The Women on Retford Drive, page 17
part #1 of Dancing Hills Series
“Sorry about that little cliffhanger, but like I said, everybody wants a ticket from my store. You should buy one before you leave.” He hands me a lottery form, and I wave it away.
“No, thank you. You were about to describe the woman who was looking at my husband’s license plate.”
“Right. She was tall. Around five foot eight. A couple inches taller than you.”
“What color were her eyes?”
He scratches his head and says, “I don’t know because she was wearing dark glasses. And she was wearing a scarf. But I could see her hair in the front. It was brownish—wait, no it wasn’t. It was kind of red. That’s right. And she had a nice tan.”
“Was her hair long or short?” I ask, anxious to get something concrete.
“I couldn’t tell because of the scarf.”
“Did she say anything to you?”
“Like I said, she was upset because her driver was blocked in by somebody in the store.”
“What driver?”
“I think she may have been using that new car service called Flash Ryde. But the guy couldn’t pull out. She was in a hurry. The car that had them hemmed in belonged to a customer. I got the guy to move his vehicle. She calmed down and told me thank you,” he says with a twinkle in his brown eyes.
“What’s that look?”
“I was just thinking about her saying ‘thank you.’”
“What about it?”
“She said, ‘Danke.’ That’s thank you in—”
“German,” I say, my mind drifting.
“My grandfather was in World War II, and he learned to speak German.”
“Right,” I say, barely paying attention.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
“Yes. Where did she go when she left the store?”
“She took off with her driver.”
“Do you remember what kind of car it was?”
“I think it was one of those funny-shaped cars—old-timey like. It was a Mini Cooper—a brown and green Mini Cooper. That’s right.”
Grinning, I write the car’s name on the back of Martha’s picture. “Mitch, you’re a godsend. By the way, did you give the detective this information?”
“To tell you the truth, I didn’t even think to tell her. I guess she didn’t ask the right questions. But then again, pretty women can squeeze just about anything out of me. I thought you were a kid when I first saw you. You look really young in that hoodie and jeans. I hope I’ve been helpful.”
“Yes, you have.”
“Excuse me,” he says, pointing to a second wave of ticket buyers at the door.
“Thanks again, Mitch.” I leave feeling like I’ve hit my own jackpot.
~~~
I pull into the nursing home parking lot, anxious to return to the house, so I can contact someone at Flash Ryde. They should have a record of drivers and passengers. Keith said Mary was abducted, but Blythe and his mother have other ideas. And I think Blythe’s analysis is probably correct. Once Keith put his hands on Mary, she left him. She had to have been out of her mind with fear to leave Blythe behind. Blythe only recalls one incident of abuse, but there were probably more. Knowing Keith, Mary most likely didn’t have a choice. He would never let her take Blythe. What mother wants to be without her child? Mary must have been devastated. Who knows the kind of anger and resentment she’s built up over the years? And maybe she snapped. Keith’s IPO was big news. Perhaps she heard about it, and it pushed her over the edge. How could this man who banned me from seeing my daughter have so much success? Maybe that’s what was going through her mind when she decided to strike. Who knows if Keith even changed the locks at the house? Maybe she still has a key. I put my thoughts on the back burner and head inside to see my mother.
I enter the nursing home and am greeted by an empty reception area, a fern, and two orchids. It’s almost 7:30 p.m. Dinner is at 6:00 p.m. Maybe they’re short-staffed again. Standing at the counter, I look up at the wall, featuring resident pictures. A photo of my mother wearing a Santa hat, sandwiched between Blythe and me, is front and center. I never wanted to put my mother in this place, and I shouldn’t have had to. Keith and I obviously had more than enough room, but he didn’t want to be ‘bothered’ with her.
“Julia, I didn’t know you were coming by.”
I give Vivian, the evening nurse, a tentative smile when she approaches.
She flashes a gummy smile. “I saw you today at that press conference. It brought tears to my eyes seeing Blythe talk about her father like that.”
“Yeah, the entire situation is depressing.”
She thrusts her chubby hands into the pockets of her nurse’s smock and leans in, her coffee breath wafting up my nostrils. “Do they have any suspects yet?”
“Not yet, but I’m sure they eventually will.”
“Who do you think could have done in him?”
Feeling uncomfortable, I attempt to change the subject. “Where did you go on your vacation?”
“I kept it local—Santa Barbara. You know they’re talking about Keith out there too. Don’t y’all have a place out there?”
“Vivian, I wanted you to know I stayed the night with my mother Tuesday.”
“I was out Tuesday.”
“I know. Just for the record, I stayed. I got here around 6 p.m., and I left Wednesday morning around 9:30. I’m not sure where the temp was when I got here or when I left.”
“She’s a flake.” We look up the corridor at a gray-haired man in a wheelchair wearing his birthday suit. “Oh my, Tim is at it again. I don’t know why he likes to sit naked in Mrs. Wilson’s wheelchair.”
Another nurse, borderline obese, waddles down the hall, trying to catch the naked man. Vivian joins her. I leave them and go to my mother’s room.
I stand in the doorway listening to her soft snoring, my eyes burning, hating myself for allowing Keith to pack my mother away like old clothes. She deserves so much better. My eyes scan the room, outfitted with an overbed table, a nightstand, and two beds. A giant teddy bear surrounded by various smaller stuffed animals sits in the corner. A partially deflated birthday balloon is taped to the windowsill. The walls are covered in family photos featuring my mother, Blythe, and me.
I walk to her bed and stand over her, looking at the face I’ll have thirty years from now. If only I could be so lucky. It’s creased in all the right places, and her skin is supple and radiant, thanks to the moisturizers I supply her.
Her blue eyes open, and she peers up at me, smiling. She recognizes me. Thank goodness. “How long have you been standing there, Julia?”
“Long enough to know I’m the luckiest girl in the whole world to have a mother like you.”
She attempts to sit up, and I help her. “You’re going to make me cry.”
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too,” she says, patting the bed.
“Did you get enough to eat?” I ask, sitting.
“I don’t have much of an appetite these days.” She places her hand on mine. It’s ice cold.
“This is the last summer you’re going to have to be here. As soon as we’re settled, I’m going to move you into our new apartment.” I rub my hands over hers, warming them.
“Oh no, Keith isn’t going to stand for it.” She pulls out of my grasp.
“Mom, I’m divorcing Keith.”
She gives me a blank stare. “What will you do, Julia? How will you live?”
Feeling like I have to fight my case, I get up from her bed, determined to let her know I don’t need Keith. “Mom, I’ll take care of myself. I’m going back into acting. I’ve been cast in a new series. I’ll be able to save money, and I won’t need Keith.”
“Julia, it’s not easy doing it alone. You’re used to a certain lifestyle, sweetie. You’re going to miss that.”
“Mom, I can’t do it anymore. I’m not you. The money isn’t worth my sanity or my life.” She slides under the covers and turns her back to me, sniffling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect. Mom, you didn’t deserve what Dad did to you.”
“It’s okay, baby.” She comes from under the covers and faces me. “I’m glad you’re leaving him. And I know, Julia. I know he’s missing. That’s all Vivian talks about. And we all saw the press conference. You could have told me.”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
“What do you think happened to him?”
“I have some ideas I’m working on. But I don’t want you mixed up in this.”
“How’s Blythe doing? She looked beautiful on TV.”
“She’s managing. Speaking of which, I need to touch base with her, and I’m going to have to head home. I have some research to do. I’ll tell her to come and see you. Maybe she can stop by Sunday.”
“That would be great, and I’m proud of you, my sweet daughter.”
“I’m proud of you too, Mom.”
I kiss her and force myself to leave.
~~~
When I pull into the driveway, I look for my car. I press the garage door opener on Blythe’s visor, hoping to see it in the garage, but it’s not there. Blythe should have made it home by now. It’s after 8:00 p.m. Even though she went to her favorite restaurant, I bet she didn’t eat. I park her BMW and enter the house. After inputting the code, I go to my room, anxious to log on to my laptop. I power it up and check my email.
From: Richard Calhoun Fri, June 16, 2017 8:00 p.m.
To: Julia Pritchard
I’m sorry I haven’t been able to speak to you directly. It’s a little after 4:00 a.m. on Saturday for me. The team and I will be on a plane back to the States in a few hours. We’ll land at JFK around 12:00 p.m. ET Saturday. We should be in L.A. on Saturday around 3:00 p.m. Theo and I would like to meet with you and Blythe on Sunday. Julia, I think we should offer a reward for information leading to Keith’s whereabouts. I’ll put up the money—$100K. I’m going to need a minute to adjust to the time change. I am wishing the best for you both.
Love,
Richard
From: Sherry Mueller Fri, June 16, 2017 7:05 p.m.
To: Julia Pritchard
Hey J,
Missed you at the search. It was uneventful. Found a phone I thought was Keith’s. But it wasn’t. Have you spoken to Blythe? I saw her at Hollis Park, and she disappeared with Shelbie. By the way, I’m going to reach out to the producers again. I’ll let you know how that goes. Let’s catch up. I have some ideas about who “she” might be.
Love you forever,
Sherry
Wow, $100K. I need to find that driver. I conduct a Google search, and the official website comes up. I click help, looking for a phone number. There’s an emergency number. I call it, and of course I’m greeted with a recorded message telling me to go to my app. I don’t have an app! “Let me calm down and try again.” I click the search field and type, How do I find a live representative for Flash Ryde? I scroll through the search results, and I spot an 888 number on a complaint site. I dial the number, praying I don’t hear another recording. I do, but this time I have an option to talk to someone. I hit #.
“Flash Ryde, how can I help you?”
“Uh … I’m trying to locate the driver of a ride I took on Tuesday, June 13.”
“Why are you looking for the driver?”
“I uh … left my purse in his car.”
“That was three days ago. Why are you just now calling?”
“Because I’m only now realizing that’s where I left my purse.”
“Ma’am, with this much time passing, there’s very little chance we’ll find your purse.”
“Don’t you have a lost and found?”
“Yes, but if the driver didn’t see your purse before he picked up his next fare, that person would have had an opportunity to take your bag. What time was your ride, and what were the pick-up and drop-off destinations?”
“The pick-up time would have been between 8 p.m. and 8:30 p.m. from Mitch’s Market, 21517 Davis Avenue, Shady Grove. The drop would have been at 3981 Retford Drive, Dancing Hills.”
“And what’s your name, ma’am?”
“My name?”
“Yes.”
“Mary Pritchard.”
Chapter 22
Blythe
At the bottom of the stairs in our apartment building, I watch the movers from the furniture store, huffing and puffing, as they bring the queen-size mattress to the second floor. The sight of their butt cracks nauseates me. I would think that if you moved furniture for a living, you’d at least try to stay in reasonable shape. The guys are huge; together they must weigh at least a ton. I totally forgot we had no furniture, and I couldn’t let Martha and Carla sleep on the floor, so I had to go into my stash and buy a bed. Julia says we have to be careful about finances, because neither of us has an income. We’re both living off our allowances from my father that we’ve saved for the past year, knowing that we would one day have the balls to make our jailbreak.
I feel a tug on my T-shirt and turn around. “Miss Blythe, this is too much. You don’t have to do this. Letting us stay here and buying us groceries is too much.”
“I do have to do this, Martha. Look at your eye and your arm. This has to stop. Do you want Carla to grow up and let a man slap her around?”
“No!”
“Then you have to set a good example.”
“She’s right, Mama.” Carla leans over the second-floor banister. “You should see the apartment. It’s nice.”
We look up at Carla, and she waves at us when Shelbie pulls her back into the apartment.
Martha’s crooked smile turns into a frown, and she says, “Pedro keeps calling me. He is so angry.”
“Don’t answer the phone, and please don’t tell him where you are.” I widen my eyes and plant my hands on my hips for emphasis.
“What do we do tomorrow?”
“Don’t worry about tomorrow. Just focus on today. I’ll call you in the morning, and we can figure things out. You have to let Pedro know you mean business. He needs to know you have options.”
“I see.” She smiles, uncertain.
Shaking my head, I feel like I’m experiencing déjà vu. After my father cracked Julia’s rib, she swore that she was done. She even told me she was going to come clean at the hospital and admit to the doctor how she had gotten hurt, even though my father had gone to great lengths to cover up his abuse. He let her car run into an abandoned building, so it would look like she had been in a hit-and-run accident. But the moment we arrived at the hospital, my father’s eyes locked on her, and she followed his demented script, like I believe Martha will do if Pedro gets ahold of her.
I cast my cynical thoughts aside and say, “Let’s get you and Carla settled in for the night. There are lots of boxes everywhere, so be careful not to trip. There’s a refrigerator to store the food. And put this in your purse.” I hand her a fifty-dollar bill.
“You are too generous, Miss Blythe.”
“I’m just doing for you what I would want someone to do for me.”
I’ll be careful.” She follows me upstairs. “What’s that singing?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, looking at my neighbors’ apartments. Maybe one of them is playing music. The mystery is solved when we reach my door. Shelbie and Carla are spinning and twirling like ballerinas, having a good time, like they don’t have a care in the world.
“Come dance with us, Mama.”
“What’s that song?”
“It’s ‘Warrior’ by Demi Lovato, Mama. Shelbie let me play it on her phone.”
“I’m no good at dancing, Mija.”
I turn toward the movers. “Miss, you want to check to make sure everything is to your liking?”
“Sure.” I follow them into my bedroom, my eyes as far away from their butts as possible. “It looks good.” The bed and matching headboard are perfect.
With a clipboard in hand, the taller of the two says, “Sign right here, please.”
I scribble my name on the invoice, and they leave. I join Martha, Carla, and Shelbie in the living room. Carla and Shelbie take Martha’s hands and spin her around. I observe the scene, wishing I could join them, but with everything going on, the last thing I want to do is dance.
~~~
I pull Julia’s car into the parking lot at Stephen’s law firm. Shelbie points to her black Range Rover, in a space close to where I’m now parked. “I’m over there. I can’t believe how late it is.”
“Thanks for having my back today at Martha’s.”
“You would have done the same for me. I hope she can work out her situation with Pedro.”
“I do too.”
“Are you going to tell Stephen about that prank caller?”
“Yes. Julia sent him that text too. It might be the same person.”
“Be careful, Blythe. I’d better head home,” she says, exiting the car.
“I’ll watch you,” I say, opening the door.
“And who’s going to watch you? Stay in the car.”
“I’m good. It’s well-lit around here, and it looks like a few people are working late at Stephen’s law firm.” I motion to the other vehicles in the lot. “And the lights are on in the building. I’ll stand right here until you get in your car.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
She walks to her Range Rover and waves when she enters it. I slide into Julia’s Mercedes and flash the headlights when she pulls away. I plug Julia’s car charger into my phone. I hope she hasn’t tried to call me. I can’t wait to find out about the mystery woman. Great, now I have to pee. I should have gone when we were at the apartment.
