Keeping Secrets

by Cathi Stoler

  She inched the door open just wide enough for her to fit through, slid inside and closed it softly behind her. The door locked automatically as it closed. The phrase “in for a penny, in for a pound” flashed across her mind as she stepped into the large space and realized there was no turning back. Don’t be so dramatic. You could turn back. You just don’t want to.

  Even though the shades were drawn along a wall of windows facing the street, the fourteen-foot-high room was light and airy. Surprise, surprise. Matt Kuhn liked color, especially red. In the main area, white walls served as the backdrop for two large-scale cherry red leather couches and a low, brushed chrome coffee table set below a skylight in the roof. Modular chrome cabinets topped with more flashes of red—vases, bowls, lamps—stood under the front windows and caught the light; their color was reflected throughout the room. A high chrome island and tall stools separated the living room from the kitchen. With its gleaming surfaces and stainless steel appliances that looked like they were hardly used, the kitchen looked like it had been staged for a photo shoot.

  There was no computer or desk in sight, so Helen headed toward the back of the loft. She kept to the inner wall on the side attached to the adjacent loft building and moved quietly down a short hall and into the bedroom. Bingo! Along one wall, to the left of a massive bed with a view of the back windows, was a home office workstation.

  Helen was gloved and careful not to touch anything, but the workstation was too tempting to pass up. She moved closer and looked it over. Given the size of the loft, it was small and compact, centered between two built-in closets. It was about six feet by three and contained a phone, a computer, printer/copier/scanner combo, office supplies and a file cabinet. Helen tried the file cabinet. Locked. She turned on the computer and investigated the rest of the area while she waited for it to boot up.

  Something seemed off about the bedroom space. The workstation and closets jutted out three feet, but the space felt narrower than the main room. Helen retraced her steps. She looked at the big room and compared it visually to the bedroom. Definitely wider. She reentered the bedroom and stared at the workstation. Running her gloved hands under the flat surface of the desk, she almost missed the button at first. It was very near the side seam and could be mistaken for a slightly protruding screw. A slight push up was all it took for the whole unit to move away from the wall and the closets that bracketed it.

  Double bingo! A hidden room. No wonder there’s no alarm on the front door. Helen glanced around. All the goodies were in here, where they were hard to find. Functional and spare, the room was slightly deeper than the workstation area and had a lower, false ceiling. Helen noted another computer and phone plus a scrambler, digital camera, TV, DVD player and a wall of DVDs, each coded with a series of numbers and letters.

  My, my, the boy sure is into his toys. There was a switch on the wall to her right but no overhead light. She flipped it up and heard a soft humming. A noise generator. It was designed to neutralize all kinds of bugs and laser listening microphones, to protect the hidden room and any conversations that took place there. The machine was compact and probably tucked away behind one of the closets.

  Helen focused her attention on this second, secret computer. She was itching to turn it on, but her better sense prevailed. It was probably coded to record each keystroke, an extra protection against unauthorized use.

  Just as she was considering what to do next, Helen heard the rumbling of the elevator intrude on the absolute quiet surrounding her. She glanced at her watch and realized she’d been in the loft far longer than her allotted ten minutes. It was time to get going. One of the neighbors might be arriving home and Helen didn’t want to chance being heard moving around.

  She flipped the anti-bugging switch to off and backed out of the room, resisting the temptation to grab one of the DVDs from its place on the shelf. Oh what the hell. In for a penny, in for a pound. She took the last one from the bottom shelf. Shoving the disk into her tote, she left the secret room and pushed the whole workstation unit back into place.

  Just then, she heard the lock on the front door clicking open. Damn! Get out now. Breaking and entering was serious. Her options for escape were limited—she’d have to go out the back window. The computer on the bedroom workstation was still turned on. She cursed silently, moved back, turned it off and watched the screen fade to black as she backed toward the window. No shut-down noise; it must be on mute. Now she heard footsteps in the main room. Were they coming her way? Her heart pounded as she reached the window and began to slide it open. The footsteps got louder. She’d never get out in time.

  The phone in the main room rang and the footsteps stopped for a moment then receded. Helen didn’t wait to hear the phone being answered and silently thanked whoever called. She slipped out the window onto the fire escape, slid the window closed, and climbed up the ladder attached to the back of the building to reach the roof. Her hands shook and her mouth was dry. That was a close call. Too close.

  She sat on the roof and collected herself. What is wrong with me? Why do I do such crazy things? If she got caught breaking and entering, not to mention stealing, she’d probably lose her license. Or, if whoever returned had caught her, she might have lost a lot more. A shudder ran through her. Probably residual adrenaline.

  Now she had to get off the roof and back down to the street without anyone seeing her. She edged her way up to the top of the wall sheltering her and raised her head. She was at the back of the building, facing Lafayette Street. The rooftop of the building abutting number 361 was to her right, followed by an open space, then another building.

  Helen kept low and slid on her stomach, covering her black sweater and pants with dirt. She quietly crossed the low parapet separating the two loft buildings and wiggled over to the ladder leading to its fire escape a few feet away. She sat up and slid her legs over the building’s edge, easing her way down. When she reached the fire escape, she descended slowly, taking care to avoid the building’s windows. At the second story, she reached across from her perch to a chain link fence that enclosed the building’s yard from the open space next to it. She climbed over the fence, shimmied down a few more feet, then jumped to the earth below.

  She landed on the solid ground of a weed-filled vacant lot. Moving toward a corner of the fence separated from its retaining post, Helen separated it farther and eased her way through. Once she was out on Lafayette Street, she brushed herself off, straightened her clothes, and walked toward the corner. Breathing a sigh of relief, she thought, Let’s see if any old ma’am can do that.

  Then she remembered the DVD she’d tossed into her bag. She straightened its strap on her shoulder and pulled it tighter to her body. She hoped it wasn’t some porn flick or a training piece on banking procedures. Now, wouldn’t that really make my day?

  Chapter 18

  Wednesday, 4:45 p.m.

  After Laurel returned to the office from her father’s shop, she checked her messages and stared at the pile of notes still on her desk. Her pencil was exactly where she had dropped it two hours earlier. She might as well leave it there as an anchor to the undiminished backlog of work she didn’t want to face.

  She expected John to call any minute, asking her into his office “for another chat, darling,” in that soft, smooth voice of his. Laurel pictured him standing behind his desk, looking out at the city, twirling the moustache her imagination gave him, like the villain in an old movie.

  “Grow up,” she told herself. She stood over her desk, looking at the mass of paper, then jumped when the phone rang.

  “Laurel Imperiole.” She willed herself to sound confident, masking how startled its ring made her.

  “Hi … It’s me … Aaron. Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “Aaron?” Her mouth went dry and she sank into her chair, “has something happened? Did you receive news about Anne?”

  “No,” Aaron said. “There’s been nothing more from Pennsylvania, but I hoped we could meet to talk fo
r a few minutes. There are a few things I want to go over.”

  He was the last person she wanted to speak to, let alone see. “Talk? About what?” She tried to buy time to think of a reason to turn down his request. “I told you everything I know and I’m on a deadline today.” She used the stories cued in her computer as an excuse. “It’s a bad time. I’ll probably be working until seven or so. Sorry.”

  “No problem, Aaron said. “Later is better for me, too. I’ll catch up with you about seven thirty.” His tone said he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “That should give you enough time to finish what you’re working on.”

  Laurel didn’t miss the slight touch of sarcasm. “Listen, I don’t really think—”

  “I’ll meet you outside your office and we’ll go someplace where we can talk privately, okay?” Then he was gone.

  How rude. Laurel hung up her phone. I gave him all Anne’s emails. What more could he want? He couldn’t have found out about the other one, could he? The one hidden in her desk drawer. That’s all I need. Why didn’t I tell him about it? She made sure it was still where she tucked it away. She picked it up and added it to Anne’s emails, shuffling them in her hands like a deck of cards with no aces, a frustrating situation that mirrored her annoyance with the detective. Or am I really annoyed with myself? This inactivity was making her crazy. She wasn’t being entirely fair to Aaron and the police. She believed they were doing their job, but Laurel wanted more. With all the investigations they had on their plates, how could they focus on Anne’s predicament the way she intended to? And if they knew she and Helen were on the case, wouldn’t they scrutinize their every move?

  Laurel studied the emails. Maybe there was a way she could jump-start the investigation or at least find out something helpful.

  She bent over her desk and picked up her phone. Dialing information, she requested the number of the Hertz Car Rental agency near her home and made a reservation to pick up a Honda CRV later that evening. Laurel could probably ask her father to lend her his car, a 1965 Corvette she loved driving, but that would mean explaining why she wanted it. Renting was better all around.

  Laurel logged onto the Internet. She typed Doylestown, PA into a driving directions website. The directions scrolled up and she reviewed them. It was a pretty straight run from Manhattan through the Lincoln Tunnel and down Route 287. She hit print and waited for the page to come out of the printer. She knew she wasn’t the best navigator on the open road, where the streets weren’t numbered the way they were in the city. She’d plug the destination into the 4Runner’s GPS system and keep the printed directions as back-up.

  Next, she looked up Doylestown hotels. The Doylestown Manor, located in the center of town, seemed ideal. She called and made a reservation, explaining she’d arrive fairly late in the evening.

  With her plan in place, she left a message for John that she was working on a story and wouldn’t be in the office tomorrow. She’d call Aaron in a little while and make up some excuse to postpone their meeting. Then she’d head for Pennsylvania and poke around.

  Laurel shut down her computer and watched as its smiley-face icon blinked off. Thinking about Aaron and his attitude made her angry again. He should be out there, doing more to find Anne instead of leaving it up to me to do it on my own.

  Maybe I won’t have to be on my own. Grabbing her jacket, purse, and papers, Laurel left her office and locked the door. She would pick up the rental car on her way. There’s one person who’ll help. She might not even mind taking a midnight drive to the country.

  Chapter 19

  Wednesday, 5:30 p.m.

  Helen raised her hand to hail a taxi. She was trembling. Maybe I’d better walk for a few minutes and get myself together. She took a deep breath and headed uptown on Lafayette. After a while, her body and mind both seemed to settle down. At Houston Street, she waved a taxi over and hopped in.

  “Take the Drive to Twenty-Third Street. Then, go up First. I’ll get out at Thirtieth Street. Thanks.”

  Helen sat back and realized she was still clutching her bag with the stolen DVD. I can’t wait to see what’s on here. There was a ripple of excitement. Especially after what I went through to get it.

  Even when she was a rookie detective, Helen enjoyed the thrill of searching a suspect’s home or apartment. The quiet and cool emptiness of the surroundings always belied the excitement going on under the surface. Tailing someone or eliciting information from an unsuspecting perp was fun. Being on the scene, as it were, ferreting out deep, dark secrets was really a rush. Yeah, like today. She grimaced. Another shudder worked its way through her body. Oh yeah, getting caught would have been a real rush.

  Helen hoped that whoever had entered the loft hadn’t sensed her presence. Knowing its scent could linger long after the wearer was gone, she never wore any fragrance when working. She was careful not to touch or disturb anything—the DVD didn’t count, since it was now in her possession—and had slid the workstation back in front of the secret room. She’d even managed to close the window behind her, leaving the bedroom exactly as she found it. Chances were Matt Kuhn, or whoever entered the loft, wouldn’t know she was there. Unless they had heard her climb to the rooftop from below. Well, it was too late to worry about that now.

  Helen decided to write up her notes on the afternoon’s adventure as soon as she arrived home. She’d check in with Maxine afterwards to see what she dug up, then call Laurel. We are definitely overdue for a chat. She was still up in the air as to how much to tell Laurel about her adventure on Crosby Street. Helen was pretty sure Matt Kuhn was the one who came back while she was looking around the loft. If she was right, sweetie pie Matt wasn’t in Siena, or anywhere in Italy, for that matter.

  The driver pulled over to the curb on her corner and Helen fished money out of her purse to pay her fare. She stepped out of the taxi, juggled her shoulder bag and put her wallet back. Then she looked up. A figure sat on her front steps.

  I’m busted. Helen instinctively clutched her bag tighter against her side, willing the DVD to self-destruct in a puff of smoke like in a scene from Mission: Impossible. Someone downtown must have made me.

  She continued toward her house, shoulders back, chin thrust forward, thinking she’d tough it out with whoever was waiting and deny everything. The figure on her steps turned slightly. It was Laurel.

  Quieting her overactive imagination, Helen covered the last few yards to her house and came face-to-face with the young woman who stood at her approach. “I was just going to call you,” Helen said. “Let’s go inside.”

  “I … thanks. I need to talk to you.” Laurel followed Helen up the stairs and into the brownstone’s hallway. “I know I’m intruding, but it’s important.”

  Helen gestured toward the study. “Go and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be with you as soon as I check my messages and freshen up.”

  First, she headed up the stairs to the bedroom. Checking her messages was an excuse. She wanted to stash the DVD in the wall safe over her dressing table. Viewing it would have to wait. She also wanted to change her clothes, which were smeared with dirt and dust from scrambling over the roof and through the vacant yard. Laurel had been so preoccupied, she hadn’t even noticed how grubby Helen was.

  She quickly changed her clothes and went back downstairs, stopping in the kitchen to get a bottle of wine and two glasses. She had a feeling a taste of vino would help break the tension during the conversation they were about to have. Besides, she deserved a good glass of wine after what she had gone through.

  Bottle in one hand, glasses in the other, Helen entered the study. “So, what brings you here?”

  “It’s about Anne Ellsworth. She’s missing. The police in Doylestown found her car and there was a note in it addressed to me.” Laurel spoke in one long stream of words, digging into her pocket and pulling out a piece of paper.

  “How do you know all this?” Helen asked. “Where did you get this note?” She took the paper from Laurel’s hand, reading i
t quickly.

  “Aaron came to see John and me at the magazine this morning. Because of the note, he was contacted by the police in Doylestown and they asked him to speak with me.” Laurel’s brown eyes clouded over. “He called me this afternoon and wants me to meet him this evening to go over a few details. Can you believe it?”

  Anger flared in Laurel’s eyes. Not exactly over him yet, is she?

  “Well I have a better idea,” Laurel continued. “I thought you and I could go to Doylestown and look for Anne on our own.”

  Helen put the note down. “That’s not a good idea. There’s so much we don’t know. It’s better to let the police do their job and work with them. It sounds as if the Doylestown PD is pretty involved in the case.”

  Laurel moved to the window. “Watching these people on your street, walking, laughing, shopping, it all seems so normal.” Laurel turned and faced Helen. “I know things aren’t always what they seem.” A note of sadness crept into her voice. “I’ve rented a car and plan to go to Pennsylvania after I leave here.” Her resolve was evident to Helen. “I’d really like you to go with me. I’ll understand if you don’t. I don’t think the police are doing everything they can to find Anne and I have no intention of talking to Aaron again.”

  “Well, I do,” Helen said. Laurel stared at her open-mouthed. “I left a message for him this morning.”

  “You what?” Laurel asked.

  “He is NYPD’s expert on identity theft cases, after all. It seemed logical to call and ask for his help. He’s already involved. We should definitely find out what he knows about the case.” Helen added, silently, And think about how sorry you still are that you didn’t count on him last time. She recalled once again how miserable Laurel had been after the breakup. Maybe this was an opportunity for her to make things right. Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem to want to do that just yet. Maybe she just needs a little help.