A Buried Past

by Alexandria Clarke

  It was a relief not to return to bed. A full twelve hours would pass before I had to bear the dark again, and by that time, I intended to be rid of my current anxieties. When Evelyn’s phone rang, her face paled as she spotted the number. This drew my head out of the past and plopped it firmly in the present.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “My boss.” She slid her finger across the screen, lifted the phone to her ear, and cleared her throat to get rid of her morning voice. When she spoke again, it was an authority I wasn’t used to hearing. “Good morning, sir. I’m well, thank you for asking.” Both her shoulders scrunched up as she listened to her boss speak. The stern set of her mouth indicated this was more than a checkup on her health. “I can come in today if you need me. I’m ready… No, my shoulder won’t be healed by then. Sir, I—yes, sir. I’ll be there.”

  I got the feeling her boss wasn’t big on goodbyes because she stared at the phone and waited for him to press the end call button before her. When the screen returned to the home page, she turned to me.

  “Change of plans,” she said. “I need to go to the office. The guy who wrecked my shoulder still won’t talk. They need me to review the footage of what happened, see if I can bring anything new to light.”

  When Evelyn dressed for work, she looked like one of the Men in Black. Black suit, white shirt, black tie. I eyed her from the passenger seat as she drummed her fingers against her thigh, unable to sit still. She caught me staring.

  “What?” she asked irritably.

  “Nothing. Is that the uniform?”

  “What are you talking about? We don’t have uniforms.”

  “Sorry, Agent E.”

  “Have you gone mad?”

  Evelyn directed me to an underground car park and got out before I had a chance to bring the vehicle to a complete stop. In her haste, she stumbled over the curb. She flung her arms out to regain her balance, but the brace kept her injured shoulder firmly in place. She wobbled on her feet. Luckily, I caught her before she took a nosedive into the concrete.

  “I know you’re not used to being dependent on someone, but I need you to slow down,” I said. I linked my arm through hers and set my weight, as if Evelyn was an impatient rottweiler at the end of a short leash. She liked to pull. “What’s got you so nervous? This is part of your job, right?”

  At my pace, we made our way across the car park to a pair of nondescript elevators. I saw no signs to tell us where we were or what companies resided in the building above.

  “There are two parts to this meeting,” Evelyn said. “First, like I told you, they want me to review the footage of the incident.”

  “And second?”

  “Second,” she went on, “they’ll want to discuss whether or not I performed well enough to remain with the company.”

  Indignance, on her behalf, raised my blood pressure. “They would fire you? For getting hurt?”

  “For not identifying the attacker soon enough,” she corrected. “For not reacting quickly. For letting him get the upper hand. For allowing him to come within a certain distance of my client. They could fire me for a number of reasons.”

  “But you caught the guy,” I argued. “Despite all that, you’re the one who brought the attacker in.”

  “I had no choice. If I’d let him go, I would have been fired for sure.” She bared her teeth in a grim smile. “Now I only might be fired.”

  We stepped into the elevator. Once again, there were no signs. Evelyn flashed a badge attached to her belt against a scanner and hit the button for level seven. Up we went.

  On the seventh floor, we entered a short gray hallway with a single locked door. Evelyn set her eye against a small device. It detected her motion, and a green line flashed across her face.

  “Retinal scanning?” I muttered. “Really? This place is hokey.”

  “Keep quiet,” Evelyn said. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  “Access granted,” chirped a computerized voice. “Please enter.”

  The door slid open, revealing a massive open-floor office. People bustled around, carried coffee, stuck pens behind their ears, and scribbled on tiny notepads like they would at any other place of business. The office itself was sleek and shiny. The walls and desks were white, but all the doors to private rooms were bright orange. Enormous windows allowed sunlight to stream inside; several employees lounged in leather chairs with computers perched in their laps. One woman even wore sunglasses. Across the way, I spotted an entire café, complete with its own barista and a display case of doughnuts and pastries.

  “Coffee’s free if you want it,” Evelyn said.

  I gaped at the gorgeous layout. “Can I work here?”

  She grinned. “I’d be happy to give you a recommendation. Come on, I need to find—”

  “Grey!” a curt voice shouted.

  Evelyn grimaced. “Not him.”

  A thin, weaselly man with furtive eyes and a sharp pointed nose approached us. He cast a long glance down at my worn boots, frayed jeans, and fuzzy sweater. “Who is this?”

  “She’s my fr—” Evelyn began.

  “Handler,” I finished quickly. “I’m her handler. It’s a therapy thing. Evelyn needs someone to make sure she doesn’t overexert herself.”

  The man’s hum of disbelief made his throat bob. “Regardless, you know the rules, Grey. No outsiders. I’ll have to report this.”

  “Alfred, you don’t work security,” Evelyn said, her lip curling up. “You don’t have the authority to boot her out.”

  Alfred shrugged. “I suppose I can find someone with the authority rather easily. In fact, there’s Charlie at the bar. Charlie!” He waved daintily toward the café, where a burly woman wearing all black nursed a cup of coffee like it was her life force. When she spotted Alfred, she rolled her eyes. He didn’t get the message. “Grey’s handler doesn’t have clearance!”

  That got everyone’s attention. Almost every pair of eyes looked up from what they were doing. Alfred looked pleased for half of a second, but when the applause broke out, it wiped the smirk from his face.

  “Welcome back, Ev!” someone called.

  “Glad you’re home!”

  “All right, mate?”

  As Evelyn greeted her coworkers with a timid smile and explained that she wasn’t back for good yet, I spotted a balding man with gray hair in a gray suit and a gray tie making his way toward us. The stern set of his eyebrows gave him away as Evelyn’s boss.

  “Grey!” he barked, and the crowd quieted at once. Everyone parted to let him through. He beckoned Evelyn forward and looked over her shoulder. “Does it hurt?”

  “It twinges, sir.”

  “Enough small talk. Get in my office.” He spotted me. “Who are you?”

  “Evelyn’s handler,” Alfred jumped in before I could answer. “I tried to remind her about the rules, sir, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “Get her out of here,” Evelyn’s boss barked. “And Alfred?”

  Alfred eagerly stepped forward. “Yes, sir?”

  “Quit kissing my arse.”

  Evelyn threw an apologetic look over her shoulder as her boss led her to his private office. Charlie took me by the elbow.

  “Let’s go, miss,” she said gruffly. “You’re not supposed to be up here.”

  Charlie escorted me to a second set of elevators on the opposite side of the room. A map of the building was pinned above the buttons, but I noticed the back entrance to Evelyn’s office wasn’t on it. We rode down to the ground floor, and Charlie ushered me out. The lobby appeared normal enough. The revolving door looked out onto the busy London street. People came and went without flashing badges. A sign on the wall welcomed visitors to the Wagner Company, however vague that was.

  “You can wait here,” Charlie said, pointing at a cushioned bench along the wall. “I’ll send Evelyn down when she’s finished with Rhys.”

  “Rhys is her boss?” I asked.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  I
lowered my voice. “Is there a chance she might lose her job today? Because I don’t think that’s fair. She’s incredibly dedicated to her responsibilities. I can vouch for her. This morning, I had a nightmare, but she thought someone was robbing the flat. You should have seen how quickly she jumped to her feet.”

  Charlie’s eyes drooped. If she didn’t return to her coffee soon, she might fall off her feet. “Miss whatever-your-name-is? It’s not my place to discuss this. I’m sure Evelyn will fill you in. Have a nice day.”

  When she was gone, I groaned and lowered myself onto the bench. All I could do was sit and wait for Evelyn to finish her meeting. Unfortunately, I had never perfected the art of patience.

  Within ten minutes, my brain threatened to jump out of my skull and escape into the street. I played a mindless game on my phone, twiddled my thumbs, and counted the tiles on the floor. Still, Evelyn did not appear.

  As I considered trying to hack the elevator to return to level seven, it opened. Out spilled a squat, sobbing woman and an irritated Alfred.

  “Right this way, Mrs. Lewis,” Alfred said, keeping his distance as the woman loudly blew her nose into her sleeve. “Please wait here while I locate your guard.”

  As Alfred hurried away, Mrs. Lewis plopped down next to me, still crying uncontrollably. I dug in my pocket for a packet of tissues and offered them to her.

  “Bless you, dear,” she said, using them to mop her face. “It’s been a trying day.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I replied. “Are you all right?”

  “Decidedly not.” She blew her nose again. “My son was murdered a few nights ago.” More tears leaked over her lashes, but she kept herself controlled. “The police have no idea who did it. Now they’re saying I need personal protection in case it was someone who had a grudge against our family.”

  The facts clicked into place for me. William Lewis—the medical student who’d been killed on Durward Street—was this woman’s son.

  “I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.” I scooted closer to her and offered my arm. “Can I give you a hug?”

  She nodded and fell against my shoulder, her frame wracked with fresh sobs. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  Genuine anguish filled my heart. “I lost someone too,” I told her. “I know what it’s like. The pain is unbearable, but it eventually gets better.”

  “D-does it?” she asked hopefully.

  “Well, not better, exactly,” I explained. “But in a few years, you won’t cry every time you think of your son. The mention of his name will bring a small, appreciative smile to your face rather than more tears. You’ll remember him for the beautiful things he brought to you while he was alive, and you won’t focus so much on the moment you heard he was taken away from you.”

  Mrs. Lewis quieted, her tears stalling. “You’re very kind. Have you made peace with your loss?”

  I hoped she didn’t feel me tense beneath her. “In a way. The person who attacked my mother was never identified. I had to get over the fact that there was no one to blame for her death.” I failed to mention that I had not gotten over that at all. “People need closure for their grief.”

  “What if the police don’t find the killer?” Mrs. Lewis sniffled. “I might not be as strong as you.”

  “You are,” I assured you. “But just in case, why don’t I give you my business card? I’m a private investigator. If the police keep you in the dark, feel free to give me a call.”

  She lifted her head from my shoulder. “I’ll do that, honey. Thank you for everything. I’m Linda, by the way.”

  “Jacqueline. And it’s my pleasure—” Over Linda’s head, I spotted Evelyn outside the elevators, crossing her arms and glaring at me. “If you’ll excuse me, Linda, I’m on my way out.”

  Evelyn didn’t say anything the whole ride back to the car park or on the drive home. When I asked her how her meeting with Rhys went, she harrumphed and stared out the window. She maintained the silent treatment until we returned to the flat. As I made a beeline for the bathroom—too much complimentary coffee and water in the Wagner Company’s lobby—she cornered me.

  “You can’t leave well enough alone, can you?” she demanded. “Don’t you think Linda Lewis has enough going without you prying into her personal life?”

  “So it’s true?” I asked. “Your company is handling her protection services? Do they really think someone might be trying to hurt her?”

  “Stop asking questions!” She groaned and squeezed her temple as if I was giving her a headache. “Why can’t you stay out of it? Why is it impossible for you to mind your own business?”

  “You’re the one who brought me there,” I reminded her. “I didn’t ask Linda for any information. I only offered her comfort.”

  “And your business card.”

  “Just in case.”

  “You know what?” She stormed past me and into the bathroom. “I was going to ask if you wanted company in Windsor, but forget about it. You can handle your past on your own.”

  She slammed the door in my face. I hammered my fist against it.

  “What?”

  “I have to pee.”

  I frowned all the way to Windsor. Why couldn’t Evelyn cut me some slack? She hadn’t always been this enormously grumpy. I’d attributed her terrible mood swings to her injury, but I was starting to suspect something else was going on with her. Whatever it was, she refused to share it with me. All I could do was wait her out.

  As the city streets faded behind me and the countryside appeared before me, a familiar sense of longing settled in my chest. I spent half of my childhood in Windsor, riding horses, taking piano lessons, and eating scones. Of the three, I only continued to nurse my talent in scone-eating. I passed Virginia Water Lake, where my mother and I had dallied away the weekends. My nightmare from the previous night crept up again, but I chased it away with fond memories of better times.

  Nadine had invited me to a familiar café in town. She had already grabbed a table and saved a seat for me. When she spotted me outside, she waved me over.

  “Glad you made it,” she said, kissing both cheeks. “Tea or coffee? Care to share a treat?”

  “Tea, please.” Mom had favored tea. “And a scone with jam and clotted cream.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Minutes later, Nadine returned to our table, balancing a teacup in each hand and a plate on her wrist. Somehow, she set them all down without dropping anything.

  “Well?” she prompted right away. “How have you been?”

  I filled her in on my life since I’d seen her last, leaving out the less savory bits. Regrettably, the unsavory bits made up quite a large portion of my life. I quickly ran out of things to say about it and relied heavily on anecdotes of my recent days with Evelyn.

  “What do you do for work?” Nadine asked.

  I stirred another clump of sugar into my tea, though it was sweet enough already. “I have an online presence. I guess you could say I’m an influencer.”

  Nadine chuckled. “It’s astounding you kids can make money that way. Such a strange business. Tell me, how do you keep your customers happy? What do you post about? Better yet—” She whipped out her phone. “What’s the web address?”

  “My website’s down,” I blurted out. “The server crashed, and I haven’t had time to fix it since I started helping Evelyn.”

  Nadine pouted but put her phone away. “So you never made it to university, eh? Bet I could change your mind.”

  I grasped at the subject change. “I’m sure you could. Fancy Oxford professor and all that. When you first started babysitting me, you were still a graduate student. How did you work your way up?”

  “The traditional way,” she replied. “Schmoozing my superiors.” We laughed, then she added, “In all seriousness, I put in hours of hard work. It took years for the older professors to respect me as a woman in their field, especially after—” Like yesterday in the library, she cut herself off and glanced at me with
wary eyes.

  “You can talk about my mother,” I told her. “I won’t combust or anything.”

  Nadine’s eyes crinkled. “When I saw you at the library yesterday, I thought you were her. I thought you were a damned ghost.” She tilted her head, observing me. “You look more like your father up close. You have his nose.”

  I thought of my father’s wide septum. “Not sure that’s a good thing.”

  She burst into laughter, but it faded quickly. “Running into you felt a bit like a sign, Jack. I’m holding a party tomorrow. Not a party,” she rectified. “More of a celebration. It’s been ten years since we lost your mother, but those of us who remember her haven’t quite recovered. I thought it was about time we got together as a whole and celebrated the light she brought into our lives.” She clasped my hand. “I would be honored if you came.”

  7

  “Are you going to go?”

  Begrudging curiosity made Evelyn drop the silent treatment she’d been giving me. That, and I ignored her silence entirely, chatting to her as I normally would and interpreting the spaces in the conversation however I wanted. When I mentioned Nadine’s celebration of my mother’s life, Evelyn couldn’t help but ask the question that must have lingered on the tip of her tongue.

  “I don’t know,” I said. Secretly, I enjoyed the wave of relief that washed over me when Evelyn spoke again. Though I wouldn’t admit it, I hated when she was angry at me. “I feel like I should. I’m her only daughter.”

  “Who’s going to be there?” Evelyn asked. “Where is it?”

  “Nadine gave me an address in Windsor,” I answered. “It’s close to my mom’s old house.”