All the Wrong Places

by Joy Fielding

  “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me,” came Heather’s instant retort.

  “I don’t,” Paige clarified. “Frankly, I think you’re your own worst enemy. I said I’m sorry you’re hurting. And I’m sorry your father’s such an ass. And I’m sorry Noah’s such a dick.”

  “He is a dick, isn’t he?” Heather sniffed.

  “Yes, he is.”

  “And my father really is an ass.”

  “Yes, he really is.” Paige stole a peek at her watch. It was closing in on five thirty. “Look, Heather. I have to be somewhere at six o’clock…”

  “I got fired,” Heather said.

  “What? Why?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I hated that stupid job anyway.”

  “Well, then, maybe that’s a good thing. Now you can start looking for something you do like.”

  “And my father kicked me out of the house.”

  Shit. She was never going to get out of here. Paige grabbed her cellphone from the counter as it was charging. “Just a second,” she told her cousin. She quickly texted Mr. Right Now that she likely wouldn’t get to Anthony’s Bar before six thirty, despite her prior assurances. I’ll explain everything later, she wrote. “So, what are you going to do?” she asked Heather, returning the phone to the counter.

  “I’m not sure. Travel, maybe.”

  “Travel?”

  “I have enough money for a few months. I was thinking maybe I’d go to Europe.”

  “You don’t think you should start looking for an apartment and another job?” Paige regretted her question the second it was out of her mouth.

  “No, I don’t think I should start looking for an apartment and another job,” Heather snapped. “I know that’s the responsible thing to do. I know it’s what you would do. But, news flash, I’m not you.”

  “Nobody said you were…”

  “I am so sick of being judged and found wanting…”

  “Nobody is judging you…”

  “If you’re so bloody perfect, why did Noah cheat on you in the first place?”

  “Okay,” Paige said, marveling at how quickly the conversation had shifted gears. “I think we’ve said everything that needs to be said.”

  “And, of course, you get to decide that.”

  “Yes,” Paige said. “Yes, I do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really have to start getting ready.”

  “For your big date.”

  “Yes, for my big date.” She walked to the kitchen door, Heather on her heels. “Heather,” Paige said, stopping abruptly and swiveling around. “You’re high. You’re upset. You need to go home and lie down.”

  “I don’t have a home, remember?”

  Paige glanced up at the ceiling, her head spinning. “So, what are you saying? You want to stay here?”

  “No. Are you crazy? I definitely don’t want to stay here.”

  “Then what do you want? Do you have any idea?”

  The women stared at each other in silence for several long seconds.

  The landline rang.

  Paige reached over and answered it, grateful for the interruption. Anything was better than this. “Hello?” she said.

  “Oh, darling. Thank heavens I reached you,” her mother said. “I’ve been trying your cell…”

  “What’s the matter, Mom?”

  “I’m at the hospital…”

  “What? No! Not again.”

  “No, darling. It’s not me. I’m fine.”

  “I don’t understand. Has something happened to Harry?”

  “No, sweetheart. Just listen. I’m at Mount Auburn Hospital in Cambridge.”

  “In Cambridge? What are you doing there? Oh, God,” Paige said, dread seeping into every pore. “It’s Chloe, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, darling.” Her mother audibly choked back tears.

  “What? What?”

  “She’s been shot.”

  No, Paige thought. This can’t be happening. “How is that possible? Who…?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  “It was Matt. He shot her. The police are out searching for him now. And…and…he has the kids.”

  “Oh, God.” To think that Matt could have done something so awful, to think of her beautiful, sweet Chloe lying in some hospital bed. And then, an even worse thought. “Is she…Is she still alive?”

  There was a long pause. “You need to get here as fast as you can,” her mother said.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Her mother was waiting for her just inside the door to the ER.

  “How is she?” Paige asked, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand. She’d been crying for what felt like hours, although it had been only about thirty minutes since her mother’s call.

  “Are you okay?” the taxi driver had asked after ten minutes of listening to her sob in the backseat. “You need some water?”

  “My friend’s been shot,” Paige had managed to blurt out.

  Which had effectively ended the conversation.

  “How is she?” Paige asked now.

  “Still in surgery,” her mother answered.

  “How bad is it?”

  “She was shot three times, once to the stomach, twice to the chest,” her mother said, as if she couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of her mouth. “It doesn’t look good, darling.”

  “I don’t understand. How did this happen?”

  Joan led her daughter into the large waiting area, sitting down beside her on the blue plastic chairs. “From what I understand, Chloe was at her mother’s apartment—”

  “Yes,” Paige interrupted. “Her mother asked her to go there and pack up her things.”

  “Yes, well, apparently the place was quite a mess, and the young man who lives across the hall offered to give Chloe a hand. They’d pretty much finished the job when Matt showed up. The neighbor—his name is Ethan, a very sweet boy—said Matt didn’t look too happy to see him there, so he left. A short time later, he heard shouting, and then what sounded like shots. He opened his door to see Matt running down the hall. He went into the apartment and found Chloe on the floor, bleeding and unconscious. He called the police, then did CPR until the paramedics arrived.”

  “I don’t understand. Who called you?” Paige asked.

  “Ethan did. He checked Chloe’s phone and found our number in her contact list. I tried to reach you, but something must be the matter with your cell…”

  “Shit,” Paige said, realizing she’d left her phone charging on the kitchen counter, and that she had no way of texting Mr. Right Now to cancel their date. After hearing the horrible news, she’d grabbed her purse and fled the apartment, forgetting all about him.

  “What’s happening?” she’d heard Heather call after her. “Where are you going?”

  Hopefully her cousin wouldn’t trash the place, Paige thought now. And hopefully Mr. Right Now wouldn’t waste too much time waiting around for her to show up. She’d apologize in the morning, try to explain, although she doubted he’d believe her, or care, even if he did. That ship had most certainly sailed. She shrugged. Some things just weren’t meant to be. “Any news about Matt?”

  “Not yet.”

  “And for sure he has the kids?”

  “Apparently, he picked them up at day camp, right on schedule. Big smile on his face. No hint anything was wrong, that he’d just come from shooting his wife.”

  Paige closed her eyes. “Oh, God. You don’t think he’d hurt them, do you?”

  The silence that followed was answer enough. “The police have issued an Amber Alert,” her mother said, after the passing of several seconds. “Hopefully, they’ll find them soon, safe and sound.”

  Paige felt a shift in the air and opened her eyes to see two men approaching. She knew instantly they were police detective
s despite, or maybe because of, their drab attire. Brown suits, white shirts, striped ties that were too wide to be fashionable. They don’t call them “plainclothesmen” for nothing, she thought, pushing herself to her feet.

  “I’m Detective Gordon,” the taller, thinner, and older of the two men said, introducing himself. “This is my partner, Detective McMillan. You are?”

  “Paige Hamilton. Chloe’s friend. How is she? Is she out of surgery? Have you found Matt?”

  “She’s still in surgery. And no, we haven’t found Matt yet. Maybe you can help us. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

  “No,” Paige told them. “He and Chloe were separated. I don’t even know where he’s been living. You should check with his work.” She gave them the name of the real estate company that employed him, and Detective McMillan turned away to relay the information into his cellphone.

  “Does he have family in the area?” Detective Gordon asked.

  “No. I think everyone’s pretty spread out.”

  “What about a cottage?”

  Paige shook her head.

  “Close friends?”

  “They didn’t socialize much, other than for Matt’s work. But Matt was a player…”

  “A player?” Detective Gordon asked.

  “You know. He had…women on the side,” Paige explained. “Lots of them. He was on multiple dating sites. Chloe found out. That’s why she was divorcing him.”

  “What dating sites?”

  “Match Sticks, Tinder, Perfect Strangers—you name them, he’s on them. At least, he was. He might have pulled his profile because he was trying to win Chloe back.” She watched the detective jot this information down in his notepad.

  “Hell of a way to go about it,” the detective remarked. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help us find him?”

  Paige tried to think of something—anything—that might be useful to the detectives. But her mind was a jungle of disparate thoughts, impossible to hack her way through. While she was waiting to be manicured and waxed, her best friend in the world lay bleeding, possibly dying, on the floor of her lunatic mother’s apartment, shot by her maniac of a husband, a man who would screw a keyhole if he felt the urge, a man who wasn’t used to women saying no, a man who would rather murder the mother of his children than see her move on without him. If only she’d gone to help Chloe instead of getting her hair done, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Or maybe Matt would have shot her, too. “Has anybody notified Chloe’s mother?” she heard herself ask.

  “I’d have to check,” Detective Gordon said, referring to his notes. “We understand from the neighbor that her mother is currently out of town.”

  “Yes. She’s in Las Vegas. On her honeymoon.”

  “Chloe’s mother got married?” Joan Hamilton exclaimed.

  “Her mother’s name is Jennifer Powadiuk. Is that correct?” Detective McMillan asked.

  “Yes. Someone should call her. I’m sure her number is in Chloe’s phone.”

  The detectives moved just out of earshot to confer.

  “I wondered why Chloe was cleaning out her mother’s apartment,” Joan remarked.

  If only Jennifer Powadiuk hadn’t gotten married again. If only she hadn’t called Chloe and asked her to pack up her things. If only she hadn’t been such a selfish, narcissistic bitch, maybe Chloe wouldn’t have married a man just like her. She wouldn’t be lying on an operating table with three bullets in her body. She wouldn’t be clinging to life.

  We go with what’s familiar, Paige understood, no matter how unpleasant. We’re always seeking to make things right, to find that elusive happy ending.

  Looking for Mr. Right.

  Finding Mr. Right Now, she thought, a sound halfway between a laugh and a cry escaping her lips.

  “Did you think of something?” Detective Gordon asked, returning to her side, notebook and pencil poised and ready.

  Paige shook her head. “Did you get ahold of Chloe’s mother?”

  “She’s not answering her phone. We’ve left several messages, informing her there’s an emergency and asking her to get in touch as soon as possible.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Paige said.

  The detective raised one bushy eyebrow. “Well, if you think of anything else, no matter how insignificant it may seem, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

  “And if there’s any news about…anything,” Paige said, “we’ll be right here.”

  The detectives retreated down the hall as Paige and her mother resumed their seats, their hands interlocked, their fingers intertwined.

  “Thanks for being here,” Paige said, leaning her head against her mother’s shoulder.

  “No thanks necessary.”

  “Do you think Chloe will be all right?”

  “I don’t know, darling,” her mother said, hugging her daughter tight. “I just don’t know.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Heather stood in the middle of her aunt’s kitchen, trying to make sense of what had happened, replaying in her mind the one-sided conversation she’d just overheard. But it was difficult when you were only privy to half of what was being said. And you were stoned. She tried taking it apart, piece by piece, then filling in the blanks.

  “What’s the matter, Mom?” she heard Paige say. “What? No! Not again.”

  Okay, so it had initially appeared as if Paige’s mother was in some sort of trouble, and it wasn’t the first time.

  “I don’t understand. Has something happened to Harry?”

  Who the hell was Harry?

  “In Cambridge? What are you doing there? Oh, God. It’s Chloe, isn’t it?”

  Okay, so Auntie Joan was all right, and so was this Harry, whoever the hell he was. It was Chloe. Something bad had happened to Chloe.

  So, not so bad after all, Heather thought.

  “What? What?” Emphasis on the second what. “How is that possible? Who…? Oh, God. Is she…Is she still alive?”

  So, whatever had happened to Chloe was not only bad, it was life-threatening. It was so serious that Paige had grabbed her purse and torn out of the apartment like it was on fire, leaving Heather without an explanation or a second thought.

  “What’s happening?” Heather had called after her. “Where are you going?”

  But the only response she’d received was the sound of a slamming door.

  So rude, Heather thought now, as she’d thought then. And what could be so terrible, so urgent? It had to be an accident of some sort. Maybe Chloe had been hit by a car while crossing the street, or been involved in a head-on collision with a Mack truck. Maybe she was the victim of a purse-snatching gone bad, or a break-in at her home. Maybe she’d been attacked, beaten, maybe even raped…

  Whatever, Heather thought, suppressing an unexpected twinge of concern. She wasn’t going to waste time worrying about Chloe. Not after the little stunt she’d pulled, making her drive out to Cambridge in the middle of a workday, only to be humiliated and sent packing, which made her at least partly responsible for Heather losing her job. It would be silly to waste her tears on such an undeserving friend, she thought, impatiently wiping away the few she felt forming.

  Whatever had happened, no matter how bad it was, Chloe would pull through. Despite her delicate exterior, the woman had a core of steel. She’d survive. There was no reason for concern. There were more pressing things to worry about.

  Heather felt her stomach rumble, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten all day. She’d fled her parents’ house almost as fast as Paige had fled the condo, if you didn’t count the five minutes it had taken her to smoke a joint, leaving most of her belongings behind. What the hell, she’d thought as she was backing her car out of her parents’ driveway, narrowly missing smashing into the ornate wrought-iron fence surrounding the front la
wn. She’d get her mother to cart over the rest of her things after she’d settled in somewhere. Or better yet, she just might treat herself to a whole new wardrobe at Daddy’s expense.

  After all, how could she be expected to make a good impression on prospective employers without the proper wardrobe?

  And while Ted Hamilton might be a heartless jackass, when push came to shove, he wasn’t going to let his only daughter live on the streets. His pride, his good name and reputation, would never allow that.

  Neither would her mother.

  If and when Heather ran short of money, she knew she could count on her mother to persuade her father to give her more.

  So, she thought, walking to the fridge and opening it, not so dumb after all.

  There was a big bowl of fresh, plump blueberries and another one of luscious-looking raspberries on the fridge’s middle shelf, and Heather brought both bowls to the counter, eating the berries with her fingers, until there were none left. That should keep her for another hour, she thought, until she figured out where to spend the night. Maybe she’d go back to the Four Seasons, order room service, have a much-needed massage. It was almost six o’clock. She’d spent half the afternoon aimlessly driving around, trying to decide her next move, before stopping on a side street somewhere in the city’s South End and smoking some more weed. Which had led to the dubious decision to have it out with Paige. Which led to her spending the better part of an hour freezing in the overly air-conditioned lobby of her aunt’s building, waiting for her cousin to come home. She was exhausted. Tomorrow would be soon enough to start looking for an apartment.

  The more immediate worry was where the hell she’d parked her car.

  Maybe instead of looking for an apartment, she’d visit a travel agent, inquire about that trip to Europe she’d tossed at Paige earlier. Not that she’d ever had much curiosity about Europe, or any burning desire to go. The truth was that she’d rather go lie on a beach somewhere, but God, the look on Paige’s face!

  “You don’t think you should start looking for an apartment and another job?” she’d asked, sounding every bit as tight-assed and judgmental as Heather’s father. So maybe we really were switched at birth, Heather thought.