I recognized the authoritative voice on the other end of the line instantly. I started to blurt out her name, then stopped myself. My voice catching in my throat. I didn’t dare call Andrea Reddings by her name. Nobody in the group used names. Instead, I ignored her request and repeated the message DJ had given me.
“Can you tell me if a package from Doris Jean arrived safely?”
Her reply came sternly. “May I ask who gave you this number?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”
She laughed softly. “No. Of course, you can’t. We all exist in such secrecy, don’t we? Although I probably wouldn’t know the name of the sender if you were to tell me. Anonymity has its benefits in this business. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I didn’t answer.
“But your voice, miss, it’s familiar. Would I be correct in assuming we know one another?”
I looked in the mirror and pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. Did I even know who I was anymore? So much had happened in the last couple of weeks, I felt as though the face staring back at me was no longer my own. In a sense, it wasn’t. The world of good and evil had changed. The lines had blurred. I was no longer an innocent bystander unaware of backdoor deals and the evil doings of a crazed world. I was part of it. I had secrets. Secrets that could undo careers and lives with a slip of the tongue, and I was choosing to hold mine.
“Yes. I think we do,” I said.
“In fact, wouldn’t you agree, when we last met, we had a kind of understanding?”
“If you mean I could expect your help as long as your name wasn’t attached to it, yes, I’d say we did have an understanding. A very good understanding.”
“I imagine you’re a bit surprised, finding me here, answering the phone.”
“Last I heard you were off inspecting properties. Is this one?”
“You might say it’s part of a charity I support. A safe house, known only to those who’ve had need of it.”
“And how did you know to go there? Now of all times?”
“I got a call from my housekeeper here. She keeps the place up for me. Heaven knows I’m seldom around. She called to tell me she had heard from a former guest. However, I had no idea who she was. Nor did I care. What I did care about, however, was what that my housekeeper said this former guest had arranged for a VIP to visit. And I might like to be here to greet her. The name of that visitor was, as you might guess, not revealed to me. But I suspected.”
“And that’s why you left LA in such a hurry?”
“It was. And you’ll be delighted to know, the package you called to inquire about arrived early this morning. Safe and sound.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. It was behind me now. At least the physical act of helping someone elude the law was no longer something to concern me. The rest of it, helping someone who I knew was guilty of murder, would take a while to get used to. I looked back in the mirror. I was different.
“Thank you.”
“Mahalo, Ms. Childs.”
About the Author
Nancy Cole Silverman credits her twenty-five years in news and talk radio for helping her to develop an ear for storytelling. But it wasn’t until after she retired that she was able to write fiction full-time. Much of what Silverman writes about is pulled from events that were reported on from inside some of Los Angeles’ busiest newsrooms where she spent the bulk of her career. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, Bruce, and two standard poodles.
The Carol Childs Mystery Series
by Nancy Cole Silverman
SHADOW OF DOUBT (#1)
BEYOND A DOUBT (#2)
WITHOUT A DOUBT (#3)
ROOM FOR DOUBT (#4)
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Room for Doubt Page 24
