The clipping stops.
“So?” Zoey says, looking into the mirror at Riley’s reflection. “What do you think?”
Riley primps her new hair and smiles. “I think I love it!”
Already she feels better. Prettier, too.
She walks out of the salon feeling like a new woman, a better woman, her battery charged, ready to take on new challenges.
And ready for some exploration.
On her way up in the elevator to Samantha’s, Riley turns a wary eye toward the curtain snatcher’s second-floor apartment.
That place is evil.
She shouldn’t be doing this. But she can’t help it. Samantha is still at work, and with Riley’s spirit lifted, her clandestine visit feels exhilarating in a naughty way.
On Samantha’s floor, she looks up and down the hallway to be sure nobody’s watching. She punches in the simple code, opens the door.
She’s in.
She flips on the lights and steps into the life she’s always wanted but knows she can never have. A life so much better than hers. She heads straight for the couch with its soft, supple leather.
She smiles.
She falls into the downy, sexy cushions, indulging herself in the experience, breathing in the leather smell that rushes over her, and trying to imagine life through Samantha’s eyes.
Pretty cool.
No, it’s astounding. She’s in heaven.
But hungry. She hasn’t eaten anything all day.
In the kitchen, she reweighs her previous thoughts about those burns on Samantha’s fingers. There’s still no food in the freezer or fridge. Except . . . she discovers a bakery bag filled with fresh double chocolate chip cookies on the top shelf. And six containers of cherry yogurt.
Samantha can’t cook those.
The cookies look delicious. She wants some, can’t resist the urge to sample them. So she takes two. She’s about to close the door but contemplates a container of cherry yogurt. She snags it.
The cookies are amazing—they make her feel rich and confident. After satisfying her hunger, she moves on to Samantha’s bedroom. She sinks into the mattress, firm but not too much, soft but just right. Quite a change from the hand-me-down, hard-as-welded-steel mattress that Erin gave her.
She leans into the pillows and enjoys the breathtaking view of downtown. She loves it here, loves to drink in the luxury of a life that, before now, she could only imagine or, at best, see through television shows and movies.
She spots a remote resting a few inches away on the mattress. She grabs it, pushes a button, and a gentle, mechanical noise sounds off while the bed rotates toward the window. She pushes another button, and the bed answers with a smooth, upward movement, which enables her to better enjoy the view.
After a few minutes of R & R, she decides to check out Samantha’s closet. It’s larger than Riley’s bathroom and filled with pretty clothes. She sorts through several hanging blouses and plucks one out that’s purple and green. She pulls off her top and puts this one on. Gorgeous, she thinks, spinning around to enjoy her new Samantha hair and new Samantha blouse reflected in the tall mirror. For a brief moment, she sees Samantha smiling back at her. She marvels at the woman, and in a thick southern accent whispers, “You’re so pretty.”
She takes off the Samantha blouse, returns it to the rack, then puts on her own again. Then she does a double take at a pair of red pumps resting on a shelf—the same shoes Samantha was ogling that day at the mall.
Maybe I’ll grab them later.
She grabbed them, all right, but did she steal the shoes or come back to buy them? It doesn’t make sense. Why would Samantha shoplift something she could have easily bought without blinking? But Riley’s thoughts change direction when she reflects on all that commotion at the front of the store. Was it because the shoes disappeared? If that’s the case, was it in retaliation against the salesgirl who made her angry? She looks at the size; it’s the same as Riley’s.
Bet she won’t even notice.
Samantha has so many pairs of shoes—rows and rows of them—that it would be hard to keep track of them all. She even said she finds things in the closet she has no memory of buying. So Riley stuffs one shoe into each jacket pocket as souvenirs from her visit, then rearranges the others to create an effect of fullness.
Now she’s even more intent on finding out about Samantha’s life.
She goes to the office. The desktop is as neat as can be: only a lamp, a stapler, and a container holding three pens and one freshly sharpened pencil. She opens the bottom file drawer and digs through folders. The effort proves boring—until she comes across some financial statements. Samantha wasn’t presenting the entire picture while discussing Daddy’s finances. The insurance policy she mentioned pales in comparison to the financial portfolio Riley finds. Under the name of Capital Ridge Family Trust, it would seem he left her with about as many zeros as a mission to Mars has miles.
The sadist wanted me to feel guilty for hating him. I guess he figured that with every penny I spent, I’d have to think of him.
That’s a lot of guilt.
Besides being so fucking lovely, this apartment is a gold mine of information, but time is running out. A check of her watch confirms it: she needs to leave before Samantha comes home from work. After fixing the bed, refluffing the couch’s heavenly brown leather pillows, and looking the place over for other signs of disturbances, she’s gone.
50
In the hallway outside Samantha’s apartment, Riley’s cell goes off, and sparks explode inside her chest. She catches her breath, looks at her phone, and nearly loses her marbles.
“Hey, beautiful!” Samantha says before Riley can speak. “I was heading up to my apartment and thinking about you.”
Unholy hell!
Samantha is in the building. Even worse, she’s on her way to this floor. Riley’s feet break into a hotfooted walk toward the elevator.
Wait! No! What am I doing?
She reverses directions, mouth so dry her tongue feels coated in wax, tightness in her gut she’s never before experienced. But this open floor plan offers no place to hide, and Samantha could easily see Riley on her way up in the elevator.
“Still there?” Samantha asks.
“Yeah, still here,” Riley says, walking faster, swiping her vision in every direction, and trying not to sound as if she’s about to vomit up all the tension in her belly. She sees a maintenance closet, prays it’s not locked. The handle spins free of any resistance, and Riley jumps inside. She closes the door, collapses onto a mop, and tries to inhale a sustaining breath but instead ingests the toxic odor of ammonia and Lord only knows what else.
“What are you up to?” Samantha asks.
Hanging out in a broom closet.
“Oh, nothing,” Riley lies while she struggles to find her bearings. “Just got in from the store.” An aluminum pail beside her falls to the floor with a resounding crash. Riley nearly jumps out of her skin.
Samantha asks, “What was that?”
“Sorry. That was me. I knocked something over.”
“Oh. So what did you go out and get yourself? Anything exciting?”
You have no idea.
“Hardly.” Riley wrestles out an awkward laugh, then adds, “Not unless the grocery store has come out with a new line of excitement. But no, I just picked up a few items.”
“You sure go there a lot. To the grocery store.”
Riley stops the bead of sweat rolling from forehead to cheek with a hand and unthinkingly blurts, “Well, this time I had to go for Wendy.”
“Wendy?” Samantha sounds surprised. “Who’s Wendy?
Why did I just tell her that?
“It’s a friend who lives on my floor.”
“You never told me about her.”
Another compulsory laugh. “Well, I’m telling you now.”
“You probably just forgot,” Samantha says in a tone that sounds self-pacifying. “But can’t she pick up stuff for h
erself? Is she disabled or something like that?”
“Something like that, yes.”
Silence. Then Samantha’s voice brightens. “I have exciting news! I was actually calling to offer you an invitation!”
Riley sticks her head out from the broom closet and looks in both directions. While she’s racing toward the elevator, one of Samantha’s shoes falls from her pocket to the floor. She scoops it up, keeps moving, and says, “An invitation? To where?”
“I’ve got a showing tomorrow night. The Rocky Oaks Gallery has some of my pieces. Nothing terribly fancy, just a few people, but since I’m new in town, it’s an opportunity for them to get acquainted with my work. It ends up being more like a social gathering than anything else. Kind of fun, really. You know, drink a little wine, grab a bite or two. Mingle and all that. I realized today that it might be a good chance for you to meet some people, too, maybe show off one of those banging new dresses I got you.”
Riley blows through the building’s front door and thinks, An opportunity to crawl deeper into Samantha’s life? To rub shoulders with others who interact with her? She’ll take it.
“I’m in,” Riley tells her.
51
As soon as Riley opens her door, Samantha cries with exuberant delight, “Oh my God! You went back and got the hair I wanted!”
Riley tugs at a lock. “Do you like it?”
“Are you kidding me? I love it. Now we look like mother and daughter.”
Riley stiffens.
Samantha frowns at Riley’s hair.
“What is it?” Riley checks herself in the living room mirror. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s . . .” A self-deprecating shake of the head. “It’s nothing.”
“Samantha . . .”
“No. I’m going to sound petty.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s just . . . I wish I could have gone with you. It would have been a special moment for us.”
“But I wanted to surprise you. I thought you’d be excited about it.”
“Now stop that. You know I am.”
“Except?”
“Nothing.” Samantha raises both hands and shakes her head. “I’m being silly. I’m so happy you decided I was right, after all.”
Riley opens her mouth to speak, but Samantha interrupts with, “Did you have the new hair for your interview?”
“No, I had it done after.”
“Oh. Well? How did it go?”
“I got the job.”
“That’s great! When do you start?”
“I actually already did. Two days ago.”
Samantha looks as if someone took a cleaning rag and wiped the reaction from her face. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“I am telling you.”
“After you already started.”
“It all happened very fast. I had the interview, and they wanted me to start that afternoon. We only spoke briefly by phone yesterday, and so much was happening.”
You know, like breaking into your apartment, then spending some extra time asphyxiating inside the Toxic Cleaning Closet.
Samantha’s features relax—or seem to. “You’re right,” she says. “I’m being childish. It just makes me sad that we missed another special moment.”
“But we’re having it now.”
“Right. Of course. I guess . . . ,” Samantha says, squinting over a hard smile. “I’m just acting nervous about the showing.”
“Of course you are. But speaking of the job . . . It was the strangest thing.” Riley chuckles in an attempt to sound diplomatic and avoid further destabilizing Samantha. “You said a friend of yours was hiring, but when I mentioned your name, she didn’t seem to know you.”
“I think you heard me wrong. I didn’t say I know the person hiring. I said a friend of mine does.”
“You did? You sure?”
“Yeah. I remember exactly.”
Riley doesn’t.
Was it my mistake? Did I hear her wrong?
It’s possible, so she nods as if gaining clearer understanding on the matter.
Samantha pushes past Riley. About halfway through the living room, she says, “My word! What smells so delicious? Did you go ahead and fix us some plates before the showing?”
“It’s for Wendy. I decided to drop off a dinner before we leave.”
Samantha keeps walking and says, “Well. Let’s see if we can’t try to make you look pretty.”
“Seriously, girl, you can only do so much primping.”
“I prefer to call it damage control,” Riley says. She checks her shoes in the mirror, and her mind momentarily flips back to the ones she sacked from Samantha’s closet. She chases the thought away, then adds, “I look old and frumpy compared to your amazing body.”
Samantha takes a fast sip of her third glass of wine from a bottle she brought in her purse. “Yeah, amazing by the grace of a good plastic surgeon.”
“Really?”
“I bought the boobs a few years ago.”
“Why?”
“Because I could?” Samantha laughs. “And because I’ve always hated my body.”
“Did it make you feel better?”
“Not completely, but I can at least stand to look at myself in the mirror sometimes.”
Riley reconsiders her own reflection, lets out a defeated sigh, then notices Samantha is inspecting her.
“What now?”
Samantha quirks her mouth to one side. She digs through her purse, pulls out a makeup tube, and says, “Let me show you a little trick.”
She applies a pink, satiny liquid to Riley’s cheekbones above the blush line. When she finishes, Samantha places both hands on Riley’s shoulders, spins her toward the mirror, and enjoys looking at the reflection with her.
Riley moves in closer. She touches her face and sees her expression animate.
“Right?” Samantha says, beaming at her. “Sometimes it’s those small touches that make the biggest difference.”
“Wow . . . what is that stuff?”
“Liquid spot highlighter.” Samantha closes the cap. “I swear by the stuff. “
“I’ve got to have some of that. Where can I find it?”
“Here.” Samantha aims the tube at Riley. “Take it. I’ve got another one at home.”
“Thanks so much.” Riley looks into the mirror again and moves her head, allowing the light to play across her face.
“See? You need to listen to me more.” Before Riley can respond, Samantha looks at her watch and says, “Oh wow. I didn’t realize how late it is. We should get going.”
But about halfway down the hall, Riley’s feet come to a stop. “I can’t believe this. I forgot the dinner for Wendy.” She starts digging through her purse for the apartment key. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go back.”
“Riley . . . ,” Samantha says, tension riding through her voice, “we don’t have time. I’m supposed to be at the gallery.”
“I promise, it’ll only take a minute.”
She lets out a miffed sigh. “Well, go get it. You could have already been done by now.”
A few moments later, Riley is knocking on Wendy’s door.
“Wendy!” she yells, splitting her attention between Samantha’s rising impatience and the door. “I have your dinner, but I’m in a hurry. Can you come out?”
No response.
“Seriously, Riley, I have to get to the showing. Can’t you just leave it out here for her?”
Riley knocks faster, louder.
The door opens a crack. Wendy says, “It’s about tim—” then flinches at Riley’s new hair, then locks her gaze onto Samantha.
Samantha cringes and steps into reverse.
Wendy doesn’t seem to be doing so well herself; she’s motionless, except for her hand, quivering and clamped on to the door.
Riley messed up. She shouldn’t have brought a stranger by, but with all the nonsense between her and Samantha, she wasn’t thinking clearly. Now she’s managed to ups
et both of her friends. She offers Wendy a skittish smile and hands over the plate. Wendy flicks a cagey glance at Samantha, then slams the door shut.
They proceed down the hallway, both women quiet, but Riley suspects that each has a different reason for it.
“Okay,” Samantha says, breaking the loaded silence. “So, I’m afraid to ask, but I have to. What’s up with that woman?”
Riley makes her expression unreadable and says, “Wendy has a few problems.”
“That seems like an understatement. Seriously, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“She’s not that bad once you know her.”
“But why would you want to?”
Riley provides no answer. She has a bad taste in her mouth, and all at once she’s feeling more nervous than excited about how this evening will go.
52
The gallery is packed.
If Samantha thought this was just a few people, then Riley wonders what her idea of a big crowd is.
A woman wearing a long white gown sits before a golden double-strung harp, her baroque music effortlessly carrying over the crowd. Samantha’s dramatic sculptures rest on black lacquered pedestals beneath strategically placed spotlights, creating a beautiful and electrifying effect. Samantha is busy talking, laughing, and working the crowd with her charm and beauty.
Riley is no expert on art showings, but she has a feeling this isn’t the norm. Samantha probably poured big bucks into the event and went way overboard, as only Samantha can do.
A white-shirted, bow-tied waiter drifts up to her, his tray filled with unidentifiable yet extravagant-looking hors d’oeuvres. Riley accepts two—anything to keep her hands busy. She puts her head down while nibbling, then gawks at her shoes. Under the bright lights, she can see they’re all wrong for this dress: worn, nicked, and about a shade or two shy of clashing, they create an impressively unappealing example of what happens when old and new collide, negating everything she loved about this dress when Samantha bought it for her.
She looks across the room to again check on Samantha, still mingling, still charming the pants off people.
What She Doesn't Know: A Psychological Thriller Page 14