by Sara Rosett
His solemn face creased into a smile that reached up to his warm brown eyes. “Just kidding with you there. In general, I find murder unsettling, but I couldn’t resist. You looked so worried.”
Zoe let out a laugh. “It does make it a hard sell. Anyone who knows about it...well, once they see which office it is, they’re out of here.”
“It does explain why the price is so good. I need to expand, and it appears this is the only office space in the whole Metroplex that I can afford, so I guess I can’t be squeamish.”
Zoe angled her head at him as she asked, “You really won’t be uncomfortable?”
“No, I’m not superstitious, and since this seems to be a gang-free part of the city, I’m assuming that it wasn’t a drive-by shooting. The likelihood of it being repeated is low?”
“Minuscule. Non-existent, in fact. It was a situation related to the former occupants and that’s over,” Zoe said, feeling only a tad guilty for not mentioning that her ex-husband had been one of the prior tenants and the fraud case was still under investigation, but she shook it off. He didn’t need to know that detail.
He’d moved in the next week, paid his rent on time, and never complained. So when he called and said there was a water leak in the bathroom, Zoe had immediately called in a plumber and had it fixed. The repair hadn’t taken long; it was retiling the back wall that was dragging on forever. Zoe wanted to keep Sam happy, and if that meant she had to get in there and tile the back wall of the bathroom herself, she’d do it.
She retraced her steps downstairs, wound a lightweight yellow scarf around her neck, and gathered her sunglasses and the new leather messenger bag that she’d bought after returning home from Italy. Her old bag hadn’t survived the trip. Her new one wasn’t broken in and didn’t have the worn patina of the original, but she was working on it. She normally didn’t spend much money on clothes or accessories as her no name blue-and-white striped shirt and jeans showed. But the messenger bag was essential, a business expense she reasoned when she shelled out the money for it. It would last for years—as long as she kept it away from Venetian canals.
Fortunately, she and Helen were close to the same size, and Helen was a clotheshorse. Zoe happily recycled Helen’s cast-offs, especially enjoying the shoes, like today’s calf-length low-heeled boots in nut brown. It really wasn’t cold enough for boots, but Zoe couldn’t resist wearing them. The first break of the season-long humidity called for a celebration and wearing boots seemed exactly the right way to mark the occasion.
Zoe stepped outside, appreciating the deliciously crisp air as only someone who had lived through the muggy heat of a Dallas summer could. Her phone rang as she walked to the car. Her mother. She considered not answering it, but while calls from her mother were rare, when Donna decided it was time for a chat she was as persistent and focused as one of the dogs Zoe walked regularly, a toy poodle named Lulu, who strained on the leash all the way around the block. Lulu had no idea where she was going, but she was determined to get there as soon as possible.
“Hi, Mom,” Zoe said as she slid into her Jetta and slammed the door. “Can’t talk long, I’m on my way to the office suites.” It was always good to establish her escape route upfront. It lowered expectations for a long chat.
“Darling! You picked up.” Donna’s husky voice managed to sound both surprised and accusing at the same time. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t have a lot of time. I’m only in town for a few hours anyway.”
Zoe had backed out of the driveway and was keeping an eye on the rearview mirror to see if the silver car followed her, but at her mother’s words, she forgot to watch the mirror. “You’re here? In Dallas?” Had her mom arrived, intending to spend Thanksgiving with her? No, surely not. Donna hated Thanksgiving. Staying a size two was one of the main focuses of her life. She didn’t enjoy any activity or holiday centered around food. When Zoe was a kid, they’d either ignored Thanksgiving Day all together, or she and her current step-dad had take-out from the grocery store deli while Donna nibbled on a salad.
“Yes, that’s what I said. Now, I’ll wait for you at baggage claim D16.”
“Are you here for an audition?” Since abandoning Dallas for Southern California the day after Zoe’s high school graduation, Donna hadn’t returned for a visit. Zoe had a horrible thought. Tryouts for the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders weren’t this week, were they? Surely not. Wrong season. Please be the wrong season.
“No,” Donna said, her voice thick with amusement. “No one auditions in Dallas. At least, not for anything significant. I’m on a layover. My plane for New York leaves at five.”
Zoe suddenly remembered the silver car and checked her mirrors, afraid she’d missed seeing whether or not it followed her, but there it was, moving along in the wake of a cream-colored SUV two cars back.
“Baggage Claim, D16,” Donna repeated. “I suppose you still have that rickety little car?”
“I’ll be in the Jetta, yes.”
“Too bad I don’t have time to rent a limo,” Donna said under her breath.
Zoe adjusted her driving plan in her mind. Driving to the airport would take her away from the office suites, but it would certainly make it clear if the silver car was interested in her or if it was simply a coincidence that it had followed her route.
“I’ll see you in about thirty minutes,” Zoe said and quickly hung up before her mom could make some convoluted plan like renting a stretch Hummer limo—probably in hot pink—on a whim.
Chapter Three
––––––––
ZOE checked the mirror and saw the glint of the silver car behind her. It followed her up the entrance ramp to the Tollway. The caravan of cars she was part of merged onto the larger road, and the mass of cars on the Tollway engulfed the line of cars. She lost the silver car. She drove for a while and didn’t see it. She was telling herself she’d become far too paranoid when she saw it one lane over. It was almost in her blind spot. Maybe it was another silver car? She did a head check. Sunlight glinted on the jagged crack.
Maybe it was just a coincidence? Maybe the person driving the silver car happened to be in her neighborhood today and then needed to run to the airport, too? The road forked ahead, the left road continued south while the right road bent to the west toward Lewisville. She signaled and moved into the left-hand lane. The silver car dropped back, then merged into the same lane behind a black Suburban and followed her as she took the left fork. Zoe bit her lip as a couple more exits whizzed by.
The exit for the Stemmons Freeway, an interstate that sliced through central Dallas on a diagonal, was next. She shifted to the far right-hand lane and the silver car stuck with her like a distant shadow. Despite it being daylight and being surrounded with commuters, she was getting a tad freaked out. What would happen when she got to the airport? Would the driver get out and follow her inside? Confront her? Or, just keep following her at a distance?
Zoe took the double-lane exit ramp for south Stemmons in the far right-hand lane. The silver car followed her. The two lanes began to peel off of the Tollway. She checked over her left shoulder. There was a gap in the cars. She bit her lip, waited until the last possible second then pulled the wheel hard to the left.
With her shoulders hunched up around her ears, the Jetta threaded the needle between two cars. Horns blared as she swept across the wide white lines that marked the dividing point between the exit and the Tollway.
Heart pounding, she rocked into an open slot on the Tollway then quickly glanced over her shoulder and saw the silver car’s back end pop up as the driver hit the brakes. He wanted to follow Zoe across the lanes, but there was too much traffic. He was blocked in. Like a bit of wood caught in the current of a stream, Zoe watched as the car sailed along the exit lane, which swept up and then curved back toward her as it arched over the Tollway.
Zoe tightened her fingers on the steering wheel as she drove under the bridge and tried to get her breathing under control. Okay, I’m not imagining thin
gs, she thought. He definitely was following me.
She mentally reviewed the roads. There was no way the driver of the silver car could catch up to her. There was no quick shortcut back to the Tollway, and it would take the driver forever to get off at the next exit and work his way back to the interchange. Still, she didn’t want to linger. She pressed the accelerator down and hoped that there were no traffic police lurking about.
––––––––
IT wasn’t hard for Zoe to find her mom. She was the only woman in a full-length white wool coat with a furry collar and Ugg boots standing outside one of the doorways to baggage claim. She flicked her head around so that the wind would pull the long strands of her mahogany hair out of her face and took a long drag on her cigarette, then stubbed it out.
Zoe waved as she closed the distance. “Hello, Mom.”
“Darling!” Donna deposited air kisses on each side of Zoe’s face then said, “Donna. Call me Donna.” She pulled away and shot a quick glance around the sidewalk to see if anyone had heard Zoe drop the ‘m’ word.
“It’s okay,” Zoe said. “DFW isn’t a big paparazzi hang out.”
“You never know,” Donna said, her voice lilting with hope. She reached forward and pinched some of Zoe’s hair, examining it. “Your hair. It’s still red. I thought you said you dyed it a nice brown,” she said, clearly disappointed.
“It was a rinse, Mom. It washed out.” Donna had never been pleased with Zoe’s red hair. It had only taken Zoe about fifteen years to comprehend that Donna didn’t like anything that drew attention away from her. “Well, you could always do it again. Keep things fresh.” She threaded her arm through Zoe’s and pointed them to the parking lot. “Now, where’s your car? I’m staved.”
“We better eat here. You’ve only got about an hour, and then you’ll need to get back through security.”
Donna’s collagen-enhanced lower lip pouted. “Are you sure there isn’t somewhere close? I was hoping for a cute little bistro.”
“Afraid not.” Zoe steered her mom inside the doors. If there was one thing Zoe was sure of, it was that they weren’t taking a chance on getting caught in a Dallas traffic jam. She wanted to make sure Donna made that flight. The thought of dealing with strange people in silver cars following her paled in comparison to the thought of an unscheduled visit from her mom.
They found a little sandwich shop and settled into a table that Donna picked near the front of the restaurant, clearly hoping that someone would recognize them and ask for an autograph. They quickly covered the topic of Zoe’s “little editing job,” then Donna asked, “Anything else going on? All of that horrid GRS stuff has been resolved?”
“Yes, that’s all over.” Zoe had no compunction about keeping the truth from her mom. If Donna knew the truth, that Jack was still alive, she’d be texting Entertainment Tonight faster than she ran down the aisle to get married.
“How long will you be in New York? Are you coming back through Dallas for Thanksgiving?”
“No, I’m staying in New York to shop. I have my meeting tomorrow, then a spa day on Thursday.”
“You found a spa that’s open on Thanksgiving?”
“New York is an international city. Not everyone celebrates Thanksgiving.”
Zoe was having a turkey and ham sandwich with chips on the side and noticed that Donna was staring at the chips with an almost longing expression. “Want some?” Zoe asked, swiveling the plate toward Donna.
“No. They’re carbs.” Her red-tipped fingernails traced across her flat abdomen. She flicked a crouton to the side of her salad and pierced several pieces of Romaine.
“So what’s new with you?” Zoe asked, then shot a quick glance at Donna’s left hand and saw with relief that it was bare. Zoe had hurried into marriage with Jack, but at least she’d only married hastily once. Donna was up to five marriages and an equal number of divorces.
She crunched through the lettuce then said, “I’ve been asked to be a special features correspondent for one of the morning shows. I’m on my way to New York to meet the producer.”
“A local New York show?”
“No. Daybreak.”
Zoe sat back, stunned. Daybreak was a national network morning show. “Wow, that’s great.”
“I know.” Donna pushed away her still-full salad bowl. “It’s a wonderful opportunity. I’ll travel the country, do interviews, and have three in-studio appearances a month.”
“So you’re auditioning for it?”
“No, it’s a done deal. They want me to start next month.”
“They know you don’t have any reporting experience, right?”
Donna waved a hand through the air. “Nothing to worry about. The producer will do all that kind of thing...the detail work.” She fiddled with her fork. “There’s only one tiny drawback.” Donna leaned forward and whispered, “It’s for their retirement lifestyle correspondent. I’m not retired. I’m not a senior,” she hissed and glanced around as if she’d said a dirty word.
“No...but you’re close.”
Donna’s carefully sculpted eyebrows shot upward. “I’m barely in my forties.”
Zoe knew Donna was teetering on the brink of the big five-oh, but she didn’t contradict her. Instead, she did some damage control. “You know how it is in TV—everything skews younger.”
“Well, that is true,” Donna said, mollified.
“You should definitely go check it out. Sounds like a good opportunity.”
“Yes, I know,” she said, nodding her head. “It would keep me out there. Exposure is everything now with the media so fractured.”
Relieved that her mom’s trip to Dallas was nothing to do with the cheerleaders or announcing nuptials, Zoe finished off her sandwich and checked her watch. “You better get going. The security lines look pretty long,” Zoe said.
“Already? Well, you’re probably right.” She stood, struggled into her coat with the enormous furry collar. They exchanged another set of air kisses, and Zoe walked with her out of the restaurant.
“Oh! I almost forgot. This came in the mail for you.” Donna pulled a small package from her leather handbag and gave it to Zoe.
There was no return address on the brown box, only a smudged postmark. It was addressed to Zoe care of Donna’s Los Angeles address. The address was in Times New Roman font on a piece of printer paper that had been taped to the front.
“It didn’t look like the usual junk mail I get in your name.”
“You get junk mail addressed to me?”
“Sure, all the time. Mostly, from that college you attended for a couple of years. They want you to donate to their alumni group or some silly thing like that. I just throw it away. Good-bye, darling! I’m off to New York, New York!” she said, flinging out her hand and doing a little dance step as she moved away.
“Bye. Good luck,” Zoe called as she wrenched the tape away and opened the box. At first glance, it appeared empty, but when she flexed the flaps open wider and tilted it over her hand, a princess-cut diamond ring on a gold chain dropped into her palm.
Chapter Four
––––––––
IT was her wedding ring, the ring that Jack had insisted she keep after their divorce, the ring that should either be at the bottom of a Venetian canal or in an evidence locker with the Italian police. “Well, this is ironic,” Zoe whispered as she turned the ring around in her fingers. It showed up on the very day she’d considered—for the first time—the possibility that Jack might not come back.
A slip of pale blue paper had followed the ring out of the box and had floated lazily to the floor. Zoe snatched up the paper and ran after her mother. She caught up with her as she balanced on one foot, pulling off an Ugg boot. “Mom, how long have you had this?” Zoe asked, holding up the box. She held the ring in the tightly closed fist of her other hand.
“Donna,” she said, patting Zoe’s cheek. “It’s Donna.” She was smiling, but Zoe could see her back teeth were clamped toget
her.
“How long have you had this, Donna?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A few weeks? Maybe a month or two? I kept meaning to mail it to you and forgot, but when I saw it on my way out the door today, I thought I’ll just take this with me,” she said in an aren’t-I-clever tone. “Oh, must move on.”
They went through the air kiss routine again, but Zoe was barely aware of it. She returned Donna’s final wave before she disappeared into the line for the scanners, but she was thinking about the ring. She’d asked about it, if it had been recovered, but was told that it hadn’t been found.
The sharp edges of the diamond cut into her palm. Someone had clearly found it, and she suspected it was Jack. But how would he get it? And why would he mail it to Donna? Donna, of all people! It was a miracle she hadn’t trashed it with the junk mail. And it was a good thing she’d never opened it. If she had, Zoe had no doubt the ring would have gone on Donna’s finger, and she would conveniently forget the box had been addressed to Zoe. Shiny things had a tendency to mesmerize Donna.
Zoe examined the ring again. It was definitely hers. She recognized the long gold chain threaded through the ring. Her initials, along with Jack’s, were engraved inside.
“Please move along, ma’am.” Zoe looked up to find a TSA official waving her into the line for security.
Zoe stepped backward. “Sorry. I’m not traveling.” She slipped the necklace over her head, letting the ring settle under her neckline. She examined the box as she walked through the airport. The postage date was smeared, but readable. June. It had been mailed in June. Zoe walked faster, a spurt of anger surging through her. She didn’t know how long it would take something to go from—she consulted the postmark again and halted as she made out the words, “Royal Mail” and “London.”
London? Was Jack in London? That didn’t make sense. As far as she knew, Jack had never been there. But, then again, there were a lot of things that she hadn’t known about Jack.
