Find Me

by Tory Jane

  He digs through it and hands me a pill and my cigarettes.

  “I quit smoking. I hadn't bought a pack of cigarettes in five years. The day my mother admitted she hid your letters? I walked to the lobby bar, bought a pack, and two shots of tequila. Look at me. It's as if I never quit. Nasty habit.”

  He takes two and lights one for each of us. “Don’t worry about that right now. You’ll quit again.”

  I watch two officers enter my house with guns drawn. Another officer is patrolling the grounds. He too has a gun. I hate guns. Now I want my hands wrapped around one. A woman is collecting evidence, dusting for fingerprints and taking photographs. One of the officers inside calls for her. If there is a fucking bunny boiling on the stove, I’m done.

  Mr. Cliff is talking to a fifth man. A plain-clothes’ detective? Any moment, they will walk this way and he will want a statement from me.

  “I don’t see elegant Sofia doing this. Can you imagine her getting her hands dirty? It was Cecelia. Maybe they worked together. After my “makeover,” I told her about meeting Sofia. I told her what Sofia said. I wasn't bella. I am an ugly bitch. I didn’t tell her everything, but I told her that part. And she could have taken my keys and my phone and made a copy of the key to my house?” My voice is hushed and musing.

  Frasier and the man approach us. He sits next to me on the wall. He has beautiful, kind eyes. “Annabelle, I am Detective Cooke. Are you okay?”

  His question brings tears to my eyes. Tears trickle down my face. I swipe at my face. I must be a mess. “I’m sorry. Thank you. You’re the first person to ask me that.” I see Jack wince.

  “I’m not hurt, but I’m not okay. I feel like I woke up in a crime series that happens to be about my life. I’m watching these officers with guns drawn searching the house and property. It doesn’t feel real, yet. Why would anyone want to hurt me? I’m nobody.

  “I’m worried about my boutique on Society Street. Will you please arrange to have someone check on it?”

  “Annabelle, I'm sorry this has happened. Mr. Cliff told me about your shop, and we've sent officers to investigate. I don't have any information for you, yet.”

  “What does it look like inside? Is there a bunny boiling on the stove?”

  My question shocks him, and then he gets the reference and smiles and pats my knee. “No. Definitely no bunnies. I’ll have an officer come talk to you after they’ve conducted a thorough search.”

  “May I have some water? A beer? Whiskey?”

  He smiles and he is handsome and warm. I could fall in love with his kindness. I want to curl up in his lap and have him cuddle me and soothe me.

  I shake my head, remembering why he's here and how I must look in my pajamas, Uggs, and tear-stained face. Oh yeah, and the man sitting on my other side.

  He calls out to the female officer. “Will you please go inside and get Ms. Tucker some water or a beer?”

  “Bless you. You’re very good at this. Calming a crazy woman down.”

  “This would be upsetting and frightening to anyone and you’re handling yourself remarkably well. From the looks of things around here, you're not the crazy woman. You were smart to leave and get help. I understand that someone was in the house when you first arrived. You could have been hurt.”

  “I knew not to touch anything and my instincts told me not to go in the house. I didn’t realize anyone was inside until I returned and saw the additional damage.”

  “Are you ready to talk about what’s been going on? Jack?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Please feel free to add any information you feel is relevant. As I understand it, this may involve an ex-girlfriend?”

  “Of course. I’m thinking through everything. I’m afraid my focus has been on my son and his mother’s sudden reappearance. Belle has thought it through and has the most logical theory.”

  “Jack, I know you’re concerned about Charlie. I am, too. Do you need to go home and be with him? I’ll be fine with Detective Cooke.”

  He looks around at the destruction and shudders. He clasps my hand. “Absolutely not. I’m not leaving. I need to be here with you.”

  The female officer brings two beers. “Thank you, ma’am.” I take a swig and turn back to Detective Cooke, “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  He chuckles and shakes his head.

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  I sift through the last several days. I don’t want to point my finger at anyone. Just the facts, ma’am. I try not to speculate or offer any opinion. As much as I thought I wanted to play private detective, I realize the recent events have now made that impossible. I’m a shop owner. This is all above my pay grade.

  “My initial thought was this involved Jack’s baby mama, Sofia. She called me an “ugly bitch.” In Italian, it sounds nicer. I don’t see her being involved in something like this. She’s elegant, chic and has ice in her veins. This is personal and dirty. I don’t see her getting her hands dirty.

  “The more I think about it, the more I think this involves my employee, Cecelia Sharpe. I told her today about meeting Sofia. She knows Sofia called me an ugly bitch. Nonetheless, I do think Sofia and Cecelia are connected.”

  I start with Christmas night, the first night Sofia showed up at the Cliffs’ house. Then walk him through the timeline of weirdness over the past few days, the isolation, the issues with my phone, and interference with my shop.

  “Where is your phone now?”

  “Mr. Cliff has it. He was going to arrange for his IT people to look at it. That was before all of this happened,” I wave my arms around the destruction that surrounds me.

  “I sent my mother a text around 9:00 p.m. and told her I was on my way over. We walked to the Cliff’s. When he looked at it, he noticed that all of my outgoing and incoming messages, and phone calls had been forwarded to a phone number I didn’t recognize. Cecelia is the only person I can think of who would have had access to my phone.

  “I’ve been trying to understand her motivation. This feels personal. I’m afraid it may have been because of some advice I gave her. I shouldn’t have interfered. This is my own fault. I was trying to help.”

  “Annabelle, this is not your fault. You were trusting. That doesn’t mean you deserve damage to your finances or vandalism of your home.

  “Why do you think it became personal with Cecelia?”

  I tell him about my conversations with her and the advice I gave her about taking risks and waiting to get married. How she came in the 26th engaged, but depressed.

  “On Christmas, her boyfriend Mark proposed in front of their families. She felt pressured to accept, but she wasn’t happy about it. We had a long talk about it. I thought I was helping. Our discussion was, um, personal.”

  “What do you mean? Is he abusive?”

  “My instincts tell me that he is, but she denied anything specific like that. Huh. No, she didn't deny it. It was more like she ignored my questions. I asked her if she was safe and whether he was physical. She dismissed me. Told me she could defend herself. She also told me far more than I wanted to know about their sex life. She was unfulfilled. He liked it rough. He’d be rougher if she asked for anything. He’d get angry.”

  This conversation embarrasses me. I swallow some of my beer and light a cigarette. “I don’t know. Maybe it is the norm, but I thought it sounded aggressive.” I mutter, “He’s all about blowjobs and anal sex. It turned him on to make her gag. Then his anger? The way she described him, he sounds controlling and abusive.”

  Detective Cooke looks vaguely disgusted. “Do you think I overreacted?”

  “No.” He is firm and direct. “Not at all. Those are indications of an abusive relationship. Especially because it doesn’t sound consensual.”

  “Yeah, I thought so. I gave her ‘the talk’ about self-respect, knowing who she was and what she wanted. I suggested she talk with her mother or go to pre-marital counseling. She admitted she felt trapped and didn't know how to get out of the situation. Her mo
ther was already planning the wedding.

  “There is something else. Maybe men don’t notice these things, but she commented that she didn’t like the way he smelled and that he tasted bad. He also, uh, has difficulty become erect and maintaining an erection. He’s twenty-two. That should not be an issue.”

  Both Detective Cooke and Jack try to hide smiles and shake their heads, “no.”

  “Based on past experience with assholes, it made me think he uses drugs. I asked her directly. She was rude and dismissive. She told me that everyone did drugs and it was no big deal. The other day, she cried to me again and I hugged her. She had an odd scent, like burnt chemicals. Are these rich, entitled kids using hard-core drugs, and not just smoking weed? Am I that old?”

  “You'd be surprised. Drug use is everywhere, and no, not just smoking a little weed. They love Adderall and meth. It keeps them up for days. And the girls use it as a diet drug.” He shakes his head. “So what happened next?”

  “From that point on, her behavior was erratic. There was a moment when I looked at her and it was as if she had forgotten to put her mask on and I saw her. Cold, dead eyes. I wanted her gone. She was sullen, made snide comments. I would catch her glaring at me. After that day, we were so slow, I cut her hours dramatically. She only worked a few hours over the last couple of days.”

  “What does Cecelia look like? Is she tall? Strong? Look at those window boxes and the planter. Could Cecelia lift them and smash them on the ground?”

  “She's a College of Charleston girl. You know the type. Blonde, beautiful, tall, skinny, but athletic. Young, perfect body.” I roll my eyes. “I guess if she was in an Incredible Hulk rage she could. Or if she used a hammer.”

  “Or if she had help?” he raises his eyebrows in question.

  I swig my beer. “Yes, if she had help. Like from a controlling fiancé?”

  “Thank you, Annabelle. You've been very helpful. You've had a rough couple of days. You're a strong woman.”

  “Thank you. Detective, would it be possible for me to go inside and get some clothes and toiletries? I think I’d feel stronger if I wasn’t wearing pink flannel pjs. I also need to find out if anything has happened at the boutique.”

  “I understand. I’ll go find out some information for you.

  ***

  It is 2:00 in the morning. I am exhausted and still waiting for information. They won't let me inside the house. What happened in there? I know it is terrible. Officers wouldn't be in there for two hours and carrying out evidence bags if it was nothing.

  The female officer brings me another beer, and I sit, wait, smoke, and fume. I look around and realize Jack and Frasier are gone. Did he go home?

  I should put in my nose ring and go make-out with Detective Cooke. He is hot and built, with the kindest eyes.

  As I’m daydreaming about him, he approaches me. He speaks slowly and gently. “Annabelle. I’m afraid I have some bad news. As you suspected, whoever did this also vandalized the boutique. The police have processed and secured the scene. Would you like me to take you to see it?”

  This is worse than a boiling bunny. I whisper, “Yes, please. How bad is it?”

  The kindness leaves his eyes for a moment. I catch a glimpse of anger. When he looks back at me, the gentleness returns. “From what I understand, you need to be prepared. It’s bad. Maybe you should get some rest and go in the morning?”

  “Fuck that. We’re going.”

  “I think someone should come with you.”

  “Do you know where Jack is?”

  “No, I'm sorry. I haven't seen him. He and Frasier may have gone home.”

  “He left me?” The tears finally come. I kneel on the ground and sob. My home? My boutique? Jack? Everything is gone. I have nothing. I need Julia and Wallace.

  A hand on my shoulder startles me. Someone is kneeling next to me. “Come on, my Bella Belle. Love, I'm here. We'll do this together. I left to get my car and check in at home.”

  He scoops me up and carries me to his car. “We’ll meet you there, Detective Cooke. Thank you.”

  “Is Charlie okay?”

  “Yes, Belle. He's fine. Don't worry. Let me take care of you.”

  I cling to him and let him take control.

  ***

  We arrive at the boutique within minutes. The street is jammed with police cars and fire trucks and the road is blocked. I look to Jack, panicked. He looks furious.

  We pull up behind a police car and jump out of the car. I run to the boutique. Yellow police tape surrounds it. My beloved shop is a crime scene.

  “Whoa. Whoa. Stop right there.”

  Detective Cooke is right behind us. “Let them through. This is Annabelle Tucker and Jack Cliff, Frasier Cliff’s son. This is her shop.”

  The officer lifts up the tape for us. “Ma'am, Mr. Cliff. Excuse me. My name is Officer Ward. Please let me escort you. I'll warn you, it's not pretty. You’ve had a rough night. I know you’re exhausted. Are you ready for this?”

  I take a deep breath, steel my spine, and nod. Jack takes my hand.

  The display windows are shattered. Someone has chopped the mannequins into pieces. We walk in and there is glass everywhere. As at my house, they have spray-painted the walls. “Ugly Bitch” and “You deserve this.” What does that mean?

  Fury left a path of destruction. Someone piled the clothes in the middle of the floor and tried to set fire to them. Fortunately, the fire did not catch, but it scorched the beautiful wood floors. They smashed the register, ransacked the office, stole the laptop, and spray-painted every wall.

  The officer leads me back to the storeroom. The back door is wide open. With all the cardboard boxes, the fire gained traction here. My entire inventory. What the fire didn't destroy, the water from the fire trucks did.

  It’s all gone.

  “I don’t understand. I have an alarm system, with a fire detection program included. I have security cameras.”

  “They all appear to have been disabled.” Cecelia knows the code. He continues, “We arrived before the entire building went up in flames. He must have heard the sirens and run out before he could successfully start the fire in the front.”

  “He?”

  “Yes, a witness spotted a young man running down the street.” He pauses. “There’s something else. Do you know a young woman named Cecelia Sharpe?”

  “Yes, she was an employee for the holiday season. She had keys to the building and knew the alarm code. Was she part of this?”

  “We found her badly beaten here in the storeroom. He left her in here. If he hadn’t left the back door open when he ran out, or if we hadn’t arrived in time, she may not have made it. She is at the Medical University. The doctors expect she’ll be fine. We have an officer there ready to take her statement as soon as the doctors allow it.”

  “Is she a suspect or a victim? The man who beat her. It may be her fiancé. His name is Mark. I’m sorry. I don’t know his last name. Her parents will know.”

  “Why do you think it was him?”

  “It’s a guess, based on my conversations with her. Detective Cooke has my statement.

  “I’m sorry, Officer. May I leave now? This is too much.”

  “Of course, Ms. Tucker. What is your contact information? We can keep you updated.”

  I give him my mother’s mobile phone number.

  Jack interjects. “Here is my contact information as well. She’ll be with me.”

  A sudden thought hits me. I blurt out, “The safe!” I run to the office and pull the rug aside. They ransacked the room looking for this. Thank god, I never showed Cecelia. Under the rug is a safe built into the floor. This was one of my favorite features of the shop. The combination is my baby’s birthday.

  I open it and find the contents undisturbed. My insurance information, my rental agreement, bank records, deposit receipts, and a money pouch with about $20,000 in it. I start scooping everything up.

  “Hang on, Ms. Tucker. We need to document everythin
g.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” I place it all back into the safe. “Will you please hurry? I need to get out of here.”

  “Yes, I understand. Stay here for a moment, and I'll grab another officer.”

  He leaves the room, and I sag into Jack. “Thank god there is something left. This is horrific, but I can rebuild. I can start over.”

  He kisses the top of my head. “Belle? Let me do it. I know it looks bad, but it’s salvageable. Ben and I can work together on the design and the construction. The badass floor safe will remain.”

  “Can I trust you, Jack? This is my livelihood. If you make a commitment to this project, you can’t walk away. I need to be able to rely on you.”

  His first reaction is anger. I see his nostrils flare. Then there is sadness. “When I listened to you talk with Detective Cooke, I realized how blind I've been. I haven't been fair to you. I’ve expected you to understand and accept my life and once again, I haven't been here for you. I know you didn’t run from me. You need to understand the same. I was reaching out to you. We were both victims of her attempt to separate us. Please do not question my commitment. I promised you that you could trust me. You can. I am not giving up.”

  “Thank you. I haven’t given up, either. Thank you for the offer.” I smile, “I hear you two are the best in town. I’m sorry to question you. I’m exhausted. We still have to go back to my house and see what I need to do there. This isn’t close to being over. Are we in this together?”

  He leans down and kisses me fiercely. “We are. All the way.” He holds me and kisses my face and neck. “Do me a favor?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Put your nose ring back in? Be my Bella Belle. Be you. I love you and there is no one in the world like you. Always be true to yourself. I’ve never wanted you to change.”

  I kiss him back. I wrap myself around him and clutch at him.

  Two officers walk in and cough discreetly. I unwind myself from Jack.

  “Excuse us. Jack, will you please stay and observe. I’m going to step outside for a moment.”

  He smiles. “Of course. You need a break from this.”

  ***

  We have one final thing to do that I’m dreading. We have to return to my house. My refuge. My fairy tale cottage version 2.0.