by Don Prichard
The man picked up the escaped vegetables, restored them to their bag, grabbed two more bags from the trunk, and shut the lid. His arms were full, but his face still asked what? as he approached her car.
No way was she going to roll down her window to speak to him. Was she even breathing? She gasped in a stinging lungful of air, and with a trembling hand shifted her car into reverse, right foot hovered over the gas pedal. Her head turned incrementally with each footstep to follow his progress around the front of her BMW to her window.
He bent at the waist to peer inside. “Is there a problem? Do you need help?”
“You’re in my parking spot.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, but this is mine. Apartment 3E.” He pointed to the apartment number painted on the pavement in front of his car. “Oh.” He lowered his arm. “3B. I’m sorry. I’ll move.”
She glanced at the surrounding parking spaces. Two slots on the left and three on the right were empty. It could be an honest mistake. She backed her car up so he could exit, but she didn’t stay to claim her territory. Her heartbeat was shaking every moveable body part from her jaw down. Chances were good her knees wouldn’t hold up if she tried to walk.
The man had said he was in apartment 3E. Was that across the hall from her, or to either side? Her security plans hadn’t considered the fact that apartments near her were occupied by strangers. Any one of them could be a Romero thug.
No. She had to corral her fear. Danny Romero wouldn’t go to the trouble to house someone in an apartment next to her when easier options existed. She’d just not be a friendly neighbor, that was all.
Chapter 22
Crystal Oakleigh trailed Miss Lavender, the Dean of Young Women, down the ceramic tile hallway, hoping, oh so hoping, it would take a long time to get where they were going, because the tears she was damming behind her eyes were hot and slippery and resisting her effort to blink them away. She’d been okay until the weekend ended and Aunt Betty hugged her goodbye, whispered one more time that she had to leave to go help Jake, and that Crystal needed to be brave.
She gritted her teeth and swallowed hard, over and over, until her chest didn’t jerk with smothered sobs anymore. She would not give her new classmates reason to call her Cry Baby Crystal as her fifth-grade schoolmates had two years ago. Nobody knew her here at Arlington Academy, and she could start a new page in her life—a new book, even—and write it just as she wanted.
Really, wasn’t going all the way to a boarding school in Virginia sorta like being stranded on an island again? Scary, but, maybe after a while, good? Except—she choked back a sob that jounced into her throat—here at Arlington Academy there’d be no Jake to help her.
Dean Lavender stopped, rapped twice on a door, and walked in. She beckoned Crystal to her side. A swift glance at the room revealed four walls, each situated with a loft above a desk, chair, and chest of drawers; a tall, narrow window with white Venetian blinds adjacent to one loft; and a door open to a bathroom next to a second loft. A whiff of perfume floated into Crystal’s nostrils as she stepped inside.
The dean placed a dainty hand on Crystal’s shoulder. “This is Room 41C, Crystal, your home for the next nine months, and these are your roommates Allie, Beulah, and Cassandra.” Three girls rose from their chairs under the lofts and greeted her with smiles and a simple “Hi.”
Warmth tickled Crystal’s cheeks and spread to her chest. She returned their smiles with a genuine one of her own. “Hi.”
Dean Lavender’s hand wafted from Crystal’s shoulder like a softly-blown feather. “Allie and Beulah are also newcomers to Arlington Academy. Cassandra is an old-timer, and she will help the three of you learn our ways. All of you will share the same schedule during the first semester to make things easier for you.”
She pointed to the unoccupied fourth loft. “This is yours, Crystal. Your suitcases are there for you to unpack, and Cassandra will show you where to stow them when you’re done. On your desk is your class schedule, as well as a folder explaining our rules. Make yourself comfortable, get to know your roommates, and I’ll see all of you at supper.” She favored them with a smile bookended on each side with deep, perfectly round dimples, and pulled the door shut behind her.
The three girls returned to their chairs and sat staring at Crystal.
“She seems nice,” Crystal ventured.
“She’s a witch,” Cassandra whispered, squinting at the door as if Dean Lavender might be lingering outside. “You’ll grow to hate her.”
Crystal swallowed, and saw that Allie’s and Beulah’s throats bobbed too.
Cassandra laughed. “Jes kiddin’! Need help unpacking? C’mon, girls, let’s see what of Crystal’s stuff we want for ourselves.”
Allie and Beulah didn’t move, but before Crystal could stop Cassandra, she dumped everything in Crystal’s two suitcases onto the floor. “Jes kiddin’! While you put your stuff away, I’ll stow these in our closet.” She half-carried, half-dragged Crystal’s luggage to a third door and disappeared.
“She did it to us too,” Allie said.
Crystal scurried after Cassandra, two jes kiddins lesson enough to not invest trust in the girl. Indeed, the door did open to a small room for storage and hanging clothes. Cassandra heaved Crystal’s suitcases onto a rack above an empty rod, grinned at her, and followed Crystal back into the dorm room.
Six jes kiddins later, the three newbies tailed Cassandra like ducklings to the dining hall. The room peaked in a high ceiling over three rows of three rectangular tables with benches long enough to seat four girls on either side of a table. Five three-foot-wide, floor-to-ceiling windows with white Venetian blinds overlooked the school’s landscaped parking lot. Across the room, a row of kitchen workers stood behind a stainless steel counter and served food to students pushing trays along a metal rack. The aroma of fried chicken filled the room.
Cassandra led them through the dinner line, then shooed them off on their own while she joined friends at another table. Ahead of Crystal in line, Allie and Beulah found a table and sat. There was no room for Crystal. Two tables away, she squeezed onto a bench with three other students who chatted oblivious to her presence. Perfume and body odors heightened by first-day nerves mingled with the smell of deep-fat-fried chicken to churn her stomach while she pretended not to care that she was all alone in a room of seventy-two girls. She chewed and swallowed the lumps on her plate until it was time to return with her roomies to their dorm room.
When she wrote to Aunt Betty soon after, she couldn’t recall what she’d eaten for supper. Instead, she told her she’d been brave.
***
By the time Betty deplaned at O’Hare, retrieved her suitcase, and hailed a taxi, she found herself arriving in heavy traffic at the Dirksen Federal Building an hour later than she’d intended. Heavens, it was almost closing time. And that dratted Chicago wind had tangled her hair into a rat’s nest in the short time it took to get from the taxi to inside the building. Now she’d have to stop at a restroom to brush her hair.
Her hands shook as she wielded the hairbrush. The mirror reflected her pinched face, tight mouth, and trembling chin. And here she’d told Crystal to be brave! She whisked a prayer heavenward for both of them. Facing snakes on the island had been easier than what she planned to do now.
Wheeling her suitcase behind her with one hand, planting her cane a step forward with the other, she trudged like a broken caterpillar to the elevator. Inside the lift, her breath weighed heavier with each floor she ascended, until at last she escaped to lean gasping against the wall leading to her destination. Oh my, was jail worth doing this? She sent another prayer heavenward.
Goodness, her underarms had stained her pretty white blouse. She’d have to be sure to keep her elbows to her side. Outside the glass door of the District Attorney’s office, she parked her suitcase and counted three deep breaths. Then, the picture of serenity, she opened the door.
The same pug-nosed receptionist from Jake and Betty’s former visit
sat at the front desk. Her mouth spread into a wide smile to greet Betty, but changed to a startled O as Betty approached her.
“Evedene Eriksson, please.”
“I … you …” The receptionist blinked several times in quick succession, as if resetting stalled brain waves. Finally, she punched a button on her phone. “Help!” she squeaked.
Oh dear, now that man Henshaw is going to appear. Betty’s heart palpitated. He would put her in jail for coming here.
Her heartbeat crescendoed in her ears. Her head spun. She clutched the edge of the front desk. She felt her eyeballs roll upward as her knees gave way.
Chapter 23
Betty opened her eyes. A man’s face hovered above her, close enough to assail her nostrils with the scent of Old Spice aftershave. Franklin? She blinked several times to make sense of it. A hand with a tissue appeared and dabbed the corner of her mouth. It stung. The nasty taste of iron rose on her tongue.
“… Hit her head on the floor,” a woman’s voice said.
The lips of the hovering face moved. “Mrs. Parker, are you okay?”
Okay? She took a mental check. The back of her head hurt. Her bottom lip felt like a viper had bitten it.
A warm hand enveloped one of hers—left or right, she wasn’t sure—and patted it. “Mrs. Parker?”
She struggled to sit up. “Yes.”
“You fell and hit your head. Your mouth is bleeding. Do you feel dizzy?”
“I’m fine. I can stand.”
Strong arms helped her to her feet, handed her cane to her, and stuffed the bloody tissue into her other hand. She dabbed her lip and winced.
“Mrs. Parker, what are you doing here?”
Betty looked at the man. Henshaw. His expression was even sterner than his voice. She swallowed. On either side of him stood the receptionist and the short, round woman with the quirky hairdo—the office manager, wasn’t she? Their faces were somber, disapproving.
“I’m looking for Eve.” She hoped they couldn’t see her knees knocking beneath her skirt.
“Then you’re lucky she’s not here, or I’d have to arrest you for defying the restraining order.” Henshaw paused. “You do remember it?”
“Of course I do.” A corner of her mouth twitched in irritation. She wasn’t daft. “I’m here because of an emergency.”
Henshaw and his sidekicks looked totally unconvinced. “Doesn’t matter. You’d be breaking the law. You’d be put in jail.” Henshaw all but pounded a gavel. “Do you understand that, Mrs. Parker? No communication, no matter what the circumstances.”
“What’s the emergency?” the receptionist asked. Her boss glared at her.
“To save Jake.” Betty decided not to add Eve’s fiancé. “She needs to give testimony so he won’t be extradited to the Philippines. She doesn’t have to talk to me or Jake. All she has to do is go to the Correctional Center—just a short walk away—and tell the judge.”
A flicker of rage twisted Henshaw’s face. “Her testimony would set things straight, all right. Believe me, I want him to get his just dues. If Eve’s memory returns, I’ll personally see to it she bears testimony to what happened on that island.”
Betty frowned. Henshaw’s words sounded more like a threat than an offer of help. “Perhaps if she could see me—or Jake—from a safe distance, a legal one, it might jolt her memory. We want to help her. And now we need her to help Jake. I know she’d want to.”
Henshaw took a firm grasp of her elbow and walked her faster than her legs wanted to move to the door. “We are closing the office now. I don’t want to see you here again, or hear of your presence in Eve’s sight. If I do, you will be arrested for stalking.” He opened the office door and all but pushed her to the other side. The deadbolt clicked, and he walked away.
Betty’s chest swelled, first with rage, then with choked tears, then back to rage. How dare he! She raised her cane, tempted to bring it smashing down on the glass door, through which she could see Henshaw’s retreating figure. His back was stiff, his hands fisted, his stride long.
She decided against it.
Consoling herself by sucking on her injured lip, she plodded with her suitcase to the elevator and joined the employees descending to begin their journeys home. Outside, she caught a taxi on Dearborn Street and took it the short distance to Van Buren Street. The five o’clock traffic lengthened the five-minute trip into fifteen.
At the Correctional Center, she gazed up at the slotted windows and wondered which one marked Jake’s cell. Was he standing at his window, staring through the five-inch-wide slit at the traffic below, hoping she would arrive soon? He would be eager to hear about Crystal’s boarding school, Betty’s impression of it, and how Crystal had borne the separation.
What she wouldn’t tell him about was her visit to the District Attorney’s office. That was her secret, and now that she’d been thrown out on her tush, she was glad she hadn’t shared her plan with anyone.
How had Neal done with the extradition appeal? He had warned her that chances were against success, but she couldn’t help believing the judge would grant it. Surely he’d delay such an extreme measure as extradition when Eve’s testimony was all they needed to exonerate Jake. Detective Lee had accepted Jake’s innocence after seeing Miguel Galit’s body tied to prevent escape, and recognizing him from all the times he’d been in jail. And look at Jake’s military record and the high honors awarded him! Jake was no criminal. He had served his country well, and his country would protect him.
Dodging pedestrians, wheeling her suitcase with a tight hold on the handle, she crossed the sidewalk to enter the building. A man pushed open the door from inside at the same moment she pulled it from outside.
He stepped out, and she did a double take. “Neal!”
“Betty?”
They stared at each other.
Oh dear! He wasn’t on his way to the district attorney’s office, was he?
She flinched as Neal pulled her and her suitcase into the Correctional Center. The door whooshed shut behind her in a loud tsk of rebuke that she’d being caught red-handed.
“What are you doing here?” Neal demanded. “I thought you were taking Crystal to Virginia.”
Acid pinched Betty’s stomach. It irritated her that her sister and brother-in-law had banished Crystal to a boarding school, and especially one so far away. What kind of message did that send to Crystal after already being gone for a year and thought dead? For the millionth time, Betty rued not adopting Crystal when the child’s mother died in childbirth. But Franklin hadn’t wanted the illegitimate child any more than Crystal’s grandparents had.
“She started school today, so I flew here to see Jake.”
“A waste of money.” Neal huffed. “You won’t be able to see him. Why don’t you ask me about these things before you do them?”
“What do you mean, ‘I won’t be able to see him’?”
“He’s gone, Betty. On his way to the Philippines. The judge denied the appeal.”
“No!” A vortex of swirling darkness sucked away walls, floor, ceiling. Dimly, Betty felt arms clasp her, hands grasp her waist to hold her upright.
A floor solidified under her feet. Her legs stabilized. Air, purified by holy rage, rushed into her lungs. Swift clarity brought the truth home. “You!” she hissed at Neal. “You did this.” She shoved him aside and pushed her way out the door to the sidewalk.
Neal followed, arms flailing in her peripheral vision. “What are you talking about? I did everything I could. I’m booking a flight to follow him.”
Betty halted, turned to face him. “No, Neal. I shall follow him. You are fired.”
Chapter 24
Crystal lowered her paper, unsure where to direct her eyes. At her teacher, or at the class? She’d forgotten her embarrassment at standing in front of the classroom and had read with enthusiasm—had even giggled at some points, and—oh, no!—read teary-voiced at others. Too late, she remembered she wasn’t even supposed to read her essay, jus
t use it for a prompt.
Clutching the paper in her right hand, she dropped her arms to her side and peered up at the teacher. Better her than the girls who had ignored Crystal’s existence for two weeks. They were probably laughing behind hands clamped to their mouths.
“Crystal, that is amazing,” Mrs. Sanders exclaimed. Eyes sparkling with sunlight captured from an open window, she clapped, stopped as if suddenly aware of her spontaneity, but resumed when the class joined her.
Crystal stared wide-eyed at the thirty applauding girls. Applauding her! It was impossible to squelch the smile that blossomed with equal spontaneity on her lips.
“Did that really happen?” a girl in the front row asked. Her voice was dreamy, not at all critical. “You were, like, really shipwrecked on an island?”
A forest of slender arms sprang into the air, waving eager hands like branches in an autumn wind.
“One at a time, girls,” Mrs. Sanders said. “Do you mind answering questions, Crystal?”
Crystal’s heart pounded all the way up to her face. She didn’t know if she wanted to crow or cry. She swallowed and nodded her head.
The questions were easy to answer. Some replies earned gasps, some elicited laughter. When class ended, the girls crowded around her and walked her to her next class, asking more questions, hanging onto her answers. At dinner, they pleaded for her to sit at their tables. Homework was forgotten as they crowded into her dorm room for more stories, until finally Miss Lavender arrived to shoo them to bed.
The next morning, she was summoned to the Dean of Young Women’s office. Girls she didn’t know smiled at her in the hallway. For the first time since parting with Jake at the airport, a glow of happiness suffused her. She felt like the sun, radiating warmth, sowing good cheer, reaping kindness and goodwill. Did Miss Lavender want her to read her essay to the sixth- and eighth-graders? Why, she might end up popular! As Aunt Betty would say, “Goodness!”
