Someone's Watching

by Sharon Potts

  A shrill whistle came from the bar. People stopped what they were doing and looked. Mike—Mister M—had two fingers in front of his big, white grin. He winked at Brett.

  “Hello, everyone,” Brett said, this time with the crowd’s attention. “I’d like to introduce our remarkable guest, who has a lot to say about how women can learn to take control of their lives. She’s the author of In Search of Self. And yeah, sure, maybe her husband’s always mentioned in the editorial columns as the great crusader who will clean up America, but our guest is the real force to be reckoned with. Please join me in welcoming Ms. Gina Tyler Fieldstone.”

  The applause was tepid as the attractive woman in the white cardigan came through a door behind the podium. She surveyed the room, a muscle in her neck twitching. And then she smiled. A lovely, radiant smile. “Thank you, Brett. And thank you all for joining me this evening.”

  Robbie stepped closer in order to see her better. She had never heard of Gina Fieldstone or her husband before Brett mentioned them earlier. But if Mrs. Fieldstone was using her book to help her husband’s political career, she had definitely misjudged this hip audience.

  She was probably in her late thirties, the age Robbie’s mother had been when she was last healthy and vibrant. And for a moment, Robbie was back with her mother, holding her hand, her mother smiling at her.

  Robbie snapped back to the present and tried to focus on Gina. She was talking about taking control of your future. She had a crisp, low voice with a flat accent that Robbie couldn’t quite place. Midwest? Northwest? The crowd listened for a few minutes and then people started chatting and wandering away. This group believed they had already figured their futures out, thank you very much. They certainly didn’t need some lady dressed for a church supper to be telling them what to do.

  The din rose. Gina spoke louder into the microphone, reminding Robbie of a missionary, so focused on her message she didn’t seem to care that no one was listening. “My own experiences,” Gina said. “I was only fifteen. What did I know? My mother told me I couldn’t keep my baby. And although I cried and argued with her, I suppose on some level I knew she was right. I was barely able to take care of myself; how could I take on the responsibility of raising a child?”

  Robbie stepped closer to the podium. Gina was clutching the mike with a sense of urgency. She had the bone structure of a model—high cheekbones, straight nose, broad forehead. Her eyes were large and an unusual color, almost like amethysts.

  Gina told about giving up her daughter, then years later searching to find her and never succeeding. It was a heartbreaking story, and one that struck Robbie hard. Especially after the visit from her own father. Here this woman had spent years looking for the child she had been forced to give up, while her father had willingly let Robbie go and made not the least effort to get in touch with her.

  Gina took a deep breath. “Thank you again.” She stepped down from the podium to lukewarm applause, but kept her head high.

  Many attendees had wandered over to the bar. Brett was back up at the podium announcing that Gina’s books were for sale and Gina would be happy to personally sign them, but only two people went to purchase a book.

  Robbie reached into her satchel for money to buy a book herself. No one came behind her on line.

  The heavyset escort stood beside Gina as she sat at a small table signing the books. He kept glancing at Robbie, but maybe that was his job. He leaned over and said something in Gina’s ear, then backed away, hands in his pants pockets, scowl on his face.

  Robbie stepped up to the table with her book.

  Gina smiled. Her front teeth overlapped slightly and a strand of streaked brown hair had fallen loose from her otherwise perfect coiffeur. She pushed it away from her eyes and behind her ear. She wore small pearl earrings. “Phew,” she said. “Glad that’s over with.”

  The fervor and intensity were gone, but Robbie felt a powerful connection. Gina had lost her daughter. Robbie had lost her mother.

  “I enjoyed your talk very much,” Robbie said.

  “Thank you. I appreciate your saying that.” Gina held up a thin silver pen. Her fingers were long and delicate and she wore a plain gold wedding band. “How would you like me to inscribe the book?”

  “To Robbie, would be fine. R-O-B-B-I-E.”

  “Robbie,” Gina repeated and wrote.

  Robbie took the book back and held it against her chest, reluctant to leave without saying what was on her mind. But the bulky escort had taken a step closer to Gina. His eyes were the color of dirty lavender.

  Gina looked at Robbie expectantly, then glanced over her shoulder at her escort. She let out a short laugh. It was melodious and lingering like the low notes on a xylophone. “Aidan,” she said, “I’m parched. Would you mind bringing me a glass of water with a slice of lemon?”

  Her escort grunted and headed toward the bar.

  “Aidan’s pretty scary,” Gina said. “My husband’s idea. Stanford’s with the U.S. Department of Justice, and he seems to think I need protection from his political enemies. But I worry that Aidan’s frightening off my book audience because he looks like such a thug.”

  “He is a little intense,” Robbie said.

  Gina threw her head back and laughed her beautiful laugh. “I can tell you’re big on understatement.” She folded her hands and rested them on the table beside the pen. “But you looked like you wanted to say something to me.”

  Robbie nodded. “Your talk really touched me. I understand your need to find your child. To make sure she’s okay.” Why was she telling a stranger this? But Gina seemed like anything but a stranger. The resemblance to Robbie’s mother and to Rachel, Robbie’s mentor, was profound. “I just found out that I have a sister I never knew about. But she’s missing.”

  Gina’s hand went to her throat. “Missing?”

  “She and a friend disappeared a few days ago on South Beach. They were on spring break.” Robbie reached into her satchel and took out the flyers of Kate and Joanne.

  Gina studied the photos. “May I keep these? I come in contact with a lot of people during my tour. Maybe I’ll recognize your sister.”

  “Please,” Robbie said. “I’d be very grateful.”

  Aidan returned with the glass of water and put it down on the table, but Robbie noticed that Gina didn’t even take a sip.

  Robbie felt someone’s hand on her shoulder. Brett’s.

  “Hope everything worked out to your satisfaction,” Brett said to Gina.

  “Yes. Thank you very much.” Gina stood up and pulled her cardigan tighter around her.

  “If there’s anything else I can do for you, feel free to call me anytime. Me or Mike. We’re always at your service.”

  “Thank you. I will.” Gina nodded at Robbie, then went toward the door with Aidan. She walked without any wasted movement as though she’d been trained as a model or in cotillion classes. Aidan trailed after her like a lumbering gorilla.

  Brett pulled off his red tie and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans.

  “I’m sorry the event didn’t go very well,” Robbie said.

  “Are you kidding? It went great.”

  “It did? It didn’t look like Gina sold many books.”

  “Right. But that wasn’t the point. She got great exposure. Over two hundred people showed up.”

  “What good is exposure if no one bought the book?”

  “Because that’s two hundred people who now know the name Fieldstone.”

  “I must be dense. Why does that matter?”

  “You know,” Brett said, as though she was supposed to. “For her husband.” He surveyed the emptying room. “I’ll just check with Mike, then we’re out of here. There’s a new restaurant I want to take you to.”

  Robbie sat down on a sofa near the atrium to wait for him and opened the book. A lot of work had gone into it. She doubted that Gina had gone to all this trouble just to advance her husband’s career.

  She flipped through the pages. T
he book contained stories about women who had also been forced to give their children up for adoption. In many cases, there were photos of the mother happily reunited with her child after many years. But the photo of Gina at the end of the book was of herself alone. She had never found her own daughter.

  Robbie noticed the skinny server with long black hair and blue eyes standing behind an areca palm, stuffing hors d’oeuvres into her mouth.

  She closed the book. She wondered what Kate was doing at this moment. She checked her cell phone for messages.

  There were none.

  Chapter 10

  After the Fieldstone event, it turned out Brett couldn’t go for dinner after all. Something unexpected had come up, Brett explained to Robbie, and Mike needed him. He offered to drive Robbie home, but she preferred walking alone, relieved to be away from the South Beach tumult.

  She went to bed early, but her mind was caught up in memories. Her childhood house on the St. Johns River, Spanish moss hanging from towering oak trees, frogs croaking in the stillness. Her dad returning home from the hospital after a late night emergency call. How he stood on the flagstone patio that smelled like magnolias, staring at nothing.

  What’s wrong, Daddy?

  A smile that she knew he’d faked for her. I didn’t know you were there, princess. Come give your old man a hug.

  And she had. She’d hugged him as tight as she could, but she knew it wasn’t enough to make his sadness go away. Then later that night, she overheard him talking to her mother. There’s nothing I can do, he told her. Absolutely nothing.

  Robbie finally got out of bed around eight in the morning and changed into her running shorts and tank top. Her route took her across the north end of Lummus Park and up the stamped-concrete path that ran alongside the ocean. Seagulls squawked above her and the sound of waves breaking helped clear her head. She passed the condo that housed the health club where Jeremy sometimes worked, and glanced over at the beach hoping to see his lean, tanned body doing pushups or running a client in the sand. But there were only a couple of sunbathers stretched out on towels.

  Running had always been an outlet for her. There were days in Boston when she’d run for miles, even in the cold of winter. She wasn’t sure whether it was because she didn’t have friends or because it gave her an excuse not to make any.

  The path continued up wooden steps to the boardwalk, the planks absorbing her pounding footfalls. She heard a growing chuffing noise overhead. A helicopter crossing above her.

  At 41st Street, she ran down the boardwalk steps and cut over to Indian Creek, where she turned back south. She was perplexed by what she saw. Cars were backed up along Indian Creek Drive and a cop was redirecting traffic. There was rarely a buildup here, especially on a weekday morning. Robbie slowed her jog, noticing flashing lights, police cars, vans from the TV news stations. A collision? Or had a car gone into the creek?

  She slowed down, curious, but she couldn’t see much. A crowd had gathered—a mix of tourists and locals from the low-rise buildings and old hotels along Indian Creek. The helicopter was hovering directly overhead like a vulture; it had the logo of a local news station.

  Robbie stood next to a heavyset guy in shorts and flip-flops holding a plastic bag from Walgreens. Sweat had beaded on his forehead. “What happened?” she asked over the roaring of the helicopter.

  “Don’t know,” he shouted. “Just got here. But there are divers.”

  Robbie pushed through the crowd. Divers, she thought. Could be a car. Or a body. Whose body? But her mind didn’t want to go there.

  The water reeked of decaying vegetation, and sprouted mangrove bushes with large, tangled roots. She could see better now. There were people standing on the footbridge that crossed a narrow expanse of the creek. Yellow crime-scene tape marked large areas on both sides of the waterway, which appeared to have been closed to boat traffic. A tent had been set up just beyond the creek bed on a flat grassy area. What was that about? People loitered up to the edge of the tape, many filming the activity with their cell phones or cameras. They were smiling, having a good time. South Beach—fun and games any time, day or night.

  And then she saw him in the crowd. Her father. Amongst the tank tops, T-shirts, and shorts, her dad stood out in his white oxford shirt and navy slacks. He stared at the water, his face expressionless. And she remembered him looking out at the river that night so many years ago. There’s nothing I can do. Absolutely nothing.

  What had they found in the water? Kate? Dear God—let it not be Kate. But it couldn’t be her half sister, she reasoned. Her father wouldn’t be here if Kate had been found. Then what was going on in the tent?

  Robbie got closer to the crime-scene tape. Marked and unmarked police cars were parked helter-skelter in the street and on the grass. She saw uniformed cops, crime-scene technicians. A diver was talking to a woman wearing denim Capri pants and a light blue short-sleeved shirt. Lieber, out of her customary detective clothes, as though called here from off duty.

  Robbie stared at the detective, willing Lieber to look in Robbie’s direction. She was desperate to know what had happened. The diver adjusted his gear and headed back toward the water. “Detective Lieber,” Robbie called out, not sure she could be heard over the helicopter noise.

  But Lieber turned to Robbie’s voice, held up her hand to indicate she’d be right with her, then went over to a couple of uniformed cops.

  Robbie waited, trying to calm her breathing. Her father was still looking into the water, as though he could see down to its murky bottom. There’s nothing I can do.

  “Robbie,” Lieber called. “Can you step over here? I just have a minute.”

  Robbie joined Lieber under a shady ficus tree a short distance from the crime scene area. The helicopter cast a shadow over the water. It was difficult to hear anything with its noise all around them.

  “What’s happened?” Robbie said. “My father’s here. Did something happen to Kate?”

  Lieber shook her head. “No. Not Kate.” Her hair was clipped back, a strand of grayish brown escaping over her eye. She pushed it back. She looked haggard.

  “Tell me. Please.” Sweat was dripping beneath Robbie’s T-shirt and shorts.

  “We got a call early this morning,” Lieber said. “The body of a teenage girl was found in the creek, tangled in some mangrove roots.”

  Robbie let out a gasp.

  “It’s Joanne Sparks.”

  “Oh, no.” Robbie covered her mouth with her hands. She remembered the photo of the girl on the “Missing” flyer—the narrow face and large nose that now would never mature into adulthood.

  “Her parents came down from Deland a couple of days ago to search for her. They’ve identified Joanne’s body.” Lieber glanced back at the tent.

  “Oh God. Joanne’s in the tent?”

  “The ME is still examining the body.”

  “And Joanne’s parents? They’re in there?”

  Lieber shook her head. “They went back to their hotel. Joanne’s mother needed to be sedated.”

  Joanne’s parents. Imagine identifying your eighteen-year-old dead daughter’s body. Eighteen. Her mom and dad should have been preparing for their daughter’s high school graduation, filled with anxiety about her going away to college next year. Not this.

  The muscles in Lieber’s face were tight. She opened her shoulder bag and fumbled inside. Then she closed the bag and flipped it behind her, apparently not finding what she’d been looking for.

  “What condition—” Robbie said. “Her parents must have been—”

  Lieber nodded, as though she understood what Robbie was trying to say. “Joanne hadn’t been in the water for very long.”

  “Can you tell how she died?” Robbie asked.

  “We won’t know for certain until we have the medical examiner’s report, but right now, it appears she drowned.”

  “In Indian Creek? No one goes swimming in Indian Creek.”

  “She could have fallen out of a boat, o
r been drunk. It’s best not to speculate until the medical examiner gives her report.” Lieber glanced at the cops and investigators huddling near the side of the creek. “I’m sorry, but I need to go.”

  Robbie saw one of the divers climb up the bank. If Joanne had been found, what were they looking for? “Oh my God,” Robbie said. “Kate.” Robbie felt a tightening in her chest. “You think she may have drowned, too?”

  “It’s possible. The last time they were seen, the girls were together. And, well, unfortunately, no one’s heard from Kate.”

  Robbie glanced over to where her father had been standing earlier. He was gone. “Have you spoken to my father?”

  “He came here with Joanne’s parents. He was very supportive, but then he became quite agitated.”

  “Well, of course he was agitated,” Robbie said. “His daughter’s friend is dead and no one knows where Kate is.”

  Lieber took in a short breath. “Like I told your father, we’re trying to understand what happened so we can take the appropriate action. And now, I really need to get back to my team.”

  “But that could take hours or days. You can’t just assume Kate also drowned. What if she’s in some kind of trouble? Shouldn’t you be looking for her?”

  “Look where?” Then her expression softened. “I know you’re concerned about Kate, but honestly, without the ME’s report on Joanne, we don’t have much to go on. All we have are questions. Had the two girls been together? Does Kate know what happened to Joanne? Was she involved?”

  “Wait a minute. What do you mean involved?”

  “I’m just saying there’s the question of why Kate hasn’t come to the police.”

  “Maybe she can’t. What if this wasn’t an accident? And what if whoever did this to Joanne has done something to Kate?”

  Lieber rested her hand on Robbie’s shoulder. “Go home, Robbie. You know I’ll do everything I can to find her.”

  “I know.” Robbie was unable to meet Lieber’s eyes.

  “And if you talk to your father,” Lieber said as she walked away, “tell him that we’re not a bunch of fat, lazy bureaucrats who are sitting on our asses while South Beach burns.”