by Rachel Woods
She couldn’t stop thinking about the letter from Alexio and Gaston, Attorneys-at-Law. Shoved into the back of her jeans, the offensive missive felt as though it was burning a hole in the denim.
“Babe, you okay?”
Glancing up, she said, “Yeah … I’m fine.”
“You seem distracted,” Beanie said, standing on the opposite side of the island
Noelle shook her head, still chopping florets. “Just upset about your bad day.”
“Well, don’t take it out on the broccoli.”
“Hmmm.”
“You’re mincing those florets,” said Beanie, smiling.
“Oh …” Noelle fought tears as she stared at the florets, which now resembled chopped parsley. Struggling to fight hopeless frustration, she said, “Well, I was thinking of mixing the broccoli into the mashed potatoes.”
Beanie’s gaze was skeptical, but he nodded. “That should be good.”
“Let’s hope,” said Noelle, glancing at the ruined broccoli, feeling like a failure.
“Anyway, enough with my complaining,” Beanie said. “How was your day?”
Noelle froze for a moment. She didn’t know how to answer him. She couldn’t tell Beanie about the letter from Attorney Gaston or her Handweg Ho reaction to it, which she deeply regretted, and was embarrassed about.
What would Beanie think if she told him? Noelle was certain he would share her outrage. Beyond his indignation and confusion would be one dominating question: Why would Eamon accuse her of sexually harassing him? What could Noelle say? She had no idea why Eamon was accusing her of something so horrible. Would Beanie believe her? Or would he secretly wonder if there was any truth to Eamon’s ludicrous claims against her? Noelle couldn’t bear the idea of Beanie having doubts about her. She didn’t want him worrying, either, or getting upset or vowing to kill Eamon.
The situation was depressing and debilitating, but she would handle it. Somehow. She would meet with Eamon’s attorneys. She would prove, someway, that she couldn’t have harassed Eamon. She would convince his lawyers that Eamon’s accusation was a vicious lie designed to ruin her reputation.
Noelle decided to avoid Beanie’s question so she wouldn’t have to lie. “Hey, can you go check on the boys? I’ll have dinner ready in twenty minutes, or so.”
Beanie gave her a quick kiss before he left the kitchen.
Noelle drifted to the sink and gazed out the window at the roses she’d planted last week. Sighing, she wiped away the tears as they rolled down her cheeks. Why was this happening to her? Why was her life going to hell? What had she done wrong to make so many terrible things happen to her at once? She couldn’t help but think—
Your whole world is going to fall apart right before your eyes, and there won’t be anything you can do to stop it.
Turning from the kitchen window, Noelle rubbed her arms as Helen Farber’s portentous words sent a shudder of dread through her.
Chapter Fourteen
“The bitch is definitely out to get me,” Eamon said as he paced around the thread-bare second-hand couch his aunt had given him. “She pretty much threatened to kill me!”
“Bro, chill,” said Kevin, stretching out across the lumpy cushions as he opened his second Felipe beer. “Dr. Bean didn’t threaten to kill you.”
“She said she would bury me in a fucking grave,” said Eamon.
“But only if you tried to dig a grave for her,” said Kevin, reminding Eamon of Dr. Bean’s exact quote. “It was more of a counter to your direct threat against her.”
“Actually, it was a conditional threat predicated upon a specific action from Eamon—digging the grave to bury Dr. Bean.” Matt pointed out. “She’s only gonna bury you if you try to bury her first.”
Kevin took another swig of beer and said, “Which you did.”
“How the hell did I try to bury Dr. Bean?” Eamon asked. “She sexually harassed me! I wasn’t trying to bury her, even though I could have. I didn’t go to HR, which I should have done, and I didn’t sue her, which, again, I should have done. Instead, I offered to work things out fairly and discreetly.”
Kevin snorted. “You want her to pay you to keep quiet and use her influence to get you transferred to another location. Not sure if she would think that was fair.”
“That seems like a reasonable resolution to me,” said Matt, slouching in the recliner, staring at his smartphone. “Dr. Bean might agree to that especially since it means she won’t lose her job or have her reputation trashed.”
Shrugging, Kevin said, “Bro, don’t get pissed but I can see why Dr. Bean thinks you’re scamming her.”
Eamon glared at Kevin, tempted to snatch the beer bottle from his hand, smash it against the coffee table and slash his smug face.
“Look at the situation from Dr. Bean’s point of view,” suggested Kevin. “You come at her with accusations of sexual harassment, for which you claim you have proof, but—”
“I do have proof,” Eamon insisted.
Kevin said, “But you didn’t show her the proof.”
“Because my lawyers advised me not to,” Eamon said. “They told me if I mentioned the emails then she would immediately mount a defense claiming the emails were fake.”
“Because they are fake,” Kevin said.
“The photo was doctored, yeah,” Eamon conceded. “But the emails are real. She sent them. My lawyers say we can trace the emails using the IP address. We can prove the emails were sent from her computer even if the email address isn’t hers.”
“Unless she didn’t send the emails from her computer,” said Matt.
“Exactly,” said Kevin. “We’ve already established that Dr. Bean is a smart woman. She probably sent those emails from a computer in some Internet café from a burner phone that can’t be traced.”
“My lawyers are confident the emails will be traced back to Dr. Bean.” Eamon rubbed his neck, trying not to worry, but he felt considerably less confident in the ability of his attorneys to prove his claims. He hadn’t given up hope, but he had to consider the possibility that Dr. Bean might get away with harassing him.
“As I was saying,” said Kevin. “It probably seems like a scam to Dr. Bean because she hasn’t seen the proof.”
“She already knows what my proof is because she sent the damn emails,” Eamon said. “She doesn’t really think I’m scamming her. That’s going to be her defense. She’s going to lie and say she didn’t send the emails. She’s going to accuse me of sending them because I’m running some scheme to steal her job, which is bullshit.”
“Bro, look, it’s just the three of us here,” Kevin said, voice lowered. “You can tell the truth. Me and Matt won’t rat you out.”
“What are you talking about?” Matt asked.
“That’s what I want to know,” Eamon said.
“Did Dr. Bean really send you those emails?” Kevin asked. “Or did you fake them so you could—”
“Get the fuck out of here!” Eamon went to the door and opened it. “Now!”
Kevin exhaled and stood. “Bro, listen, I’m not judging you. I get why you would do it. You have student loans and—”
Eamon stalked toward Kevin, anxious to beat the shit out of him.
“We’re leaving.” Matt jumped up, blocking Eamon’s approach as he grabbed Kevin’s arm. “Come on, dude, let’s go.”
Kevin finished his beer then tossed the empty bottle on the couch. “For the record,” Kevin said. “I don’t believe Dr. Bean tried to harass you. She tried to help your sorry ass, and you repay her kindness and generosity by—”
Eamon lunged at Kevin, but Matt pushed Kevin out of the way, sending him stumbling, laughing as he tried to avoid tripping over the coffee table.
“He’s not worth it,” said Matt, an apology in his gaze.
“Get his ass out of here,” Eamon said as he took a deep breath and a few steps back.
Standing outside the doorway after he’d pushed Kevin out of the apartment, Matt shook his head. “Sorr
y, man. He’s a douche sometimes.”
Eamon nodded, trying to control his anger and ignore the urge to go after Kevin.
“I’m sure your lawyers will prove that you’re telling the truth,” said Matt. “Don’t worry.”
Alone in his apartment, Eamon picked up the empty beer bottle and hurled it at the door.
Chapter Fifteen
As her fingers flew over the keyboard, Noelle cringed, recalling the confrontation with Eamon.
Standing at the counter where prescriptions were filled, in the same area where she’d screamed at Eamon two days ago, her mortification knew no bounds. The impromptu vacation days hadn’t been as relaxing as she’d hoped, but at least she didn’t have to face her co-workers. She suspected, however, that forty-eight hours wasn’t enough time to forget the hostile scene.
How could she have been so unprofessional? She’d never behaved that way before in her entire career. As a supervisor, Noelle was well aware of the established company protocols when there was any conflict between co-workers.
She should have spoken to Eamon in private instead of screaming expletives at him in front of other employees. Noelle cringed again, thinking about the pharmacy tech and the part-time pharmacist. She’d put them in an uncomfortable position. They hadn’t deserved to witness her irrational ire. What did they think of her now? Maybe that they didn’t really know her. She wasn’t the woman they’d believed her to be.
She was—
A con artist …
Helen Farber, in her head again. Maybe the twisted bitch was right. Maybe Dr. Noelle Bean was just pretending to be the dutiful wife, adoring mother and successful career woman. Maybe Noelle was really Nobody—the girl from the wrong side of the island. A girl with a rough upbringing whose natural instincts demanded she go on the attack and defend herself if she was confronted. She thought she’d left the Handweg attitude behind but obviously not considering how quickly those old street life tendencies had come roaring back.
Noelle took a deep breath. She’d arrived at work an hour before her staff usually showed up so she could catch up on prescriptions that had been called in after hours, but she couldn’t focus. Usually, she could get lost in the methodical monotony of her job, but she couldn’t stop thinking about that damn letter from Eamon’s lawyers.
The letter had almost stolen her attention from Ethan and Evan. She’d spent her vacation days trying to focus on them and trying not to dwell on the hell she was experiencing because of Eamon Taylor. In the back of her mind, as she played with her precious little men, Noelle knew she would have to call Attorney Gaston to set up a meeting soon, or Eamon might—
“Noelle …”
Startled, Noelle turned. Sigmund Benz, the manager responsible for the fifteen Palmchat Pharmacy locations across the Palmchat chain, walked toward her, his stride stiff and hesitant.
“I didn’t expect you to be here this early. I thought I would have to wait for you to show up but no matter. Are you alone?” Sigmund asked, his expression pinched with concern. “When do you expect your staff?”
“Not for an hour, or so,” Noelle said, hearing the tremor in her voice as her heart hammered. “I’m alone. I didn’t know you were going to stop by …”
“I hadn’t planned to, but there has been a disturbing development.”
Noelle swallowed, praying her voice wouldn’t fail. “A disturbing development.”
“We must speak about this situation immediately,” Sigmund said, “as it involves you … and Eamon Taylor.”
Chapter Sixteen
The day ended as it began, with Noelle standing at the workstation where she filled prescriptions, her fingers flying over the keyboard.
The pharmacy had closed two hours ago, and her staff was long gone, but Noelle hadn’t been in a hurry to leave. There was a lot to do and she’d always taken pride in the location’s ability to fill scripts promptly. Over the years, the St. Killian store had received several awards and accolades for outstanding customer service thanks in part to Noelle’s tireless devotion and willingness to put in extra hours. When she’d first started her career, Noelle would often stay late to impress her superiors and showcase her strong work ethics.
Today, however, she wasn’t trying to be super-pharmacist.
She hesitated to go home because as soon as she walked through the door, Beanie and the boys would steal her attention which she was usually eager to give them. But, she needed to think. Work had been hectic. There hadn’t been a moment for even a minute of reflection on the situation with Eamon and his false accusations.
The impromptu visit from Sigmund Benz still rattled her when she replayed it in her mind. Noelle had barely been able to concentrate on what Benz was saying. His dour expression and dire tone sent her pulse racing so fast; she thought she might faint. Somehow, she’d managed to walk with Benz to her office where, behind closed doors, he confirmed her fears.
With grave solemnity, he’d informed her of a notification he’d received from the Human Resources department.
“Eamon Taylor resigned his position this morning.”
“Eamon resigned?” Noelle’s mouth went dry. “Why?”
“Mr. Taylor claims he was …” Benz had hesitated before saying, “sexually harassed … by you.”
Noelle had been glad she was sitting down.
“Noelle, what is going on?” Benz asked. “Why would Mr. Taylor say such a thing about you? Surely, his claims aren’t true … are they?”
“Benz, you have to believe me,” Noelle said. “There is no truth to these claims. They are completely unfounded and unprovoked.”
Noelle wasn’t sure Benz believed her. The regional manager seemed to be struggling to mask his skepticism, but she didn’t know for sure. She and Benz had always been friendly, cordial, and admiring of each other’s accomplishments. He’d always lauded her success and held her in high esteem, but was he disappointed?
She’d searched his face, looking for subtle signs of disgust but his expression was passive, betraying nothing.
Sigmund Benz told Noelle he was scheduled to have a meeting with HR and the company lawyers about the matter and would get back to her.
After Benz left, Noelle wasn’t sure what to think.
Eamon’s resignation had floored her. She couldn’t help thinking he’d quit the job because he was going to file a lawsuit against her—and probably the company, too. Noelle wanted to kick herself for not contacting Attorney George Gaston and resolving the issue. She could have paid Eamon off and recommended him to a pharmacy in St. Mateo. Or St. Felipe. Or Cera. Eamon could be out of her life right now. She wouldn’t have to worry about losing her job.
Noelle wished she knew if Benz had believed her.
She’d always known Sigmund Benz to be unemotional and stoic, but fair and impartial, only interested in facts supported by irrefutable evidence.
Benz wouldn’t jump to conclusions, but he would conduct a thorough investigation in his effort to get the truth. More than anyone, Noelle knew the truth wasn’t always as it appeared. The truth could mislead and deceive. It could manipulate and misinform. The truth couldn’t always be relied on to provide answers.
Eamon claimed he had proof of her harassment and Noelle didn’t doubt it. Eamon probably did have evidence to back up his claim, but his proof wasn’t real. It might, however, be authentic enough to appear real.
Noelle pinched the bridge of her nose and tried not to fidget. Eamon’s so-called proof worried her. What if Benz and the HR director believed the fake evidence?
Looping the cross-body purse over her head, Noelle grabbed her briefcase. She set the pharmacy’s alarm and exited the door that opened to the back alley, a wide two-lane strip of dirt road behind the retail center where the pharmacy shared space with a dry cleaner’s, and ice cream shop, and a dentist who sent all of his patients to the pharmacy for pain medication.
She closed the heavy door, which locked automatically from the inside. Turning, she shielded her eyes
from the coppery late afternoon sun and headed to her car, backed against the chain-link fence which separated the alley from the empty lot, overgrown with trees and bushes, behind it.
She couldn’t drive herself crazy worrying about the meeting between Benz and the HR director, Noelle decided. She would go insane playing the “what if” game. She had to try her best not to jump to conclusions and imagine the worst.
Beanie and the boys would help keep her mind off the worst. She just had to focus on what was most important in her life, count her many blessings and—
A hand pressed against her mouth. What the hell was happening? Her heart shot into her throat and would have exited her mouth if the hand wasn’t preventing her from screaming. Struggling against the arm clamped around her chest, Noelle couldn’t help but think of Grady Palmer. Was he behind this attack? Was this a brutal message? Had he sent one of his PC-5 thugs to scare her into compliance?
“Give me the keys, bitch!” The keys? Confusion spread through her, clouding the fear. What was going on? Was she being carjacked? Violently, Noelle pitched forward, slipping on the gravel as she realized the assailant had pushed her. Turning, she cried out for help as she stumbled, trying to get her bearings. Dressed in jeans and a dark T-shirt, and wearing what looked like a white hockey mask, the attacker lunged at her. Noelle swung her briefcase, whacking him against the arm. Cursing her, he grabbed the briefcase, tossed it aside, and back-handed her across the face.
Startled by the stinging blow, Noelle stumbled to her left, lost her footing and crashed down on one knee. Pain spiraled up her leg as she struggled to get to her feet, praying he wouldn’t kick her, or—
“Give me the keys!”
Noelle glanced up at him and froze.
The attacker pointed a gun at her. “I want the keys now!”
Through gasping pants, she whispered, “The keys are in my purse.”
“Get them out and give them to me,” he said, “or I will put a bullet in your head.”
