I leave the car and head toward the office building. I hope it’s open. I reach for the handle, but it’s locked. I knock on the door to get the security guard’s attention. He’s focused on his phone. He throws his head back in laughter, and his hair falls onto his face. I knock louder. He turns toward me and squints. Putting his phone away, he comes to the door. Playing tug of war with my bladder, I watch him stroll with his long, wiry legs, wishing he would put some pep in his step.

  He flings open the door. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m Stephen Miller’s client. I was here for the press conference earlier today, and I need to use the restroom.”

  He hesitates, stroking his goatee. “Okay.” He lets me in and grabs a key from the reception area. I take it from him and go to the ladies’ room. I do a double take when I see my reflection in the mirror. I need a long, hot bath. I enter the stall and squat on the toilet. As I’m about to flush, I hear the restroom door open, then voices.

  “Faye, how much longer are you going to work tonight?”

  “I’ll probably work as late as Stephen. Ellen, now that I’m a partner, I don’t get to do the nine-to-five thing anymore.”

  “Thank goodness for our little breaks,” Ellen says.

  “Yes,” Faye says.

  I hear a lighter flick, followed by the smell of cigarette smoke. At the press conference, Stephen had introduced us to the two women.

  “Faye, we really need to quit.”

  “I can’t help it,” Faye says. The women inhale deeply.

  “What do you think about the Pritchard case?” Ellen asks.

  I hold my breath, hoping I don’t cough or sneeze. OMG, I should have flushed and gotten out of here.

  “It’s huge, and it’s going to put us on the map. That is, if Stephen doesn’t screw it up.”

  “You mean screw the client?” Ellen laughs.

  “Stephen’s not like that. But he can be naïve. I just don’t want him to be taken advantage of.”

  “So what do you think about the mother and daughter?”

  “It’s Thelma & Louise all over again.”

  “Shut the hell up. Are you serious?”

  “They’re as guilty as a fat kid covered in chocolate icing. And they’re only a hop, skip, and a jump away from going over the cliff. I can’t say I blame them. Keith Pritchard is an asshole. I know some people who have done business with him. And he’s a batterer. The wife probably snapped.”

  “What creeps me out is how they hold hands. I think they might be lovers.”

  I slam the toilet handle, and the women gasp. I push open the stall door and glare at them with my tired eyes. Mortified, they move out of my way.

  I go to the sink and wash my hands, glowering at them in the mirror. “We’re not lovers. We’re mother and daughter. And if we were, what business is it of yours? Julia is the only mother I’ve ever known, and I watched her suffer for five years, and until you’re in that situation—and I pray you never are—you don’t know what it feels like. As much as we had wished my father would have fallen off the face of the earth, we didn’t kill him. And if it weren’t for Stephen and his decency, I’d suggest to my mother that we go to another firm. The next time you take a cigarette break so that you can tear down your clients, you need to make sure the coast is clear.” I shake the water off my hands into their faces, and I leave them with their mouths dragging on the floor.

  Seething, I slam down the guest key on the receptionist’s desk and bolt.

  “What happened?” the security guard asks, running after me.

  I ignore him and head to the car. The sound of hurried footsteps makes me uneasy. But it’s only the security guard trying to do his job. I keep moving, and click open the door. As I reach for it, a hand claps over my mouth. Still riled from the restroom incident, I muster strength I didn’t know I had, jabbing the perpetrator in the ribs with my elbow. He stumbles backward. I reach for the handle again, and he grabs my hair. Before I can scream, he puts his hand over my mouth.

  “What kind of monster kills her own father?”

  It’s the prick who called my phone. I try the same maneuver, but it doesn’t work. Then I remember that I have Julia’s key, which has an emergency button. I press it, and an alarm sounds. The man releases me and runs away, his bald head glistening under the parking lot lights. I cringe when I glimpse his camouflage outfit. It’s the instigator from the protests. The security guard, Faye, and Ellen emerge from the building.

  “That man attacked me.” I point to the fleeing assailant.

  The security guard runs after him, but the man, dodging behind cars, evades him. I turn toward the underground parking lot when I see headlights approaching. We all scream to the driver.

  “Catch that man over there!”

  The driver realizes what’s happening, and he chases the man, using the car to pin him to a back gate. A few more feet and he would have smashed him. The security guard runs up to the man and cuffs him. My eyes widen with surprise when Stephen emerges from the car, already calling 911.

  I run to him, and he hugs me. “What are you doing here?”

  “I dropped off Shelbie, so she could pick up her car, and I had to use the restroom,” I say, casting a look at Faye and Ellen. “When I went back to my car, that lunatic attacked me. I’ve seen him with the protestors, and I think he’s the same man who sent Julia that text and who called my phone tonight.”

  “Well, you’re not going to have to worry about him anymore,” Stephen says.

  We share shaky smiles at the sound of sirens filling the air.

  ~~~

  As I pull into the driveway at home, I look in my rearview mirror at Stephen in his car. He has such a great heart. I have no idea how those two women ended up working for him. They’re nothing like him. My eyes shift to Julia running toward her car. I get out, and she hugs me.

  “Blythe, why didn’t you call me from Stephen’s office? I would have come right over.”

  “Everything was under control, and I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Did he hurt you?” Her eyes travel from my head to my toes.

  “I’m fine, but the fool who attacked me almost got flattened by Stephen.”

  Julia turns toward Stephen getting out of his car. We walk to him, and he stands there, looking like the poster child for humility. “Thank you so much, Stephen.”

  “No worries, Julia. The police handled everything. They took a statement from Blythe and arrested the guy. The man is a professional protestor and a rabble-rouser. The police say this isn’t the first time he’s stalked people involved in missing persons cases. The police said they can station a patrol car out front, but I’d feel better if you had private security. It’s probably something we should have automatically done. Who’s to say the person who attacked Keith isn’t after other family members? This evening I got word from Detective Johnson that they’re looking closely at your husband’s business associates, a few of whom may have ties to the mafia.”

  “The mafia?” Julia and I say.

  “They said there’s a possibility that a business deal could have gone wrong, and if that’s true, Keith may not be their only target. People in that line of work tend to go after family members as well.”

  “But the note said a woman killed him,” I say.

  “Men aren’t the only people who are hired to do hits,” Stephen says.

  “Something else for us to worry about,” Julia says.

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to either of you,” Stephen says, looking from me to Julia. “I really think you should consider getting security.”

  “For the past five years, I’ve lived my life in fear, and I don’t want to do that anymore,” Julia says.

  “I understand, but just think about it, and be careful. You and Blythe should go inside. I’ll wait here until you’re safely in the house.”

  “I appreciate that,” Julia says.

  Watching Julia and Stephen does me all the good. They flow; they work. It seems easy. “Thanks, Stephen, for everything,” I say. “Julia, he’s right. Let’s get inside.”

  “Good night, ladies.”

  I crack a smile when Julia pecks Stephen on the cheek. We go inside.

  “How are you doing?” I ask her.

  She shuts and bolts the door. “I’ve been on the phone all night, trying to reach someone who knows what they’re doing at Flash Ryde. I have the phone on speaker, and I’m on hold. I pray they didn’t come back to the phone while I was outside.” She picks up her cell and heads to the kitchen. “Thank goodness, I’m still on hold. Let me get you something to eat.”

  “I appreciate it. I’m starving.” I follow her to the kitchen and slump into the breakfast nook. “I have so much to tell you, but I want to know about this woman.”

  “You and me both,” she says, taking food containers out of the refrigerator.

  “You cooked?”

  “I threw some cabbage, rice, and lamb chops together while I’ve been on hold. After you called from the restaurant telling me about Martha’s situation, I figured everyone was eating but you.”

  “You know me so well.” She nukes everything and fixes me a plate. “Now I know how Carla felt,” I say, attacking the food.

  “What ended up happening with Martha and Carla? Did you get them home safely?” Julia asks, sitting across from me.

  Now I wish I had touched base with Julia before letting Martha and Carla stay at our apartment. I hope she’s cool with it. Then again, with so much going on, maybe it’s unnecessary to mention it.

  “Blythe, what’s up?”

  Chapter 23

  Julia

  I say a silent prayer, thanking god for protecting Blythe tonight and for sending Stephen into our lives. I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to her. She and my mother are my world. I wait for her to give me the latest on Martha and Carla, but she seems to be stalling. She sits there with grease around her mouth, her green eyes darting around the kitchen. I have to remind myself that she’s twenty-two and not twelve, because she has the same look on her face she had when she got her period. She thought she had done something wrong and that god had cursed her. She finally blurts out, “I moved them into our apartment.”

  “You what?”

  “Just until Pedro cools down. She had a black eye, Julia, and like I said, he scratched her arm. And he was threatening her on the phone, when we were at the restaurant.”

  “Why didn’t you just bring them back here?”

  “Because this is the first place Pedro would look. And Martha told me Pedro got into a heated argument with my father. He wanted Martha to quit working here.”

  “That’s interesting.” I remember pulling into the driveway a couple of weeks ago and seeing Pedro coming from the house, throwing punches in the air, cursing like a madman. I asked him what was wrong, and he ignored me. I’d never seen him that angry before. He looked as if he wanted to kill somebody—now I know who. Could Pedro have hurt Keith? Stop it, Julia! Focus on one suspect at a time—Mary Weber. “You did the right thing, Blythe.” I hand her a napkin.

  She wipes her face. “I got them some breakfast food, and I told them I’d check on them in the morning.”

  “By the way, Richard emailed me. He and Theo want to meet with us Sunday. He says we should offer a reward to the person who helps us find your father.”

  “Really?” She takes the last bite of her lamb chops and then finishes off the rice and cabbage.

  “Yes. A hundred thousand, and he says he’ll put up the money.” I take her plate to the sink. While rinsing it off, I peer out the window into the night. Maybe Keith is hiding somewhere, laughing at us. The sound of Blythe dragging her chair takes me out of my head.

  “That’s generous of him.” She gets up from the table.

  I put the plate in the dishwasher. “I guess deep down, despite all his disagreements with your father, he cares about him.”

  Blythe stands next to me with her back pressed against the counter, tugging on her T-shirt, peering at the recessed lighting. “I hate to be cynical, but once the IPO goes through, a hundred thousand is going to be like lunch money for Richard. Maybe he’s not being so generous after all.”

  “That’s true, but it’s still an admirable gesture. What I want to do now is get a hold of the driver who picked up that woman from the strip mall. I believe she left your father’s car there. And, Blythe—I think this woman might be your mother.” I shut the dishwasher, grab my phone off the island, and leave the kitchen with Blythe following me into the living room.

  “What makes you think that?”

  I set my phone on the piano bench, fall into the recliner, and Blythe sits on the sofa arm, leaning toward me, waiting for my answer.

  “Mitch, the owner of the convenience store, says the woman had red hair and freckles and that she spoke German. She was inspecting Keith’s license plate.”

  “Do you think my mother is the ‘she’ in the note?”

  “If I find out she took a ride from the strip mall to our house, then there’s a good chance she’s the woman in the note. The mafia theory sounds interesting, but my gut tells me that hurting your father was personal, not business.”

  “Why would she show up after sixteen years?”

  “I don’t have all the answers, but what if your father forced her out of your life—threatened her? Maybe it took her sixteen years to build up the courage to strike back.”

  “What are the Flash Ryde people saying?”

  “The first guy I spoke to was all over the place. Then he started telling me he couldn’t disclose information to me and that I needed to check my app.”

  “You don’t have an app,” Blythe says.

  “I downloaded one. I’m trying to circumvent the system. They think I’m Mary. I want them to confirm that Mary Pritchard took a ride from the strip mall to our house on Tuesday. And then I want them to give me the driver’s cell number. And then I’m going to meet with him and find out everything I can about what happened that night. Do you have a photo of your mother?”

  “I have one I uploaded onto the cloud, but she probably doesn’t look like that anymore.”

  “Something is better than nothing.”

  “Julia, do you think she’s been in the U.S. all this time?”

  “She may have been right here in Dancing Hills all these years, waiting for the right time, just like we were.”

  “You probably should have told them your name is Mary Weber, not Pritchard.”

  “I didn’t think of that.”

  “This is insane.” Blythe stands and starts pacing.

  “Hello, is anyone there?” a man’s voice says.

  I jump out of the chair and snatch my cell off the piano bench.

  “Yes, I’m here. Please don’t hang up. I’ve been on hold forever.”

  “How can I help you?”

  “Is this the supervisor?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “As I told your employee, I’m trying to find the driver I was with this past Tuesday. I rode with him from a convenience store located at 21517 Davis Avenue, Shady Grove, around 8:15 p.m., and the drop would have been at 3981 Retford Drive, Dancing Hills.”

  “What’s your name again?”

  “Mary Pritchard.”

  “I don’t show a Mary Pritchard on that route at that time.”

  My face crumples, and I roll my eyes. I focus on Blythe gesturing to me and mouthing Weber. “I’m sorry, I meant to say Mary Weber.”

  “Oh … no, I don’t have a Mary Weber on Tuesday at that time being picked up and dropped at those locations.”

  “Okay.” I accept defeat.

  “But I do have a Mary Weber on Tuesday being picked up and dropped off close to those times and locations.”

  “Can you tell me what those locations are?”

  “Ma’am, you were the passenger—you should know. I can’t give out that information. Check your app.”

  “But my app is malfunctioning. I need the information on the driver, so I can get my purse. My passport is in my purse.”

  “Ma’am, this is confidential information. I don’t even know if you are who you say you are. Give me your phone number, and I’ll have the driver call you.”

  “Please let him know I’ll give him a reward for just calling me. It’s a matter of life and death.”

  “What’s your number?”

  “626-555-3479. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Bye now.”

  Blythe, smiling, hugs me. “You’re something else.”

  “You are too.” I collapse onto the sofa. Blythe joins me. “I just hope the driver calls me. I know the pick-up and drop-off locations and times aren’t the same, but it sounds like they were close, and it makes sense that she wouldn’t have used the exact addresses. She probably had the driver go to a location near the strip mall. Then she called him from the strip mall and redirected him there. That redirect probably wasn’t documented. So the driver goes to the strip mall, and he’s blocked in. Once they’re able to move, she has him drop her near the house where her car, with Keith’s body in the trunk, is parked. Then she drives back to the house and cleans up all the evidence. That way she can’t be tracked.”

  Blythe massages her temples, as though she’s trying to understand my thought process. “Let me get this straight: you think this woman, who could possibly be my mother, killed my father back at the house and put his body in the trunk of his car? That’s when he wrote the note. Then she put his body in the trunk of her car, not knowing that he was still alive, barely, but alive?”

  “Yes.” I hope she doesn’t think my theory is preposterous.

  “My father is a big guy.”

  “You’d be surprised what a person could do with adrenaline flowing.”

  “I’ll give you that. So she leaves his car at the strip mall. She takes his phone, leaves everything else, comes back to the house to clean up any evidence, and then dumps my father’s body somewhere.”

 

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