by Robin Cain
“Trust me. If Citra is the person I think she is, she is really only after one thing and I have already dangled it, just like a carrot, in front of her.”
“Okay, but please—please don’t give me any reason to regret trusting you. I don’t want to find out that you were the proverbial carrot.” She didn’t feel right about letting the subject go the way it did, but there was no ammunition in her arsenal. Suspicions weren’t enough to win this battle.
When they were done eating, they cleared off the table and cleaned up the kitchen, working side-by-side like an old married couple. She’d had all day to think about Billy and about Citra and she’d come to the conclusion now—after hearing Frank explain it all away—that maybe the lack of sleep and commotion had simply made her paranoid.
She decided to let it go, now experiencing the calm that accompanied red wine, and joined Frank in the living room.
eight
NEITHER FRANK nor Sadie heard from the police anymore that evening or the next day, but Sadie watched every news program and read every paper she could get her hands on to see if her name was mentioned in any of them. It appeared she was inextricably linked to Billy despite their short time together. An article in Entertainment Daily, courtesy of Monica Bird, had run a story about Billy and Sadie’s prior relationship, along with a mention of Sadie’s run-in with Billy that day at her office. That article was later overshadowed by the news of another one of Billy’s girlfriends speaking on the record about having been abused by him in the past.
The tabloids were trying to exploit anything they could get their hands on. Headlines screamed with speculation of his drug use and abusive ways. As much of a jerk Sadie thought Billy was, she still felt badly that he was being racked over the coals. Hollywood was a fickle friend indeed.
Sadie thought a lot about when she’d first met Billy and the “wow” factor she’d felt when they were introduced through a friend at a party. He had been so damn charming and nice to her, immediately giving Sadie the impression that he was interested. He’d tracked her down the very next day and had invited her to some trendy restaurant. With waiters fawning, fans wanting autographs and young girls shrieking when they saw him, Sadie had been unprepared for the spotlight that shone on her whenever she was with Billy. The entire experience had been something Sadie had only seen on television. Their couple of months together had been one heck of a wild ride.
Sadie thought now of Billy’s family and wondered how they were handling this tragedy. Sadie had met Billy’s parents once at a premiere. She hadn’t found out until later that they weren’t his birth parents —they had died in some accident when he was little, but he didn’t offer much more of an explanation.
His foster parents were nice people, if not a little odd. Brought in from some nearby small town, they’d behaved as if they had landed in Oz, with their mouths hanging open much of the time. Sadie couldn’t blame them much. She’d had similar feelings about the sheer surrealism of Hollywood and the way Billy was treated by everyone. It was almost God-like, which was why it made Sadie sad to see the media feeding on his death like turkey vultures on a carcass. She would be happy to be at a distance from it.
When Friday arrived, in spite of—and because of—all the attention, Frank and Sadie traveled up to Sullivan as planned. It was a little difficult for Frank to get away, since his assistant Janie had been out sick the last couple days, but he figured a quick weekend wouldn’t do too much damage. He was excited for Sadie to see the house and get the project moving.
And, just as Frank predicted, Sadie fell madly in love with his house. The instant she entered the structure, its walls seduced her. They welcomed her in and made her feel at home. In all the buildings she had walked through in her life, this one had the most familiar voice. Like an old friend, it embraced her.
Late June’s hot sun streaming in through the multitude of skylights illuminated the home’s beauty as if it were on stage. The flaws Frank had spoken of on the flight up now struck Sadie as simply character traits—the small cracks in the travertine floor were merely makeup, the dripping faucet in one of the bathrooms was part of a quaint background score and the lack of light in the master bedroom was purely ambiance. Sadie saw nothing wrong except for a couple paint colors, the aged and dated kitchen, and a bedroom that seemed a bit small. This “big remodeling project” to which Frank referred would be a privilege, especially if she could convince him along the way to spare some of the home’s innate personality. Sadie got so excited about the prospect that she nearly forgot she had to fly home in two days.
“Oh Frank, this house is more beautiful than you ever described. I would love to get this place fixed up.”
“Sounds like you’ve got your mind made up.”
“Well, it’s kind of the perfect time. With all this Billy stuff going on, I’d love to get out of town. Besides, there’s no need to dillydally. The trades here would likely jump at the chance to have your work. And I bet I could get them down on price since you said you haven’t paid much attention. I’ll fly home with you, get some things organized, line up appointments from there and get back up here as needed. You can get your stuff done and join me.”
“Whoa there, Sea Biscuit; the gate isn’t even up yet!”
“It’s the perfect time. We can do this. Get out of the spotlight. Have some fun together,” Sadie explained.
“I’m swamped at work. I can’t get away like this very often. I was hoping this could be your project. Sure, I’ll come when I can, but I don’t want you to think I can be here all the time.”
“Surely you can make arrangements, Frank. You own the company.”
“It’s not that easy. I have millions of things going on.”
“You mean like Citra?” Sadie couldn’t resist.
“What does that mean?” he asked, running his hands through his hair, obviously frustrated with how the topic had been so quickly changed.
“If you think I’m going to drop the subject, you’re crazy. I’ve thought about it a lot since our discussion the other night, Frank, and I have to tell you. I don’t much like your answers.” Ever since Citra had stood at Frank’s door two days before, Sadie had given it hours of thought. All of Frank’s promises and vague suggestions that she trust him just weren’t enough for her. She wanted concrete evidence or explanation that Citra was nothing she had to worry about. Frank’s making an ex-lover a business partner did not bode well for their marriage or their future, and Sadie wanted answers. “I want an explanation of Citra.”
Frank’s smile collapsed and his eyes rolled. “I thought we already had this conversation.”
“Yes, but not to my satisfaction. ‘Trust me’ is not an explanation. I want to know what’s going on with you two—both in business and personally. You’re keeping her so close that I have every reason to doubt your intentions and your motivations. There’s something just not right with all these secrets and, as your wife, I don’t believe you have the right to keep them from me.”
There. She’d said it. She didn’t particularly like the look on his face or the way his forehead was creased, but she refused to let that intimidate her. It was time for him to come clean. She plopped down on the sofa in the living room and waited for his response. She wasn’t moving until she got some answers.
Frank looked like he’d just been slapped in the face. He had likely never been in a position in which his personal or business acumen had been called to task in such a manner, but she didn’t care at this point.
“Sadie, I’m sorry. You’re just going to have to get over this. As I told you the other night, Citra is an integral part of MineWare and until the day that is no longer true, she will be a part of my life and my company. The relationship we had that you fear so much is no longer part of this equation.” He stood stock still and expressionless. His poker face gave no indication as to which cards he held.
Sadie was speechless. Unspoken accusations and angry words raced along the synapses of her brain, but there
was nothing she could do to coax the words out of her mouth. She wanted to spit them, hurl them with such force that they pitted his skin. Make him feel what he was making her feel. She felt the heat of her temper rise and felt the flush on her face. Angrier at him now than she had ever been but unable to rationalize or verbalize her feelings, she slowly got off the sofa and walked away.
“Sadie?” Frank’s voice wasn’t angry, sad, afraid or even hesitant. It was as if he was merely making sure she had heard him.
“I heard you,” she said, standing in the doorway to the bedroom. “I need some time. I never imagined this would be your response.”
After awhile, Frank got up, walked over to the wine rack and selected a fine Pinot Noir he had acquired from a local vineyard. He took it and two glasses and went in search of Sadie, confident he could persuade her with something a little more palatable.
After a weekend of exploring town and going over the plans for the house, Frank and Sadie flew back to L.A., but the return trip back was much quieter than the departing one had been. Sadie buried her anger and hurt below the surface, keeping it from rearing its ugly head for the remainder of the weekend. She’d accepted Frank’s conciliatory offer of wine—only for the purposes of relaxation—and they’d continued on with their house discussions.
It was as if the other conversation had never taken place. It wasn’t that Sadie had forgiven him or accepted his answer. She was merely spinning the facts around her head, piecing the parcels of information together like a jigsaw puzzle, trying it first one way and then the other to create a picture that made sense to her. Frank’s stance was so diametrically opposed to her own that it made her question her own judgment. She decided maybe she just needed some time.
When they touched down at LAX, a car was waiting to drop Sadie at home and then whisk Frank to the office. They parted ways, with plans to meet later in the day.
“I shouldn’t be any later than six,” Frank told her as she climbed out of the car. “I’ll call if I’m going to be later.” Neither of them made a move to kiss the other, both lost in their own thoughts. Sadie glanced back when she reached the front door but saw that Frank was already on his cell phone and the car headed down the street. She walked inside and closed the door, dropping her suitcase on the floor and taking a deep breath. Torn between staying to work things out with Frank and just running away from it all, Sadie realized, newly married or not, the latter appealed to her more. Having now seen the house in Washington, still wondering where and when the police were going to show up again, Sadie was ready for an escape. She had to do this now or she was going to lose her mind.
She walked over to the phone, picked it up and made arrangements to leave for Sullivan the following Fourth of July holiday weekend.
nine
FIVE DAYS LATER, Sadie went back to Sullivan by herself. The police still hadn’t questioned her again and, as far as she could tell, Billy’s cause of death had still not been confirmed. She felt a little better about it with each passing day. Citra’s name hadn’t come up again all week either. Waiting for Frank to address what Sadie believed was his wrongdoing, she kept her mouth shut. And, with Frank believing Sadie had taken him at his word, he obviously considered the subject closed. Sadie left L.A. with his blessing, neither of them knowing what the other was thinking or what would happen next.
The early morning arrival of her flight in Sullivan had left her with the entire day to get settled. After she’d introduced herself to the part-time caretaker and let him go for the weekend, she decided to go explore the town and get her mind off things. A day of shopping, she decided, would do her some good.
She spent much of the remainder of the day walking the sidewalks of the quaint little town. Though she spent hours browsing the aisles of the many stores in town, she was still too distracted with her thoughts to focus. Later in the afternoon, when she found herself in the local market buying breads, imported cheeses, salami and stuffed olives, she realized she hadn’t eaten all day and should head back.
Frank’s house was less than a ten-minute drive. Sadie pulled in the driveway, pushed the button on the controller to close the automatic gate behind her and heard a strange noise just before it slammed shut. She hit the button again.
Nothing.
Again—nothing.
It was obviously broken or jammed.
She grabbed her bags from the car, hastily dumped them on the counter by the back door and flopped in a chair wondering what to do next. With the caretaker now gone and having no way to reach him on this long holiday weekend, Sadie was alone on this one. Deciding she couldn’t spend the entire weekend with her car trapped inside the gate, she grabbed the Yellow Pages to locate a repair company. She found “Gates—Electric—Repair” and settled on a listing. She dialed the number and waited. An elderly-sounding woman answered.
“Hi. I’ve a broken gate.”
“Well, you have called the right place then. What seems to be the problem?”
Sadie explained and the woman made note of her name, number and particulars. She checked the schedule and told Sadie no one could be there until the following Tuesday morning. With her car trapped in the driveway, Sadie wasn’t thrilled with that answer.
“I can’t get the gate open and my car is stuck on the inside. Isn’t there someone who could come and at least just get the gate open? Then I’ll worry about getting it repaired later.”
“Well,” the woman hesitated. “I do have a guy in the area. Maybe he can come by at the end of the day just to see if he can get it open for you. He’s real busy, but I’ll check with him and call you back.”
Relieved, Sadie thanked her and hung up.
She unpacked the things she’d bought and found places for them in the unfamiliar kitchen. She was re-acquainting herself with the contents of the house when the doorbell rang awhile later. She opened the door and was cheerily greeted by a young man dressed in overalls, his face lit up in a smile.
Sadie glanced up the driveway and saw the now-opened gate. “H-how did you get in?”
“I’m the gate repairman,” he said, extending his hand to shake Sadie’s. “I know things about gates. My name is Tyler, and you have a bad fuse.”
“You know that already?”
“Yep, I’m the gate guy,” he said, giving a little wink.
“Is it hard to fix?” The thought of this becoming another one of her projects didn’t excite her.
Tyler began to explain about latches and currents and magnets— things Sadie didn’t really care to comprehend. The late afternoon sun beat down on them as they stood in the doorway and she asked if he might be more comfortable inside. Herself perspiring in shorts and a T-shirt, she knew Tyler’s heavy overalls had to be even more uncomfortable in the heat.
“Well, I think the repair will only take a few minutes. Let me go take care of it and then you can offer me something to drink if you like,” he told her. “My water jug ran dry at my last stop.”
“Fair enough. Come in when you’re done, but are you sure you have the time? The lady I spoke to on the phone said you were pretty busy.”
“This should only take a minute. Save myself a trip,” he said.
Sadie watched him walk away and caught his eye as he turned to glance back at her. They exchanged smiles before she closed the door. She peeked out the sidelights and watched him head up the drive. Good looking at about six feet tall, with crew-cut, sandy blonde hair partially hidden under a Seattle Mariners baseball cap, Tyler appeared to be in his late twenties. His greased, stained overalls and T-shirt couldn’t conceal the bulked-up muscles of a man used to doing manual labor. His skin, a golden bronze, belonged to someone who spent his days in the sun. Sadie caught herself staring a bit too long out the window and laughed. “This guy is going to think I’m some old cougar,” she said to the empty room.
She went to check the fridge to see what she could offer him to drink. She found there was only water, iced tea or wine and she smirked, wondering what Fran
k would think of her drinking his expensive wine with the gate repairman. As she stood there deliberating, there was a soft knock on the door. Tyler was back and he was holding metal parts in his hand.
“Well, looks like Mr. Repairman was wrong. You’ve got a bad sensor.” He extended the parts for her inspection.
“What does that mean?” Sadie couldn’t even pretend to act like she knew what she was looking at.
“Well, it means I’m not as good as I thought I was, for one,” Tyler joked. “Second, it means I’ve got to come back. I don’t have this part on my truck. Have one for every other kind, but not yours. Sorry.”
“What do one of those run?”
“Special for you today—fifty bucks. I won’t charge you to come back.”
“Well, when can you come back?”
“How about ten minutes? And then I’ll take that drink?”
Sadie agreed and found herself smiling. She looked forward to his coming back. Nice guy, nice smile; someone to talk to.
Less than ten minutes later the doorbell rang. Sadie hadn’t expected Tyler to be so prompt, but she opened the door and found him standing there, smiling.
“Hi. Gate’s all fixed. Can I have that something to drink now?” There were beads of sweat running down his face and neck.
“Oh, y-yes, of course.” Sadie pulled the door open and gestured for him to come inside. He slipped off his heavy work boots outside the front door before coming in.
“Thanks for inviting me in. It’s been a really long day and you’re my last call.”
“Least I can do,” she said and led him into the kitchen. Gesturing to one of the chairs at the table, she said, “Sit down and take a load off. What can I get you to drink? Water? Tea? Wine?”
“Thanks. Iced tea would be great. And sugar, if you have it.”
Sadie took out the pitcher of green tea she had made earlier in the day, poured him a glass and grabbed the sugar bowl as he took a seat at the counter.