by T. E. Woods
Lydia ignored the order. “What was it like speaking with your brother? It’s been, what? Five years?”
“Four. It was awkward at first, but I had him laughing through his tears within five minutes. He and Claire are packing up in Denver. They’ll all be out here in a few weeks.” Allie wagged a teasing finger. “And don’t think you can change the subject. Why did my dad trust you with hiding his precious baby girl?”
Lydia shoved her chair away from the table. “You don’t make much of a first impression. Anybody ever tell you that?”
Allie reared back in surprise. “No. Actually, it’s quite the opposite. What’s your problem?”
“Let’s recap. You get yourself arrested five years ago—”
“Four,” Allie interrupted. “And is that any of your business?”
Lydia disregarded her challenge. “You disappear, along with a known drug kingpin…How’d you even meet a guy like that, by the way?”
Allie shrugged. “It was a flash rave. An empty warehouse down on the docks. You’d be surprised the people who show up. Go on. You were telling me what your problem with me is.”
Lydia shook her head and continued. “No one in your family hears a word from you. Your mother dies and you do nothing to offer comfort to your brother or father. The next time anyone hears anything is when you pop up out of the blue, running from the Russian mob.”
“I never said Takarov was in the Russian mob.”
“Your father could have marched you right into the nearest DEA office and let them deal with you. Instead he’s found you sanctuary until he knows there’s no longer a threat to your life. Once that’s done, he’s going to call in every chit he’s got to make sure you’re not prosecuted for whatever involvement you may have with all these drug people.”
“There’s no law against dating someone.” Allie’s tone was more aggressive than defensive.
Lydia balked. “We’re all supposed to pretend you live with a man like that for four years and have no knowledge of his activities? No involvement?”
“I left to keep myself alive.”
“You live that kind of life, it shouldn’t come as any surprise that people may want to harm you. And here you sit in my kitchen—wearing my clothes and drinking my coffee—and make snide innuendos about your father’s relationship with me. You blow off what I’m sure was an incredibly difficult conversation for your brother, and you tell me where you expect me to chauffeur you today. That is my problem. Now please, back off, be quiet, and let me finish my coffee.”
Allie sat up straight in her chair and glared into her own mug. Lydia watched her for several silent seconds before reaching for the morning newspaper. She was nearly through the front section before Allie spoke.
“Do you want me to be grateful?” she asked. “Is that what you’re looking for?”
Lydia sighed and lowered her paper. “I’d settle for respectful. Look, I don’t know your dad that well.” She hoped Allie was too caught up in her own defenses to notice her lie. “But it seems to me he deserves some respect. And, yeah, now that you mention it, a little gratitude for all he’s doing would be nice.”
Allie’s hands tightened around her mug. “Because that’s how it’s done?”
Lydia was confused. “How what’s done?”
Allie’s voice was tight. “The bad little girl comes home and she should be thankful for any crumb the big, wise man has to offer? I should…what? Bow down and grovel in appreciation? Follow what the perfect Mort Grant says no matter what? Why? Because he’s my father? Because he’s a cop? Or because he’s a man?”
“Tell me how you see it.” Lydia’s instincts told her Allie had something important she wanted to say. Something Lydia needed to hear in order to understand what she was up to.
Allie looked away. “Don’t you ever get sick of it?” She turned back to Lydia. “Look at you. You say you don’t know my father very well. Yet he shows up unannounced, drops me on your doorstep, and you hop to it like every good woman does when a man barks an order.” Allie ran a hand through her hair. “Doesn’t it ever just stick in your throat…closing off your air no matter what you do to cough it clear, until one day it just chokes you?”
“I’m more interested in what you think.” Lydia had shifted into psychologist mode.
Allie was quiet for a while. “I noticed the way the world is rigged sometime around middle school. Don’t tell me you didn’t see it. Every girl paying attention does. It didn’t make any sense to me as a kid…maybe seemed silly to me as a teenager…but the older I got, the more I hated it.”
She shook her head. “Let me tell you about my mother. She moved like a swan. Generations of genetic code sifted down through hundreds of years to give her every endowment she needed to be a world-class dancer. Long neck, straight back, lean muscular legs, arms as thin as a whisper and as strong as a scream. She had boxes of trophies and ribbons she’d earned when she was a kid. In high school, her dance teacher finagled an audition with an instructor from Juilliard who happened to be in town. He offered her a full ride on the spot.” Allie’s eyes had a faraway look. “Her father told her she couldn’t go. Just like that.” Allie snapped her fingers. “My mother’s lifelong dreams ended. She enrolled at the hometown university and met my father her first week there. She could have still had a bit of a career. Seattle’s got a ballet and a few smaller dance troupes. But my dad wanted to be a cop.” Allie’s lovely face was clouded with resentment. “And that means long hours away from wife and kiddies.” She snapped her fingers again. “So just like that, my mother settled for a storefront studio where she taught chubby suburban grade-schoolers the basic positions until they got bored and signed up for soccer.”
“Your mother had a choice in her decisions,” Lydia said.
“Did she?” Allie’s voice was cold. “Would she have even considered going against her father’s wishes and heading off to New York? Would she have imagined telling my dad ‘Listen, buddy, you’ve got responsibilities here at home?’ Like hell, she would. She took care of her father and her husband just like the house slaves took care of the white folks back on the plantation.” Allie huffed a mirthless chuckle. “Try to remember the first time you heard about how fragile male egos are. Bet you can’t. You were too damned young to recall. It’s all fucking bullshit. When’s the last time a man hesitated in what he said or did to a woman because he was worried about her psyche? Yet we fake orgasms and tell some balding, overweight asshole what a stud he is. We snicker when men are made fun of in stupid TV commercials and pretend that balances the scale for rape or the occasional punch in the chops when we get too uppity.”
Allie’s rant triggered memories Lydia struggled daily to ignore. How could she judge Mort’s daughter when she’d built a life of isolation in order to protect herself from the very insults Allie listed?
“Robbie’s book? The Fixer?” Allie pointed a determined finger as she continued. “Now there’s a woman who gets it. She took nothing from no one. Made her own way. We’re supposed to all be aghast at her crimes, but I told Robbie last night part of the reason his book’s been so big is because there’s not a woman in the world who doesn’t wish she had the courage to do what The Fixer did. I hope she’s sitting somewhere having a rum cocktail waiting for the movie to come out.”
Lydia focused on slowing her heart and steadying her breath while warnings screamed through her mind. This isn’t going to work. This is dangerous. I can’t have her here.
“So, Lydia, don’t tell me how to act around my father.” Allie’s voice was calmer. She tugged again on her T-shirt. “I apologize for my comments about your clothes. And I do appreciate what you’re doing for me.” Her blue eyes were steely. “But don’t tell me how to behave around men. This is my one and only life. I’m living it my way. And men are sometimes the tools I use.”
Lydia’s coffee was cold. She took her cup to the sink, dumped it down the drain, and steadied herself against the counter. “One of us should get in the
shower. I’ll set out some clothes for you. Jeans and a sweater okay?”
Allie brought her own mug to the sink. She put a gentle hand on Lydia’s shoulder. “That would be perfect.” She hesitated. “I do have one request.” A small smile lit her eyes. “And I realize you have every right to refuse, but I hope you won’t, despite my earlier rudeness.”
“What’s that?”
“After we’re dressed, do you think we could drive to Seattle?” Allie’s voice wobbled. “I’d really like to see my mother’s grave.”
Chapter 23
OLYMPIA
“I told you, Mrs. Walder, I’m not able to take you on as a patient.” Lydia wished she’d let the phone go straight to voice mail. Wasn’t it enough she had Mort’s daughter to babysit? Did she really have to rehash why she needed to be one of the rare people who denied Kenton Walder’s wife something she wanted? “There’s really nothing more to say.”
“But Dr. Gallagher recommended your clinic specifically.” Dee Walder’s determination to have her way came across clearly. “Quite frankly, I was surprised you’re just a two-person operation, given his high praise. Still, he’s been Emma’s doctor for years. If he says you’re the one for my family, that’s good enough for me.”
Lydia wondered if the woman on the other end of the line had demonstrated this level of entitlement back in the days when she was Darlene, married to Emma’s father and stretching every dollar of a government worker’s salary. Had her dogged insistence been a skill she had only developed once she married the boss and moved into the mansion overlooking the sea?
“I appreciate his referral, but it’s simply not possible. Dr. Edwards will submit his report, but that’s the end of our involvement with either your daughter or you and your husband.”
“Emma’s lying, Dr. Corriger.” Dee Walder ignored Lydia’s remarks. “It’s important you know that. My husband’s a wonderful man. Kind and generous beyond anyone’s expectations. One hates to use the phrase ‘pillar of the community,’ but if it was ever an apt description, it’s when applied to Kenton Walder. I’m sure you saw the quality of the man he is when you met him.”
You mean the time you both came in under assumed names and false pretenses? Lydia glanced at the clock. She needed to get going.
“Could it be the high expectations Kenton and I have for Emma that drove her to this absurdity?” Dee asked. “She has to understand she’s no longer one of the masses. When I married Kenton, my daughter became part of a family with a long tradition of service. Some may say it’s unfair to expect her to be a role model at her tender age, but it is what it is. Emma may simply be rebelling because she’s not allowed to be merely the computer tech’s daughter anymore.” She paused. “Or perhaps it’s her father urging her say these things in order to get his revenge for my leaving him. Whatever her reason, the stories she’s telling are not true. Not one word. Kenton’s been a prince about the whole thing, but quite frankly I’m at my wits’ end. You know, of course, my husband isn’t allowed to be alone with her. Can you imagine the logistical difficulty of that? The humiliation of a judge saying my husband needs supervision to be around his own stepdaughter? She’ll be released from the hospital soon. Then what do we do? We need help parenting her. She needs to know she can’t continue lying like this.”
Lydia had heard enough. She thought of Will’s racking sobs as he told the tale of his daughter’s rape by her mother’s husband. While she’d never met Emma, she’d reviewed the recorded interview with Zach. She’d heard the plaintive voice of a wounded child caught in a situation for which there could be no happy ending. Lydia was touched by the young girl’s hesitant efforts to find a safe place, and knew Emma understood she was paying for it by bringing pain to her parents. Emma loved her mother and father…and she had affection for Kenton Walder. She was a confused and anguished child.
And her mother was calling her a liar.
“Mrs. Walder, I’m hanging up. I wish you luck in your search for a therapist, but it cannot be me.” She couldn’t resist one last remark. “And please know I certainly hope each and every member of your family gets the justice they deserve.”
She disconnected before Dee Walder could respond. She looked again at the clock. She was going to be late.
Chapter 24
The spa attendant opened the door to the individual relaxation room and produced a smile born of years of meditation practice. “You’ll find a robe and slippers in the locker. This key secures not only that, but the room as well.” The young blonde crossed to the windows and pulled the curtain open to reveal a lotus pool surrounded by a small bamboo garden. “The courtyard is surrounded by an eight-foot brick wall. Total privacy.” She opened a door to the left. “Your own bathroom with steam shower. It’s stocked with the customary products, but if you need anything at all, just press the button next to the mirror and an attendant will bring you whatever you’d like.” She showed her the small refrigerator stocked with mineral waters, fruit, and health wafers before explaining how to work the surround sound. “Your massage isn’t scheduled for an hour. Relax. You’ll hear a gentle chiming five minutes before your appointment. Come out to the calming room and your provider will greet you there. Until then, enjoy your solitude.”
She thanked the girl and locked the door behind her. She set her carryall next to the locker, took off her street clothes, and wrapped her nude body in the white cashmere robe. She crossed to the crystal urn sitting on the side table, poured herself a tall glass of chilled cucumber water, and settled onto the chaise facing the serene courtyard. Her gaze landed on a brass laughing Buddha sitting on the side of the lotus pond. She focused on the way the sunlight moved across the metal. The features of the statue’s face were accentuated by a darkening patina, yet the belly of the happy icon was shiny and bright. Shadows from swaying bamboo leaves cast dancing arcs across the water. Small pebbles covered the ground. She zeroed in on one stone and counted how many shades of grey and beige she could discern. Calmness began to blanket her. Her heartbeat slowed as her breathing became deep and regular. She allowed herself several minutes of soothing peace before she rose and pulled a cell phone from her bag. She went into the bathroom, leaned against the marble vanity, and touched the screen marked in her contact list as A. As instructed, he answered before the second ring.
“Are you at a place we can talk?”
“Hey! Thanks for calling.” The jovial tone in his voice answered her question. “Let me get away from these computer geeks.” She heard good-humored male voices in the background fade away. Less than ten seconds later it was the sound of a door closing. “I’m here.” His voice was steady and stern.
“And you’ve followed my instructions to the letter. You’re moving one step closer to your goal.”
“Do you understand?” he asked. “Do you know why I need him dead?”
“You’ve made that very clear. I need to have a few more things in place before I decide if I’m able to honor your request.”
His singular focus on his mission appeared to have rendered him deaf to her words. “I need him to suffer.”
“The nuances of your motivations are of no concern to me,” she said. “What is my concern is knowing there is no other way to accomplish this.”
“You’re my only hope.” His voice cracked and he coughed to regain his composure. “It may be hard to believe, but I’m not a violent man by nature. If there was any other means of getting justice I wouldn’t have contacted you. You have to know that.”
She knew full well the desperation it took for him to reach out to her. It was a motivation she’d seen in different guises throughout the years. People came to her only when all other avenues had been tried and found insufficient.
“You have the funds?” she asked.
“I do. You’re expensive.”
She glanced at the thick towels hanging from the bar next to the steam shower and despaired at how even the most determined man will take time to haggle over price. But she needed
him to understand the gravity of the situation…and that meant it would have to cost him more than he could easily afford. “We can end this right here.”
“No,” he said. “Please. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
She decided not to tell him it wasn’t offense she felt, but resignation…acceptance that this is how it had to be. “There’s something I need you to do first.” She outlined his assignment before he had time to object. He didn’t have many questions. His eagerness for her to do her job would insure he’d do this one task. “Let me give you the address.” She provided him with the last necessary detail. “I trust you remember what to do with the phone you’re holding?”
“I do.”
“Tell me.”
“Take out the battery. Crush the casing. Dispose of each at least three miles apart.”
“And for phone B?”
“Always keep it on me. C and D will be kept locked up until I need them. Always answer before the second ring.”
“I’ll be in touch.” She clicked off, left the bathroom, and tossed her phone back in her bag. She went back to the window overlooking the courtyard and tried to imagine what kept the Buddha smiling.
Chapter 25
OLYMPIA
“So then I decided, what the hell.” Tim Jenkins’s grin threatened to rip his cheeks apart. “I walked into that Porta-Potty and stared right down into the putrid mess. I stood there for maybe thirty seconds…nothing. Nothing at all.”
Lydia shook her head. “I think I’ve created a monster. I’ll give you this much, you’re being faithful to the exposure treatment. And your anxiety was at a zero?”
“I’m telling you, Dr. Corriger, I was more anxious about whether or not Jessica and her girls were going to meet up with us.” Tim stretched his lanky frame across her couch. “I can’t believe how well it works. You told me it would…and that it would be tough.” His freckled face turned serious. “Man, did you ever get that right.” The dark cloud lifted and his eyes sparkled with pride. “But I stuck with it. Like the time last week. My buddies and I were walking back to the dorm. It was bar time and we saw this idiot stumbling down the sidewalk. Sure enough, he stops, bends over, and hurls right there in front of everybody.”