Charley's Web

by Joy Fielding

  “Charley?” Michael Duff called from his office as she was marching past. “Got a minute?”

  “Sure.” Charley took a few seconds to calm herself down, then walked back to Michael’s office.

  “I understand congratulations are in order,” he said as she entered the room.

  “Congratulations?”

  “I got a call from a friend of mine in New York this afternoon. Apparently one of my star columnists has a book deal.”

  “It just happened this morning. I meant to tell you,” Charley stammered.

  “The publishing business is pretty incestuous. News travels fast.”

  “I got sidetracked. I’m so sorry.”

  “No apologies necessary. But remember, I’m counting on first serial rights.”

  “You’ve got them,” Charley promised as she exited Michael’s office and continued on toward her own.

  “Congratulations,” one of the support staff called as she turned the corner.

  “Thank you,” Charley called back, thinking, News travels fast indeed.

  Mitchell Johnson was sitting at her computer.

  “Mitchell?” Charley asked, as he spun around to face her, his face flushed. “Something I can do for you?”

  He jumped to his feet. “Michael told me your book deal came through. I came over to congratulate you, but you weren’t here.”

  “So you made yourself at home?”

  “Just waiting for you to come back.”

  Charley motioned toward her computer. “Find anything interesting?”

  “Not really.” He laughed, though the sound was hollow, forced. “A book and a weekly column. You don’t think you’re biting off more than you can chew?”

  “I think I can handle it.”

  “Atta girl.”

  “I also think you should leave.”

  Mitchell’s lips squeezed together in an unattractive pout. “As you wish.”

  “And in the future, if I’m not here,” Charley told him as he brushed past her, “neither are you.” She watched his back stiffen slightly, and then he was gone, although the cloying scent of his aftershave remained. “Damn it,” she said, straightening the various items on her desk that he might have touched: the notepads and black felt pens, the glass paperweight in the shape of an apple, the monthly calendar from a local realtor, the chunk of purple crystal that was supposed to be good luck. “I should probably spray everything,” she said, wondering if Mitchell had been trying to access any of her files. He had a well-deserved reputation for snooping, and it probably wasn’t the first time he’d been in here without her knowledge. She leaned across her chair and opened her e-mail, hoping there was nothing of any urgency. It was after five o’clock. It had been a very long day, and she was eager to get home.

  FROM: Lester Owens

  TO: Charley@Charley’sWeb.com

  SUBJECT: Welcome Aboard!

  DATE: Wed. 28 Feb. 2007, 2:10:17–0800

  Dear Charley,

  I can’t tell you how thrilled I am that we’ve been able to reach a deal, and that you will be joining the Pinnacle Books family. That’s truly what I believe we are—a family! Welcome! Of course, I’ll be speaking to you shortly, and even hope to meet with you in person in the not-too-distant future. But I just wanted to take this opportunity to welcome you aboard, and to extend my good wishes for a long and prosperous partnership. If there’s anything you need, or any assistance I might offer, feel free to let me know. I’m at your disposal. I eagerly await your first chapters.

  Sincerely, Lester Owens

  FROM: A worried fan

  TO: Charley@Charley’sWeb.com

  SUBJECT: Your recent columns

  DATE: Wed. 28 Feb. 2007, 2:32:15–0400

  Dear Charley, as a longtime reader of your column, I’ve grown alarmed at your most recent endeavors. They’re much too thoughtful and conciliatory. Where’s the Charley of old? The one who would have torn a piece of crap like Remember Love to shreds, then consigned it to the garbage pile where it belongs. Could the fact the author is your sister have influenced your review? From past columns about your family, I thought you were above such obvious partisanship. Guess I was wrong. I write this in hope that this Sunday’s column finds you back in peak form. Perhaps another visit to the waxing salon is warranted. It should be about that time. Fondly, a worried fan.

  FROM: Elated

  TO: Charley@Charley’sWeb.com

  SUBJECT: You’re the best!

  DATE: Wed. 28 Feb. 2007, 3:10:10–0500

  Dear Charley,

  Just wanted to drop you a note to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed your columns of late. Not only have they been entertaining, as they always are, but they’ve been insightful as well. I especially liked what you had to say about your sister’s book, and am glad that your family seems to be getting back on track. In today’s world, nothing is more important than family. Good luck to you all.

  FROM: Glen McLaren

  TO: Charley@Charley’s Web.com

  SUBJECT: Bandits and Other Strangers

  DATE: Wed. 28 Feb. 2007, 3:28:05–0800

  Hey, Charley. This is one of those good news, bad news kind of letters. First, the good news: I’ve been very busy with my son, who is terrific, by the way, and I’ve also been meeting with possible investors who are interested in my opening some clubs here in the Raleigh area. Which brings me to the bad news: I may have to stay on a few days longer than originally intended, and hope that won’t be a problem for you as far as Bandit is concerned. I know I’m impinging on our friendship—is it too presumptuous of me to call us friends?—and I hope you’ll forgive me and let me take you out to dinner when I get back. Please tell the little mutt I miss him, and give him a big hug and kiss from me. (You can have one too.) Bye for now. With thanks and appreciation, Glen.

  “No!” Charley cried out loud, the realization that she didn’t want to give Bandit up hitting her with surprising force. In the short time she’d been looking after him, he’d managed to become an integral part of her life. He shared her days, her nights, even her bed. “Do busy” had become a natural part of her lexicon, and Bandit’s sweet head resting on her shoulder was as comforting to her as a soft pillow.

  And now she had to give him back.

  “No. I can’t do that. He’s mine. Mine, mine, mine.” She was about to answer his e-mail, tell Glen there was no way on earth she could give Bandit back, beg him if she had to, when she noted there was still one e-mail remaining. She clicked it on.

  FROM: A person of taste

  TO: Charley@Charley’sWeb.com

  SUBJECT: Your children

  DATE: Wed. 28 Feb. 2007, 4:02:55–0400

  Dear Charley,

  I’m coming. Soon.

  CHAPTER 29

  Franny, James, where are you?”

  The silence that answered Charley was almost oppressive. Charley walked purposefully from her bedroom into the living room, then continued back through the kitchen and down the hall to the children’s room, her steps quickening, Bandit at her heels. “Franny? James?” They’d been immersed in a noisy game of Twister when she’d decided to do some tidying up before her sisters arrived, and now they were…where? She checked the bathroom and the closets before returning to the kitchen and stepping onto the back patio, her eyes scanning the perimeter of the small property. No one was there. “Franny? James?” Charley’s voice rose in urgency as her eyes jumped the wood fence into her neighbor’s yard. But Doreen Rivers’s pool was mercifully empty, and besides, Charley assured herself, her children would never go for a swim without first asking permission. They wouldn’t go anywhere.

  So where were they?

  “Problems?” a voice asked from somewhere above Charley’s head.

  Charley raised a hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the bright afternoon sun as she stared up at Gabe Lopez’s newly tiled roof. The worker in the yellow hard hat was looking down at her, shadows and perspiration mingling on his handsome face. “Have you s
een my kids, by any chance?” Charley asked.

  He shook his head. “Not since this morning.”

  Charley nodded without speaking, afraid if she said anything else, she might start screaming. Where were they, for God’s sake? Hadn’t she given them strict instructions not to so much as open the door without her, even to let Bandit out to pee? She stepped back inside the kitchen, pulling the patio door shut behind her, and narrowly missing clipping Bandit’s back legs. “Okay, calm down. Calm down. Think for a minute. Where would they go?”

  And then she heard it, a squeak, then a twittering, followed by the unmistakable sound of muffled giggles, all coming from down the hall.

  “James? Franny?” Once again Charley marched down the hall to her children’s bedroom and peeked inside. Once again, she saw nothing. Bandit suddenly scooted over to the first of the two twin beds, his nose disappearing under the bed skirt, his tail wagging furiously.

  “Go away, Bandit,” a small voice whispered, wiggly fingers appearing to brush the curious dog aside.

  Bandit’s tail wagged so hard, it threatened to knock the little dog off his feet. He barked three times, backed up, then barked again.

  “Okay, kids, enough is enough. Get out from under there.” Charley’s tone made it clear she wasn’t happy.

  Franny was the first to emerge from her hiding place under the far bed. Her freshly brushed hair was a mess of stray strands, and her newly ironed white shirt was covered in dust.

  “Oh, God, look at you,” Charley wailed, torn between wanting to shake her and hug her. “What have you been doing? I’ve been calling you for five minutes.”

  “We were playing hide-and-seek,” James announced, slithering out from under the other bed and scrambling to his feet.

  “Yeah? Well, next time, let me in on the game, would you?”

  “Are you mad?” Franny asked. “You sound mad.”

  “The word is angry, and yes, I’m angry. You scared me half to death.”

  “Why were you scared half to death?” James picked Bandit up and began vigorously rocking him back and forth.

  “Because I didn’t know where you were, that’s why,” Charley snapped, stopping when she saw tears spring to her daughter’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to yell. It’s okay. It’s okay.” It’s not okay, she continued silently. There’s some nutcase out there threatening to hurt you. Someone whose last e-mail said he was coming soon. And the cops don’t seem to have the first clue what to do. According to their expert, the e-mails are coming from different computers, making the sender almost impossible to find. So all I can do is be extra vigilant, and what if that isn’t enough? What if it isn’t enough? Charley thought about Jill Rohmer’s chilling confession, about how many crazy people were out there, about how easy it was to snuff out the lives of the innocent. “It’s just this project I’m working on,” she said. “It’s making me a little jittery.”

  “What’s jittery?” James asked.

  “Nervous,” Charley explained. “Edgy.”

  “What’s edgy?”

  “It means she should stop working on it,” Franny said simply, walking from the room.

  “Can we take Bandit for a walk?” James lowered the squirming dog to the floor.

  “Later. After Grandma gets here. Then I’ll go with you.”

  “Can we do finger painting?”

  “Sorry, sweetie. Not today. Remember, Mommy’s sisters are coming to visit, and I’m not sure what time they’ll be here.”

  “What can we do?”

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” James said, running out of the room.

  “Don’t open it without me,” Charley called after him.

  But the door was already open by the time Charley and her children reached the front hall. “I keep forgetting I have a key,” Elizabeth Webb said apologetically, her smile immediately twisting into a frown. “What’s wrong?”

  “Mommy’s edgy,” Franny announced.

  “And I’m bored,” James said.

  “And what are you?” Elizabeth asked Franny.

  Franny glared at her mother. “I’m mad,” she said.

  “My goodness,” Elizabeth said. “Looks like I’ve come just in time.”

  “Are you going to make dinner for the sisters?” James asked.

  “I certainly am. The groceries are in the car. Think you can help me carry the bags inside?”

  James was halfway out the door when he stopped and turned around. “Can we?” he asked his mother.

  Charley nodded her consent as the phone rang. “Just keep an eye on them,” she whispered to her mother.

  “Of course.”

  “You look really nice,” Charley added, noting her mother’s bright red blouse and flowing black skirt. Her mother patted the neat chignon at the nape of her neck and smiled with girlish pleasure, the shine in her eyes highlighted by just a hint of mascara. Charley went to the kitchen and answered the phone as her mother all but danced toward the front door. She barely had time to say hello.

  “Charlotte, it’s Emily,” her sister said.

  Charley knew instantly something was wrong. There was a tightness to her sister’s voice that went beyond the formal use of her name. But she pushed such thoughts aside, overwhelming them with a torrent of words. “Emily, thank goodness. I’ve been trying to reach you and Anne all week. Where are you? Did you just get in? Do you want me to come pick you up?”

  “Charlotte…. Charley…. Wait. Listen to me.”

  “Mom just got here with the groceries. She’s making her famous chicken. I don’t know if you remember it, but it’s the best…”

  “Charley, we aren’t coming.”

  “What? Don’t be silly. You came all the way here and now you won’t come to dinner?”

  “We’re not in Florida.”

  “What?”

  “Careful with that bag, James,” Elizabeth called out as James raced into the kitchen, followed by his sister and grandmother. “There are some bottles in there we don’t want to break.” Elizabeth helped James lay the bag gently on the counter as Franny deposited several more bags on the kitchen table. “Okay. Off we go again. There’s lots more. I think I overdid,” she said with a wink to Charley as the trio headed back outside.

  “What do you mean you’re not in Florida?” Charley whispered angrily into the phone.

  “Anne decided to cancel her speaking engagement.”

  “What are you talking about? When did she decide this?”

  “A couple of days ago. She called me from Atlanta, told me she was having second thoughts.”

  “Second thoughts,” Charley repeated dully. “Which she didn’t bother sharing with me, of course.”

  “She didn’t want it to turn into a whole big thing.”

  “You mean she didn’t want me trying to change her mind,” Charley corrected.

  “I don’t think you could have. She’s been traveling back and forth across the country for weeks now. She’s exhausted.”

  “So she randomly decides to omit Florida?”

  “Not randomly, no.”

  “You couldn’t talk some sense into her?”

  “Why would I? I agree with her. If anybody needs a dose of common sense, it’s you.”

  Charley shook her head in anger and disbelief. “What about the interview with People?”

  “It’s been rescheduled for sometime next week. In New York. Of course you’re more than welcome to take part.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Don’t be so stubborn, Charley. You ever hear of cutting off your nose to spite your face?”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  “Isn’t it? I heard you got a book deal. What better time for you to come to New York?”

  I’m coming. Soon.

  “I just can’t get away right now.”

  “No? Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter. The article’s mostly about Anne anyway. Someone from the
magazine will probably contact you in the next week or so, for a quote or something. Anyway, I should get going….”

  “You should have come to dinner.”

  “We don’t always do what we should. But hey, it’s done. There’s no point beating it into the ground.”

  “She’ll be so disappointed,” Charley said as her mother reentered the kitchen, deposited more bags of groceries on the counter.

  “She’ll get over it. Anyway, say hi to the kids, and I’ll talk to you anon.”

  “Anon,” Charley repeated, chewing on the word as the line went dead in her hands.

  “Who’ll be disappointed?” her mother asked, as Franny and James bounded into the kitchen and started emptying the plastic bags.

  “That was Emily,” Charley told her mother, watching the enthusiasm fade from her face, and hoping she wouldn’t have to say more. But her mother continued to stare at her expectantly, as if she actually needed to hear the words for them to count. “Apparently Anne had to cancel her Florida engagement, so they won’t be coming.”

  “The sisters aren’t coming to dinner?” James asked.

  “Come on, James,” Franny said, her eyes traveling warily between her mother and grandmother. “Let’s go play Twister.”

  “Does that mean you’re not making your famous chicken dinner?” James persisted.

  Elizabeth pulled back her shoulders, and took a deep breath. “Of course I’m going to make my famous chicken dinner. I just need a few minutes to catch my breath, that’s all.”

  “You can finger paint, if you want,” Charley said to the children.

  James immediately reached under the sink to gather the supplies.

  “Anne had to cancel her Florida engagement?” Elizabeth asked as the children began arranging the paints on the outside patio, Bandit racing back and forth across the lawn.