Thanks to the fact that the same neighbor kept a spare of her door key, soon Kelsey was in her kitchen in jeans and a loose sweater, making herself a hot cup of tea and counting the minutes until she could plop on the couch.
What a day.
What a nightmare.
The telephone had not stopped ringing since she’d walked in the door, but she had no intention of talking to anyone right now. As the electric kettle came to a boil, the phone started to ring yet again. Leaning over to glance at the caller ID screen, she saw the name of a local newspaper. She listened for the pause after the third ring that told her the call was being routed to voice mail, and then she picked up the phone, turned it over, and flipped the button to shut off the ringer.
Finally, once her mug of tea was ready, she squeezed past the exercise equipment filling the space intended for a kitchen table and made her way over to the living room area of her small, one-bedroom apartment. With a heavy sigh, she sat down on the love seat and sipped her tea, eyes closed, trying to recover from all that had happened.
Outside, she could hear cars honking, tires rumbling, distant sirens wailing—even the long, low horn of a ship out on the river. She loved living in Manhattan, especially this part of Manhattan, she thought as she set her mug down on a coaster on the end table and rested her head on the overstuffed arm of the little sofa. But at the moment she wished she were somewhere far away, maybe at her grandfather’s house down at the Jersey shore, where life was simpler and slower and she always felt safe and loved.
Kelsey must have dozed off briefly, because when she opened her eyes with a start, she realized it was nearly dusk. Standing and stretching, she clicked on the lamp, crossed to the window to lower the blinds, and then reached for the TV’s remote control. Might as well see if the story of Adele had made the six o’clock news after all.
Half an hour later, she’d caugh the story on all of the major networks and on a CNN offshoot. Fortunately, no one seemed to have any footage of the actual ruckus in the auditorium, but they had all managed to get cameras rolling by the time Rupert and the redhead were escorted from the building and put into the limo. Walter had done a pretty good job of speaking to the press after that, and the clip most of the stations had chosen to run had him attributing the incident to “Titanic fever run amok.”
All of the channels showed professional head shots of Adele and of Kelsey, but somehow CNN had managed to get hold of a full-length picture of Rupert as well. He wasn’t exactly attractive in person, but the photo they had chosen made him look positively ugly—not to mention a tad deranged. A candid snapshot that looked as though it had been taken during a hunting trip, he was dressed in camouflage clothing, leg waders, and a grimy old sailor’s hat. Worse, in his hands he was cradling a shotgun. Either Brennan & Tate was lucky, or their PR firm was even smarter and faster than Kelsey had given them credit for. The juxtaposition of images spoke volumes about the truth behind the incident. Obviously, this was a case of some crazy, backwoods yokel coming to the big city and trying to cash in on the hard work of some very upstanding, highly respected business people, past and present, one of whom had even been a Titanic survivor in her youth.
Thinking about the way the media had portrayed things, Kelsey was relieved, but in a way she almost felt sorry for the guy yet again. If he’d acted out of maliciousness or ill-intent, then of course he deserved what he was getting. But as neither seemed to be the case—that he was, instead, simply a man in possession of some Titanic-sized delusions—he shouldn’t have been made to look so foolish.
Refusing to feel guilty for something completely out of her control, Kelsey flipped off the TV and popped a frozen dinner into the microwave. She wanted to draw the family tree and then add in the information from Rupert’s claims, just to get a better picture of what he’d been trying to spell out. It would have been easier to do so using an app or an ancestry-related website, but seeing as how she’d left both her phone and her laptop at the office, she’d have to do this the old-fashioned way, with pen and paper.
Sitting down on the floor at the coffee table, she ate her dinner as she worked. She decided to start with herself and her brother, Matt, at the bottom and work her way up, creating a chart. She only got as far as their parents, however, when she realized she hadn’t even contacted them yet about what had happened today. Mortified, she immediately got up and retrieved the phone. Though her father may or may not understand what she was saying depending on how lucid of a day he was having, her mother definitely needed to hear this from Kelsey herself and not by accidentally running across it some other way, such as online or in the newspaper.
Unfortunately, there was no answer at her parents’ house, so she left them a message saying there had been a big problem at the office today and that she needed to talk to them about it as soon as possible. It was odd not to find them at home, she thought, glancing at the clock on the microwave as she disconnected the call. These days, taking her father anywhere was so much trouble that her parents rarely went out at all anymore, except for doctor visits and the like. Where could they possibly be at a quarter to seven on a Tuesday night?
Frustrated, she dialed Matt instead, thinking he might know where their parents could be. She thought his call was about to go to voice mail too when he surprised her by answering.
“Hey, Kels,” he said loudly, “sorry about the noise. I’m on my way home from work. I was just about to head down into the subway. Listen, I’m so, so sorry I couldn’t make it to your thing today. I thought I’d be able to pull it off, but then one of my students had a big meltdown when I caught her cheating on an exam, and after that things kind of fell apart. There was this whole big drama with her and me and the dean, and it dragged on all afternoon. I feel terrible about it, but there was nothing I could do.”
Clearly, he was oblivious to what had happened at Brennan & Tate, so rather than competing with the street noises to bring him up to speed, she simply told him the same thing she had said in the message she’d left for her parents, that there had been a big problem at the office and that he should go straight home and turn on the TV to see what he had missed. “Try the Headline News channel. The story’s on their loop. Oh, and don’t talk to any reporters, okay? They’ll probably start calling you soon, once they track down who you are and how they can reach you.”
As soon as she said it, she realized that maybe her parents were home after all, but that they, too, had simply turned off the phone’s ringer, as she had, because they were being badgered by the news media.
“Did you say reporters?” he yelled, his voice nearly drowned out by what sounded like a passing train. “What are you talking about?”
“Just turn on the TV as soon as you get home and then call me!” she yelled back before hanging up the phone.
How frustrating. Glancing over toward the fridge, she thought about hopping on the stair stepper to work out some of her tension but decided she was getting too far off track. First things first. She would check her messages to see if maybe her parents had called earlier, and then she would get back to work on her family tree.
Dialing into voice mail, Kelsey was shocked when the automated system announced she had twenty-seven messages. Twenty-seven? Lou wasn’t kidding. The vultures are circling. With a heavy sigh, she carried the phone over to the love seat, sat down, and began working her way through from the beginning, finishing her now-cold dinner as she did.
Just as she’d suspected, the messages were primarily a mix of media requests and well-meaning and/or curious friends calling to find out firsthand what had happened. Most of the calls could be deleted after the first sentence or so, and she quickly worked her way through, barely pausing until she reached message number seventeen and heard the voice of Gloria.
Snapping to attention, Kelsey pressed the button to make the message start over again and then listened more closely this time.
Kelsey, it’s Gloria. I don’t know why you’re not answering your cell, but I though
t I’d try your home phone. Please contact me as soon as you get this. I know I told you to leave and go home, but I’ve changed my mind. I’m ready to talk now. I need to tell you some things, Kelsey. Please. It’s urgent. Before I lose my nerve.
Sitting up straight, Kelsey listened to the message once more, just to make sure she was hearing correctly. What was Gloria talking about? Pulse surging, Kelsey quickly zipped through the rest of the messages, just to see if she had left any others. Sure enough, there was one more, message number twenty, and that time her voice sounded even more frantic than it had before.
Kelsey, call me! Please! If you can’t reach me by phone, come back to the office. I’ll be here. I’m not leaving tonight until I tell you what I have to say. Please. Where are you? Call me!
The message ended with a sob and then a few clicks before it went dead, as if Gloria had been so overcome with emotion that she could barely even hang up the phone. Poor thing!
Face burning with guilt for having turned off the ringer and missed Gloria’s calls, Kelsey dialed the office and then punched in the woman’s extension as fast as her fingers would go. It rang five times and went to voice mail, so Kelsey left a brief message and then tried Gloria’s cell. It, too, went to voice mail, so she left another message, hung up, and then began pacing while she waited for her to call back.
Nothing.
When the phone still hadn’t rung after five minutes, Kelsey tried both of Gloria’s numbers yet again and then, on the off chance that she’d changed her mind and gone home, called there too. No answer anywhere. Eventually, Kelsey knew she had no choice but to head back over to the office. In Gloria’s message, she’d said she wasn’t leaving until they talked, and if Kelsey couldn’t reach her by phone to just come back. That’s what she would have to do. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was now almost seven fifteen. She hoped that meant enough time had passed since the incident that everyone, including the press, had gone home by now.
Kelsey went to the bedroom closet and rooted through a few spare purses until she came up with one that had some money in it, just in case. Slipping the bills into her pocket, she grabbed a jacket and her spare apartment key and headed out.
Down at street level, she was almost at the front door when she spotted a small cluster of people gathered on the walkway outside. With a gasp, she darted behind a pillar, her heart pounding. Reporters. Of course. She should have expected this.
Careful to keep out of the sightline of the front windows, she inched along the wall until she was able to turn the corner and head for the back exit instead. Unfortunately, that meant walking out between two extremely smelly dumpsters, but it was worth the trouble. Five minutes later, she was at the elevated walkway over West Street, and no one even knew she’d left her building.
Kelsey’s commute from home to work was just under half a mile, an easy walk at any time of day but especially now, when there was less foot traffic to contend with. As she quickly covered the distance and neared the office building, she thought about going in through the back but decided to take a peek around front first, to see if the coast was clear.
Fortunately, it was. From a discreet vantage point on the opposite side of the street, she could see through the tall front windows of the lobby that the only person in there at the moment was Ephraim, sitting at reception. Moving quickly, she crossed at the corner and then sprinted to the front door. It was locked, but as soon as he spotted her, he buzzed her in.
“Thanks, Ephraim,” she replied, stepping inside and pulling the door firmly shut behind her. “What are you doing here this late? Don’t you guys usually knock off around six?”
“Yeah. Not tonight, though. After all the mess this afternoon, I thought I’d stick around a little longer, just to be safe.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here—and happy to see that the crowds are gone.”
“Been this way for ’bout an hour now,” Ephraim replied. “Some of those people were pretty persistent, but Mr. Hallerman got ’em all out of here eventually, thank goodness.”
“Is he still around?” Kelsey asked and was relieved when Ephraim said no, that Walter had gone back upstairs for a few minutes once everyone else was gone, and then he’d come back down and left for the night.
“Looked bone tired to me,” he added.
“I know the feeling. How about Gloria Poole? Have you seen her tonight at all?”
Ephraim said no, that he hadn’t seen Mrs. Poole coming or going this afternoon or this evening. “’Course, there was an awful lot of confusion here, as you know. There’s a chance she came through and I just didn’t notice. That’s what I told her husband, anyway.”
“Vern? Was he here?”
“Yeah, ’bout an hour ago. He said she called and asked him to come to her office, so he did, right from work. But then once he got here and I let him up, he couldn’t find her. By the time he left, he seemed pretty mad.”
“I can see why. Actually, she called me too. I’ll see if I can find her.” Kelsey couldn’t imagine where on earth Gloria could have gone. “You haven’t seen her on the security cameras anywhere? Not even on the ones for the fifth floor?”
Ephraim shook his head. “The only security camera on fifth shows the elevator landing and the reception area, that’s it, and I definitely haven’t seen her come walking through there.”
“Well, if by some chance she calls or comes down here, tell her I’m looking for her, would you?”
“Will do. Holler if you need me.”
Kelsey thanked him and went around the corner to the elevators. Thinking she might as well start by checking Gloria’s office first, she pressed the button for the fifth floor. Once there, she stepped out into the vestibule and turned left, toward reception, feeling strangely watched. At the door she punched in her security code, waited for the click, and then went inside.
The Brennan & Tate fifth floor reception area was small but strikingly elegant, with a sleek mahogany reception station at the center and several groupings of chairs and low tables along the perimeter. The color scheme was pleasant, a muted mix of browns and yellows and greens with splashes of more vivid colors in the abstract artwork adorning the walls. The focal point of the room, however, was the mahogany-and-glass display case in the far corner, placed there as a memorial to Adele Brennan Tate a year or two after she passed away. Inside the case, restored to museum quality, was the clothing she’d been wearing the night Titanic sank.
Artfully displayed on a dressmaker’s dummy, the outfit consisted of a pale blue floor-length dress covered by a darker blue overcoat with white fur trim, white gloves, a white fur hand muff, and a blue velvet hat with a pale blue hatband. Other memorabilia had been acquired later by Kelsey’s father and added around the clothing, including a cup and saucer from the White Star Line, a menu from Titanic’s second-class dining room, and a White Star pen and stationery. Front and center were two books: a copy of Adele’s memoir of Titanic, that she’d had printed in a limited quantity, and the white leather-bound Bible given to her by her husband on their wedding day.
Kelsey had been just ten or eleven years old the first time she had seen this display, and she hadn’t liked it at all. Something about the dressmaker’s dummy—bearing the same height and dimensions as Adele herself when she’d been alive—looked all too real, like the headless ghost of a woman who had died while dressed for a cold night in 1912. Over the years, however, it had grown on her, and these days she actually looked upon the display fondly, as if it embodied the very spirit and nature of Adele herself. Gazing at it now, Kelsey couldn’t help but remember the accusation that Rupert had made this afternoon, that the woman who called herself Adele had actually been a cousin merely posing as Adele. No matter what “proof” he thought he had of that claim, Kelsey knew it wouldn’t bear out. She was one hundred percent sure Adele had been exactly who she’d said she was. This temporary besmirching of her name would pass, and all Rupert Brennan would end up proving was that he was in need of seri
ous help.
Moving on through the reception area, Kelsey entered the same hallway she’d walked down earlier today and followed it to the executive suite. She saw that everything looked closed down except for Gloria’s office, which was fully lit up. She went there now, hoping to see the woman sitting at her desk, but the room was empty. Kelsey stepped inside anyway, looking for a note or something that might indicate where Gloria had gone. She saw nothing of relevance on the desktop, so she took a peek in the lower desk drawers just to see if Gloria’s purse was there. It was, in the left bottom drawer. Good. That meant she was still somewhere in the building—unless she’d accidentally gone home without it, just as Kelsey had.
Coming back to the doorway, Kelsey called out Gloria’s name, but there was no reply. Fearing she really was ill, as she’d told Walter earlier, Kelsey went from there to the executive washroom to see if Gloria was inside.
She was not.
From there Kelsey made a quick tour of the rest of the fifth floor, peeking in the copy room, the meeting rooms, and several offices, but most everything was dark. As she neared the far end of the hall, Kelsey wondered if maybe Gloria could be in her office on the fourth floor, though she couldn’t imagine why. At the very least, perhaps she’d left a note there for Kelsey or sent a text or voice mail that had more information about where she was now.
Echoes of Titanic Page 6
