I stare at the pretty babies in the bassinets and then return my gaze to Rose. She yawns, and her face scrunches up in an unattractive way.
“You promise?” I ask in a whisper, looking deep into Rich’s eyes. “You promise I can have another?”
“I’ll swear on a Bible if it helps.”
“All right, then.” I close my eyes and hold out my arms, and Rose disappears from my life.
PART THREE
Kathi
August 14, 2016
“It’s called ghosting,” Jane tells me, sipping her nonfat latte.
“Ghosting?”
“When a man you’re dating suddenly disappears. Not that I’ve dated in ages, but I’ve read about it online. I try to keep up with the cultural trends. One day Franklin won’t be here, and I can’t wait forever to get back on that horse. I’m no spring chicken myself.” She leans forward with anticipation like she’s about to inhale a piece of cake. “Now, who is it? Who’s the lucky guy? I promise I won’t tell.”
We’ve met for coffee at the gluten-free deli that fronts the trendy Busy Bee gym. There’s a steady stream of beautiful people coming in and out of its copper-colored doors, mostly young and white and wealthy. They all look confident and self-assured. I pull my stomach tight, but it does no good. The growing bulge won’t disappear.
Jane is dressed in a pair of gold leggings and a tiny, form-fitting top. Her tan arms are carved with muscle, her stomach flat as a board. Pink cheeks glow from the hour-long workout; the sheen of sweat wipes years from her skin. It was take-a-friend-to-workout day, so she invited me along. I thought maybe the exercise might cheer me up, but I’ve never felt so out of place. Couldn’t hide my age in the many mirrors. Couldn’t keep pace on the stationary bike. Couldn’t do ten girl pushups, let alone a single man’s. Couldn’t curl ten pounds more than twice.
I take a sip of my latte and then another. The bitter sweetness coats my tongue. Every day more flavors return. Every day another pound piles on.
“It wasn’t a date, really,” I say.
“Not a date?” She looks confused for a second and then claps her hands like a child. “Are you telling me that prim and proper Kathi Wright had a night of gratuitous sex?”
My cheeks grow warm, and I look away as she claps her hands again.
“I’m so proud of you, Kathi. I really am. Was it your first time after Rich?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“No?”
“I actually like the man. I thought he liked me.”
Her eyes grow sad, and she reaches out and gives my hand a quick pat. “Oh my dear, I’m so sorry. You mean you fell for this mystery man?”
My eyes water, and I wipe away a tear. “I think I did.”
“How long has it been since you’ve heard from him?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Three weeks. Maybe four.”
Actually, it’s been twenty-eight days since the night Arthur slept in my bed. At least that’s what I think happened. I can’t see through the haze of the evening, so I’ve built a story line in my head. It follows the general path of my novel, which I’ve set aside for now. When the door shuts to the bedroom, I don’t see what happens next. I only feel a shiver of excitement, the pang of anticipation, and another feeling I try to dismiss. Something dark and dirty.
“Have you called him?”
“A few times.”
“And texting?”
I nod, ashamed.
“Oh dear. There’s your mistake. Never show a man you’re interested. Let him think he has to hunt you down.”
“Too late now, I guess.”
“There are plenty of men out there who’d be interested in a woman like you.” Jane squints, and her voice drops. “There she is. No! Don’t look.” She stirs a packet of sweetener into the dregs of her latte. “It’s that backstabbing bitch Eileen. Let’s pretend we’re talking about something funny. I don’t want her to think I give a damn.”
Jane launches into a silly story while the gorge rises in my throat.
“There,” Jane says, her smile fading. “She’s gone. I can’t believe Eileen’s working out here. I’m going to have to find a new gym.”
“You two never made up?”
“We didn’t, and we won’t. But I can tell you it’s because of her I’ve started reading the local paper again. It makes me happy to see how much trouble Arthur has gotten into. I hope they both end up in jail.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “You can’t always believe what you read in the Times.”
“Of course. That was dense of me.” She eyes me closely. “You probably know more than I do. Wasn’t Rich involved somehow?”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to speak to anyone about Rich’s case.”
“Oh, of course. I don’t mean to pry. I just can’t believe a man as smart as Rich got taken in by a con man like Arthur Van Meter. And to involve you . . . oh my god, Kathi. I know we haven’t spoken about it, but how terrible to have the police raid your house.”
I should keep my mouth shut, but I can’t help myself. “I’m not sure Arthur is a con man. There’s no proof he did anything wrong.”
“No proof? Are you kidding me? Concealing Indian artifacts? Losing his investors’ money? Franklin knows an awful lot of people who’ve been sucked into Arthur’s investment schemes. Luckily, my husband’s way too smart for that.”
“Yes, I suppose. I just don’t wish the worst for anyone.”
Jane eyes me sadly. “That’s what I like about you, Kathi. You have such a kind heart.”
I’m careful with my next words. I don’t need her sniffing out the truth. “So how long have they been separated?”
“Who?”
“Arthur and Eileen.”
Jane shakes her head. “You’d think that would’ve happened by now, wouldn’t you? I’ve heard the opposite is true. Suddenly they’re doing better than ever. In fact, last week they chartered a jet and invited half of Montecito to Kauai to watch them renew their wedding vows. Apparently, it was a huge spectacle that included fireworks, a roasted pig, and hula dancers. How tacky is that? For a time I thought Eileen and I might make up. But when she didn’t invite us to the ceremony, it was the last straw. The very last. To not be invited. To be dissed like that. Well, I wish the two of them hell on earth.”
I struggle to my feet.
“What’s wrong?” Jane says. “You look pale as a ghost.”
“It’s the heat. I’m feeling a little faint. I need to go home . . .”
June 30, 1991
This is my last entry. I’m giving up journaling. I no longer want to record the history of my life. Rich and I have come to an agreement, and he’s been a changed man ever since. We will keep this past year a secret from everyone, including ourselves. It helps that I never made friends in Reno. That I never told Aunt Genny. No one will ever know about the baby. It’s like she never happened.
I lie in bed at night and picture building a wall, brick by brick. It will divide the before from the after, housing nine months in between.
It’s sad to think I can never have any more children. The infection took care of that. But Rich is right. There is no need to adopt and bring an outsider into our family. We must focus our attention on our beautiful boy.
The good news is that Rich has taken an important position at a prominent Santa Barbara bank. He’s getting a pay raise and a promotion. We’ve saved enough to buy a starter home with a sneak peek of the ocean. Rich says one day we’ll exchange it for a bigger place with an even better view.
I’m so excited to get started with my new life. Rich said I can decorate Jack’s room however I want. I’m thinking blues, of course. Or maybe I’ll play with a few shades of green. I’m so busy. So VERY busy. There’s no time to think of anything else. The moving van comes tomorrow. When we drive off, I plan to never look back. So it’s good-bye, dear journal. I’m going to miss you. But it’s time to get on with my life.
C
rystal
August 12, 2016
It’s nine in the morning, and my day is already a disaster. There’s a note sitting on my desk.
We have to meet. Call me as soon as you can.
I’ve been avoiding Marco’s calls and emails for months. He seems to think he has power over me, and it’s just possible he does. Mimi and I have met a few times in secret, late at night. She’s told me the police have been questioning the local homeless, trying to drum up information on the witnesses to Rich’s death. From her description, I’m sure one of them is Marco. I’ve begged her to keep her distance, but she says that’s difficult to do. She’s also not convinced the good-looking cop who gives out extra change is one of the bad guys. I’m not sure how long her promise to keep her mouth shut will last.
I pick up the note again. Call you? Are you kidding me? If you had half a brain, you’d stay away. I slump in my chair and sort through the mail, depressed by the empty hours ahead. Then Dipak walks in with a file box, his face all sad and glum.
“What’s up?” I ask, knowing full well what an empty box means but not wanting to let myself go there.
“They’re letting me go,” Dipak says.
The breakfast burrito I downed that morning does a double flip in my stomach. “What’re you talking about? Who’s letting you go?”
“King Matthew Brown, of course. Well, he didn’t tell me himself. He’s too much of a chickenshit for that. HR called me in this morning. They’ve given me an hour to pack up my things. I should’ve taken the severance pay when they offered it. They aren’t paying out a dime anymore.” He drops into his chair. “I’d like to tell my clients, but I’m not allowed to touch the computers. Maybe you can send a few emails for me.”
This can’t be happening. Not to Dipak. He was only an innocent bystander. Now he’s become a sacrificial pawn in my retribution game. “Have they already yanked your access?”
“Hell yeah.”
“Jerks.”
“Assholes.”
“Did HR say why you’re being fired?”
“Laid off, thank you.”
“Sorry.”
“That’s all right. Seems I’m part of a new round of cost-cutting measures. There are at least a dozen getting the boot today. My guess is Brown is whittling expenses to the bone so he can sell the bank and collect his megabonus.”
“Do you think they know we sent the letters?” My mind whirs back and forth.
He lifts his finger to his lips and shakes his head. “I need another job, okay? So just be quiet and let me pack my box. I’ll meet you for lunch if you want. We can talk about it then.”
I get up and stand with my arms crossed, watching Dipak clean out his desk. In the time it takes him to empty his first drawer, I begin to second-guess myself. What if Van Meter knows that I saw him on the tracks that night? What if Marco is hot on my trail? I mumble some sort of apology to Dipak and stumble out of the office. Then I hurry down the hallway and into the bathroom, where I puke my guts away.
I bring turkey sandwiches to Alice Keck Park, but Dipak refuses to eat. Instead, he’s brought a quart of malt liquor wrapped in a crinkled brown bag. He says it’s the strongest thing he could get, short of a bottle of hundred-proof vodka.
“How can I tell my parents?” he says, dropping his head in his hands. “They’ll be so embarrassed. So ashamed.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, unwrapping my sandwich and taking a big bite. I’m the opposite of Dipak. When I’m upset, I can’t help but eat. “How do they expect to run the bank without any employees?”
“They don’t seem to know or care. With all the bad press the bank’s gotten, the loans and deposits keep running off. I can’t argue they need to do something, but shouldn’t they whittle down senior management?”
“That’ll never happen.”
“I know. So the sick thing is Shelby got her notice too. It’s a bloodbath over there. I bet they’ve laid off half the staff since March.” He looks at me with his sad brown eyes. “It’s just such a bummer. We had everything planned. We were saving up to buy a starter home. And now this.”
“I wonder why they kept me.”
“Come on. We both know you’re George’s pet.” He takes a slug of his beer and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry. That was mean. The truth is you’re smarter than me. And more efficient. Hell, you’re smarter and more efficient than just about anyone I’ve ever met. And you were right about all the crap that was going on. Jesus. What a mess.”
“So there’s no severance pay?”
“Hell no. George pulled me aside before I left. Said he tried to do something for me. He knows it’s not fair, but Brown shut him down. Said the employees were the ones who got the bank into trouble, and they don’t deserve to be rewarded.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say. “You know as well as I do that it was Rich who tanked the bank.”
“With Shipwreck Barbie’s help.”
“He couldn’t have done it without her. And the board members, of course.”
“And don’t forget the CFO. He had to know what was going on. I heard he’s leaving with a severance package worth well over a million.”
I shake my head. “Isn’t that how these things work?”
“Yeah, management screws everything up, but it’s the workers that take the blame.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Maybe we shouldn’t have sent those letters.” Or maybe I shouldn’t have pressed Dipak to send a letter. For all I know he’s been outed, and that’s why he lost his job.
“Don’t blame yourself,” he says. “With all the corruption going down at the bank, the shit would’ve hit the fan at some point.”
“I know. But . . .”
Dipak drains his beer and lobs it into a nearby trash can. “You think we killed him?” he asks, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
My heart speeds up. “Who?”
“Rich.”
“Of course not. Why would you say that?”
“If he committed suicide because of the filings, isn’t that partly our fault?”
“I don’t think he committed suicide.”
“Really? Then what? He was murdered?”
I shrug. “He had lots of enemies.”
“Like?”
I consider what to say next. I’ve been wanting to place a rumor to get the evidence pointed in the right direction. “Like . . . well . . . like Van Meter.”
“Arthur Van Meter?”
“Yeah.”
“No way.”
“Why not?”
“He’s too nice a guy.”
“Because he’s white, rich, and good-looking?”
“Exactly. Why risk that?”
“Maybe he’s crazy. Insane.”
“I don’t see it.”
“The thing is . . .” I choose my next words carefully. “Rich had invested money in Van Meter’s Casa Bella project.”
Dipak looks up. “No way.”
“Yep. It’s true. He did it through an LLC.”
“You think the feds know?”
“I know they do.”
“So even without finding the Chumash bones, the project might’ve been stopped?”
“Bank president forms secret corporations to funnel funds into a client’s multimillion-dollar project? That has money laundering written all over it. As well as bribery, extortion, and fraud.”
Dipak doesn’t look convinced. “So you’re saying Van Meter killed Rich because . . . ?”
“Because of money. When his project got stalled, Van Meter was in a shitload of trouble. What if he decided on blackmail as the answer?”
“Blackmail is one thing—”
“And then for some reason Rich didn’t pay him.”
“You’re writing that novel again.”
“Am I?”
Dipak thinks on this for a while. “No. It makes no sense. Van Meter has everything going for him. Looks. Money. The trust fund wife.”
“I suppose.”
I tossed the rumor out there. There’s not much more I can do. “So you’re not mad at me?”
Dipak shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. George says he’ll give me a good reference. I know he feels bad about how things turned out. He’s the only good guy left standing except for you.”
I peer at Dipak, wondering what he’d think of me if he ever learned the truth. That I’d been playing him like I played the others. That he was a pawn in my master game. I feel a sudden surge of remorse. Am I really such a monster? A lowlife snake in the grass? “What if you stay, and I move on?”
“You serious?”
I gnaw at my lower lip. “I am. I’ve been thinking of leaving town anyway.”
“Back to Bakersfield?”
“No. I want to try someplace new.”
Dipak seems to consider my offer but then shakes his head. “Thanks, but no. What’s done is done. I’m not going to beg for my job back. Anyway, I might find something closer to home. There’s a small bank in Mojave that’s been looking for a branch manager. A headhunter’s been calling me for months.”
“Mojave? You hate it there. You said you’d never go back.”
“I know, but with everything going on in the world, it might be a good time to stay close to home.”
“Because . . . ?”
Dipak’s face grows haggard. Like he hasn’t slept in weeks. “I take it you don’t follow the news.”
“Not really.”
“Well, my parents are a little spooked. Last week someone spray-painted Go home, Muslim on the motel’s front wall.”
“You’re not even Muslim, are you?”
“We’re Hindu. But try telling that to some nutcase with an AR15 in his hand.”
“You’re exaggerating, Dipak. It’s not that bad.”
“You think? You’re not on Facebook, right?”
“Nope.”
“Or any other kind of social media?”
I shake my head.
“Then you have no idea how bad it’s gotten out there.”
“Maybe I don’t want to know.”
“I suppose that’s a choice. Anyway, I don’t blame my parents for being scared. And what do I have to lose? Shelby’s moving home too, just until we can make enough money for a down payment on a house. Then we’ll find a place of our own. It’ll be a hell of a lot cheaper in the desert compared to here.”
What She Gave Away (Santa Barbara Suspense Book 1) Page 22
