The woman looked at the screen and nodded. “How do you want it?” the woman asked.
“Excuse me?” Kelly said.
“The money,” she said, not bothering to hide her irritation. “Do you want it in large bills, small bills, what?”
“Oh, uh…just make it a combination of both,” she finally said.
The woman glared at Kelly for a split second before she printed up a receipt and slid it over. “Sign here.”
While the woman opened up her drawer to count out the money, she scrawled her name across the receipt, forcing herself to stay calm just a little bit longer. She shoved the receipt under the little hole in the partition and waited for the money, scooping it up and shoving it into her purse.
“Have a nice day,” the woman droned as she motioned for the next person in line to step forward.
Kelly pivoted and rushed out of the currency exchange. Her heart was pounding so hard, she thought it might knock itself out her chest. She placed her hand over her chest and took deep breaths to try and steady herself.
“You’re okay. It’s okay, you’re fine,” she whispered.
The Chase…
While she’d been cold earlier, Kelly now felt like she was on fire. She ducked into a Walgreens in search of a bottle of water. She found the cooler with water and pressed one icy bottle to her forehead before she paid for it and left. As she disappeared into the stream of late afternoon foot traffic on State Street, Kelly continued to formulate her next steps. She was walking southbound on State, back towards Jackson and her car. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts, she didn’t see the brawny police officer. She collided with him and, without looking up, murmured, “Excuse me,” and went to step around him.
“Hey, watch where you’re going,” he said, staring at her.
Kelly backed away as he peered at her a bit more closely. “Sorry.”
“Hey…hey!” he yelled as he reached out to grab her, but she nimbly eluded his grasp.
“Oh, God,” she whispered as she realized he knew her, he recognized her. She turned and darted like a shot down the street.
She could hear the cop bellowing after her in the crowd. Her car was still in that garage back on Jackson, but that was too far to run without getting caught. She wove through the throngs of people on the sidewalk, taking quick glances over her shoulder at the cop, who was hot on her trail.
Since she jogged on a regular basis, Kelly was barely winded and a good fifty feet ahead of him. She saw him on his radio and whipped her head back around to focus on the scene in front of her. She saw the entrance to the El and dashed down the stairwell, her sandals clack-clacking with rapid pops against the edge of each stair. Luckily, the early afternoon rush was starting, so she had plenty of people to hide behind. God. She could count on one hand how many times she’d ridden the El in the last five years.
Oh, shit, how much did it cost?
She flashed back to the couple in the currency exchange.
“Two-fifty,” she whispered to herself, fumbling in her purse for change. She smacked her forehead.
“Damn,” she mumbled, remembering the attendants didn’t take your money anymore. She’d have to buy a card, and there was a horde of people standing at the machine. Kelly looked to her left and saw one attendant helping someone whose dollar had gotten stuck in the machine. She looked to her right and saw the attendant in the booth bend down to pick something up off the floor. She looked behind her but didn’t see the cop. Turning back to what was going on in front of her, she swiveled her head left and right once more. Then, seeing a turnstile with no one going through it, Kelly took a deep breath, threw her purse underneath, then dropped down to her knees and crawled through, the filthy concrete like ice against her hands. She stood up awkwardly and slung her purse around her shoulder. Nobody said anything, and she almost cried when she heard the rumble of the train, praying she would be able to get on it.
She urged her feet to move faster and reached the bottom of the stairs just in time to see the doors of the train open. She ran towards the back car, dodging departing passengers, and took another look over her shoulder. She saw the cop’s feet at the top of the stairs and jammed her way onto the train. As the doors closed, she heard the cop yelling and saw him pounding on one of the cars in the front, but it was too late.
The conductor didn’t hear him.
Kelly clutched the back of one of the seats, trying to hold on as the train lurched and zoomed down the track. She looked up at the map above the door. This was a northbound train, and the next stop was Lake. Grand was immediately after that; she’d get off there and hop in a cab to take her back to her car.
She looked around the brightly lit yet dingy car, suspicious of everyone. People were engrossed in reading the afternoon paper, books, or simply staring out the window at the grimy tunnels as they whooshed by. The train pulled into Lake, and Kelly held her breath, hoping the cops wouldn’t be waiting for her. One more stop. The train doors stood open for a few extra seconds after passengers had boarded. Kelly felt herself begin to hyperventilate, certain the police were about to storm into the car, guns drawn, empty handcuffs dangling from their hands, waiting to clamp them around her wrists.
Finally, the doors came together, and Kelly closed her eyes, her whole body trembling. Her mouth felt as dry as paste, and she realized she must have dropped her bottle of water on the street when the cop started to yell at her. She swallowed a few times, trying to work up some moisture in her mouth.
The overhead announcement indicated Grand was the next stop. Kelly licked her lips, ready to leap as soon as the doors opened. When the train stopped at Grand, she was the first person off the train and took the stairs two at a time until she was standing at the southeast corner of State and Grand. She flagged a cab, jumped in, and told him to drop her at Jackson and State. She slid down and turned her head toward the window, hoping the cabbie wouldn’t look at her. He kept glancing in the rearview mirror, though she pretended not to notice.
“Hey, you look familiar,” he said.
“I just have one of those faces,” she said, sinking deeper into the rank seat cushions. She could hear the all-news radio station in the background, and her name came crackling through the speakers. Her eyes grew wide as she willed the cab to hurry up and get to Jackson and State. She saw the cabbie look down at the seat next to him, heard the rustle of papers, probably the afternoon edition, then look back in the rearview mirror. He pulled up to a red light, about a block away from where she needed to go.
Screw this.
“You know what?” she said, her hands shaking as she fumbled in her purse for some money. “I’m just gonna get out here,” she said as she spied a ten peeking up at her from her wallet and threw it at him.
“Do you want your change—?”
“Keep it!” she said as she jumped out of the cab, slamming the door behind her.
She heard him yelling out the window for her to stop, and just as the light turned green, she heard the screech of tires as he gave chase. Adrenaline pumping, Kelly urged her legs to go faster, and as the cab pulled up next to her, she ducked into the garage.
Panting, Kelly ran up six flights of stairs to where her car was parked. Digging in her purse, Kelly pulled out her car keys and hit the release button on her keychain to open the door and all but dove into the front seat. With quivering fingers, Kelly shoved her key into the ignition.
She was just going to have to take the chance that the cabbie wasn’t still sitting down there and hadn’t called the cops. Steering with her left hand, eyes focused on working her way out of the garage, Kelly ran her right hand over the passenger seat, trying to find the ticket. She located it and, still trying to maneuver around the corners of the garage, managed to pull a hundred dollar bill out of her purse. It cost her fifty to park, and thinking it might be suspicious if she told the guy to keep the change, she waited impatiently as he counted it back. No sign of the police or of the cabbie. Maybe he’d picked up ano
ther fare.
As Kelly pulled out of the garage, she fanned herself with her left hand then turned the air conditioner up full blast. It was only Monday, and she felt like she’d been on the run for weeks. She got onto the expressway, praying her memory was as good as she hoped.
Never Again…
Mark Monroe, Jr. sat in front of the big screen TV munching on a slice of pepperoni pizza. He licked some tomato sauce off the side of his hand, then picked up the tall glass of Coke next to him and slurped down the fizzy liquid with several hearty gulps. He turned his attention back to the Jet Li DVD, captivated by his lightning-fast kicks.
He looked at the clock on the DVD player. His mama had gone out like she always did and left him some money on the counter to order a pizza. He figured she wouldn’t be back for a while. She had told him yesterday that his daddy had been killed and that the crazy bitch had done it.
She’d been complaining about the crazy bitch for as long as he could remember. She had been crying and carrying on so much, he finally had to leave and went out to water the grass. She followed him outside, yelling about how much she loved his daddy and that the crazy bitch would pay for what she had done. She’d then spent the next few hours on the computer saying she had some research to do. Then she left and told him to order Chinese food for his dinner.
Mark Jr. took another huge bite out of his pizza. He had cried himself to sleep last night when he realized he’d never see his daddy again. His daddy had been a lot of fun, although he didn’t get to spend a lot of time with him. He always told him how much he loved him though, and Mark Jr. knew he tried. He felt tears begin to well up in his eyes as he thought about his daddy now. Even though he thought his own mother was messed up, he hoped the crazy bitch died for what she had done to his daddy.
Nowhere To Be Found…
It burned Hanson the entire ride back into the city that Kelly Ross was within his reach but kept slipping through his fingers. Someone had spotted her at the Sears on State Street this morning. They had a tap on her office lines, and he’d gotten word that she’d made a call to her office.
Hanson sat at his desk, drumming his chewed-up pen against the side of his chair, when he straightened up, his mind buzzing. Something was bothering him.
He shifted his gaze to the manila envelope containing Mark Monroe’s personal effects. Watch, wedding ring—Hanson turned the ring over and read the inscription. “To Mark, love, Kelly.” Wallet, cell phone. He’d never finished looking through the cell phone. He turned it on and waited. The initials “KRM” came up on the screen as the battery beeped to indicate it was low. He flipped it open and began to scroll through the names. These were the names of Kelly Monroe’s friends, not Mark Monroe’s conquests…and the clincher…Mark’s office and cell phone numbers.
Smiling, Hanson dialed “*67” and Mark Monroe’s cell number. Maybe she’d answer thinking it was a friend. Some people had a compulsion to answer their phone, even if they didn’t know who it was. His wife was one of those. The call went straight to voicemail. So, she’d turned it off, meaning he couldn’t ping her location. What the hell, he’d put that in motion anyway. She had to turn it on sometime.
Hanson contemplated leaving her a message but instead closed the phone and leaned back. They’d traced her cell phone number off Mark Monroe’s office phone records but had turned up nothing. Now he knew why.
“Martin,” he called out.
“Yo,” Didi answered without looking up.
Hanson stood up and walked over to her desk. “Kelly Monroe’s got her husband’s cell phone. He had hers on him when he died.”
This got Didi’s attention. “Which would explain why we got nothing with the dump on her cell phone and couldn’t track her location.”
“We did real good on that one.”
Didi shrugged. “Why would we think she had his phone? And why would she have his phone? What’s the number? I’ll get the trace on it.”
He switched the phone off and then turned it back on, waiting for the number to come up.
“312-555-4167.”
“I’m on it.”
A desk sergeant walked over and handed him an envelope. “The financials on Mark Monroe,” she said.
Hanson nodded and ripped it open. The Escalade, the Gold Coast Condo, a Lexus he was financing. He remembered seeing a Lexus in Geneva’s driveway. Two gold AMEXs, three Visas, one with a serious credit limit, some department store cards. The house in Olympia Fields looked like a rental. He looked at the bank statements. Accounts at two different banks, a personal and joint account with Kelly Ross at one bank and at the other the bankroll for Geneva Monroe. Credit card payments, checks made out to cash, house and car payments.
Hanson scrolled down, shaking his head at how much he was laying out for family number two each month. Maybe he’d married Kelly Ross to keep from going under. There was one thing that caught his eye. He circled it and made a notation to check it out. Hanson resumed beating his pen against his chair as he processed the information.
He and Geneva had to be running some kind of scam against Kelly. He’d been too quick to judge that Mark wouldn’t wind up with a woman like Geneva. You saw mismatched, Beauty and the Beast types of couples all the time. Hell, turn on Jerry Springer or Maury Povich any day of the week. They must have had something between them only they understood. His desk phone rang, shaking him out of his reverie.
“Hanson.” As he listened, his face twisted with disbelief and rage.
“Well, why the hell didn’t he stop the train!” he yelled. “He’s a goddamned cop, he can do whatever the hell he wants!” Hanson grabbed his jacket off his chair. “Stay there, I’ll be there in five minutes.” He slammed down the phone, cursing.
“What happened?” Didi asked.
“A uniform ran smack into Kelly Ross on State Street. He claims he tried to grab her, but she ran off and down into the El station at Monroe. She got on a northbound train, and by the time word got to the conductor to hold the train, they were at Chicago and she was gone.”
“Son of a bitch,” Didi mumbled. Didi and Hanson were making their way down to their car when her cell phone rang. Now it was her turn to fume.
“Kelly Monroe picked up a wire transfer of three thousand dollars from a currency exchange on Washington. The supervisor saw the transaction about ten minutes after she left. The clerk claimed she had no idea who the woman was.”
Didi’s cell phone pealed once more, and her eyes almost popped out of their sockets.
“Kelly Monroe has managed to wipe out all of her bank accounts. Money was there this morning, and now it’s all gone.” Didi shook her head and bit her bottom lip. “She could be damn near anywhere by now.”
“But we’ve got all points of exit covered and nothing, right?”
Didi rubbed her forehead. “Yeah, but for how long?”
Hanson slid behind the steering wheel, his pulse racing. “How the hell is she doing it?” he asked out loud in frustration. “How the hell has she been all over this goddamned city and we can’t catch her?”
Payback’s A Bitch…
Geneva had insisted on going to the most expensive restaurant in Olympia Fields and implored her two girlfriends to order the priciest items on the menu. There were hors d’oeuvres, champagne, steak and lobster dinners, decadent desserts.
Geneva’s girlfriends had never really questioned where she got her money. She’d always hinted at being kept by a wealthy man, but her girlfriends thought she was full of shit.
Her girlfriend, Denise, a dark-skinned, busty blonde by way of her never-ending wig collection, was the first to ask Geneva about the bombshell she’d dropped earlier that day.
“So you were married to him?”
Geneva nodded her head. “Yup.”
“So how come he was married to ol’ girl?” her friend, Helen, a reedy, caramel-colored redhead, asked.
“Girl, we didn’t want nobody to know. It was easier to get to her money if nobody knew about
us. M.J. knew. That was all that mattered.”
Helen and Denise stole a look at each other.
“So he just married her for her money,” Denise said.
Geneva nodded again. “Yeah,” she said, starting to get more than a little annoyed.
“So how was ya’ll plannin’ to get that money exactly?” Helen asked.
Geneva rolled her eyes. “Oh, he’d been getting money from her for years. He was a lawyer…real smart…knew how to get what he needed.” She paused. “What we needed. That’s why I’m doing this. It’s what he would have wanted.”
“Okay, but he was a big time lawyer. Didn’t he have his own money?” Helen asked, more confused than ever.
Geneva let out a sigh suggesting she was dealing with petulant children. “He didn’t want to have to work no more. Wanted us to be taken care of.”
Helen and Denise looked at each other skeptically once again.
“So you really are going to sue ol’ girl? You can really do that?” Denise asked.
Geneva sucked her teeth. “You’re damn right, I can do that. Like I said, it’s what he would have wanted. Besides, she killed my Boo.”
“So how much money you gonna get?” Helen chimed in.
“I don’t know yet, but ladies, I am expecting a huge payday. What I really want though is the company. And let me tell you…the first thing I’ma do is change the name.”
Denise sipped her champagne. “Runway does sound kinda stupid, don’t it? Whatcha gonna name it?”
“I was thinking…Faces by Geneva.”
The two women nodded and murmured their approval as they contemplated what Geneva was saying. Helen yawned and looked at her watch. It was eight-thirty.
“Oh, I gotta go. Some of us do have to work.”
Geneva smiled. “Yes, let me give you a quarter so you can call someone who cares.”
All the women started to laugh, and Geneva signaled to their waiter for the check. Within minutes, he came back with the leather holder containing their bill, and she pulled out her gold AMEX and slid it inside.
Sweet Little Lies Page 12
