Damn, I wish I had thought of some topic first because I immediately felt my stomach knot up at the mere mention of work, and I was out of Rolaids. It never failed—every single time someone realized where I worked, they always wanted me to throw them some juicy piece of insider gossip to munch on, hoping that I would oblige them. Most of the time, I steered clear of truly answering their probing questions by curtly cutting them off by replying how much I adored working for Audra or just completely changing the subject over into territory I was willing to talk about, and in the instances where it was an option, simply walking away. Of course, that option was not available to me in the small confines of Ms. Martin’s speeding Mercedes, and I really couldn’t change the subject without coming off as downright rude to this stranger who was kindly whisking me away to make one of my lifelong dreams come true. So I opted for the short answer, hoping she would recognize by the tone of my voice that I didn’t wish to elaborate on the subject.
“Yes, they have been.”
My plan failed as she replied, “I bet. It seems that the media has enjoyed tearing your firm to shreds, especially that former boss of yours…oh, what’s his name?” she said, unwilling to change the subject.
“Olin.”
“Yes, Olin. That’s it!” She chirped, snapping her fingers at the mention of his name. “Such an odd name, you would think I could remember it. Heaven knows they have splashed it across the screen enough times over the last few months. I mean, the reporters are acting like this is the next O.J. Simpson trial!”
I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face at that analogy because she was right. It did, at times, feel like we were smack in the middle of the newest “trial of the century,” although the number of Olin supporters was basically nil—at least, in my experience. Once, a few weeks after Olin’s arrest, I overheard Carl in Audra’s office talking about the media frenzy and his newfound sympathy for those involved in OJ’s trial, for the constant media scrutiny was, at times, unbearable.
Ms. Martin finally slowed down as we exited the interstate and now were on a two-lane road that led into Chandler. I finally lifted my eyes and glanced out the window, since we were no longer traveling at the speed of light, wondering why in the world someone decided to build a huge castle in this location. The stretch of road we were on now was rather desolate looking, like something out of a movie where a crazed hitchhiker goes on a killing spree, buries the bodies in the dry desert ground, and then steals their car. That thought made me shudder just a bit, so I focused my attention back to Ms. Martin and her nosy questions.
“Yes, sometimes it has felt that way. For a few months, the media left us alone, but in the last few weeks, as the trial grows closer, they’ve been driving us absolutely batty. Hopefully, once this sordid mess is over, things will return to normal; that way, I can refocus on my wedding preparations,” I said, deciding that her perception of me as a self-centered bride was better than continuing this conversation about Olin and the firm. I must admit, even though I was rather nervous at the prospect of being called as a witness by the prosecution, I would be relieved once it was over and my life became that of a normal person again.
Ms. Martin rattled on for several more minutes, asking me all sorts of questions about the firm, the partners, and Olin; and I did my best to answer with as little information that wasn’t already public knowledge as possible. She seemed most interested in my take on the crime that Olin was charged with, and at one point, flat out asked me, “So, Ms. Lincoln. May I call you Gabrielle?”
“Of course you may.”
“So, Gabrielle, do you think he did it? You worked with him, right?” she asked, eagerly awaiting my answer.
“Yes, briefly, for about three months,” I cautiously replied.
“Well, did you ever sense that he was capable of such a thing? I mean, did he ever make you nervous when you two were alone…you know…did you ever get the impression that he was violent?” she asked.
“That’s a hard question to answer, Ms. Martin. I have so many other things on my mind right now, the most important being my wedding plans. I will say this though. No one deserves to be located behind steel bars more than Olin Kemper does.” My words trailed off as I turned my head toward my window, hoping that my harsh words would signal to her that I didn’t wish to discuss this subject further.
There was another awkward pause in our conversation, but my plan to shift the conversation to another arena worked as Ms. Martin finally replied, thankfully changing the subject, “Oh honey, don’t let the intricate details of your nuptials drive you crazy. I tell all my brides to sit back and enjoy this time, relish the thrill and the excitement, for all this planning lasts much longer than the actual ceremony and reception.”
“For the most part, I’ve enjoyed the planning phase, except for thinking that I would have to use another venue, which I really didn’t want to be forced into, because as I said earlier, I’ve had my heart set for years now on getting married at the Castle. My mother, as well as Ms. Heidi, has been trying to persuade me to look at other locations, but even as close as we are to the wedding, I just wasn’t ready to let that dream go. I’m so glad now that I didn’t,” I said, the giddy little girl’s voice in my head leaking out a bit through my voice. “I’m still in shock. I wish my mother could be with me today. She would be just as happy as I am, maybe more.”
“Yes, that is a shame that she couldn’t make it, but I’m sure she is enjoying Las Vegas. Imagine how surprised she’ll be when she returns and you tell her your great news!” Ms. Martin said, doing her best to try and make the “worried bride” happy. I smiled a bit, knowing that she was feigning excitement for me when in reality she probably couldn’t care less about my happiness, for after all, we were complete strangers and I wasn’t even her client which meant she wouldn’t be getting any compensation for this emergency trip to Chandler.
Before I responded to her comment, my cell phone vibrated in my lap, and I glanced down to see who was calling, hoping that it was my mother responding to my earlier text I sent her about where I was currently heading, but it wasn’t. It was Audra.
“Oh, excuse me, Ms. Martin. I must take this call,” I said as I answered. “Good morning, boss! Did you get my message?”
“Morning! Yes, I just now read your email. I’m so excited for you. What wonderful news! Have you ‘sealed the deal’ so to speak?”
Internally, I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that her voice didn’t betray any irritation at my absence from work as I responded, “No, not yet. We’re about fifteen minutes away still. I’m sorry to leave you in a lurch, boss, but this came up at the last minute, and it was an opportunity that I couldn’t pass up!” I said, hoping that she would understand.
“Gab, please, don’t worry about it. I am so thrilled for you and Jeff, and I do know how much this means to you. I’m not anywhere close to being at the office anyway, so don’t worry about it. I won’t be in until around one o’clock this afternoon, and all we really need to concentrate on is preparing for my meeting with Mrs. Lancaster tomorrow. Oh, by the way, did you call her back for me yesterday?”
“Yes, I sure did, and everything is all set for tomorrow night at Zargento’s. She’ll meet you there.”
“Great. Thank you so much for handling that for me. I really wasn’t up to par yesterday to handle pulling off a long, drawn-out conversation with her. Good grief, but that woman can prattle on,” Audra said, and I laughed a little bit too loud, and I noticed in my peripheral vision that my laughter startled poor Ms. Martin.
“No kidding. She seemed rather perturbed that it wasn’t you returning her call, but I think I smoothed things over well, so I just know you’re going to land her as a new client tomorrow night,” I said, smiling over meekly at Ms. Martin. I hoped my conversation wasn’t annoying her. I knew I didn’t care for someone blathering away on a cell phone when I was within earshot, so I tried to end the conversation discretely.
“Thank you, Audr
a, for being so understanding about today. Really, I do appreciate it, and I promise, as soon as Ms. Martin and I are finished here, I’ll be back in the office.”
“Gab, please, don’t. No need for that. This is your wedding, for Heaven’s sake. Princess Gabby and Prince Jeffrey. Oh, it will be spectacular, especially at The Castle. I’ll see you when you get back so we can give the proposal a final review and tweaking, if necessary. Have fun!” Audra said, disconnecting the call, her voice unnaturally chirpy and full of a lilt that I didn’t recall ever hearing before. I smiled a bit, wondering if a certain sexy detective was the one responsible for her change of attitude. I sure hoped so because the way that man looked at her made me almost swoon with desire, wishing that Jeff would look at me like that just once.
I leaned over, put my phone in my back pocket, and turned to Ms. Martin, ready to apologize for my cell phone etiquette faux pas, but before I could utter a word, her cell phone rang and she quickly answered, “Diane Martin, how may I help you today?” Her voice was sleek and professional. I smiled slightly, trying to cover it with my hand as I realized I was glad I didn’t get a chance to apologize for my rudeness since she obviously had no qualms about talking on the phone in my presence. As I glanced out the window, trying to determine how much longer we had left before our turn and to try and tune out her conversation, I glanced at my watch and panicked when I saw that it was ten after ten, which meant we were late. Good Heavens, after everything that happened today and the absolute frenzied driving of Ms. Martin to make it there on time, could we really have just missed our window of opportunity by a mere ten minutes?
I felt sick.
I looked over at Ms. Martin and noticed her cheeks were crimson red and her hands were shaking, her bright smile from earlier now gone, replaced by pursed lips that almost disappeared into her mouth. As she jerked the car over to the shoulder of the road and slammed on the brakes, her long, slender fingers were gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles were turning an odd shade of white and a strange, almost physical electrical current was emitting from her. Instantaneously, I felt a heavy sense of dread overcome me as I heard her say, “This is outrageous! What an abhorrent display of unprofessional customer service! Do you have any idea the trouble we have gone through to get there? No, of course you don’t, but not to worry. I will make sure that from now on, all our brides that even remotely suggest their wedding or reception take place at the Castle are told this story and steer clear of your venue!” Ms. Martin screeched into the phone, her voice beginning to hurt my ears and her words, my heart. After the craziness of this day and the high I rode all the way here, thinking Jeff and I were going to have our dream wedding, the sudden, crushing news that we weren’t overcame me, and tears starting slowly flowing down my cheeks. Before I could stammer out the questions racing through my mind, like, “What happened? We are only a few minutes late! Why, why did they do this to me?” I reached over and opened the car door and quickly bolted out, vomiting the entire contents of my nerve-wracked stomach onto the dusty, desert ground.
Sobbing uncontrollably now amidst the vomiting, I vaguely heard the other car door open and feet walking in my direction, followed by Ms. Martin’s concerned, yet oddly irritated voice, “Oh dear, oh dear, gosh, and I have no tissues for you...”
Normally I don’t suffer from a weak stomach or have issues with projectile vomiting like I was currently experiencing, but the stress of my job, the wedding preparations, and Olin’s trial clearly were too much for my body and mind to process. I finally finished retching and leaned against the trunk of Ms. Martin’s car for support, jerking my hand back almost instantly for the black shiny vehicle was burning hot after almost an hour in the baking sun. I almost fell over as I lost my balance, my head jumbled from the physical stress of just hacking up a lung, which in the stifling heat was what it felt like I just accomplished. Somehow, I managed to stay on my feet and finally made my way back to the opened passenger door and plopped down onto the now warm leather seat. Tears, along with sweat, were keeping my cheeks wet, and although I wanted to wipe my face off with my shirt, I dared not, fearing that there might be clingy remnants to it from moments before. I felt Ms. Martin’s presence by me but didn’t even look her way as I turned my eyes toward the road, recalling from my previous trips to the Castle that there should be a gas station in the next half of a mile or so, and sure enough, there was the Exxon sign in the distance.
Thank God.
Mortified beyond belief and my throat so raw I could barely speak, I looked up, my eyes squinting into the bright desert sun at Ms. Martin’s face, and I sort of just pointed in the direction of the gas station, mumbling, “Please, I need water.”
Oddly, she just stood there and stared at me, her phone in her hand and her body rigid. For a second, I wondered if she was going to vomit herself, since so many people have a tendency to do that after watching someone else puke. Before I could give it much more thought, Jeff’s ringtone sounded in the stillness of the car, and I pulled the phone out of my back pocket to answer. Pulling myself fully inside the car now, I shut the door behind me. I started sobbing again when I answered, blabbing incoherently into the phone about the events of the past few hours, ending with my little side road episode out there in the middle of nowhere. It took me a full minute to realize that I was rambling into dead air when no response came from Jeff. Smart move Gab. Now you have to tell him all of that all over again. At some point during my blubbering fit, Ms. Martin finally made her way back to the driver’s seat, and we took off down the road, the refreshing cool air from the vents drying my flowing tears. We pulled up to the desolate, grimy gas station just as I tried calling Jeff back, but the call went straight to his voicemail. I managed a sniffle and a muffled “I love you” and hung up.
My voice was almost completely gone, so I just sort of motioned to Ms. Martin that I was going inside and surely, she would comprehend that I needed to use the restroom. She nodded her head in my direction as she stepped out onto the parched dirt to fill her car with gas while I headed inside of the tiny building, the dirt kicking up heavily behind me. I quickly perused the place and had I been able, would have laughed at the decrepit building and ancient gas pumps. It was like something out of a horror movie, the kind that someone stops at and never returns from because some mutants or zombies have taken over. I was pleasantly surprised that when I entered the storefront, a cute little girl sat at the counter, looking bored beyond belief but otherwise normal and definitely non-zombielike. I coughed as the dirt followed me inside and croaked, “Bathroom?”
She smiled a bit and reached behind her, grabbing a key the size of a cell phone off the wall, and handed it to me as she said, “It’s around back.” Oh great, an indoor outhouse.
I mouthed the words “Thank you” as I took the heavy key in my hand, coughing and sputtering all the way to the bathroom out back, my throat really on fire now. I finally unlocked the old steel door and stepped inside, overcome immediately by the rank smell of urine, dust, and dirt; and my stomach lurched again in protest. My gag reflex tried to kick in after glancing over at the toilet seat that looked like it, as well as its interior, was leftover from the sixties. Setting the key down on the sink and turning the water on, I splashed my face with the tepid liquid. Damn, it wasn’t even cold, which given where I was, didn’t really surprise me, but I really wished that it was a bit cooler. I cupped my hands and sucked the water into my dry mouth, swirling it around as I did the best I could to remove that lovely bile taste that lingers after throwing up. I reached over to the paper towel dispenser, surprised to find that there were actually towels in it, and began to wipe my face dry, my thoughts swirling around the absolute craziness of this day. Really, it started off with me waking up to no hot shower, no coffee, wet hair in a mess, a rush to work, almost having an accident…
And that’s when it me—the car.
I froze for just a split second as I focused my mind to recall the events of this morning when I was leaving
Starbucks and spilled my coffee after the idiotic driver almost hit me. The idiotic driver in a black Mercedes with no license plate.
No, it wasn’t possible. I was sure that Ms. Martin’s car had a license plate, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that was I wrong, so I stepped back over to the heavy door and opened it just enough to view the gas pumps and the back end of the Mercedes.
No license plate.
I quickly shut the door as if I just came face to face with a ghost. Again, I forced myself to think objectively, to recall every moment from the time I crawled out of bed this morning until right now, and as I came to the part in the conversation with Ms. Martin about work, I started to shake. I never filled out where I was employed on any paperwork from The Time of Your Life or anywhere else that I could get away with leaving it out because I hated the questions that would surely follow. My wedding was my focus, and I knew that if Ms. Heidi saw “Winscott & Associates” on the employment section, she would start nosing around, so I intentionally left it blank. So how in the hell did Ms. Martin know where I worked? Standing rock still for a moment, I tried to remember every word of our phone conversation this morning, and I was positive that I never mentioned what company I worked at, only the street address of the building which housed numerous other businesses besides Winscott. I also had never said that my mother was in Las Vegas—only that she was out of town—yet, she knew that…how?
My heart began thumping wildly in my chest as my mind started to run with this new information and the adrenaline surge raced through me, the flight or fight response hitting me hard. Dear God, surely I was wrong. Surely I was just overly upset from the events of today and was letting my imagination get the best of me. Hell, maybe I was suffering from a light case of heat stroke or something. No, it wasn’t that. I was sure that something was amiss here, and I wasn’t enjoying the territory my thoughts were racing to. I stood there inside the filthy bathroom and contemplated what my next move should be. Finally, settling on a call to Ms. Heidi, I jerked my phone out of my back pocket to dial her number, my fingers trembling.
Eviscerating the Snake - The Complete Trilogy Page 24
