by Vivien Chien
The phone didn’t ring and immediately went to a recording. I held the phone away from my head so Adam could hear as well. “I’m sorry, but the number you are trying to reach is disconnected. If you have received this message in error, please hang up and try your call again.”
I hung up the phone, and stood staring openmouthed at Adam.
Knowing him well enough by now, I could tell that he was trying his best to remain mature, and not throw an “I told you so” in my face. Instead, he went for a milder version, and said, “Now what was it you were saying about Sabrina being an innocent bystander?”
CHAPTER 29
I drove to work in a daze, which isn’t the best way to function during rush-hour traffic, but my saving grace was that I didn’t need to take the freeway to get to work.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Sabrina’s disconnected cell phone and wondering if Adam had been right all along. Had the seemingly helpful intern been playing me this whole time? Adam, of course, thought so and assumed that no one had been following us and secretly taking pictures. He had a hunch that perhaps it was staged, and Sabrina knew that the picture was being taken. She had shown up before me and picked the table. Was it strategic?
When I got to the plaza and was safely tucked away in Ho-Lee Noodle House, I contemplated reaching out to Detective Bishop to inform him of what had developed since I last saw him. My only worry was that somehow this whole thing was going to make me look even guiltier. And then would he try and get me on obstruction of justice since I was technically holding onto information?
Well, at the very least, I could inform him that I now knew who the mystery man was that I saw with Margo right before she was killed. I concluded that I should take the chance. Once I had gotten everything situated at the restaurant, I could slip into my office and give him a call.
I wouldn’t tell him about the note or photos just yet. I had another class the following evening, and maybe sometime before then I would come up with a solid plan of action. If I could confirm my suspicions somehow and actually assist in solving the case, maybe Detective Bishop would be a little more lenient with me.
Before Sabrina went missing, it was my hope that she’d be the one to uncover all the pertinent details to the grouchy detective.
As I straightened up the restaurant, using my most critical eye to search for imperfections, I began to wonder why Sabrina would show me the photos to begin with. What would she have to gain by doing this? Was she trying to implicate me? If I knew about the photos along with her, then I couldn’t turn anyone over to the cops … especially with the damning photo of us meeting at the Irish pub.
Peter arrived ten minutes later, tapping the drum line to a Metallica song on the window. I opened the door, still lost in thought, trying to make sense of the information I had.
He noticed immediately, and when I turned back around from shutting the door behind him, he was staring me down. “Fess up, Lana,” he said. “I know you and Kimmy were up to something you weren’t supposed to be doing last night. I wanna know what it was—and tell the truth, because I know when you’re lying.”
I didn’t have the mental capacity to come up with anything clever this morning and I really just wanted to be left alone with my scattered thoughts. “Peter, it’s better if you just drop it for now.” I sulked away, feeling discouraged that I couldn’t get my brain to function better than it was. Something had to click for me at some point.
“It’s something to do with that teacher lady who got murdered, isn’t it? You’re involved with it somehow, aren’t you?”
“No,” I said plainly.
“Yes, you are. I know you, Lana. Just come out with it.”
I whipped around, agitated with his persistent prodding. “Okay fine. I am, all right? That detective who was here last week has his eye on me and some janitor I don’t even know. And if I don’t do something about it, then who knows what will happen?”
Peter was stunned by my response and took a moment to collect himself. “See? Why couldn’t you just tell me that?”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “Whatever, Peter. Because you get all holier than thou when I tell you what I’m up to. I can’t confide in you when it comes to this stuff.”
“Oh gee, sorry. Sorry that I care about your general safety and whatever.” He threw his hands in the air. “You and Kimmy, man, always making me out to be the bad guy. I just care. So, whatever.” And he stormed off into the kitchen without giving me a chance to respond.
Originally, I had planned on going into my office until I unlocked the doors for the day, but I didn’t want to run into him and give him the chance to snap at me when I passed through the kitchen. I stayed at the hostess station and waited for nine o’clock.
The Matrons arrived promptly, and Helen seemed more excited than usual to see me. “Lana, do we have good news for you!” she boasted as they headed to their table. “We have found out some information that will help with Margo Han.”
I followed behind them, my heart doing a little pitter-patter with the promise of a missing puzzle piece finally presenting itself. “And?” I asked, practically on the balls of feet, ready to hop up and down. “What did you ladies find out?”
The four women sat down, taking a few moments to get situated. You could tell that all four of them knew what I wanted to know, but it was Helen’s privilege to start the story.
“Margo Han was having an affair with a married man!” Helen practically screeched with excitement. Thankful for all of us that the restaurant was otherwise empty, or we might sound like a bunch of lunatics excited about someone’s damaged marriage.
“Aha!” I yelled. “I knew she looked sad in the photo.”
The four women exchanged confused expressions.
“What does this mean, Lana?” Wendy asked for the group. “What photo?”
I explained about the photo and how Margo had seemed sad after seeing the couple’s rendezvous. “The photo must have caught her finding out for the first time that he was cheating on her as well.”
Opal continued the story. “You are correct. We also learned that she was no longer seeing him because she found out that she was not the only one. In recent months, she had become very sad and kept her distance from many people.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “How did you manage to find this out?”
Helen beamed. “We ran into Julie Peterson at Asian Accents.”
“Who’s that?” I asked, unfamiliar with the name.
“Julie is the wife of John Peterson who is also a teacher at the learning center you went to. He is friends with Anthony B-B … how do you say?”
“Bianco?” I offered.
“Yes, this is the man. He is good friends with John and told him a story about Margo. He is so stupid,” Helen said, clearly disgusted.
“Yah,” Wendy agreed. “He tells John, and John’s wife is Chinese. He doesn’t think maybe they could know each other? Only two Chinese teachers in the whole school, and he does not think this?”
The four ladies shook their head making tsking sounds.
I felt rejuvenated by this confirmation, and headed into the kitchen with some extra pep to grab their tea and place their order. Peter was still agitated with me, and barely grumbled an acknowledgment when I told him the Matrons had arrived. But I didn’t let it get to me. I felt justification that I had been right about the secret boyfriend being Anthony Bianco.
But the question that had been mystifying all of us involved popped back up yet again: So now what?
* * *
In my spare time after the Matrons left, still feeling mighty proud of themselves as they walked out the door, I texted Megan to update her on what I knew. This only cemented her belief that Robert Larkin had taken the photo to upset Margo and win her over. And though it was possible, I was now convinced that Anthony had to be our likeliest suspect. He obviously had been there right before Margo died. I’d seen him with my own two eyes.
But playing devil
’s advocate with myself, I couldn’t ignore the fact that Robert Larkin had come to my rescue pretty fast. Was it possible that he’d just doubled back? How close had I been to actually witnessing the murder? I’d never stepped foot into the room, so it’s not like I knew if her body was warm or if she’d been like that since I’d left the first time.
The Matrons information definitely helped solidify the story, but there were still missing pieces. Had it been Anthony who had taken matters into his own hands? Or was it the unknown female in the photo? It would seem those two people had the most to lose, and everything to gain, from Margo’s death.
I pondered these questions while I served the few people who had come in for a light breakfast. When Nancy arrived, I burrowed away in my office just so I could think. I twirled around in my chair, trying to let my mind relax and wander on its own.
The original picture would be really helpful right now, and I couldn’t let it go. But it was useless to keep obsessing over it, considering that the person who had it was now missing.
I thought about that for a moment too, still wondering what role Sabrina played in this whole thing. If she was the photographer, what purpose would it be for her to bring the photos to me in the first place? Sure, as Adam said, she could very likely have done it to implicate me, but why, when she could just burn the photos? Was she worried that Anthony and the unknown woman would share their copies with someone? But why would they? They would then be implicated themselves. It would be better off to eliminate evidence of the photos completely. After all, one of the witnesses to the affair was already dead.
That thought sounded an alarm in my brain. One witness to the affair was already dead. And the person who had the photos meant for Margo in their possession was now missing. If you eliminated the person who took the photos, there would be no one left to blab.
Trying to get into the mind of the unknown photographer, I thought about what their original purpose might have been. Surely, the photo had gone to Anthony—who had to be the man caught on camera—then possibly a copy went to the mystery woman, and then, of course, intended delivery to Margo.
Assuming that Anthony would come to the same conclusion—that Margo knew about the photographs—he may have approached her that evening to find out what she planned to do about it. Then when she tells him she doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he becomes enraged and ends up killing her to keep her quiet.
The only loose end I couldn’t figure out is how would he know that Sabrina had the photos? Of course, I was assuming that she had been taken against her will. And that didn’t really fly with the fact that her phone had been disconnected. Without knowing her role in this whole thing for sure, I was at a loss.
I slapped my desk. “This doesn’t make any sense!”
Supposing that Adam was right, and Sabrina had intentionally brought me into the middle of this, what would her endgame be?
Massaging my temples, I went through my meeting with her one more time, walking myself through the motions of getting out of the car and then entering the pub. I could see Sabrina trying to hand me the photos, me rejecting to pick them up, and her spreading them out on the table for me to review.
I tried to remember our conversation to the best of my ability, but nothing struck me as odd or damning against her. I recalled thinking she was innocent and could almost hear her complaining about getting the photos to begin with.
That’s when it struck me. I’d forgotten about the end of our conversation. She’d mentioned to me that she’d checked some kind of logbook at work to compare the handwriting from the note with samples of the faculty’s handwriting. She hadn’t found anything similar. But all of that had slipped my mind, and now I wondered if I’d been sitting on the perfect clue this entire time.
Quickly, I dug in my purse and found the torn piece of receipt that I’d received not too long ago. I assessed the handwriting, which was all in caps, just like the greeting card I had stashed away with my detective notebook.
But I had to be sure that I wasn’t creating this theory out of thin air. I had to get home and compare the two side by side. If I was right about this, it meant I knew exactly who the photographer was—and if I could figure that out, then Anthony probably could too.
I grabbed the deposit bag off my desk, shoved it in my purse, and sprinted up front. There was hardly anyone in the restaurant, and as I checked the clock I noted that it was only a little after twelve.
“Hey, I have to run out, it’s kind of important. I’m going to swing by the Tran’s shop and see if Kimmy can help you if there’s a lunch rush.”
Nancy scanned me over, her lips curved in a frown. “What’s wrong? Should I call your mother?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I just have to get something I left at home. I’ll be really quick, I promise.”
She nodded in agreement and I exited the restaurant heading straight for the Tran’s shop. I gave Kimmy a quick rundown of what I was doing, and asked if she could help Nancy should a lunch rush bombard the restaurant out of nowhere. Kimmy accepted. “Sure, my dad’s in the back room taking inventory. You go. I’ll head over to the restaurant after I tell him where I’m going.”
“Thanks!” I yelled over my shoulder. “Be back soon!”
“Let me know what happens,” she hollered back.
I raced to my car, took a deep breath, and reminded myself not to speed home. I couldn’t afford to get a ticket just as I was about to add an important puzzle piece to this case.
CHAPTER 30
It took everything I had in me not to slam my foot on the gas pedal and speed my way down the length of Center Ridge Road. I tried calling Megan on my way home to see if she was still around, but there was no answer. Normally she was up by now, so I couldn’t imagine she was so dead asleep that she wouldn’t hear her cell phone ringing.
Minding the speed limit, I still managed to make it home in record time, and I flung myself out of the car feeling the anxiety pump through my body.
I unlocked the door, catching my dog off guard with my arrival. She jerked her head up from a curled position on the couch. Just as she opened her mouth to bark, she realized that it was only me barging in. Unimpressed with my surprise return, she lowered her head again, most likely annoyed that I had interrupted her daily nap.
I scurried into my room and stuck my hand under the mattress, digging out my notebook and removing the envelope I had stuck in the middle. My hands were shaking uncontrollably, and I scolded myself to pull it together.
Finally getting the card out of the envelope, I opened it and placed the photo of Sabrina and me off to the side so I could study the writing. I set the envelope down with my name and address on it, put it next to the card, and then retrieved the torn receipt out of my purse.
I studied the handwriting, and reread the message to myself: NEXT TIME, SMILE FOR THE CAMERA.
I compared the Es first, since that was used most frequently and was also on the receipt. The Is were the same as well, and included a curved flourish at the bottom of each letter.
There was no mistake. The person who had written the card was the same person who had jotted down their name and phone number on the receipt.
And that person was Bridget Hastings.
* * *
I practically jumped up and down at my newfound discovery. Bridget Hastings had been the photographer, catching her stepfather in the act of his illicit affairs. And then, she must have thought involving Margo would work in her favor. But what exactly did she assume would come from that? Did Bridget want Margo to be the one to tell her mother, so she didn’t have to? On the other hand, why not just send the photos to the learning center and get the guy fired? Wouldn’t that have been more effective at hurting him and ruining his reputation? It definitely would have made his cheating more public.
Clearly there was something I still didn’t understand.
Now that I knew Bridget was the photographer of the affair photos and the photo of Sabrina and me
, I had to wonder what her angle was in sending me the card.
She’d been at the pub that day, taking photos of Sabrina and me. How would she know that we were even there? Now Adam’s theory of Sabrina being involved was starting to ring true.
It perhaps started involuntarily. Bridget must have realized that she unknowingly implicated Sabrina by putting the photos in the wrong locker. I envisioned a discussion taking place where they figured out I was involved, and Bridget requested Sabrina’s help in setting me up.
Bridget, after all, had tried to spark my interest in Margo’s murder from the very beginning. She probably also had come to the conclusion that her stepfather had killed Margo, and knowing that it was basically her fault, wanted my help in bringing Anthony to justice. Turning in those photos to the police could have gotten her into trouble for blackmail once her stepfather was questioned. Then not only would the police know about Bridget’s involvement, but so would her stepfather. If she had never taken those affair photos to begin with, then Margo might still be alive today. Now Bridget was most likely in danger as well and didn’t even realize it. If I could figure out that it was her handwriting, wouldn’t Anthony be able to figure it out at some point, considering he was her stepfather?
I flopped backward on my bed, and groaned. I closed my eyes and tried counting to ten. I had to let Bridget know that I knew what was going on and warn her that she may be next. And maybe she’d know where Sabrina was.
I picked up the receipt and dialed the number Bridget had given me. There was no answer and a generic voice mail greeting. I left her a message attempting to sound casual so she wouldn’t be worried about my confronting her. Obviously, she didn’t want me to know that she’d taken the photos or had been watching me at Hooley House.
I got up and went back into the living room, coaxing Kikko to stir from her nap. I might as well take her for a walk while I was home. And maybe the act of walking and being outside would clear my mind and help me think about what to do next concerning Anthony Bianco.