The woman is all the more glorious now that she’s shed her outer shell to reveal a lean yet curvy body under a blush pink satin dress.
“Do you know who that is?” Nate says with scandal.
“Who?” I’ve never been more eager to learn about someone in my entire life.
“She’s the buyer of Pilgrim’s Island.”
“The one with the old stone mansion on it? The one that was up for auction last spring?”
“Rumor has it, the bidding lasted all night. It went for seven figures. To her.”
“Who is she? She looks exotic. Is she the daughter of a duke or something?”
“Nobody knows.”
“Is she from Redemption?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What’s her name?”
“Smyrna. Smyrna something. I can’t remember the rest.”
Just the sound of her name and how it slips out of my boyfriend’s mouth like a delicious little rumor, makes me tingle right down to my toes. Finally, I tear my gaze from her and return my attention to Nate. “I just want to know everything about her,” I say. “I think she’s quite fabulous. In an odd yet beautiful way.”
He turns back around to the table and shrugs. “She’s probably just some dead rich man’s benefactor.”
“Hey wait a minute. I heard something else about the mansion in the office. Bill said the woman who bought it is gonna donate an entire wing to orphaned girls. There’s a lottery to get in. Maybe I should go introduce myself. Ask about getting the Putzarella girls in.”
“I thought we were finished with those people. And besides, I don’t think she wants company tonight. Oh look. There’s Deb and Jerry. I invited them to meet us for drinks.”
I turn to find a well dressed middle aged couple coming in through the front entrance and making their way over to the lounge. Nate waves to catch their attention. “I’ll be over in a minute,” he mouths with a big grin. Jerry waves back and Deb blows kisses in the air.
“Jerry. Is that the Wall Street tycoon?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you said Jerry is one of the most pretentious people you’ve ever met.”
“I did. He’s also wealthier than God. He’s got a share in the casino and my dad and I are trying to get a piece. Pris, I haven’t told you too much about the casino, have I?”
“I already know about the Member’s Only lounge.”
“Yes. But there’s more. Are you able to keep a secret? I mean, I really shouldn’t be telling you.”
“I would never tell a soul. You have my word.”
He leans in close and lowers his head along with his voice. “There are some powerful people behind this Member’s Only. Like very powerful.”
“You mean the mafia?”
He scoffs. “Fucking slimy mobsters are at the bottom of the food chain.”
“Really.” I say amused but unconvinced.
“Yes. Really.”
“So who’s on top then?”
“Jerry is one. And my father is close to getting in.”
“Like a country club?” I attempt. I don’t ever want to look ignorant in my beautiful Nate’s eyes.
“No.” Glancing left to right he whispers, “Like the illuminati.”
“You’re pulling my arm.” I don’t know if I believe in stuff like the illuminati. I mean of course there are powerful behind-the-scenes people in government, but nothing as sinister as the illuminati.
“Men so powerful you wouldn’t believe. They are right here in Redemption.”
“Does the mayor know?”
“The mayor is one of them.”
“You lie.”
“Well he works for them at least. Which is just as good as being one of them. The men of Redemption are going to rule the world one day, you watch.”
Well, if Nate believes in this, I guess I’ll just go along. “And where will you be when this happens?”
“On a yacht with dad and Jerry and the rest of the Brotherhood. Living the good life. And you of course. That is if you want to join me.”
“I would go with you anywhere, Nate Rodney Harrington the Third.”
He smiles and winks again. God I can’t take it. “Good,” he says. “If you stay on your best behavior with Deb and Jerry later, maybe you’ll be my lucky charm.”
“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll behave.”
I work in an office on the tenth floor of the Henry Stein building in downtown Redemption. As I exit the elevator, quiet welcomes me. I’m grateful for it. Not that I don’t like my coworkers. Sometimes I just need emptiness to get my thoughts together. I remove my Vince Camuto slingbacks from my aching feet. Hanging them on a crooked finger I pad down the hall toward my office.
I wasn’t too thrilled about Nate needing “alone time” to talk his business with Jerry, seeing how Trish was still in the lounge shifting her ginger waves from one shoulder to another, still acting like she barely was aware that her ex-boyfriend was in the same room. If Nate is secretly seeing her, I’ll die. I’ll pick up everything and go back to Erie.
“I hope you won’t be too long,” I said. “Will it take long?”
“Maybe an hour or so. But I’m getting under his skin. I can feel it, babe. I don’t want to rush this.”
“Okay. I’ll be home waiting for you. To tuck you into bed. Feed you bread and aspirin if you get too tipsy.” I kissed him and pressed my forefinger to his lips.
I have to go home and practice being a good housewife. I’ll empty the dishwasher, set up his coffee for the morning and turn down the bed. And I’ll lie myself naked, ass up in it.
But first thing is first, I have to empty out all these pesky thoughts swimming around inside my mind. Pesky thoughts ruin all fun and leave me prey to vultures like Trish. I wish I could have left that part of me, the part that thinks too much, back in Erie. The sexy me sure does not appreciate her.
There’s one other workaholic in our office—my boss, Bill. As I move down the hall I notice his light’s on. “Hi Bill,” I call out cheerfully, so as not to startle him. My mood is lighter in this moment, and I attribute it to the alcohol.
“Priscilla?” Bill is about fifty. He’s a tall, slouching man with big, brown eyes framed in outdated glasses that don’t flatter his face.
“Do you ever go home, Bill?” I ask leaning on his doorframe.
“You know me. I think much better at night.”
I shouldn’t have asked him that. How insensitive. Bill’s wife committed suicide three years ago and ever since he’s been glued to his desk.
He takes off his glasses and looks at me in earnest. Bill is super considerate. He’s the kind of man who, even if I did hurt his feelings, wouldn’t show it so as not to upset me. “So what’s your excuse?” he asks. “You’ve been here a lot of late nights yourself.”
“Too many cases. I can’t keep up. I’ve got a couple drafts to write up.”
“What’s the most recent?”
“The Putzarellas.”
“Putzarella. Oh yeah. Heather told me the mother might be hard to get to.”
“The mother’s a closed door. And the oldest daughter’s in denial. It’s not gonna be easy.”
“Look. If you’d like, I’ll see if one of the other girls has space to take it.”
I’m suddenly relieved, like a hundred ton weight has just been lifted from me. “Yes. I would love that. Thanks, Bill. That would be nice.”
The office I share with six other women was just newly renovated. I won’t admit it to anyone but the office was part of the reason why I moved to Redemption and took this job. It’s all clean lines and sterile furniture with not a hint of oldness anywhere. And the view. God, the view. I switch the light on and step over to the windowed wall. Downtown Redemption is lit up against a black sky. The new casino, Strive, is glowing in neon purple and stands at least forty stories taller than all the other buildings in town. Some people call it unoriginal, as it was designed after the Lisboa in Japan, but I think i
t’s a work of art. Nate is planning on renting one of the penthouse suites there in a few weeks, for the grand opening. “Just for fun,” he said. “Because you deserve it.”
I wonder for a moment if this is a guilt gift. Like maybe he did something wrong. I don’t want to ask him about Trish because that will make me look needy and insecure. God, why can’t she just go away or die or something.
My thoughts shame me.
I narrow my eyes onto my own reflection imprinted upon the city. “You’re beautiful,” I tell myself. “And you’re enough. He loves you.”
Dropping my coat over the back of my chair I start in on my assessment: The Putzarellas live in a two bedroom apartment on Kindred Street in the Valley, above a restaurant named Mama’s Door. The oldest daughter, Stori, was reluctant to let me in, but out of duty, observed the Valley custom of unbiased hospitality. As she made a pot of coffee and prepared a tray of cookies I observed the kitchen to be clean and orderly (no strong odors, no dirty dishes in the sink) Although the mother was ill in her bedroom and not fit for visitors, Stori insisted her mother cooks for her and still takes care of the house.
I stop typing.
I search my memory for little details that will help me present my case. I’m not bragging or anything, but I’m pretty smart when it comes to the nuances of the interview. The big story can always be found in the minute details. A word spoken or a wayward glance can open up an endless closet of bones. I’ve gotten things out of people I never dreamed I could.
But I knew from the start that Stori was gonna be hard.
Sitting at her kitchen table in her brown brick kitchen with its quaint wall sconces and mahogany window frames, I tried my best:
“So are you originally from Redemption, Stori?”
“Lived here all my life.”
“And have you always been in the Valley?”
She nods.
“And your parents. Are they from the Valley as well?”
“All of us are Valley-born.”
“It must be nice to have your roots so deep in a place. That is, as long as you like it.”
“I like it.”
“Have you ever traveled?”
“I’ve never been more than maybe ten miles from the Valley.”
I dread the thought of having to remove this girl. Any number of things can happen as a result: Stori might get violent, seeing how she’s been suspended from school on numerous occasions for fights. She’s also bipolar. There’s one report, which I’m still waiting on, that documents a hallucination that resulted in a two week stint in the hospital psyche ward. (I’m gonna have to have a police escort when the time to remove her comes.) Or she might try to run away, or worse, she could even kill herself. I’ve witnessed all of the aforementioned and for some reason I don’t think I’ll be able to handle any of them in the case of Stori and her family. As tough as she is, there’s something undeniably vulnerable about her. I feel awful for her already.
“Stori, I just want you to know how sorry I am about your father.”
She dunks a lemon frosted cookie into a steaming cup of coffee. “Sorry for what?”
I dunk my cookie into my cup and allow for some silence. I can’t help but notice she’s pretty boring in the looks department. Maybe it’s that big shock of bright burgundy hair that overwhelms her small face. Or maybe it’s the God-awful mauve sweatshirt that does zilch for her olive skin. She wears no makeup and her eyes have dark circles under them from either a poor diet or lack of sleep. The girl needs an ambush makeover and she needs one bad.
Shallow, I know, focusing on such superficial things while she’s obviously going through something horrible. I hope I’m not becoming a jerk. I have to remind myself that just because I live in a penthouse apartment with the winner of last year’s Redemption’s Most Eligible Bachelor, I don’t have to let that go to my head. After all, there’s something to be said about a woman who’s risen from the gutter, but still has reverence for her roots. Looking at the forgettable face of Stori Putzarella is like looking at my roots. I decide to be kind to her. “Stori, if you’d like, I can set up some counseling for you at the Child First Center to help you get through this.”
“I don’t need counseling. For what?”
“To help you deal with your loss.”
“It’s not a loss Miss Van Patten. He’s not dead. Look, I know you think my father’s not coming back and you think my mother’s gonna unravel to pieces. I know you think me and Regi are being neglected. I bet you even started your paperwork on us or whatever it is you all do when you come in and wreck these families to pieces.”
“Now hold on a minute. That’s not fair.”
“But I’m telling you my father did not run away from us. Something bad happened to him. Like a kidnapping. And I need you to believe me.”
“Stori, what evidence do you even have that would suggest he was kidnapped?”
She gets up and grabs a tin from the kitchen counter and brings it back to the table. She opens it and says, “Take a look at this.”
I look inside and see more lemon cookies. “What is it that I’m looking at?” I ask.
“These are my father’s favorite. He asked my mom to make a double batch the morning before he went missing. Why would he have asked her to do that if he was gonna just leave? Do you know what goes into making these things?”
“Stori. I know it’s horrible thinking your dad might not have done the right thing. I’ve looked into his background. So I know he tried to kill himself once at the dam. If it makes you feel any better my father—”
“—I told you already lady. He was kidnapped. Don’t you have any cop friends? That can help?”
I do. I can nudge one of my friends on the force, but I’ve become quite the skeptic over the past few years. Her dad either skipped town or overdosed.
“I’ll look into it,” I lie.
She’s looking me over, and I suddenly feel self-conscious. I straighten in my chair and hook my hair behind my ears.
“You’re lying aren’t you? You’re gonna take me and Regi out of here.”
“No. I’m not.” Another lie. “But I need to make sure you both are safe. Stori, if you have to leave this place just remember there’s a whole other world out there beyond the Valley. Even in this very city. Redemption’s growing rapidly and Mayor Vaughn believes we’re gonna be one of the top booming metropolises one day. I can help you with college, get you into a respectable career. You can have a great life. Future Forward. Remember?”
She sneers. “Stop talking lady. You just reminded me of why I hate when people talk. And FYI. There’s no such thing as the future.”
Okay, Pris. Calm down. She didn’t mean to be rude.
That’s when I notice something on the floor. A pair of eyes staring up at me out of Stori’s book bag. “Is that a doll?” I ask her.
She looks down and I can see she’s embarrassed. She goes to reach for it, but it’s closer to me. I’m already pulling it out of the bag.
I hold it into the light. It’s a handmade doll the size of a newborn infant. Her head and torso are sculpted of clay, but her arms and legs are of stuffed cotton. I finger the green velvet dress, pinch the lace embroidery and rub it softly. I caress the Tussah silk hair, drawing it back from her shoulders. I have never seen something so finely sculpted, so elaborate. “This is exquisite,” I say. Taking closer note of the facial features I have a small epiphany. “She looks just like you, Stori. The resemblance. It’s uncanny.” I guess Stori can be pretty after all. Somewhere under all that gloom and doom there’s a loveliness too frightened to come out.
“Regi has one too,” Stori says snatching it from me and placing it back in her bag. “My father had Mr. Funicelli, the shoemaker, make them. He sculpted and painted the faces himself.”
I can’t help but be impressed. “Really. It’s a treasure.”
“I know,” Stori snaps in her oh so charming fashion.
I would never suspect someone so tough to
be carrying around a dainty doll in her book bag. I have to remind myself that people in the Valley do very unexpected things. They’re somewhat of an enigma. I know the doll has no bearing on my case and I shouldn’t be wasting time, but I can’t help it. I can’t help but conjure a Christmas when I received my own doll. My father, on one of his sober mornings, watched as I pulled the wrapping paper off and squealed in delight. He was beaming with happiness and flicking away big round tears, as big as raindrops, from his face. That doll is long gone, but the memory lives on without her.
How do you forget someone who is unforgettable?
A horrid sound is coming from outside, down below on the street. An ugly sustained caterwaul.
“What the hell is that?” I ask, wanting to cover my ears.
“Wailing women,” Stori says. She doesn’t bother getting up, which tells me that women wailing in the middle of the street must be an everyday occurrence in the Valley. But I’m dying to see what’s going on, so I get up and go to the window. Looking down I see a group of about ten or eleven women, approaching the house, walking in the middle of the cobblestone. All of them are dressed in black and carrying their own picture frame. I can’t make out the face but I know it’s a woman in the frame. A priest in black, carrying a bible trails reverently behind them.
“It’s Concettina I bet,” Stori says. “She lived here for almost a hundred years. She died.”
They’re directly below me now and I’m about to pull the blinds closed on this most morbid sight when all of a sudden something just behind the women catches my eye. There! In the alley behind them! “Oh my God!” I exclaim, covering my mouth with a quavering hand. My heart is caught in my throat.
“What?” Stori asks in alarm. “What is it?”
“Do you see that?”
“See what?”
“Come here. Quick.”
By the time she’s looking to where I’m pointing the alley is barren. “I don’t see anything,” she says.
“He was just there. I swear it. There was a man in the alley down there. A man with fur all over his face. And he was laughing.”
The Book, the Key and the Crown (Secrets of the Emerald Tablet Book 1) Page 4