I start with human bones. I figure it must be close to impossible to get ahold of those, but I’m surprised to find I’m wrong. Within minutes I come across a website that markets itself as a natural history retail store specializing in all types of human remains. Are you kidding me? You can buy human bones off the internet? According to the site, the answer is yes, unless you live in Georgia, Tennessee, or New York. How sick is that?
I scroll through their offerings until I come across the page with partial skeletons; I scroll down some more and find what I’m looking for: fragments of a skeleton from the 1800s. I doubt it’s Indian, but it’s old enough to stop construction in its tracks. And it’s relatively cheap at two thousand bucks.
Next I head to eBay searching for trinkets. I come across twenty Chumash shell beads and an “authentic” arrowhead. Twenty dollars for the lot. I want to purchase right there and then, but I can’t leave any kind of trail. I’ll have to buy a cash-loaded credit card that can’t be traced back to my name. Then I’ll open a PO box with my fake ID at the nearby Mail Box Express.
I leave the library so excited I can’t think straight. I take the long way home, trying to clear my brain. Money won’t be a problem. I’ve been stashing my savings under my bed in case I need to leave town in a hurry. The cash card I can purchase on Sunday. The PO box during lunch break on Monday. If I pay for overnight shipping, I could have everything I need by the end of the week.
I try to think through the weaknesses in my plan, the various ways I could get caught. But like filing the anonymous complaints, I’m betting I’ll come out clean. No one will ever guess what the boring fat girl was up to. Still, I have to be careful. Plot out my many moves, especially on the night I stash the bones. That’s where the most danger lies. I’ll have to do some site surveillance. Tonight.
“Hi there.”
I spin around. Mimi again. “What are you doing here?” I hiss.
Swaying her shoulders back and forth, she giggles like a little girl. “I don’t know.”
“Well, scat. Get away. Go back to wherever you’re from.” Hell if I need some grimy panhandler knowing where I live.
“I’m not from anywhere. I don’t have a home.”
I lift my cell phone. “Either you leave, or I call the police.”
“No,” she says backing away. “Please don’t do that. I just thought you were my friend.”
“Either you get out of here, or I call 911. And if I do, I’ll make up a story to land your ass in jail.”
“I’m going.” She sags like a broken rag doll, turns, and plods back down the street.
For the briefest of moments, I don’t like myself. And then I shake off the feeling and keep walking.
Kathi
July 7, 2016
“Arthur?” I haven’t seen him since the day at the salon. I don’t want to see him right now.
“We meet again,” he says with a smile.
“Well, yes.” I edge away from the pawnshop door.
“What are you doing downtown?”
“Shopping.”
“Way up here?”
“There’s a boutique I like.”
“Which one? Maybe Eileen shops there.”
“I’m sorry. I can never remember its name.” Tucking my purse tight under my arm, I look into Arthur’s handsome face. His eyes have a way of crinkling at the edges like they’re always on the verge of a smile.
“I bet you gals don’t like to share your secret shopping spots. Am I right?”
“You’re right.” I try to relax and smile.
“I’m a smart guy . . . have you had lunch?”
“Why, no.”
“Great. Then you’ll lunch with me.”
I glance around. “I can’t . . . I shouldn’t . . .”
“Why not?”
“Well . . . is lunch appropriate? I mean, where is Eileen?”
He loops his arm through mine. “Of course it’s appropriate. We’ll call it a business lunch. Have you been to SIMPLE yet?”
“No . . .”
“Then you’re in for a treat. It’s country vegan food. A nice young couple owns the place. I referred them to Rich last year, and he was able to help them with an SBA loan. I attended their open house but haven’t had a chance to sample their lunch menu.”
I glance over my shoulder, thinking this isn’t the best of ideas. But Arthur pulls me along, his step so jaunty I soon match mine to his. SIMPLE’s interior is constructed from repurposed barn wood, which gives the restaurant a rustic, country feel. Rows of green vines trail from the ceiling; bales of hay are piled against one wall. Stained glass windows reflect a rainbow of colors across the polished concrete floor. The tables are made from rusted sheets of metal set atop old plumbing pipes. The air is fresh, the wait staff charming, the customers young and hip. I’m feeling overdressed until Arthur introduces me to the pretty hostess, who fawns over my designer pantsuit. After a smattering of small talk and a glass of vegan wine, I’m beginning to feel at ease.
I’ve never tried vegan food before, so I have no idea what to order. Arthur suggests an arugula beet salad with a crushed-cashew dressing.
“So how are you, Kathi?” he asks over his glass of wine. The light shines on him in such a way that his sea-green eyes spark gold.
“I’m fine,” I reply, thinking of the $3,000 hidden in my purse.
“You look quite stunning today.”
“Me? Stunning?”
“Yes.” He laughs. “You. You’re doing something different. Maybe with your hair? I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
I smile. No need to share my secret. He might think me a little weird. When the salad is served, I take a bite and nod in approval.
We chat through lunch, sharing stories of mutual friends. I tell him about the trip we took to Hawaii last summer. He brags about his teenagers, Seth and Sadie. They attend year-round boarding school at nearby Cate.
“Doesn’t that bother you,” I ask, “not having them at home? I mean, it just seems like time passes so quickly with children, and one day—poof—they’re gone.”
He nods. “It does bother me. I can’t tell you how much I miss them, especially in the evenings. Unfortunately, to keep peace in our house, I had to agree.”
“You mean it was Eileen’s idea?”
Arthur sighs, and his shoulders slump. “Yes. Eileen likes the house to be kept a certain way. And you know how kids are. They just can’t help leaving their things everywhere. And she’s so busy with her fund-raisers—she doesn’t have time to shuttle them around. I offered to bring in extra help to keep them at home, but she refused. She even gave away our family dog. Said he shed too much, and with the kids gone, what’s the use?” Arthur pauses, and his sadness washes over me. He shakes his head. “I honestly don’t know how you handle life without Rich. Eileen is rarely home, so it’s almost like I’m a widower. It’s hard. Really hard. Especially at night. How do you do it?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I try to stay busy. Think about the upside as much as I can.”
“Don’t you ever get lonely?”
I drop my voice. “All the time.”
He nods. “Me too. In fact, there are times I feel a little dark. Depressed, I’d guess you’d call it. I’ve even considered seeing a counselor, but what will therapy change? The truth is I don’t like coming home to an empty house. I miss having someone to confide in. To share meals with. To go over the events of the day. You understand what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
“I do.” I can’t believe Arthur is opening up to me. No man has done that in years. Decades, in fact. Not since Rich and I were first dating. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s hard.”
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this. I’m not one to share my feelings, but you’re such a kind and lovely person. And I know you understand what I’m going through. It’s not like I can talk about it with Eileen. Or with any of my guy friends.”
“It’s a difficult subject. That’s t
rue.”
He hesitates. “This may be none of my business, and it’s probably too soon to think of such a thing, but have you considered dating again?”
“Oh no.” I shake my head. “I don’t think I’m ready. And I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“There are those dating sites. Tinder? Bumble? Or eHarmony for older people like us.”
“I would never want to meet someone through the internet.”
“Agreed. If I suddenly became single, I would want to get to know a woman the old-fashioned way. Invite her to lunch or dinner, just like we’re doing here.”
I drop my gaze. Is he suggesting . . . ? Just the thought makes my insides flutter, which is wrong since he’s a married man.
The waiter arrives and clears our lunch, and Arthur orders us vegan cappuccinos. Once they’re served, we settle back. I didn’t taste a thing, but it doesn’t matter. It’s so nice to have lunch with a friend, one who doesn’t judge me for Rich’s purported sins.
“I don’t mean to pry,” Arthur says after a while. “But I saw you exit the pawnshop. Are you sure everything’s all right?”
I struggle to come up with a good story. “A friend left a ring there. She was too embarrassed to retrieve it, so she asked for my help.”
“Good. I feel better knowing it’s not you who needs the money.” His eyes search mine. “Or is it?”
“Of course not.” I look away.
He reaches out and pats my hand. “You can tell me the truth,” he says softly. “I’m good with secrets. No one will ever know.”
There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to tell him. Another part that totally does. I’ve been so sad, so alone these past few months. And he’s one of the very few to have reached out his hand. I take a deep breath. “Well . . . it’s embarrassing to admit, but yes, I do need money. You saw my stack of bills. I’m completely, totally broke.”
“So you sold something?”
“Rich’s Rolex.”
He nods. “Not a bad choice unless it was a family heirloom. I assume your money problems are only temporary?”
“Absolutely.”
“Can your son help you in the interim?”
“Jack?” His name bursts from me with a squawk. “He has no money. He’s a starving actor.”
Arthur cocks his head with interest. “Really? Rich mentioned he’d been promoted to coproducer of his series.”
“I guess I don’t know about that.” I flutter my hands and then dig for my cell. “Oh, goodness. It’s late. I should get going.”
“Of course. Are you late for an appointment?”
“Well, no . . .”
“Then can you spare a few more minutes of your time? I’d like to talk to you about the file you gave me, the one labeled Casa Bella.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Yes. I’m afraid there is.”
January 7, 1989
It’s Jack’s first birthday, and I’m praying that Rich arrives home in a good mood. I know he works long hours, but does that mean he should be grumpy all the time? I’ve bought a bottle of wine, and I’m making beef stroganoff—his favorite. Tonight’s the night I plan on bringing up THE subject. I know he SAYS he doesn’t want another child, but I think deep down he does. I just need to convince him that my bout of postpartum depression won’t ever return.
Crystal
January 11, 2016
“You look tired this morning,” Dipak says. He’s perched on the edge of his chair wiping a spill from his beloved Topman ultraskinny suit.
“Thanks,” I reply, keeping my eyes fixed on my computer screen.
“I’m not being mean.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Oh, leave her alone,” Eric chimes in. “She’s in one of her moods. Let’s get some coffee.”
“All right. Want anything?” Dipak asks me.
“No.”
I am in one of my moods—that’s true. It’s Monday, and I’m not interested in chatting with my ex–best friend Dipak, who spends his every waking moment drowning in wedding plans. He and Shelby got engaged over the holidays. Only five months of dating and wham, bam, they’re a permanent team. They’re planning a small reception in Santa Barbara followed by a huge ceremony in Shelby’s hometown of Pacific Palisades—I never would’ve guessed she was rich. After that comes the three-week honeymoon in India, where Dipak can show off his American bride to his extended family. Most of the planning goes on right here in the office. I’m disappointed in Dipak. He’s traded in his former hardworking self to become a member of team Frick and Frack.
Feeling sullen and depressed, I open up the Casa Bella file. One foggy night over a month ago, I placed the bones and shells on the project site and followed that up with an anonymous tip. As far as I can tell, nothing’s happened. Nada. Zip. Another good scheme swallowed into the abyss like the complaint letters sent to the feds over three months ago. Seems like Rich walks on water, and I can’t bring him down.
I’m filing away Casa Bella’s latest construction drawings when Kevin hurries through the door. His pasty face glows apple red, and his comb-over stands on end.
“Where are the Casa Bella files?” he barks.
“The construction file’s right here.”
“Hand it over, and get me the others. I need to review them right now.” He drops into my seat and pages through the file as I rummage through the cabinet for the rest. “Hurry,” he says. “We don’t have much time.”
“What’s up?” I set a stack of files in front of him, trying not to breathe in his sickly sweet scent.
“I need to make sure everything’s in order.”
“My files are always in order.”
His hands fly through the paperwork, and then they slow down. “What’s this?” he asks. He points to a statement of information on the primary investing entity, VSA LLC. He flicks through a few pages and then stops. “Damn,” he mutters. “What’s this doing in the file?”
“What do you mean?” I ask as innocently as I can.
“We don’t usually gather information on the syndication investors.”
“Sorry. I thought we did.”
“We need to get rid of this.”
“We do?”
“Kevin? Crystal?” Vanessa bobs into the office followed by two stern-looking men carrying empty storage boxes in their arms.
“Surprise audit,” she says in her high-pitched voice, a strained smile pasted across her orange-tinted face.
Kevin’s shoulders slump. He slaps the file closed and stands. “What files do you need?” He sounds defeated.
One of the two men reads from his phone. “We’d like all of the files associated with the following entities: Ten Corners LLC, SIMPLE, Arthur Van Meter, Casa Bella LLC, Richard Wright. There will be more, but that’s enough for now.”
I can’t believe my luck. I have to swallow my grin. That’s no regular list. This is no normal audit. The FBI has arrived. My work is about to pay off.
“We’ll need a conference room, of course.”
“Of course.” Vanessa teeters and totters and grabs hold of the wall. “Please follow me.” The men stack the files in the boxes and hurry out the door. Kevin follows close behind.
I can barely contain myself when Dipak and Eric return from their jaunt. I try to pull Dipak out of the room to tell him what’s up, but he stops me before I can.
“Check this out.” He drops the Santa Barbara Times on my desk. And there it is, the double whammy. The lead article details the discovery of a Chumash grave at the Casa Bella construction site. It goes on to say that the project will be delayed indefinitely until an archeological review is completed.
“How long could that take?” I ask.
“The article says months, if not years.”
“Van Meter’s in a shitload of trouble,” Eric says. “The general contractor accused him of ordering a cover-up of the find.”
“What does Van Meter say?” I ask, quickly scanning the
article.
“He denies any knowledge of the grave and blames the contractor. Says the guy did the hiding because he couldn’t afford to stall the project.”
“I wonder who’s telling the truth.”
Dipak jumps in. “Doesn’t really matter because the project is screwed. Someone at the bank will take the fall for this.”
“I’m guessing Kevin,” Eric says with a smile. “Just you wait. I bet I’ll be promoted to senior VP by the end of the first quarter.”
I would take that bet and double down. But no need. It’s time for me to take a seat, sit back, and enjoy.
Kathi
July 7, 2016
“Casa Bella?” My words echo loudly in the near-empty restaurant.
Arthur lowers his voice. “Yes. The file you gave me from Rich’s office. I should’ve returned it sooner, but I thought it better to have this discussion in person in case your phones are being tapped.”
“Tapped?” My heart begins to thrum. “Is that a possibility?”
“With everything going on, I’m afraid it is.”
I think back on my conversations. Could I have said something incriminating? Or embarrassing?
“I don’t understand,” I say. “Just what is going on?” I can’t control my fluttering hands, so I grab on to my napkin and hold tight.
Arthur leans back and folds his arms. “I think it’s time for me to be completely honest with you.”
“You haven’t been?” My stomach drops to my feet.
“In certain ways, no. The truth is Casa Bella is my project.”
“Yours?” I twist my napkin into knots. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I was the developer on the project. I owned it. I managed it.”
“But . . .” I try to focus my swirling thoughts. “Why didn’t you tell me when I showed you the file?”
He takes a deep breath. “I guess I was a little taken aback. You see, your husband was a longtime referral source. We’ve worked together on a number of projects. I’ve paid him quite handsomely over the years. He helped sell out the Casa Bella syndication, so in truth, I thought you knew.”
What She Gave Away (Santa Barbara Suspense Book 1) Page 15