Pulling on her thickest gloves, she brought the box into the bathroom and opened the toilet lid. Cautiously lifting the lid to the box, she almost gagged at the sight of the black widows; their legs stretching like hands reaching out from a grave. As she turned the box over, two spilled onto the floor. She jumped back and pressed her back against the wall, never taking her eyes off the creatures. There were several spiders swimming around the toilet bowl and she was afraid they would somehow climb out before she could get the other two.
Standing on her tiptoes, she reached out toward the flushing lever, almost losing her balance, but regained it and quickly pressed the handle. She watched them swirl down to a place where she would never see them again. Then she bit her lip as she tried to figure out how to get the two escapees into the toilet without touching them. She was afraid if she left the bathroom to get a cup or something, they would scurry out of the bathroom and hide somewhere she wouldn't be able to find them.
Even though that was a remote possibility, she hesitated nevertheless, then turned and dashed to the kitchen, grabbed a clear plastic cup and a large lid and ran back to the bathroom. Both spiders were still there, seemingly watching her. She bent to put the cup next to them on the floor. The shrill ringing of the phone made her flinch and she nearly lost her balance again. The phone continued ringing. She wanted to dispose of the spiders before she did anything else, so she let the machine get the call.
Bending down again, she set the cup next to the spiders. They didn't go in it. She moved it closer to them and shuddered as the cup bumped against one of them. It slowly moved into the cup. She bumped the cup against the other spider and it, too, crawled in. She waited as the creatures crept to the far end of the cup. Covering the opening with the lid, she carefully tipped it over, dumping the spiders into the water. She shuddered once more as she flushed them down the toilet.
Pulling off her gloves, she almost threw them in the trash, until she remembered how much they cost. She put them away instead. As she threw the empty box into the trash she felt resolve surge through her. She wouldn't let a box of creepy spiders stop her from finding out the truth.
I'll just have to be more careful about opening up strange packages, she thought, shuddering.
Realizing the reporters might have seen who had put them on her porch, Stacey decided to ask them. Pulling open her front door, she walked slowly onto her driveway. Some of the reporters looked her way as she walked toward them, their interest suddenly piqued.
Stacey knew she would have to be careful in how she handled them; she didn't want them to become too curious. She didn't have to worry about their willingness to talk to her though. The other reporters, who had been milling about, saw something was going on and they gathered around Stacey.
She cleared her throat. “I was wondering if anyone saw someone dropping a package off at my house a little while ago?” She looked at them expectantly. The reporters looked at each other and shook their heads. One shouted out, “Can you tell us anything new about Kyle Stone?”
Stacey shook her head, knowing they weren't going to be able to help her after all. She muttered, “Sorry,” and went back into her house.
As interested as the reporters to know if anything new had happened, she knew she would need to talk to Amanda to find out. She looked out the front window and saw Amanda's car in the driveway.
I wonder where she was earlier? And if Mark sent me those lovely spiders, then he knows I'm on to him. How will he behave when I'm in his home?
Wanting to avoid the reporters, she almost didn't go over to see Amanda, but she didn't want to tie up their phone in case Kyle called again. After a few minutes the need to know what was going on overcame her feelings of reticence toward the reporters. The reporters surrounded her once again. “Did Mrs. Stone call you to come over? Has something happened?”
Stacey ignored them as she walked to the front door. Mark answered her knock, greeted her normally and invited her in.
That's strange, Stacey thought. Maybe he doesn't know I'm on to him. Maybe Deanna sent the spiders to me on her own. But how would she know who I am? I gave her a false name.
“Hi, Stacey,” Amanda said. Her hair and make-up were done and her clothes looked freshly pressed.
“You're looking much better, Amanda.” Stacey followed Amanda into the living room. “Have you heard anything more from them?” She asked, avoiding the word “kidnappers.” She didn't want to do anything to spoil Amanda's apparent good cheer.
Amanda blinked rapidly. “No, we haven't.”
Stacey bit her lip. “I noticed your car wasn't in the driveway earlier. You were finally able to get out?”
Amanda's eyes were unnaturally bright. It seemed to Stacey that she was just barely holding on to her sanity. “This morning I made a trip to my bank.” Amanda paused and Stacey let this information sink in.
When Amanda didn't continue, Stacey had to prompt her. “What did you do at your bank?”
Amanda's eyes seemed to refocus on Stacey. “Oh. I was picking up the ransom money.”
Stacey was a bit taken aback at the information. It made the situation seem much more real. “Have you been told where to take it?”
Amanda glanced into the other room and pursed her lips. “I probably shouldn't be telling you this but the FBI wants us to wait another day before we deliver the money. They don't want to start a precedence of paying off people who extort.” Amanda seemed upset by this.
“Does Mark agree with the FBI?”
A maniacal laugh bubbled out of her mouth. “He's furious with them. He wanted the money delivered two days ago.”
Really? Stacey thought. Instead she said, “I'm sure he just wants Kyle back as soon as possible.”
Amanda's head tipped to one side and her eyes opened wide again. “So do I! In fact I told them that after tomorrow I'm not going to wait one more day.” Her barely held together composure began to slip. “I don't care about the money. I just want my son back.” Red splotches appeared on her face and tears filled her eyes.
Mark marched in. “What's wrong now, Amanda?”
Amanda looked down at her hands, completely ignoring him. He turned toward Stacey. “Maybe you should go now. I don't think she's in any condition to have company.”
Stacey looked at Amanda, waiting for her to say something. When she just sat there, ignoring her husband’s remarks, Stacey stood and walked toward the door before turning back toward her friend. “Please, Amanda. Call me if you need to talk.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Saddened by what Amanda and Mark were experiencing, Stacey felt engulfed by despair. As she walked through her front door she hoped the authorities would catch the kidnapper soon. Then, as she considered Jason being the chief suspect, fresh worry coursed through her.
I don’t think I can take this much longer, she thought.
Trying to push her worries aside, she went into the office to see if she had any messages. The flashing light indicated one call had come in. Stacey hit the play button and listened as Patricia asked Stacey to call back. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Stacey picked up the phone and dialed Patricia's number, then frowned as she waited for Patricia to answer.
“How’s your friend?” Patricia asked after saying hello.
Surprised to know she cared, Stacey said, “She seems to be doing okay, under the circumstances.”
“Have they heard anything more from the kidnappers?”
Stacey knew better than to tell anyone Amanda had just picked up the money. “I can't really say.”
“Oh. I understand. The FBI probably told you not to say anything, right?”
“Right. They don't want the media to get a hold of it.”
“That's a good idea,” she paused. “But you can tell me.” A pleading tone came into her voice. “I promise I won't tell anyone.”
“I'm sorry, Patricia. I really can't. Now, what was it you needed?”
“I was calling to remind you about the Beautiful Y
ou meeting at eleven-thirty this morning.”
Stacey pressed a finger to the spot between her eyes and tried to hold back another sigh. That was in less than an hour. “This really isn't a good time for me to be going to one of those.”
“Now, now, Stacey,” she scolded. “You know these are only held once a quarter.” Her voice took on a cajoling tone. “Besides, it'll be fun. I'm sure you'll meet some new colleagues.”
Patricia's tone grated on Stacey as she tried to think of an excuse, but her mind only drew a blank.
“So, will I see you there?” Patricia asked.
Maybe I can go for a little while then sneak out, she thought. She tried to make her voice sound happy. “Yes, I guess you will.”
After hanging up the phone she looked in her Beautiful You papers and found the invitation to the quarterly meeting. She knew these meetings were important to attend and she certainly couldn’t afford to miss out. The money she made as a skin care consultant had become a needed part of their income.
Resigned to attending, she fixed her hair and made sure to apply all her make-up, including the foundation, which she usually didn't like to wear. She didn't want the other consultants to think she didn't know how to use the stuff.
* * *
Pulling into the parking lot and seeing it was nearly full, she smiled. She knew the more crowded it was, the easier it would be for her to sneak out.
I'll just sit in the back so I can leave without notice, she reminded herself.
The sound of many women talking at once hit her first. Then the warmth of the room surrounded her and she was glad she had worn a short-sleeved blouse. Glancing around to see if there were any faces she recognized, she was pleased to see Erica, one of the few friends she'd made at Beautiful You. She went over to say hello.
“Oh, Stacey. I was wondering if I'd see you here.”
A small frown on her lips, Stacey said, “I didn't really want to come, but Patricia pressured me into coming.”
At the mention of Patricia's name, Erica shook her head. “I know what you mean. She can be pretty pushy. And it seems like she's been even more annoying ever since her husband left her.”
“That must've been what she was talking about,” Stacey said, understanding dawning.
“What?” Erica asked.
Stacey told her about the lunch conversation she'd had with Patricia earlier that week.
“Yeah. That would be it.”
“How long ago did this happen anyway?” Stacey asked.
“About four months ago, I think,” Erica said. “You know, sometimes I feel sorry for her. You know why he left don't you?”
“No,” Stacey said, suddenly intrigued. “Why?”
“Apparently he really wanted children but Patricia wasn't too excited about the idea. Then she started having major female problems and ended up having a hysterectomy. Her husband left in the middle of everything.”
“I didn't know that! How'd you find all this out?”
“One of the other ladies told me. Someone who's been in this business a lot longer than we have. She said Patricia used to be this really hot saleswoman. But ever since her husband left her. . .” Erica let her sentence trail off.
“Hmmm. I guess you never really know a person.” Stacey paused. “Hey, it was great talking to you, but I'm not planning on sticking around long. I'm going to find a place in back to sit so I can sneak out.”
Sitting as far back as she could without looking completely anti-social, Stacey tried to relax as she waited for things to begin. After only a few minutes she felt a tap on her shoulder and looked up to see Patricia standing there with a broad smile on her face.
“I'm so glad you could make it, Stacey.”
“I didn't feel like I had much choice.”
Patricia disregarded the remark and looked over her shoulder at a woman standing there. Stacey hadn't noticed her at first but took a closer look.
Of average height and not what you'd call a typical beauty consultant, she looked like she could use a little consulting herself. Brown hair hung limply around her cherubic face. Across her lips was a pale streak of lipstick and the eye shadow on her plump eyelids had gone out of fashion years, if not decades, before.
Patricia turned back to Stacey. “This is Michelle. She's a new beauty consultant. I was hoping you could help her along today. You know, introduce her around and such.”
Stacey's smile froze on her face as Patricia sashayed away.
I don't have time for this, she thought. How can I leave early if I'm saddled with this poor woman? Or was that Patricia's plan so she could go bother my husband? Fury welled up at the notion and Stacey tamped it down as Michelle sat next to her on a gray folding chair.
She looked shyly at Stacey. “Thanks for helping me out.” She glanced around the room nervously. “This is all so confusing.”
Feeling pity for her, Stacey tried to be friendly. “I'll help if I can.” She checked to make sure Patricia wasn't within earshot, but couldn't see her anywhere. “Actually, I have to leave early so I don't know how much help I'll be.” She gave her an apologetic smile.
The woman's face showed faint signs of desperation. “Oh. That's okay. I. . . I might leave early, too.” Tears pooled in the woman's eyes.
Guilt at leaving early filled Stacey, but she pushed it away, knowing she could only do so much.
“I don't know what I'm doing here anyway. It was all my husband's idea for me to do this.”
Stacey grabbed her purse and pulled out a tissue.
Michelle dabbed at her nose with the tissue and gave Stacey a pleading look. “I told him I'm no saleswoman but he insisted.” Looking over her shoulder with what Stacey could only classify as a look of fear, she went on. “Then that woman, Patricia, showed up at our house.”
Stacey was puzzled. Why would this woman be afraid of Patricia? Yes, Stacey had had a bad feeling about her too, lately. But that was because of what had happened with Jason. She forced herself to concentrate on what Michelle was saying.
“. . . had told her to come over and teach me about this make-up business.”
“Wait. Who told who to come over?” Stacey asked.
“My husband told Patricia to come over.”
“Why would he do that?” Stacey asked, thinking that was an odd thing for a husband to do.
“He thought it would be good for me to try something new.” She looked down at her hands as if she had done something wrong. “You see, I haven't found the right career.”
“You're not working now then?”
An embarrassed smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “No. That's why Gary thought it would be good for me to do this.” She glanced down at her hands again. “I don't really have any marketable skills.”
Stacey felt sorry for Michelle and was about to say something when Michelle muttered under her breath, “If Gary hadn’t gone to that dumb health club, he never would have met Patricia in the first place.”
Stacey sat up straighter. “What health club would that be?”
Michelle's face brightened at Stacey's sudden interest in her problems. “Valley Health Club.”
Stacey's eyes narrowed. “How long has your husband been going there?”
“He joined a few months ago.” She began laughing. “Personally, I think it's a big waste of money. He's still as chubby as ever.” Her laughter subsided. “Of course it doesn't help that he's at the school all day, sitting on his big rear end.”
Surprised, Stacey asked, “Is your husband a teacher?”
Michelle's eyebrows drew together at Stacey's urgent tone. “Yeah, he teaches math.”
“What's your last name, Michelle?”
“Tomlison. Why?”
“I was just wondering,” she said. In her mind's eye she saw a short man with bushy eyebrows and a jagged scar over his right eye, his finger pointed at her and cocked like a gun.
Isn't this a small world? She thought. But I'm sure it's just a coincidence Patricia knows Gary
Tomlison. After all, lots of people go to that health club. But it is a little strange that Gary would encourage his wife to get into an endeavor in which she doesn’t seem suited.
Stacey glanced at Michelle. Maybe Gary thinks being a beauty consultant will help his wife improve her make-up style, she thought. Or maybe they need the money. I know how that can be. She said she didn't have any marketable skills. Maybe Gary thought this was a way for her to earn money while she learned. I mean, all you have to do to start in this business is pay a little cash and you're ready to go. You can't exactly get fired.
Maybe I can talk to Gary Tomlison again and see if he can tell me anything more, she thought. Maybe he knows something about Deanna Everett's background.
After an hour and a half of sitting through meetings with Michelle glued to her side, it was time for lunch. Stacey introduced Michelle to some of the other consultants before taking her aside.
“I’ve got to get going now, but I think you’ll do fine,” Stacey said.
“Thanks for your help,” Michelle said. “Do you mind if we exchange phone numbers and addresses? I’d like to be able to get in touch with you if I have a question.”
“Sure.”
They exchanged the information, then Stacey patted her shoulder. “You’re going to be a great consultant.”
“Thank you. I’m excited about it.”
As Stacey walked out to her car, she hoped she was right. Michelle had seemed like such a nice person, she wanted her to succeed.
A short time later, Stacey cruised into the faculty parking lot at the high school and walked briskly onto the campus, stopping a boy who was walking by and asking him where Mr. Tomlison's classroom was.
Following his directions, she found it without much difficulty. Cracking the door open, she saw him sitting at his desk while the students worked on something. He looked up at the sound of the door opening and a spark of recognition lit his eyes. He immediately came to the door and stepped outside.
“Do you remember me?” she asked.
Suspicions: a novel of suspense Page 12
