“This will be my third; I have a store in Watertown and one in Rochester.”
“And you’ve been handling the advertising on your own? Or are you already with an agency and looking to switch?”
“I’ve been doing it, but I don’t have the time to commit to it anymore, not and do it effectively. I need someone to take over that part of the business so I can concentrate on running the rest.” He rattled off the names of several radio and television stations he’d used in both locations, and I tucked that information away. Tomorrow I would call each one and make an informal request for his payment history.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, “take me on as a client and I’ll install a top-of-the-line security system for you myself to show you how good my company is. No charge. That way you’ll have firsthand experience with the product. Deal?”
“Okay, it’s a deal,” I said. We shook hands, and by the time he left we had agreed to meet at my office in two days. I made a mental note to cancel the other security company, signaled for my check, and asked for a receipt. That done, I made the commute home, meaning I walked up the back stairs.
I had almost two hours before my meeting with Dr. Steele. She’d been wonderful with me on the phone, and I dared to feel some confidence in being able to feel safe and comfortable with her. Since this would be our first meeting, I hadn’t had a chance to fill out paperwork that would allow her to get a copy of my file from Dr. Collins, but I’d given verbal permission so she could call for some background. I kicked off my shoes and curled up on the sofa, hoping a short nap might make up for the little bit of sleep I’d had the night before.
The reception area of Dr. Steele’s office was tastefully decorated with calming neutrals, not unlike the colors and tones I’d come to appreciate at Dr. Collins’. When she came out to greet me, I pegged her to be in her early 50s. She was dressed in a beige suit, medium heels, and had her hair tied back in a loose bun. Her smile and soft, even, voice were welcoming, and I relaxed and even felt a bit relieved, as I followed her into her office.
“Dr. Collins used to burn Frankincense,” I said. “Do you do that?”
“My guess is that most of Dr. Collins’ patients were drawn to her holistic ways, and therefore weren’t bothered by lingering aromas such as incense. My patients, on the other hand, would not expect anything like that and would most likely balk at it. So, let’s talk about last night’s phone call.”
I explained the investigations surrounding Tony’s accident and Ferdy’s disappearance, and told her the story of the bank robbery and my connection to Danny Stearns. “I’m not sleeping well. I can barely eat and I’m probably not going to have a business to support myself much longer.”
“Are you self-medicating?”
“I’ve been taking over-the-counter sleeping pills and St. John’s Wort because I read on the Internet it was good for stress.”
“Well, actually,” she said, “St. John’s Wort shouldn’t be mixed with other medications. I’m going to prescribe something to help you sleep – a small dose, just so you’ll be able to doze off, and also something for stress. You’re under a great deal of pressure, Audrey, and I know Dr. Collins told you that unless it’s managed, it can – it will, cause your GAD to return. We don’t want that.” She handed me a tissue.
“I don’t want to go back to those days,” I said, dabbing at my eyes, “I can’t go back to that.”
She tore up one of the prescriptions and wrote another. “I’m going to increase the dosage of the antidepressant. And I’m going to want to meet with you on a weekly basis for a while; until things calm down and you’re feeling better.”
I signed a release form so she could get a formal copy of my file and made an appointment for the following week. I thanked her and looked forward to lighting some incense when I got home.
Chapter 5
The sleep medication Dr. Steele had prescribed proved way more effective than the over-the-counter stuff I’d been taking, and I’d slept soundly. Now I was energized, and felt I could take on whatever the day could throw at me.
I showered, dressed, and then ran next door to the hair salon where Lisa, the owner, gave me a quick trim and blow dry. After that, since a storm was supposed to arrive in the afternoon, I hit the grocery store for a few necessities. With the food put away, I cleaned my four rooms, those being my kitchenette, living room, bedroom, and my closet-sized bathroom. It only takes me about 45-minutes to get it all done, including a change of bed linens.
I started the dishwasher, threw my dirty laundry into a mesh bag, and turned the key in the lock on the way out. I walked six doors up (in the opposite direction from the hair salon) to the Laundromat, filled two machines with clothes and detergent, popped in a bunch of quarters, then hopped into Nelly and headed for the office to see if I could get in.
The crime scene tape was gone, and I took that as permission-granted to enter. I started a pot of coffee and began picking up the mess on the floor. Within an hour I had sorted and re-filed most of the papers, and nothing had jumped out at me as being missing.
I sat at my desk and opened a file for Miller Crawford, knowing from experience that he would be bringing a shitload of promotional material and all kinds of paperwork he would want me to see, whether I needed to or not. I completed a contract for him to sign and slipped it into the file.
I looked at the birthday bag Harley had put on my desk just before I’d run out to meet Cat at Ferdy’s house. Better late than never, I thought, and I reached for it. Inside was a beautiful crystal nameplate – large and heavy, rectangular in shape, with three words etched on it: Audrey Dory, Separator. I laughed at the old joke – advertising’s goal is to separate people from their money.
I looked around to find the perfect place for it. While nameplates were intended to be displayed on a desk, mine was too cluttered. I went to the stairs, where a little window looked out onto the parking lot. Not a great view, but the sun came through almost all day long. I placed the heavy crystal bar on the sill and watched, as prisms of light danced across the floor beyond the stairs. Perfect.
I called SUNY Oswego and spoke to a lady about sending an intern to Carrie. Next, I cancelled the first security company and then put in a call to the airport for a list of private pilots in the area. On hold, I watched dark clouds gather; a harbinger of the storm that was predicted to hit later in the afternoon. After approving copy for an outdoor billboard and listening to talent demos for a radio spot that needed to be voiced before the week was out, I put away my paperwork and looked at Harley’s empty chair, realizing more than ever how much I depended on her.
In light of the coming bad weather, I called Harley’s home number, feeling obligated to see if her grandmother needed anything. Even though a neighbor was supposed to be looking in on her, who knew how old that neighbor was and if she was capable of providing food or medication in a storm? There was no answer. Harley had said she’d called her grandmother from the hospital, so I knew she was able to get to the phone. I waited for ten minutes and then tried again, but she did not pick up.
As the sky darkened, I decided to take a ride over there, just to be on the safe side. Once a storm hits around here, there’s no telling how long it will last or if the power will stay on. I’d never been to Harley’s place, but I took the address from her job application, and my GPS brought me to the front of a house in a section of the city that was more run down than my office location; it surprised me. She’d never really said much about where she lived; but I always assumed it was at her grandmother’s house. I knocked on the door. No answer. And there were no lights on inside, which there should have been. I tried the door knob and found it unlocked. I opened it just a crack and called, “Hello?”
Chapter 6
Pushing the door open a little wider, I called again, “Hello? Harley’s grandmother?” I didn’t even know the woman’s name. Where was she? What if something had happened and she was hurt and all alone with no way to call for help? When
no response was forthcoming, I took a couple of steps into the dark room and slid my hand over the wall, found a switch, and snapped on the light. “Hello? Harley’s grandmother?” Thunder snapped in the distance, and the first raindrops splattered against the windows.
The living room was neat as a pin, but there was no sign of an elderly woman. Maybe that neighbor had come by and invited her next door until the storm blew over. That would be a good thing. But Harley’s grandmother could also be in the other room, unable to answer me; I ventured further into the space and called out again with no luck.
I moved forward, hoping with every step, that I wouldn’t find her on the ground. Had she fallen and hit her head? Had a heart attack? Mixed up her medications? I spun out scenes of a little old woman meeting her Maker in a series of awful ways because no one had been around to help. Stop! I chastised myself. I continued on, but found no evidence that an elderly person even lived here. There was only one bedroom, and just one bed. Had I come to the wrong house? I looked in the closet and recognized several hippie-type pieces that I’d seen Harley wear, alongside an array of men’s T-shirts and sweatshirts. Confused, and more than a little curious, I peeked into the dresser drawers and found men’s jeans, socks and boxers. What the hell?
In the small bathroom, toiletries for both sexes crowded the top of a tiny table beside the sink, but I saw no medications one would expect to find in the home of an elderly woman, especially one who had as many doctor’s appointments as Harley had led me to believe. I quickly made my way back through the house and outside, leaving the front door unlocked, as I had found it.
I was overcome with disbelief and a feeling of deep betrayal; Harley had been lying to me all this time. But why? And when she’d said she was taking her grandmother to all of those doctor’s appointments, where had she actually been going? She didn’t even have a grandmother – at least not one that lived with her.
As I pulled into a parking space in front of Krabby Kirk’s, I noticed that the salon next door was open, and I went in hoping to find Lisa alone. She was stocking hair products, but stopped when she saw me.
“Oh, boy, what happened to you?” she asked.
“I look that bad?”
“Well, you’re all wet for one thing. Don’t you own an umbrella? I’ll be here for a little while longer. Have a cup of tea and keep me company.”
I ran my fingers through my wet hair. “No tea, thanks. I’ll just sit here for a few minutes,” and I lowered myself into one of the pedicure chairs and turned on the vibrating back. “Better,” I said.
After telling her about Harley, Lisa said, “Come with me. I have to bring up two more boxes from the basement – it’ll go faster if you help. Then we can grab an early dinner next door, if you feel like it.”
I groaned, but turned off the chair’s soothing vibrations and followed her. “I didn’t even know there was a basement in this building.”
“It’s awful,” she complained. “I hate it. It’s pitch black and it takes me forever to find the chain to the light bulb.”
“So that’s why you want me to help,” I laughed, “you’re afraid of the Boogey Man.” But as we descended into almost perfect darkness, I began to see her point. I reached for the back of her shirt and held on to it until she finally found and pulled the chain. The swinging bulb cast writhing shadows over the stairs and the cobweb-covered walls, and the dirt floor felt strange under my feet. “Let’s get the boxes and get out of here,” I said.
“It’s no easier going up after the light is out!” she groaned. Since I needed both hands to carry the cumbersome box, I could no longer hang onto her shirt, but I followed as close to her as I could. “Here’s the first step,” she said, and up we went. I held my breath until the slight glow of light at the top of the stairs came into view. I encouraged her to hurry up and finish her work and soon we were on our way to dinner.
When we were settled at a table and had ordered, I returned to the topic of Harley. “Now I have to fire her,” I whined, “and I have no one to take her place.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” she said. “You are going to give her a chance to explain, right?”
“For lying to me all this time? What explanation could there be?” My head hurt. My shoulders ached. “I’ll have to change the locks, too.”
We finished our meal and said goodnight. As I watched Lisa drive away, I remembered my clothes were still at the Laundromat. I ran up the street and threw my wet duds into a dryer, plugged in some quarters, and cursed the fact that it would now be at least an hour before I could shower and change into my PJs.
Back inside my apartment, I grabbed a bag of M&Ms and headed for the couch, as rain slapped against my window. My cell phone rang; it was Sean Finnegan. “Any news?” I asked.
“No, but the police think I should hold a press conference to get the message out about Ferdy’s disappearance. I’m a little nervous; would you come and be there with me?”
“I’d be happy to – when and where?
“Tomorrow at noon. In front of the police station.”
“I’ll be there.”
I turned on the TV to see if there was any news about Tony. Instead, I was treated to another pharmaceutical commercial using diversion tactics to keep the audience’s mind off the list of possible side effects that included swollen tongue, stroke, gas, loose bowels, and death (watch the happy couple hike up a mountain – don’t listen to what the announcer is saying). After the audience had been thoroughly warned, not to mention disgusted, the news anchor reappeared with a report on the alleged bank robber, Danny Stearns. Again, his picture was displayed on the screen and the reward for information leading to his capture was repeated.
Where was he? I wondered. Did he remember bumping into me that day? He’d stared at me just as I had stared at him. If his face, his eyes, had remained in my mind all these years; did he also have a clear mental image of me? And how much of a stretch was it to think that if he did remember me, and thought I could pick him out of a lineup, that he’d try and find me; that maybe he’d been trying to do just that all this time? I stood up quickly and M&Ms went everywhere, as my spin cycle revved up.
Chapter 7
I slipped on a rain jacket and ran to the Laundromat, loaded my dry clothes into a basket as fast as I could, and used the rear entrance of my apartment to haul it upstairs, where finally I was able to shower and put on my purple PJs. I hung up a few shirts and then dumped the rest on the bed to fold, but my hands were shaking, and I was unable to get the image of Danny Stearns out of my head. I retrieved Officer Morey’s card from my wallet and dialed him up. He was at my apartment within 20 minutes. “Nice jammies,” he said.
“That’s unprofessional,” I bristled, tightening the belt on my robe, “this is serious.”
“Are you kidding me? I’ve been at two crime scenes with you in the last couple of days. This is almost a date.” He looked at the candy on the floor. “What happened here?”
“Just…nothing. That’s not important. The thing is,” I began, hating to relive the story, “I was watching the news and saw a picture of the man that the police in Rochester think robbed a bank there a while back.”
“And?”
I explained as best I could about the day I left Rochester, leaving out the part about having been at my therapist’s. “Now, seeing him again on TV,” I said, “it occurred to me that he might remember me too, and that maybe he’s been looking for me all this time. He would know I could identify him, right?”
Officer Morey looked unconvinced. “He didn’t know you, correct? Never saw you before that day? Didn’t know your name, or where you were from, or that you were about to leave Rochester?” I shook my head no. “Then I don’t think you have anything to worry about. But since you’re so upset, is there someone you can call? Somewhere else you can stay for a few days?”
I shook my head. “This is it. I’d be more afraid alone in my office.”
“You know, if you’re certain you
can ID this guy on the day of the robbery, the DA and the police in Rochester are going to want to talk to you; not to mention the FBI.”
“No, no. I’m not getting involved in that mess.”
“Unfortunately, now that you’ve told me, I have to report it and you won’t have a choice.” He wrote down what I’d said and promised to ask the Camillus PD to drive by my apartment now and then. “That’s the best I can do right now. If you remember anything else, let me know.” He put on his hat, tugged at the brim, and smiled at me. “Goodnight now.”
After he left, I wedged a kitchen chair under the knobs of both doors and checked the locks on the windows, swept up the M&Ms, and put away the rest of my clothes; anything to keep busy.
Back on the day Danny had run around that corner and slammed into me, I had not returned to Dr. Collins’ office for help. She would have tried to persuade me to speak to the police and I hadn’t wanted any part of that. I would have had to give a statement, look at a lineup of creepy men, and if worse came to worse, maybe even testify against him in court. I had no memory of other people being around that day, but I couldn’t have been the only one on the street; someone else had surely spoken to the police in Rochester.
I went into the bedroom and pulled down a box from the top shelf of my closet. With my heart pounding in my chest, I slowly lifted the lid and stared at the black ski mask hidden inside.
Chapter 8
I spent most of the night listening for suspicious noises, and imagining Danny Stearns creeping up my stairs. Around 6 a.m. I gave up and got out of bed, showered, dressed, and dropped a frozen waffle into the toaster. I picked up coffee on the way to the office and wondered how open I should be with Miller, who would be installing my security system in a few hours. Should I let him know what being added to my dwindling roster of active clients could mean for him? I didn’t know. I’d play it by ear.
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