Corbin went to sit, waiting patiently for the secretary’s return. Carly and I chuckled and split, one of us taking the right hallway, another taking the left. “Can you go back there?” Corbin hissed after us.
“How else are we supposed to find someone to talk to?” Carly asked, reaching into her coat for her badge with a wink.
I’d been so distracted by their exchange, I nearly ran smack into a tiny older woman carrying a huge stack of files. “Excuse me!” she said sharply, stumbling backwards.
I reached out to steady her. Once she had ceased tottering, I began to reach for the files. “Here, let me help you with those.”
“I can manage fine,” she snapped.
Carly and Corbin were quickly by my side, Carly with her badge in full view. “Are you the secretary?” she asked the woman who huffed and puffed her way to the front desk, ignoring Carly’s badge.
“It’s receptionist,” the woman spat. “And no, I’m in Donor Relations.” As soon as she set down the files, she whirled around, her hands on her hips. The woman’s hair was short, white, and tightly curled. She had saggy skin that took on a rather unpleasant gray sheen, as though she were a smoker, sickly, or perhaps both. Her eyes were small and shrewd. All in the same moment, she seemed to take in Carly’s badge as well as Corbin, who was recognizable even if you’d been living in a hole for the last five years. “What do you want?” she asked warily.
“We actually need to speak with someone,” Carly said, flipping her badge closed and stuffing it back into her pocket. “Cassandra Moon.”
“She’s…sick,” the woman said, as though the lie tasted foreign against her tongue.
“Did she call in today?” I asked, quickly working to trap her in the lie.
“No. I mean yes. Not really, but she got sick and decided to leave.”
“When?”
“Earlier.”
“How much earlier?” Carly insisted.
“An hour?” the woman asked meekly.
Corbin stepped over to the woman’s side. Somehow, he forced her to look at him without so much as a word or a touch. It was like his eyes were magnets. “Miss…what’s your name?”
“Doris,” she replied.
“Doris,” Corbin said gently. “I’m not sure why you’re lying for Cassandra. But it’s incredibly important that we find her. If she’s here, I need you to show us where she is. If she left, I need you to think very hard and tell us exactly how long ago that was and what excuse she gave.”
“Er…” Doris seemed to go grayer, the longer she allowed herself to think.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Doris,” someone snapped from behind the desk. There was some shuffling, a loud bang as someone caught a head or an elbow on the underside of the desk, and a short string of what sounded like various curses in Spanish. Then suddenly, rising like a Phoenix from the ashes, stood Veronica, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed, and chest puffed out as though she were a rooster preparing for a cockfight.
I had to do a double take, assuring myself that I wasn’t actually staring at Carmen. She and Veronica could have passed for sisters in a heartbeat, possibly even twins. It was easy to dismiss their similar characteristics in a photo. They could have been tricks of light, a certain angle or a million other things. But looking at Veronica, as she stood right in front of us, caused me to shudder involuntarily.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asked suspiciously in a thick accent, looking from me to Carly to Corbin.
I shook my head and clenched my jaw closed. Clearly her manners would be about as pleasant as Carmen’s had been. “Veronica?” I asked.
“Cassandra,” she answered with a sniff, looking down at her nails.
Doris squinted at me. “Can’t you read?” she asked, gesturing to a gold nameplate atop the desk, which read: Cassandra Moon. I hadn’t noticed that before, probably because it was shoved deep behind a haphazard pile of papers.
“Doris, can you give us some privacy, please?” Veronica snipped.
“It’s a public space,” Doris bristled.
“Fine,” Veronica replied, “we’ll use the conference room. This way.” She motioned to the three of us and we followed her down a short hallway and into a small room. The far wall of the room was made of frosted glass, through which you could see the shadows of office folks on the other side, as they stood around what appeared to be an industrial-sized coffee machine. The other three walls were painted dull beige and hosted a slew of motivational posters about success and acceptance. Veronica watched me as my eyes wandered across the words on one particular poster of an eagle soaring majestically over a mountain. Sighing loudly, she crossed her arms. “They’re so stupid, aren’t they? I suppose there are worse things than having a boss that believes in all of this crap but, whenever I come in here, I can’t think of anything.”
“It’s nice that your boss believes in motivating people,” I offered.
“My boss believes in a lot of things. Micromanagement, for example. Motivation? Raises? Promotions? Not really.”
I shrugged. “You can’t convince me that that’s something you want, anyway. Going from champagne and trips to the Caribbean on a yacht, to a secretary for a non-profit in Wisconsin? Yeah right.”
Veronica looked me over, though not unkindly. While I was in my understated blacks from Mika’s and my break-in at Carmen’s hotel room, my hair pulled back in a wild ponytail and my makeup minimal, she was dressed in a beautiful charcoal skirt suit with just the right amount of ruffles and tightness. Her nails were not manicured but they were long and beautiful. Her makeup was flawless, her earrings delicate pearls that peeked through her straight but luscious hair. I began to feel self-conscious, when she finally spoke again. “It’s not so bad here.”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” Carly assured her. “All three of us live here and we love it.”
“It’s just that you don’t seem the type to live in the Midwest,” Corbin added.
“I grew up here,” Veronica answered.
“What?” I asked, surprised.
“Well, not here,” Veronica supplied quickly. Oshkosh, actually.” I looked her up and down again, trying to figure out how that was possible. Oshkosh was a smaller town north of us. Veronica’s appearance was so incredibly exotic — just like Carmen’s had been. Oshkosh just didn’t seem to fit. “My parents moved to Illinois from Bolivia the year before I was born. My father wanted to work his way into the American music scene,” she supplied, trying to ease my confusion. “Eventually we moved to Wisconsin where my father was asked to join a jazz group in Oshkosh. He’d tried to make it in Chicago but, when that didn’t work out, he and my mom moved to where they could find work. My dad had friends already in Oshkosh, the music scene was smaller and tightly-knit; he could afford to feed us.”
“When did you start living the Hollywood life?” Carly inquired.
Veronica tossed her hair, suddenly oozing with superiority. “When I was 18,” she answered. “I’d just had enough of people staring at me like I was some exotic specimen there for study. My accent doesn’t exactly fit in around here, you know?” She sighed. “I even tried to lose my accent when I was about 12, because I was so tired of being made fun of. It came naturally growing up with Spanish as my first language. I learned English in school. I even taught my parents.”
“Clearly losing the accent didn’t work out,” Corbin supplied, kindly. “It’s beautiful.”
Veronica smiled at him. “Thank you and thankfully, not. After I graduated high school, I moved as far away as I could. One night, I was at a club. This guy bought me a drink. Started flirting. I tell him I have to use the bathroom, leave, come back, and he’s standing at the bar flirting with Carmen.” She smiled wryly at the memory. “People were always stopping me in the street, asking to take photos with me, thinking that I was her. I loved the attention. I never thought we’d actually cross paths. I had no idea that it was her that night. My temper flared and I threw my drink on her. She th
rew her drink on me. We’re wrestling with each other and, next thing I know, her security detail is carrying both of us outside. That’s when we noticed how similar we looked. Best friends ever since.” She thought for a moment. “Never did see that guy again, though. Too bad. He was cute.”
“So what brought you back to the Midwest?” I asked her, immensely curious.
Veronica laughed but it sounded short and hollow. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the lifestyle I was living doesn’t always attract good friends.”
“What happened?” Carly implored. Her words suggested that she suspected a drug deal gone wrong. Carly was a patrolwoman, usually covering the evening shift and whatever came with it – bar fights were the norm, followed quickly by break-ins and vandalism. But bodies, bullets and drug deals were never fully out of reach. She and Barry had run into their share in their short time as partners. I knew her passion rested in narcotics and I didn’t think she was that far off in reaching her goal, given her recent PAT finish.
“Bad boyfriend,” Veronica answered, surprising no one. When none of us said anything, she continued. “We met at a party Carmen’s dad was hosting. I probably should have guessed that he was bad news. After all, Carmen’s dad is a mobster.”
“Suspected mobster,” Carly corrected her.
Veronica rolled her eyes. “Sure. Whatever. My point is, Mario — that was his name — he was a drug dealer. Liked to sample his work, too. So one day, he’s high and drunk and he’s all over me. I told him to stop, that we’d make love when he was sober. He can’t keep it up when he’s drunk, anyway, he just thinks he can. Men always do.” Corbin cleared his throat, blushing as he tugged at his collar. Veronica smiled at him and winked. “So then he gets mad and he gives me a little shove, which is nothing new.” My jaw dropped, horrified that she talked about getting shoved around as though she were mentioning a new coffee shop. “So then I start yelling at him and he shoves me again. Next thing I know, I’m on the ground, I can barely see out of one eye, and he’s heading to the kitchen for a knife, raving on about how he’s going to kill me.” She pauses, crossing her arms tightly and averting her gaze, willing herself not to cry. The air in the room was so thick, I could barely catch my breath. Finally, she looked back up at us, ashamed. I wanted to hug her but I felt like the timing was all off. I could only wait for her to go on. “I got up and ran. Drove to Carmen’s. She kept me there for a few weeks until I was all healed. That’s when we went on our cruise together for the holidays.”
“But that trip didn’t end well,” Carly said carefully.
Veronica shook her head. “When we got back, Mario was waiting for me in Miami. He said he was sorry. Carmen told me not to trust him. That she wouldn’t let me return, even though it was all I could do to not run back.” She sniffled and glanced away. “I don’t know why that was. I just couldn’t help but want him. He was like a drug himself, you know?” She swiped at her nose. “Anyway, she and I got into the car that was waiting for us at the docks. Drove straight to our hotel for the night. Checked in, took the elevator up to the room, and there he was, waiting outside the elevators with this deranged smile. Thank God for Carmen’s security, or I don’t know what would have happened. After that, Carmen made a few calls, hugged me, and I was taken to the airport. When I landed, I had a new life waiting for me – a new identity, an apartment, a job, a background that was completely untraceable. Everyone witness to Mario after our cruise was paid off.”
“Why give you a new identity? Why not just go to the police?” Corbin asked kindly.
Veronica laughed. This time, it was long and dark and bitter. “The penalties for people that abuse their animals are stricter than the penalties for abusive partners. What was I supposed to do? File a restraining order he’d just violate?” She shook her head. “What a joke. He’d violate it, get tossed in jail for a few weeks, be freed and come straight over to kill me before the system even warned me he was out.”
“Why not hire security?” Carly inquired.
“Forever?” Veronica shook her head. “No thanks. Plus, he’d find a way in, you know? He just would.”
“There was so much media surrounding your disappearance,” I said. “Why?”
Veronica grinned, her face lighting up a bit through her misery. “That was my idea. I hoped that if Mario realized Carmen and I were no longer hanging out, he’d leave her alone. He’d know I hadn’t really disappeared, of course, but he’d realize I was no longer with Carmen daily. Plus, he’d have a hard time trying to track me down when there was so much suspicion around my disappearance. He couldn’t look into it too much before he’d be considered a person of interest. We were lovers. He had an abusive past…” She let the rest go unsaid.
I frowned. Something still wasn’t quite making sense. “But if Carmen knew you were alive, why would she ask a couple of PIs to look into your disappearance?”
Veronica shrugged and immediately averted her gaze to her nails.
“Veronica,” Corbin said warningly.
She sighed and dropped her hands to her sides. “You have no idea what it’s been like,” she whined, seeking our sympathy. Not that I wasn’t inclined to give it to her, but the way she just seemed to demand it held my tongue. Instead, I simply waited for her to continue. The others did the same. “I’ve been here for what seems like…forever.”
“It’s just been a few months, from my understanding,” Carly informed her dryly.
“And from the looks of it,” I said, thinking back to the photo we’d found earlier that day, “Carmen took you on a vacation not too long ago. So it’s not like you’re just stuck here with no friends and no money.”
“Anyway,” Veronica barged ahead, ignoring Carly’s and my stabs, “I joined one of those dating websites. It’s not like I’ve met anyone interesting here. I’m lonely. I have needs, you know?”
Corbin rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Are you insane? You’re given a completely new identity and you squander it because you can’t contain your hormones?”
“You think I’m just going to let this,” she gestured to her body, “go to waste? I’m young. I’m hot. I give amazing-”
“There are ways to meet men without putting your photo on the internet,” I said, cutting her off. “Go sit at a coffee shop with an intelligent book. Chat someone up at a grocery store.”
“You expect me to meet someone in a grocery store?” she asked disdainfully.
“No, but is that really the worst thing in the world?” I asked, studying her. “I’m willing to bet that Mario found you within a matter of hours of your profile going live. He’s never stopped looking for you. Surely you knew that. How could you have been so careless?”
Veronica shrugged and once again became fascinated with her nails. I sighed in frustration and turned to Carly for help. Carly stepped forward and placed a hand on Veronica’s arm. “Carmen is dead, Veronica,” she offered, as if hoping that would trigger a reaction, a confession, anything.
“She died because you needed to get laid, it sounds like,” Corbin snarled when Veronica said nothing. “And not only that, but an innocent woman is being punished for it. You’re the only one of us here that can fix this. Everyone thinks you’re gone or dead. I need you to fix it, Veronica. I need you to stop thinking about yourself for once in your life and fix something.”
Veronica raised her eyes to meet Corbin’s. “What do you want me to say, Tomas?” His first name rolled off her tongue, her beautiful accent giving it a strange feel. “That I’m not a good person? I know that. That I made a huge mistake? I’ve figured that out, too.”
“You were in the room with Carmen when she was killed,” Carly cried, snapping her fingers. The realization seemingly had come from nowhere and she looked at me eagerly, like a puppy that had conquered a new trick. “You said there were three sets of footprints when you picked up Rory and I, Marian. That all of the shoes were very clearly women’s shoes. Veronica was the other woman, weren’t you?”
I shook my head in disbelief, a chill running down the length of my spine. “But, given the blood patterns, that would mean…that…that…” I swallowed and looked to Carly and then Corbin, willing them to understand the words that I was too afraid to utter aloud. Could it be?
“It would mean that I killed her. Is that what you’re trying to say?” Veronica smiled at me sweetly. When our eyes met, I saw nothing but emptiness.
I didn’t answer but continued to stare, fearful but needing to know. Surely Veronica wouldn’t kill us in the conference room of her workspace. Plus, there were three of us, in addition to the handgun on Carly’s hip. I was pretty sure we could overpower her if it came down to it. “You sure are a judgmental lot,” she muttered. “I just told you that Carmen saved my life. Why would I kill her?”
I let out the breath I’d been holding in a loud whoosh. My gut begged that I believe her, and I allowed myself to do so. “If you weren’t the third woman, then who was?” Veronica shrugged, so I decided to ask a different question. “How does Mario fit into all of this?”
She immediately bit her bottom lip and turned away. After a few moments of silence, she said, “well, he found me here. After I put out that dating profile. Obviously.”
“He came to kill you,” Carly offered.
Veronica went to pull out one of the conference table chairs. She slumped into it, folding into herself and appearing incredibly childlike. My empathy won out and I found myself kneeling in front of her, grabbing for her hand and willing her to continue. “He called first. The main line, here at the office. He never said anything but I just knew it was him – and he knew it was me. I’m not sure how he found my profile given that I used my new name, nor how he tracked me down at work, but I can’t really say I’m surprised by it. I expected it a long time ago, actually. I was constantly looking over my shoulder when I would walk to my car.” She sniffed but didn’t wipe away the small pool of dribble that still managed to sneak out of her perfectly shaped nose. “I told Carmen as much just last month. She sent for me in her private plane. We vacationed down south on her yacht. She told me I was just being paranoid. She refused to move me again. I was angry, so I- I created the dating profile so he’d find me. I knew he would. She’d have to move me then. Somewhere that wasn’t-” she looked around the room sulkily, “here.”
Alllison Janda - Marian Moyer 03 - Scandal, Temptation & a Taste of Flan Page 15
