by Mia Thompson
Julia hugged her back and patted her cheek.
“Hey!” Sapphire said, excited. “You’re almost off, so put the mop down and I’ll make some popcorn and we’ll pig out and watch the Stephen King marathon that’s on tonight.” She ran over to the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a ten-pack of Julia’s favorite popcorn, Triple Butter. Sapphire smiled, she really needed this. Julia was the only person on the planet that could make her feel better right now, whether she knew what Sapphire’s problem was or not.
Julia watched her and tilted her head. “But we have seen them all a million times.”
Sapphire shrugged and put the popcorn in the microwave.
“That is exactly why it’s so fun. Of course we know that Kathy Bates is going to hobble James Caan. You’ll say, ‘she’s gonna hobble you!’ And I’ll say, ‘kick her in the face!’ And then you’ll go ‘aaaah, she hobbled him again! Every time.’”
“Sapphire…”
“Do you want Coke or Fanta?” Sapphire said going through the fridge.
“Sapphire…”
“Or Vivienne’s hundred proof anti-aging serum.” She sniffed the medicinal bottle and pulled back quickly from the overpowering scent of pure alcohol.
“I’m having dinner with Antonio.”
I know. Sapphire turned to Julia, smiling big. “Okay. Well, rain check.”
Julia hugged her again and grabbed her purse. “I’m so happy about the dinner, Sapphire. You have no idea how much it means to me.” She turned, practically radiating with joy. “I just know you’ll love him.”
Doubt it. Sapphire smiled and stood in her spot until Julia was gone and she heard the door in the front door close.
Vivienne appeared at the door of the kitchen with a bird’s nest on the left side of her hair and a line of red lipstick smeared from her mouth up along her cheek.
“Hello,” she said, nodding at Sapphire and making her way unsteadily to the fridge to pick up her bottle of anti-aging hundred proof. She left as soon as she came and Sapphire was alone once again, along with the unwelcome thoughts.
She went to the attic and spent the rest of the night there staring at the wall of articles, pictures, and notes—anything that could lead her to him, and in turn, lead her to the girl.
* * * * *
Aston skimmed through the pictures of young women reported missing in the last month. The lab results from the finger had come back indicating female, age approximately twenty.
The chief entered his office with a cup of coffee in his hand, peeking at the screen in front of Aston that was searching through a database of millions of people. “You’re going on what, sixteen hours?”
Aston nodded, removing the blondes from the picture pile, one after one. The tiny hairs on the girl’s knuckles were a shade darker, indicating a brunette of sort. So he could remove all blondes, redheads, and the list of colors in between.
When the chief placed a hand on Aston’s shoulder, his body tightened. Something was coming. Since the day before at Dior, the chief had been overly friendly with Aston, acting like they were in a bad buddy-movie from the eighties. Aston was not Axel Foley. Although much more handsome, according to himself, Aston wasn’t nearly as lovable and patient as Eddie Murphy’s character in Beverly Hills Cop.
“A little bird told me you don’t have any plans for Thanksgiving,” the chief started.
Who in the hell said I didn’t have plans? He had specifically told people his plan of buying a frozen turkey dinner, watching football, and getting shitfaced at home by himself.
“My wife would like to invite you to our Thanksgiving dinner. No pressure—you don’t have to accept,” the chief continued, giving him a look that told him the opposite.
Kill me now, Aston thought and nodded a smile to the chief.
“Oh, maaan,” he said very convincingly. “I’d love to, but I’m working on Thanksgiving.”
“I’ll rearrange your schedule; you can work the morning shift and come over at three.”
“Great,” Aston said, disappointed.
The chief cheered him with his coffee. “Great. And you’ll get to meet the kids.”
“Kids. Great.”
Please don’t show me the pictures.
“You want to see some pictures?”
After the twentieth cell phone photo of the chief’s son, Dylan, Aston was about two seconds away from taking the phone and shoving it up the chief’s ass when something changed in the room.
The computer screen’s green “match” word was blinking. A driver’s license had been found.
“Oh, thank God!” Aston rolled his chair up to the screen, happy to avoid the potential phone-in-ass situation.
Chapter 11
Sapphire screamed as her head hit the ground. She arched her body and kicked up with the help of her palms bent backwards, landing back on her feet with a swift motion. She attacked with a kick to the side and an attempt for a foot to the stomach.
Marco grabbed her foot and twisted it to the left, making her body spin right back down to the floor where she started.
“You can’t attack like that. You’re angry; you’re not thinking,” he said, looking down at her, offering her a hand.
Frustrated, she let him pull her up. “Let’s go,” she said, making herself ready.
“No. You’ve attacked thirty times and you’ve failed thirty times because you’re in the wrong frame of mind.”
Sapphire strained to breathe and stared at him, determined, her hands resting on her knees. Yes, maybe she was taking her frustration out on poor Marco, but she needed to release it somehow. That girl, dead or alive, was Sapphire’s responsibility. It was all she could think about whenever she closed her eyes at night, whenever she opened them in the morning.
With a yell, Sapphire attacked again, leaving him no choice. They danced around for a whole three seconds before Marco took her arms, creating a straightjacket, and pushed her up against the wall. His breath suddenly changed and his body pushed closer to hers. Marco’s eyes moved down her face stopping at her lips, then back up to her eyes, clearly telling her what he was thinking. He blushed, pulling away, embarrassed. “Class dismissed,” he mumbled, threw her a towel, and moved toward the door.
“Marco.”
He turned around with mixed emotions of hope and pain in his eyes. She knew what he wanted her to say, but she couldn’t.
“Still on for next time?” She didn’t want to lose him. He was a great trainer, and she enjoyed being around him.
“Yeah.” He looked at her for an extra second and then shook his head. “Why did you sign up for intermediate? We both know you’ve trained before.”
Sapphire froze. What in the hell was she supposed to say? If Marco ever tried to register her as an MMA fighter, he’d find her name and social security invalid.
“Maybe I’m just a natural.”
Marco laughed, giving up. “Right.” Then he was gone and Sapphire’s phone rang.
“Crap,” she mumbled and reluctantly picked up. “Yes?”
“This is Detective Ridder from the Beverly Hills police department. We met…”
“For God’s sake, Aston, I know who you are. I’ve seen you naked. What do you want?”
A few seconds of silence on the other end of the line.
“We would like you to come in to answer a few questions. Officer Harry’s also on the line so that you guys can set up the time.”
“Hello,” said a second male voice—awkwardly.
Oh God! Sapphire closed her eyes in embarrassment and forced out a greeting. “Hi Barry. How are you?”
“Fine, thanks.” Barry Harry cleared his throat.
“So what is it about? I already answered a bunch of questions. I just kind of want to put it behind me.”
“It’s necessary, Ms. Dubois,” Aston said and then left her alone with Barry.
Two hours later Sapphire showed up at the police station and saw Chrissy step out of her car, looking at herself in a hand-held mirro
r. She let go of her narcissist complex for half a second to notice Sapphire standing at the top of the steps, staring down at her.
“Hey,” Chrissy said, nonchalant.
“What are you doing here?”
“Well, somebody—I won’t name names—refused to pick up her phone, so I followed you here. You going for the finger thing?”
“You followed me around all day?” Sapphire asked, a little nervous and a lot creeped out.
“Ew, no. I’m not a stalker. I was doing my nails and I searched your phone app that I’ve told you about like a billion times, and…”
“What are you doing?” Sapphire stopped as she realized Chrissy was following her inside.
Chrissy looked at her with big innocent eyes. “I’m coming with you, silly. Emotional support.”
“I don’t need any emotional support. I’m answering questions. That’s all.” Sapphire moved toward the main desk hoping to lose Chrissy, but she was right behind.
“This is very hard for me, you know,” Chrissy said. “It’s very traumatic what I saw happen to you. I need to be sure that I’m okay.”
“You’re not even gonna be allowed in, Chrissy.”
Chrissy scoffed. “Please, my family basically owns this place.”
* * * * *
Aston stared at the two girls sitting in front of him, especially the one who wasn’t invited. He let his eyes slide across the lavish, over-welcoming interrogation room. An interrogation room was meant to make people uncomfortable: a table, two chairs, and one lamp. Not color-coordinated couches, plants, a snack bar, and an espresso machine. Most interrogation rooms were designed to make people get the sense of jail and their claustrophobic future unless they complied. It was meant to intimidate. As intimidating as an espresso machine was to Aston’s progressing ulcer, it was not terrifying to anyone else.
“I’m sorry; who are you and what the hell are you doing here again?” he asked the one who wasn’t invited.
“I’m Chrissy Kraft…K-R-A-F-T,” she emphasized. “We just had a conversation with your chief of police and he approved me being here. He and my grandfather are very close.”
“You do know that you guys have met before, don’t you?” the one who was invited cut in.
“Okay, just…whatever,” Aston said, starting the recorder. “The finger was severed when she was still alive so that’s a positive sign.”
“Eeew,” Chrissy said, disgusted.
“We managed to ID the fingerprint.” Aston ignored the annoyance from the other side of the table, looking directly at Sapphire, her expression showing no sign of anticipation.
“Okay?” she said.
He brought the picture to the table, placing it in front of her. “Do you recognize this girl?”
She leaned in to see, squinting her eyes.
“Never seen her in my life,” Chrissy said, shaking her head.
Aston turned to her, annoyed. “I was asking Ms. Dubois.”
Sapphire stared at the picture for a while as Aston tapped his pen against the table, hoping, waiting.
“No, I have not.”
It was obvious she wasn’t lying. Aston rubbed his eyes, tired and disappointed.
“Shelly McCormick. Upper class family in San Diego. Reported missing last week.”
“When was the last time anyone saw her? Did anyone witness her disappearance?” Sapphire asked. “I mean…you know…isn’t that what cops should know?” She pouted her lips together and put on lip gloss that stunk the room up with a cherry scent.
“No. All we know is that she was on her way to class and never made it. Her car was found a few miles from her house, wiped clean.”
“Of blood,” Chrissy explained to Sapphire.
“Of prints,” Aston said trying not to strangle her. “We’re still looking for witnesses. What we need to know now is your connection with her. With Shelly McCormick.”
Sapphire shook her head. “I wish I could help.”
“Oh my God! I just totally figured it out.”
Aston and Sapphire turned to Chrissy who was so excited she slapped Sapphire’s shoulder.
“When I was in elementary, I had a friend named Mackenzie Shelton. We used to call her Mac, but I always thought that SHELLY for SHELTON would be another good nickname for her. So Shelly was a close friend of mine and now Sapphire is my best friend. Shelly got jealous, changed her name, had plastic surgery, chopped off her own finger and sent it to my new best friend to say, ‘Hey don’t you hang out with Chrissy or I’ll chop off my other finger.’”
Aston stared at her. Sapphire stared at her.
“Booom!” she added and smacked her hand down on the table.
Aston took a deep breath to calm himself down. Find his inner Chi. Find the path back to nonviolent thoughts. “Get the fuck out!”
Chrissy looked at him, insulted. “I’ll have you know…”
“I don’t give a shit; get out before I shoot you in the face!”
Chrissy stood up and grabbed her purse. “I’m going to leave now. I don’t like your tone.”
When she slammed the door shut, Aston turned to Sapphire and they shared a silent moment.
“Look, I honestly don’t know,” she said.
Aston studied her face so that he could read her reaction to what he was about to ask. He shut off the recorder and locked eyes with her. “So I was out by the gas station off the 101 by Ventura the other day.” Nothing. No reaction. “And it’s funny; I thought I saw you there, and you were in this beat-up, piece of crap car. But you own a white Range Rover; isn’t that correct?”
She looked at him, a little confused. “Yeah? What were you doing out there? There’s pretty much nothing but the gas station.”
“Getting gas.”
“To go where?” Her eyes narrowed and the way she looked at him actually made him feel guilty for following her.
“We’re not talking about me, are we? I know it was you. Now could you be so kind as to tell me why you went out in the middle of nowhere to switch the car Daddy gave you for a shitty Volkswagen that does not seem to be registered to you?”
Her eyes moved to the recorder. “Why is the recorder off? Is this not official?”
Aston didn’t answer; he just kept his eyes locked to hers. Mainly because he didn’t know what to say.
“Then I guess it wasn’t official business when you followed me to the gas station either? Which would mean that you were doing unofficial business on duty,orjust plain stalking me.”
Damnit.
Aston laughed awkwardly, because again, she had painted him into a corner. “Unofficial or not…” he started.
“It is an intrusion of privacy. Are we done with the relevant questions so I can go?”
“Yes,” Aston sighed, reluctantly.
She got up and confidently made her way to the door. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything. Now she knew he was watching her and would be more careful with whatever in the hell it was she was doing. He needed to play it cool from this point on. Apologize and act like it was a closed chapter.
“I’m watching you,” he said instead.
Sapphire stopped at the door as she held the knob, then ripped it open and slammed it shut behind her.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” he shouted, but she was already gone.
* * * * *
Sapphire clenched the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were turning white. She let go and slammed it with a fist.
“Uuum, sooo…you wanna come watch me get a facial or…something?” Chrissy asked.
Chrissy had left her own car at the police station and forced herself into Sapphire’s. She actually jumped in as the car was in motion. The girl did not ever take a hint.
Sapphire turned to Chrissy, about to throw her out of the moving vehicle. Instead, she veered to the right, cutting off a silver Mercedes that blasted its horn, and pulled up in front of Urth Cafe off Beverly Drive.
“No, I don’t want to go and watch you get a goddamned facial
! Can you ever get it through your thick brain that people other than yourself have problems? They may not be as severe as Jennifer Aniston stealing your hairdresser or Giorgio Armani refusing to design a personal dress for you. God knows the starving children around the world feel sorry for you, Chrissy! We’ve been friends for what—six years—and there was not a day out of that half decade where I didn’t think: grow up you stupid, ignorant, spoiled, self-centered, coke-sniffing brat!” She reached over Chrissy and opened the door. “Get out!”
Chrissy stared at her, her bottom lip starting to shake like a crying five-year-old. Her eyes watered and she opened her mouth several times to speak but couldn’t. She got out of the car, slammed the door closed, her oversized Gucci sunglasses sliding crookedly down over her face. She marched off in her ten-inch heels and bumped into John Malkovich without apologizing.
Suppressing the building feeling of guilt, Sapphire drove off. Every word had been true, and she had been holding it in for way too long. Chrissy had it coming, and hopefully, the moment of truth would keep her far away for good.
If she needed to find a new friend to make her seem normal to the outside world, it would have to be someone who didn’t make her want to stab herself in the eye with a fork when they went brunching.
On the upside—excluding the fact that she just had the same cop who she slept with say ‘I’m watching you’—the girl was alive and Sapphire knew exactly what to do next; she finally had a plan.
She would go to San Diego ASAP and retrace the steps of Shelly McCormick. She would find Shelly and prevent something worse than a finger to lie on her conscious.
Heading home to change, she drove by the market and saw all the decorations, reminding her it was Thanksgiving, and she felt the urge to veer into oncoming traffic. As it turned out, she wasn’t going to San Diego at all, she was going to be forced to attend Vivienne’s fake we’re-a-big-happy-family Thanksgiving dinner.
“Great,” Sapphire said as she pulled toward Vivienne’s house and saw the caterers running in and out with food and decorations.
