Not a Word

by Stephanie Black

  Lacey had immense talent. Natalie hoped she could guide her to the point of having confidence in her own judgment—and realizing that overbearing behavior didn’t equal omniscience.

  She’d debated confronting Lacey about why she’d hidden her phone but had decided to let her leave without it. If Natalie had mentioned it at the time, Lacey would have denied hiding it deliberately, and the conversation would have gone nowhere. If she let Lacey finish whatever she was planning, Natalie would have more facts to deal with and—she hoped—more luck getting Lacey to open up about why she’d felt the need to leave the phone. Natalie’s guess was that she wanted a period of time when Jonas couldn’t contact her or locate her. “Accidentally” leaving her phone at her therapy appointment was an excuse he might accept.

  For now, Natalie would leave the phone at the reception desk. Lacey would probably come back for it later today.

  Jeanne was on the phone when Natalie approached the reception area. “Could you hold for a moment?” Jeanne touched a button and lowered the phone. “Call for you. I was about to send it to your voice mail. Do you want to take it now, or are you starving?”

  She was hungry but not ravenous. Lunch could wait a few minutes. “I’ll take it in my office.” She set Lacey’s phone on Jeanne’s desk. “Lacey Egan left this behind. I imagine she’ll come back for it at some point.”

  Jeanne pulled out the pen she kept stuck through the gray-black braid wound around her head. She jotted Lacey’s name on a Post-It note and pressed it to the phone. “I’ll guard it for her.”

  “Thanks.” Natalie returned to her office and picked up her office phone. She touched a button to accept the call. “Hello, this is Natalie Marsh.”

  A male voice spoke. “Hi, uh, this is Gideon Radcliffe. I apologize for interrupting your workday. I thought I’d be leaving a message. I wouldn’t have called you at work, but I didn’t have your personal number, and I didn’t want to ask Felicia for it, and I hope I’m not interrupting you.”

  From this courteous but rambling introduction, Natalie knew he was nervous. “I’m on my lunch hour, so you have perfect timing. What can I do for you?”

  “I . . . first, I want to apologize about last week. You must think I’m a kook. I would have called to apologize sooner, but I was hoping if I waited long enough, you’d forget I existed.”

  Natalie laughed. “I don’t think you’re a kook.”

  “Seriously, I know I must have made you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry. I honestly did want your insights on Felicia but lost my nerve. And bored you to death during dinner.”

  “I wasn’t bored to death, but why did you lose your nerve?”

  “It’s an odd situation. Dicey. Ever since I drowned my dignity in a bowl of split-pea, I’ve been trying to reach out to Felicia, to learn more about what she’s going through and how to help her. I’m not getting anywhere. She doesn’t want to talk about it. Treats me like a kid, frankly, and tells me it’s not my business. I’m done keeping my mouth shut. I think grief is messing with her head.”

  “Did she ask you to keep your mouth shut?”

  “More than asked. Ordered me, and I promised I wouldn’t discuss it with anyone. But for her sake, I don’t think that’s a promise I should keep. She’s hurting, and I can’t ignore that and let her struggle. Is it too late to ask to talk to you about it?”

  “It’s never too late. You know I’m worried about her too.”

  “I feel awkward about blabbing though. Is it legitimate if I discuss the situation with you and ask you not to mention it to Felicia or anyone else until we figure out which direction to go?”

  “I’m the keeper of the world’s secrets,” Natalie said. “I’m guessing this is more of a conversation than we can have over the phone in the next few minutes?”

  “I’ll take whatever time you can give me. I’ve already made myself a pest, and I don’t want to impose.”

  “You’re not a pest. I’d appreciate more insight on how to reach out to her. Felicia was a great blessing to me as a child, and I’d like to return the favor in any way I can. Would you like to meet for dinner? That would give us some unhurried time to talk.”

  “Hey, yeah, that would be great!” At the surprise and relief in his voice, Natalie felt a little bad for him—he sincerely had been worried he’d made a fool of himself. “Are you . . . sure?”

  “I’m sure,” she said. “I didn’t make the suggestion by accident.”

  He chuckled. “Unfortunately, it does need to be private, which makes me sound awkward again. ‘Hi, I’m a stranger. Come meet me for another private dinner. Don’t worry; my old cellmate said he’d vouch for me, and my parole officer thinks I have promise.’”

  “I’ve had better character witnesses than your alleged cellmate. Felicia has always told me what a nice, upstanding guy you are. I didn’t know your father well, but I know he was proud of you.”

  “Thank you for telling me that. I appreciate it.”

  “I understand why you’re hesitant to discuss your concerns in public. Here’s a compromise. Are you free on Saturday afternoon? You could come to my house. The weather’s supposed to be nice, and I have a wood-fired pizza oven in the backyard. It’s not worth heating it up just for me, but I’d enjoy an excuse to use it. Picnic outdoors. Out in the sunlight, where neighbors can peek through the arborvitae if they want but will be too far away to hear us.”

  “That’s the best lunch offer I’ve ever had. What time Saturday?”

  “Anytime.”

  “Anytime works for me too. You’ll let me bake pizzas, right? I have some Italian blood, and I owe it to my ancestors to learn how to wield a . . . that big spatula thing.”

  “A peel,” Natalie said. “And yes, you’re welcome to. How about one o’clock?”

  “Great. What can I bring? Dough? Toppings? Salad?”

  “Bring whatever toppings you like. I’ll provide the dough, sauce, and cheese. You bring the fun stuff.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Give me your number,” she said. “I’ll text you my address, and that will give you my phone number as well.”

  He recited it. “Thank you, Natalie. Seriously. I still feel stupid, hounding you like this, but I’m stumped for how to help Felicia.”

  “I’m stumped too, so I’ll be glad to get your insights. See you Saturday.”

  Chapter 9

  Her tongue tasting of unfamiliar spices and several pages in her notebook crammed with notes, Lacey drove back to Dr. Marsh’s office. Even though there were plenty of empty parking spaces, she parked far from the entrance. She wanted to walk through the entire lot, breathe crisp air, crunch on fallen leaves, emulate Camille’s stride. She wanted to get some high-heeled shoes like Camille’s, but Jonas might not approve. High heels would make her taller than he was.

  She entered the building, took the stairs to the second floor, and reentered the quiet reception room. The Frida Kahlo woman at the desk smiled at her and drew back the glass window. “Hello, Mrs. Egan. I’ll bet you’re here for your phone.”

  Caught off guard, Lacey still managed a Camille-smile. She hadn’t expected them to find the phone until she’d prompted them to look for it. “Yes. I was hoping it was here. I couldn’t think where else I would have left it.”

  The woman opened a drawer, took out Lacey’s phone, and passed it to her. “We kept it safe for you.”

  “Thank you so much.” Lacey headed for the exit.

  Back in her car, she took her mosaic phone case out of her purse and snapped it onto her phone. As soon as she arrived home, she’d brush her teeth and swish mouthwash to clean up her breath. She didn’t want Jonas smelling those spices. She hadn’t thought she liked Indian food, but she’d had it only once before, and it was better than she’d remembered. She could tolerate it again. Maybe . . . next Friday, after her appointment? She couldn’t leave her phone in Dr. Marsh’s office again though. She’d find another hiding place. Behind a potted tree in the lobby, or someplace li
ke that.

  She pulled into the garage. As she opened her car door, Jonas’s car pulled into the other bay.

  Lacey’s heart gave a heavy shake. He’d said he’d be at work all day. Why had he come home now? Stay calm. She waved at him and started for the door to the house, pawing through her purse in search of breath mints.

  His car door opened. “Lacey, wait.”

  She turned and smiled at him, fingers closing on the container of mints. “You’re home early.”

  Jonas approached, opened the door to the house, and held it for her.

  “Thank you.” Knowing she couldn’t pop a mint without Jonas noticing, she let go of the tin and stepped inside. She’d better admit she’d gone to lunch. It wasn’t a suspicious act—why shouldn’t she grab a bite after her appointment? Act confident. Smile like Camille did when she was chatting with her colleagues at the restaurant.

  Jonas closed the door. “Where have you been? Your appointment was at eleven.”

  “I went to lunch afterward. I guess I’m burned out on sandwiches. I wanted to try something different.” She went to hang her purse in the closet. Jonas swiped it out of her hands, unzipped the center compartment, and pulled out her notebook.

  Lacey’s phony confidence splintered, slicing her heart. “That’s private!”

  Jonas dropped her purse on the floor and scrutinized the front and back covers of the small notebook. “What’s in it?”

  “It’s . . . it’s where I wrote my notes when I was talking with Dr. Marsh. She said not to let anyone else look at it, that it was only for me. I need it back.” She tried to grab it. Jonas gripped her wrist and leaned close to her.

  “What were you doing at the India Pearl? You don’t even like Indian food.”

  “I wasn’t—” Her face was chilly, his breath like hot wind against a frosted window. Had he seen . . . ?

  “You were planning to meet someone there, but he didn’t show up, did he? Did he chicken out?”

  “I wasn’t meeting anyone! I just—I decided I wanted to . . . something new . . . give the food another try. I know you like it; if I liked it, we could go together . . . ” With her free hand, she tried again to snatch her notebook.

  “I thought you’d never do this to me.” Jonas shoved it into his back pocket and seized her other wrist. “I’ve taken care of you. I’ve protected you. I’ve done everything for you. This is what you give me back? Lies? Cheating?”

  “I’m not cheating! Give me that notebook!”

  “Tell me the truth, and I will.”

  “I’d never cheat on you. I just wanted to try something different.”

  “So you left your phone at your therapist’s office so I’d think you were still there and you could sneak away?”

  He’d seen her returning to Dr. Marsh’s office too? And he’d realized she knew about the app. “It was an accident. I forgot my phone. I didn’t notice it was missing until I was already at the restaurant.”

  “You’re lying. You never looked for it. You didn’t search your pockets or your purse or your car.”

  He had been there, watching her the whole time. Watching as she’d observed Camille and taken notes. Frantically, Lacey tried to imagine how her actions had appeared from his point of view. Did he realize she was stalking Camille? “I remembered I’d set the phone down at Dr. Marsh’s and hadn’t picked it up. That’s why I didn’t look for it. I wasn’t meeting anyone.”

  “Trolling for a man, then? I saw you staring at a couple of guys the whole time, the men with Camille Moretti. Which one are you after?”

  “I’m not after anyone,” Lacey said, amazed that she could feel so relieved at getting accused of ogling other men. “I was staring into space, thinking about my discussion with Dr. Marsh. I . . . didn’t even realize Camille was there. I don’t know her very well.”

  He released her wrists and took several steps backward. “Fine,” he said. “You keep your secrets. I’ll read about them.” He pulled the notebook out of his pocket, turned his back on her, and walked away.

  “Jonas!” Lacey lurched after him. “Please don’t! It’s nothing about a man. I’m not cheating. It’s private; it’s therapy notes.”

  He kept walking. She grabbed the back of his jacket. “Please!”

  With a wrench of his shoulders, he pulled his jacket from her grip. He jogged toward the stairs. Thoughts of what he’d see in that notebook whirled inside Lacey, a tornado inhaling everything, destroying everything.

  “Jonas!” she shrieked, racing after him. Her shoes slipped on the tiled entryway, and she flapped her arms, catching her balance. “Wait!”

  He raced up the stairs. Lacey tried to follow but stepped on the hem of her skirt and crashed her knee into the edge of a stair. “Jonas!” she screamed.

  A door slammed. A lock popped shut.

  Tears poured from her eyes and splattered the tread of the stair. He would read the notebook. He’d learn everything she’d done, how she’d followed Camille, spied on her, delighted in scaring her. Everything about Lacey’s evil. Everything about her insanity.

  Lacey stood and staggered toward the garage. She grabbed her purse off the floor where Jonas had dropped it, took out her phone and hurled it down the hallway as hard as she could. It smashed into something, and glass shattered; she didn’t know or care what she’d broken along with the phone. She rushed to her car and drove away from the house, smearing her tears with her fingertips, driving too fast, with no idea where she was going.

  Chapter 10

  The nip of the evening wind reminded Natalie that it would be October soon. She pulled her silver shawl tightly around her shoulders—though the fabric was too thin to do much good—and rang Felicia’s doorbell.

  Yesterday’s unexpected text from Felicia asking if the invitation to accompany Natalie to the Chapman soiree was still open was the most encouraging, optimistic signal Natalie had received from her since Wade’s death. Felicia was reaching out—and wanted to attend a party. Natalie hoped to have an encouraging report to give Gideon at lunch tomorrow, and she could finally give Felicia the poetry book she’d bought for her.

  Felicia opened the door. “Good evening. Come in.”

  “Thank you.” Natalie stepped into the warm house. Felicia wore a long, black velvet dress decorated with rhinestones. The dress should have been stunning with her coloring, but tonight, the black magnified how pale she was—so pale that the dusting of blush on her cheeks stood out instead of blending with her skin. She must be nervous, conflicted about attending the soiree, missing Wade. Natalie revowed to make tonight enjoyable for Felicia. The party that Bob Chapman threw every autumn for his employees and for business owners who leased property from him was always entertaining. Natalie hoped Felicia wouldn’t find it overwhelming.

  “That’s a beautiful dress.” Felicia gestured at Natalie’s deep-purple gown with its long sleeves, flowing fabric gathered at one hip, and a rippling ankle-length skirt. “And your shawl is stunning.”

  Natalie spread her arms to show off her intricate, hand-embroidered wrap. “Birthday gift,” she said. She let her voice go dry and added, “From Andrea.”

  “Ah,” Felicia said. Natalie was glad Felicia knew her family history well enough to understand how Natalie would have mixed feelings about a beautiful and expensive gift from her sister.

  “Let me get my coat,” Felicia said.

  Natalie offered Felicia the gift bag. “This is for you. I thought you might enjoy it.”

  Felicia accepted the bag. “Thank you. You’re so thoughtful.” Her gratitude sounded weary, as though complimenting Natalie’s clothes had already tapped out her energy for courtesies.

  “Don’t worry about opening it now,” Natalie said. “Save it for when you need a pick-me-up.”

  “Thank you.” Felicia set the bag on the couch. She stepped into black pumps and took a dress coat out of the closet. “Thank you for driving. I hope I didn’t interrupt any plans you’d made.”

  “Not at all
. I was delighted to hear from you.”

  They walked to Natalie’s car. “I wonder what entertainment Bob has planned for this year,” Natalie said as she started the engine. “I hope something quieter than the bagpipers he flew over from Scotland last year.”

  “It will be something unusual.”

  “I’ve heard rumors about belly dancers. And the Royal Shakespeare Company doing a ‘best of.’”

  “Neither would surprise me.”

  “Both together wouldn’t surprise me,” Natalie said. Tension had increased in Felicia’s voice; maybe she wasn’t up for chitchat yet. Natalie touched the stereo, choosing a Beethoven piano sonata. Music might be a better way to fill the silence.

  She parked behind the Chapman Fine Arts Museum, and they headed toward the walkway that crossed Kahrakwa Pond to the glass-sided reception hall that blazed in the darkness, firing streaks of silver and gold light over glassy black water.

  “Maison du Canard is breathtaking at night,” Natalie said as their heels clicked along the walkway. “Breathtaking during the day too.”

  “You’d think they’d have given it a more elegant name than ‘Duck House,’” Felicia said.

  “I hear he named it in honor of an annoyed mallard that kept showing up to quack at the construction workers. Vintage Chapman. Give it a whimsical name but dress it up with French so people think it means something classy.”

  Felicia nodded.

  “I went ice skating here last winter,” Natalie said. “I felt like I was in a Christmas special. I wonder how the building is constructed to keep it from being damaged when the pond freezes?”

  “My stepson would know,” Felicia said. “He’s a civil engineer.”

  Natalie hesitated. Should she tell Felicia she’d met Gideon last week? She wasn’t sure if he wanted that encounter to be a secret, but if he had told Felicia, it would seem strange for Natalie not to mention it now. “Did he tell you I ran into him other night? I stopped by your house when he was raking your leaves.”