The Women on Retford Drive, page 6
part #1 of Dancing Hills Series
“So you’re going to the meeting?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Julia, when we were at the restaurant, I bought into your theory. But to be honest, I have doubts. What if my father’s not screwing with us? What if something has happened to him? If the police get a match and the media gets wind of it, it may not look good for you to be schmoozing with producers the day after his car was found.”
“Blythe, that’s just what he wants us to do. Stop moving forward. Stop living our lives. I have put my life on hold for five years. I need to go to the meeting.”
“Okay. On that note, I need to see if Professor Juarez has returned my call. I hope he can recommend a good lawyer. I have a feeling we’re going to need one.”
“Sweetie, we don’t need a lawyer. Keith is messing with us. This is all a hoax.”
“I’m not so sure about that anymore.”
I swallow hard, wondering why Blythe has had a change of heart. Does she know something I don’t know?
Chapter 7
Blythe
Standing in the kitchen, I turn toward the window over the sink, curious about where the tapping sound is coming from. I smile at the dove staring at me. “Hey, little fellow, you want to come in? Are you hungry?” I extend my arm to open the window, but he flies away before I can do so. I know how you feel, little bird. You want to stay free. With that thought, I grab my phone off the island and check my text messages for the hundredth time, wondering if Julia has heard from the detective. I guess no news is good news.
It’s Thursday—11:30 a.m. My father’s been missing for one day and six and a half hours. I woke up this morning resolved that this isn’t a hoax. My father is missing and possibly dead. Julia is in denial. My eyes burn thinking about what my psycho grandmother did to him when he was six. He hit my mother the first time after they’d been together six years, and he struck Julia the first time after six years of marriage. Damn, that’s the trigger—the humiliation he endured. It’s friggin’ obvious to me he’s been taking out his hatred for my grandmother on the women in his life. Julia’s right; we need to see a shrink. Hell, twenty years from now I don’t want to be slapping my kids and my husband around. My grandmother was probably abused or witnessed cruelty when she was young. It’s an insidious cycle.
My ringing phone ends my psychoanalysis session. Restricted. Hmm. I think about who could be calling. Crap, it’s probably the detective. My armpits get damp and prickly. I force myself to answer the phone, wishing Julia was here for support. I answer before the call goes to voicemail.
“Hello.” I slip into a seat in the breakfast nook. I tap my fingers across the table, bracing for the verdict.
“Blythe?”
“This is she. Who … who is this?”
“It’s Richard … Richard Calhoun. Your father’s business partner.”
“I know who you are, Richard. I just didn’t recognize your voice. I thought you were someone else.” I push back the chair, both relieved and disappointed.
“I caught a bug while I was on the plane, so I don’t sound like myself. Anyway, I was trying to reach Julia, but her phone goes straight to voicemail.”
“She’s at a meeting. Have you heard from my father? Is that why you’re calling?” I stand and pace, hoping for good news.
“Unfortunately, I haven’t heard from him. The team and I are in London. Kathleen told us Keith is still missing, and the police found his abandoned car with blood in it.”
“That’s right. We’re waiting to hear today if it’s my father’s blood.”
“Christ. This is horrible.”
“Right,” I say, tentative.
“How are you and Julia doing?”
“We’re hanging in there.”
“Have you spoken to his parents?”
“Yes, we have. Richard, when did you last speak to my father or see him?”
“I saw him at the office on Tuesday morning, and I spoke to him when he was at home Tuesday evening. He was excited about the trip.”
“Okay. Do you know what time he left the office on Tuesday?”
“Around 5:15 p.m.—fifteen minutes before I did. Speaking of time, we’re cutting the roadshow short. We’ll be back stateside by Saturday. Please let Julia know I called and give her my love. Blythe, I know Julia and Keith were going their separate ways, but that doesn’t mean we can’t all be friends, especially considering the situation. I pray Keith’s all right.”
“I’ll let Julia know you called.” I hang up, forming a timeline in my head. We moved boxes out of here by 5:15 p.m. on Tuesday. If my father left work at 5:15 p.m., he most likely got home around 5:45 p.m. His car was spotted at the strip mall between 8:00 p.m. and 8:30 p.m. on Tuesday. That would have given the killer more than two hours. Whoever attacked my father had plenty of time to kill him, dump the body, and plant the car.
On my laptop, I go to MapQuest to see how far the house is from the strip mall. Back up, Blythe—where’s the strip mall? I search for an online story about my father’s disappearance and find the address; it’s on the intersection of Richmond and Davis Avenues. Wait a minute. Something is familiar about that location. I go to the contacts in my phone and click Grandma Sophie. The nursing home is located at 53482 Davis Avenue. I map it. It’s only five minutes from the strip mall. Julia stayed overnight at the nursing home on Tuesday. I note that and continue mapping how long it would have taken the killer to drive from our house to the strip mall. Twenty minutes. So if my father got home at 5:45 p.m., that would have given the killer enough time to do my father in and drop the car at the strip mall by 8:00 p.m. My phone vibrates, and I nearly drop it. Calm down. There’s a group text from Martha. Thank goodness. I was beginning to think we were never going to hear from her again, after we went by her house last night and no one was there.
Thu, 06/15/2017
Buenas tardes, Miss Julia & Miss Blythe. I’m sorry for being missing, but Carla got very sick yesterday because of a cat she found and brought home. She’s allergic to cats. That’s who scratched me. The stupid cat. I got a message when you were meeting with the policía. I had to take her to the emergency, and we had been there a long time. She is better, but I won’t be able to come to the house today. Forgive me.
12:05 PM
Thu, 06/15/2017
No worries, Martha. I’m glad Carla’s better. Julia’s @ a lunch mtg. She’ll most likely respond later. Martha, where’s the shirt u found in the laundry room?
12:05 PM
Thu, 06/15/2017
I have it. I got afraid when the policía came. Something inside my mind tell me they shouldn’t see it.
12:06 PM
Thu, 06/15/2017
Martha, please bring it back asap.
12:06 PM
Thu, 06/15/2017
Ok.
12:07 PM
Looks like I have a lot to talk to Julia about. I put my phone aside and focus on my grumbling stomach. My eyes lock on the bowl of organic fruit on the table. I grab an apple and reach for a knife out of the cutlery case on the counter. I do a double take when I notice the empty slot for the largest knife. I look in the dishwasher; it’s not there either. I search all the drawers, and the knife is nowhere to be found.
Thu, 06/15/2017
Martha, do u know where the large knife that’s usually in the cutlery case is?
12:13 PM
Thu, 06/15/2017
The last time I see it, Miss Julia had it, but I’m not sure where it is now.
12:14 PM
I’ll put that on my “talk to Julia about” list as well. I pare my apple with one of the smaller knives. I gobble it down then head upstairs, avoiding Julia’s room. Hopefully, after lunch with my bestie, Shelbie, I’ll meet with Professor Juarez to see if he was able to contact the attorney he talked about last night. As of now, the meeting is tentative.
I go upstairs, trying to stay focused, but after staying up until the wee hours of the morning, working on the statement I’ll present to the media, I’m fading. Entering my room, I grab the remote and turn on the TV. I flop onto the bed, channel surfing for stories about my father. It’s like the quiet before the shit storm. “No news,” I say, forcing my eyes open.
I stop nodding off when I hear a door slam. Another door shuts, and I drop the remote. “Who’s there?” I inch off the bed and recoil at the sound of loud music blasting through the house. My breath catches in my chest, and fear creeps up my spine. I slink toward the hallway, eyes darting. “Who is it? Who’s there?” The music stops. I stumble to the door. My heart in my mouth, I lock eyes with my father’s eyes.
“Dad, you’re … you’re home. Where’ve you been?”
“Hello, Blythe.”
My eyes scan him from head to toe, looking for wounds, but he appears to be the picture of health. “Everyone’s looking for you. You missed your flight. The police found your car in a shopping mall with blood in it. What’s going on, Dad?”
He brings his hand from behind his back, and my stomach sinks when I see the missing knife in his fist. “So, you’re going with Julia?”
“I … uh … yes … no.”
“Your mother abandoned me, your real mother. She wasn’t abducted. She left me for some asshole at the country club. Now Julia’s running out on me, and you’re going with her.”
“Dad, you’ve made it hard for us. You’re abusive.”
“I love you, Blythe, but you can’t leave me,” he says, approaching me. I back up, toward my room. He grabs me before I reach the door and holds the knife to my throat. “Shh, don’t cry, little baby. You’re beautiful just like your mother. It hurts me to kill you. That’s what I told her when I cut her head off, Blythe.”
The cold metal on my neck steals my breath, and I pass out. The sound of a ringing phone wakens me. I sit up in bed, drenched in sweat, the TV blaring. I try to straighten my stiff back. I reach behind me, pick up the remote, and turn off the TV. “My god, I was dreaming. It was a dream,” I say, grabbing my phone. “Hello?”
“Blythe, where are you? Are we still on for lunch? I’m at your favorite restaurant.”
“I’m sorry, Shelbie. I made the mistake of sitting on the bed exhausted. I fell asleep, and I had a horrendous dream. Let me take a shower, and I’ll be right there.”
~~~
I push open the door leading to the restaurant patio, and my face lights up when I see Shelbie, who’s flashing me a Colgate smile framed by full lips painted bright red. My gaze shifts to her perfectly coiffed brown hair with red highlights, then to the waiter passing by, gaping at her cleavage. Shelbie and I’ve been friends since middle school. She grew up with both parents, but if you ask her, she’ll say she was an orphan because they’re surgeons who spent more time in the operating room than with her. I join her at the table, and we fist bump.
“I don’t have much time now. And what’s with the black dress? You never wear black,” she says. Her brown eyes travel from my head to my feet, and I offer an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry I’m late. And the dress is Julia’s idea.” I sit and hang my purse on the chair arm. Shelbie sits back with a sly grin.
“I ordered for us. I got you your usual burrito. I hope that’s okay.”
“Sure. All I’ve eaten today is an apple, so anything will do.”
The waitress approaches with my burrito and Shelbie’s enchiladas. She sets down our food and leaves. We begin eating, and Shelbie talks between bites. “What’s the latest?”
I hunker down, and in a hushed tone I say, “He’s still missing. I had this really crappy dream before I came here today. I dreamed that he showed up at the house and tried to kill me.”
Shelbie, cheese dangling from her mouth, chokes. She drinks some water and clears her throat. “Get the hell out. Are you serious?” she asks in a whisper, wiping her reddened face.
“Yes. And it was so friggin’ real.” I take a bite of my burrito, and flashing back to my father in the dream, I’m nauseous.
“Are you okay, Blythe?”
“I’m all right.” I put down the burrito.
“Do you think he’s alive?”
“I think he’s dead.”
I blink back tears and take a deep breath. Shelbie caresses my hand. “I’m so sorry, Blythe. Don’t cry.” She grabs a napkin off the table and hands it to me.
“I’m such a wimp. I’m so tired of crying. I should be happy he’s gone. He was such a jerk.”
“But he’s your father. And at one point in your life he was a great guy.”
“I know,” I wipe my eyes. Composing myself, I look over my shoulders at the other patrons, who seem oblivious to our conversation. “I’m going to tell you something, and you have to keep it to yourself. This is confidential, but I know I can trust you.”
Her doe eyes widen, and she sits with rapt attention. “What?”
I pick up my phone and begin texting. She grabs her phone.
Thu, 06/15/2017
Martha found my father’s fav shirt in the laundry room w/ blood on it.”
1:10 PM
“Shut the freak up,” she says.
“And you already know the police found blood in the car.”
“That’s not good, Blythe. I see why you think he’s dead. What does Julia think?”
“She thinks he’s alive and playing dead, trying to make us miserable.”
“I don’t get it.”
“She believes he’s pissed we’re not under his spell anymore. He can’t use his money to control us. We’ve had enough. She thinks that’s making him crazy. So he comes up missing. He knows the police are going to get involved. He plants the blood. We could end up being suspects. The bottom line is, our lives are in limbo right now because of him.”
Shelbie squints and combs her hands through her locks. “That’s not too far-fetched when it comes to your father. Remember the night that crazy dude shot up all those people in Colorado? And your father came to my house, waking up the neighborhood? Your father can be twisted.”
“I agree, but I’m not buying it. Julia’s married to the idea that he’s alive despite the blood. And get this,” I say, texting. Shelbie picks up her phone.
Thu, 06/15/2017
There’s a knife missing from the house—a very large knife.
1:15 PM
“Damn. Why do you think Julia believes he’s alive?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could it be that she needs you to believe he’s alive?”
“What are you getting at?”
“Could Julia have had something to do with your father’s disappearance? Let’s be real, Blythe. If anyone had a reason to whack your father, it would be Julia.”
Raucous laughter from a table close to us gives us pause. We turn toward the party of six, which begins singing happy birthday to an elderly lady surrounded by balloons.
Resuming our conversation, I say, “Guess where the car was found?”
“The news said a strip mall.”
“The mall is near my grandmother’s nursing home. Julia stayed there Tuesday night.”
“Wow. You might want to keep an eye on Julia.”
“I’m so confused about her. One minute I think she may have had something to do with it, and the next minute I’m flooded with guilt for even suggesting she’s involved.”
“If this is all a hoax put on by your father, it can’t go on for too long.”
“I don’t think it’s a hoax, but if it is, I just want it to all end, so I can go on with my life.”
“Have you decided when you want to take the LSAT?”
“With everything going on, probably not until December. What about you?”
“I’ll probably wait until then too. I hope we get top scores. Five years from now, I plan to have the most popular TV court show in the country. Blythe, I want you to start your new life too. Maybe you’ll have a chance to meet a good guy—somebody your father can’t scare away.”
“When it comes to law school, not being admitted isn’t an option. And the last thing I need or want is romance.” I look toward the tall, bespectacled man approaching our table.
“Hello, ladies,” Professor Juarez says, thrusting his veiny hands into the pockets of his gray slacks. “I wasn’t expecting to meet with both of my favorite alumni,” he says, joining us.
“I’m running behind schedule,” I say.
“Blythe, I have to go.” Shelbie reaches into her purse, but Professor Juarez stops her.
“Lunch is on me, ladies.”
“Thank you,” we say.
“It was good seeing you, professor. Blythe, call me later.”
We watch Shelbie walk away, then turn toward each other, trading warm smiles.
“How are you, Blythe?”
“Hanging in there. I’m glad you were able to fit me into your schedule. I know you've been really busy.”
“I have been, but I was able to move some things around. I’m sorry about your father.” He crosses his long legs.
“Thank you. I’m really worried about what the police may find, and I want to secure representation for me and Julia. It’s not that we’ve done anything wrong; I just want to be proactive. I know the significant other is usually the prime suspect in cases like this, and because of my father’s status, I believe the police will be more inclined to rush to judgement.”
I notice a glint of pride in Professor Juarez’s brown eyes. “I see someone was paying attention in class, and I think that’s a smart move, Blythe.”
“You mentioned you know someone who can help us.”
“His name’s Stephen Miller. He’s waiting for your call. What’s the latest?”
“We’re waiting to hear from the detective.”
“I see. When the detective contacts you, don’t speak to him without Stephen present. And make sure you tell Stephen everything you know about this situation. He can’t help you if he doesn’t have all the information. Remember, he’s going to be on your side.”
“I really appreciate your support, Professor Juarez. How do you know Stephen?”
“He was one of my students before you were even born—back when I was teaching at Stanford. He’s brilliant and passionate about what he does. He graduated with honors from Stanford Law School, and he has a small firm in Dancing Hills. Hopefully, you and Julia will like him. No matter how qualified he is, if you and Julia don’t connect with him, you shouldn’t hire him. Chemistry is almost as important as trust.”
