered a success story of the foster care system.
So where in the hell was he?
The feel of Garland’s warm lips on my forehead awakens me sometime later.
“You’re home,” I whispered, voice raspy with sleep.
“I am,” he said, sounding exhausted. He left early this morning for New York again to conclude some business, it’s been a long day for him.
As my sleepy eyes blinks him into better focus, I see he’s sitting shirtless on the edge of the bed next to me. Reaching a hand up to smooth his mussed hair, I give it a gentle tug, and bring his mouth down to meet mine.
“Hi,” I whispered, once I’d finished, wearing a sappy smile.
“I would say I’m sorry I woke you, but I’m not,” he said with a smile of his own.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Late, around eleven,” he answered.
Unbidden, the conversation I’d had with dad several hours earlier intruded on my happy mood.
“How’d things go in New York? I hope you’re still filthy rich, because I’ve been thinking of buying a nice little Greek Island of my very own,” I told Garland, forcing a playful smile.
“Then you’re in luck, because I’m richer than when I left here this morning,” Garland answered.
He said it with absolutely no inflection of satisfaction, over having just made what was probably an ungodly sum of money.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart, why do you no longer look happy to see me?” he asked, observant as always.
My attempt at humor hadn’t fooled him.
“Of course, I’m happy to see you; you’re always my drug of choice. It’s just that I remembered some rather unpleasant news that I received this evening,” I told him.
I recapped what my father said earlier.
“He’s like a bad penny that just won’t go away. Now, I’ll likely be questioned by the police, only to have him reappear after having once again wreaked havoc in our lives,” I complained, huffing in frustration.
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. It’s only routine they question you; considering your history together,” Garland said, echoing dad’s words.
Then, I asked the question that had been worrying me since getting off the phone with dad. “Will I have to tell the police about John’s accusations and emails?”
The thought plagued me all night, until I’d finally fallen asleep. I wasn’t sure what types of questions the police might ask, but I knew that those facts not being mentioned might be viewed as more than peculiar.
“You don’t tell the police anything they don’t ask, never volunteer unnecessary information,” Garland instructed.
“I’ll consult our attorney and see what he advises, but in the meantime, don’t stress about it; we’ll deal with this,” he said reassuringly, brushing a kiss across my lips before getting to his feet.
“Aren’t you coming to bed?” I asked.
“Shortly, I have a couple of things to do first,” he answered, heading towards the bedroom door.
Forty-Seven
C A M R Y
It took only two days before Miami-Dade County detectives showed up at our door.
Dad had apparently shared my address with the police as well; I would be having a talk with him about that later.
Luckily, the detectives had to clear security before gaining entry, which gave me much needed minutes in which to collect myself. I was nervous as hell; and thanked God that Garland had already been on his way back home to pick me up.
I probably shouldn’t be so nervous, I had nothing to hide. Not really. But I’ve never been questioned by the police before; I’m sure mine was a perfectly natural reaction.
After killing about five minutes in the bedroom, I finally found my courage and ventured downstairs to greet the detectives. I find them waiting in the living room, with an apathetic looking Viktor standing guard just outside the entry. After giving him a wink, I smiled in amusement as I passed by, wondering if the resting bitch-face also applied to men.
Or would it be called something different?
Two men turned in my direction when I entered the room, both wearing shirt, tie, and hot looking sport coats. The Latino one was of average height and heavy build, and perhaps in his early forties. While the other man was a younger Caucasian, with dark blonde hair; taller in height, and looked back at me with pale blue eyes.
“Camry Spencer?” inquired the older detective.
“It’s Vidov actually, Camry Vidov,” I corrected.
“Yes, of course, sorry for the oversight,” he said in apology
I saw the younger detective taking in my pregnant stomach, which probably resembled a medium-sized watermelon hidden underneath the white maxi dress.
“Mrs. Vidov, I’m Detective Hernandez, and this is Detective Broggs. We’re working in conjunction with the Michigan State Police, regarding a missing person’s report on John McKellan,” the man explained.
“Yes, my father called me with the disturbing news a couple of days ago; I was hoping he would have resurfaced by now,” I told him.
Walking further into the room, I took a seat on one of the never used chairs; gesturing for the detectives to do the same.
“Mrs. Vidov, have you seen or spoken to Mr. McKellan recently?” Detective Hernandez asked, taking a seat on the sofa across from me.
“No, John and I have no reason to be in contact,” I answered.
“The two of you were recently engaged, is that correct?” he inquired.
“Yes, we were,” I replied, not volunteering anything more than that.
I was doing as instructed, by both Garland and our attorney.
“So, you’ve had no contact with Mr. McKellan since ending your engagement?” he asked, sounding somewhat skeptical.
He looked earnest in his questioning, but I couldn’t help wondering if he already knew the answer.
“No, I saw John on one occasion after that, and spoke with him on the telephone maybe once or twice. We might have even texted back and forth a few times as well, but that was all before I married and moved here from Michigan,” I told him.
“Would you say that your break-up was amicable, then?” questioned Detective Hernandez, while jotting something down in his notebook.
I grimaced at the memory of John’s anger.
“I wouldn’t use the word amicable. I broke off the engagement, and John wasn’t all that thrilled about it,” I answered.
Hernandez’s eyes took on a look of interest, but it’s Detective Broggs who speaks up next. “You married fairly soon after breaking your engagement with Mr. McKellan, is that correct?” he asked.
“You could say that,” I answered with a shrug, wondering why he’d even bothered asking.
I was fairly certain he already knew the answer to that question; it’s public record. Even the greenest of officers would have fact-checked it.
“I see that congratulations are in order,” Broggs said, eyes focused on my stomach. “When’s the baby due?” he asked.
“End of March,” I answered, automatically putting a protective hand to my belly.
Detective Broggs gave me a considering look. “That couldn’t have been easy for Mr. McKellan to swallow—you marrying and becoming pregnant so soon after your break-up and all,” he said, having obviously done some deductive reasoning.
Before I could even respond, the sound of Garland’s voice cut through the room; startling all three of us.
“That’s a rather presumptuous statement, as well as pure speculation on your part. Any further
disrespectful comments to my wife, and this conversation ends,” he snapped, none of us having heard his stealthy entrance.
When he draws to a stop next to my chair, he’s got a hard look in his eyes, and it’s focused squarely on Detective Broggs.
I looked over to see the detective holding Garland’s glower head-on, but his fair skin had quickly taken on a light shade of pink. Whether it was from embarrassment or anger, I wasn’t sure. However, I was certain he wouldn’t be winning the glare-off. No one leveled a deadly glare quite as effective as my husband—and it wasn’t at all practiced either. That dangerously displeased and brooding look came naturally.
“Mr. Vidov, Detective Broggs meant no disrespect; we only seek to obtain background information on Mr. McKellan. We’re trying to piece together his life these past months,” Hernandez said, rising to his feet.
Garland abandoned his glare-off with Detective Broggs to eye Hernandez. “I don’t see how speculating on what Mr. McKellan was feeling in regards to my wife becoming pregnant, is relevant to that,” Garland told him.
I sat in fascination, watching Detective Hernandez shift ever so slightly, obviously uncomfortable in the face of Garland’s displeasure.
“We have only a few more questions and then we’ll be on our way,” the detective said with a nervous clearing of his throat.
He’d neatly avoided commenting on what Garland said, and I gave Hernandez points for being a smart man.
After a few awkward seconds, Garland nodded his assent, and Detective Hernandez retook his seat. But, my husband’s grim look remained; he was still pissed about Detective Broggs comment.
Garland folded his arms across his chest as though prompting them to get on with it, his action indicating he had absolutely no intention of taking a seat. He was purposely holding his dominant position; a power play I recognized.
“Mrs. Vidov, have you had any contact with John McKellan since moving to Miami?” Hernandez asked, taking his cue.
