by Mia Caldwell
Swift movement to her right caught her attention and she peered down the stone path. She saw someone jogging, someone tall and thin. Sasha. Oh hell no. Jada wasn’t ready to face her today. She tried to duck backwards, out of sight, but didn’t do it quickly enough.
“Hey there!” Sasha cried out. “I see you, Mrs. Buckley! Out enjoying the beautiful weather, are you?”
Jada sighed. Caught. Damn. She leaned back out over the railing. “Yes, and I see you are, too.”
Sasha’s svelte form drew ever closer. Jada realized something was running beside her, something small ... and multi-colored. It couldn’t be.
“Is that my cat?” Jada asked as Sasha pulled up to a stop under her balcony.
“Oh, is she yours?” Sasha wasn’t even breathing hard. She smiled down at Ms. Kitty, who promptly sat down and began daintily licking a paw. “She fell in with me down by the east docks. Didn’t you, Cat?” She directed the question to the fastidious feline. “That’s right.” She looked back up at Jada. “I’ve named her Cat.”
“Her name’s Ms. Kitty,” Jada called down.
“Really? That’s not a very good name. Mine’s better. I’ll call her Cat.” Sasha bent down and patted Ms. Kitty’s head.
“You can’t name her. She’s mine.”
“Meh,” Sasha said with a shrug, “she’s a cat. It’s not like she’s going to come when you call her anyway, no matter what name you use.”
Jada had to smile. “You’ve got a point. Fine, call her whatever you want.”
Sasha squinted at the horizon then back at Jada. “I’m going to make another circuit, probably. You wanna come? We’ll wait at the steps if you want.”
“No, thanks. I’m not a runner.”
“Okay. Come on then, Cat. Glad someone around here is interested in fitness. See you around, Mrs. Buckley. Let’s hang out in the jacuzzi later.”
Sasha waved and jogged off, Ms. Kitty trotting beside her.
Jada watched them go with a bemused expression. She was growing increasingly certain that someone had switched her anti-social cat for a look-alike, gregarious impostor.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she snatched it out, checking the caller. Marina. Finally.
Jada waved her hand in the air as if Marina could see it. “Where have you been!”
“Hi to you, too,” Marina said, sounding tired.
“I’ve been texting and calling all morning. And you didn’t call or text me last night, either.” She threw open the door to her bedroom and stalked inside.
“I’m sorry. It’s been crazy. I’m going to call you back on a different phone. So don’t worry if you don’t recognize the number. It’s me. I’ll call you right back.”
Jada’s phone beeped. Marina had ended the call. Jada paced her room and stared at her cell. When it buzzed, she answered right away.
“Marina?” she asked.
“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry about everything.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t want you to worry. I’m fine.”
“Tell me what happened,” Jada insisted.
“Well, you’re not going to like this, but ... since the press couldn’t find you, they’ve been hounding everyone who ever knew you. And that especially includes me, your sister.”
Jada gasped. “That’s terrible. Are you okay? Where are you? Are they at your apartment? Did they—”
“I’m fine. I managed to get away. I’m hiding out in a fleabag motel between the city and Springers Glen.”
“Marina, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It kind of is.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Listen,” Jada said, “you probably won’t be safe at a motel like that. Go to the city and check into a nice place. I’ll pay for it.”
“I’m fine where I am, truly. I just feel bad that I can’t investigate your marriage license like you wanted. Reporters are swarming all over Springers Glen right now and they’d catch me for sure if I—”
“No, no. Don’t go back there. Never mind the investigation. You need to stay safe. And anyway, I’m pretty sure I know who’s behind this fiasco.”
“You are?” Marina sounded shocked.
“Don’t be so surprised. I may not be a reporter like you, but I can put two and two together.”
“You can? You have?”
Jada rolled her eyes. “I can, and have. I think it was Agatha Brimgore.”
Silence on the other end of the call.
“Marina? Are you still there?” Jada asked.
Silence for a few more seconds, then Marina answered, “Yeah. What’s an Agatha Brimgore, exactly?”
“You mean who. She’s Sasha’s publicist. I met both of them last night.”
“Sasha?”
“Yep. And you won’t believe what she’s like.”
“Tell me everything.”
Jada curled up into a wing-backed chair and tucked her feet under her. She gave Marina all the gory details of the previous night, spilling everything except how Jada got embarrassingly tipsy on three glasses of wine.
Marina sounded more worn out than ever when Jada finished her tale, having reacted powerfully to nearly everything Jada said.
“I can’t believe Sasha wasn’t really dating Ian,” Marina said.
“I know. And you can’t tell anyone, Marina. Swear you won’t.”
“I promised I wouldn’t. You want me to prick my finger in a blood vow or something?”
“Actually, I kind of do. I shouldn’t have told anyone, but I couldn’t help myself.”
“Hell, Jada, a saint couldn’t have kept that secret. Anyway, I’m your sister. If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”
“Thanks. So what do you think about my theory that Agatha Brimgore leaked a fake marriage license to the press as a publicity stunt?”
“Um, it’s not a bad theory, I guess.” Marina sounded uncertain, hesitant. “I’m wondering, though, if she did that, why would she choose you to marry him? You don’t know her and she doesn’t know you.”
“True,” Jada said. “That’s a hitch in my theory. There are still a few minor details to work out.”
“Okay, well, anyway ... have you seen Ian today?”
“No. He’s gone. He told me last night he’d be leaving early for the city.”
“That’s too bad—oh my God.”
“What?”
“I just flipped on the TV and you aren’t going to believe this. You got a television close? Turn it to the Celebrity Gossip Channel.”
Jada shuddered. “I’m not going to like this, I know it.”
“Turn it on. Now,” Marina insisted.
Jada went over and climbed onto her massive, canopied bed. She used the remote to raise the big flatscreen TV from the gleaming wood cabinet at the bed’s footboard. She found the menu on the TV and selected CGTV.
The title of the program displayed at the top of the screen: “Ian and Jada, a Story of Secret, Runaway Love.”
Jada wanted to turn the stupid thing off, but she couldn’t do it. This was worse than a train wreck, with an off-the-charts gawk factor. “That’s got to be the dumbest—”
“Most amazing thing ever,” Marina finished with glee. “Shh! They’re telling Ian’s life story.”
Jada shook her head and listened to Ian’s biography, CGTV style. And CGTV style basically meant repeating every piece of titillating gossip ever whispered about the billionaire’s sex life. A lengthy chain of women claimed to have been Ian’s lovers at one time or another. One middle-aged woman swore she took Ian’s virginity when he was a teenager.
“This is revolting,” Jada said. “This isn’t a biography; it’s a sideshow of tawdry bimbos.”
“Ha-ha! Exactly. It’s fabulous.”
A crisp knock sounded on Jada’s door and she knew from the sound that it was Elly. She called for her to come in.
Young Elly stepped inside, looking fresh and neat with her crisp white ap
ron and bobbed, brown hair. “I came to get your breakfast dishes if you’re finished.”
“Who’s that?” Marina asked on the phone.
“It’s Elly. I told you about her.” Jada looked at the girl. “Thanks Elly. I’m finished. Except for the rest of that croissant out there. Can you bring it to me?”
“Of course.” Elly headed out onto the balcony with a bright smile.
“Are you making that poor girl fetch your food for you?” Marina teased.
“I am. You’d be surprised how quickly you adjust to the good life. You ought to see Ms. Kitty.”
“Hell no. It’d probably kill me. I’m already nearly dead from jealousy.”
“Right now, Ms. Kitty’s out jogging with Sasha.”
“I’m dying. Seriously. I’m keeling over from one of those busted brain vein thingies. I hope you’re happy.”
Jada grinned. “Oh, here’s Elly with my buttery, flaky croissant. Thank you so much.”
“I love croissants,” Marina whined. “I’m stuck in a crummy fleabag motel eating stale potato chips from a vending machine, and you’re eating fresh-baked pastries while your stupid cat is hanging with a supermodel. It’s not fair.”
“Yeah well, look at the TV. They’re getting ready to start in on me and I’ve got a feeling you won’t be jealous much longer.” Dread rose up in Jada’s stomach. She set the croissant aside.
Elly stood beside the bed and eyed the TV. “Is that program about you, Miss Jada?”
“Right now it is,” Jada answered.
“Can I watch?” Elly asked.
Jada scooted over in the bed and patted the spot she’d vacated. “Have a seat. But don’t believe a word you’re getting ready to hear.”
“I know how it is. They’re always making up stories about Mr. Ian.” She perched on the edge of the bed.
On the TV, one of the more popular hosts at CGTV, Piper Sandy, narrated the show in an aggressively chipper tone.
“Jada Howarth grew up in the quaint hamlet of Springers Glen,” Piper pronounced as the screen filled with a panning image of the town square. “It’s the kind of place with lots of precious bed and breakfasts, and where everyone knows your name when you go to the local farmer’s market.”
Jada snorted. “What nonsense. It’s not that small.”
“It’s pretty small,” Marina said in her ear.
“The population is over 10,000. I don’t know all 10,000 people, do you?”
“No, but ... whatever,” Marina said.
At the same time, Elly said, “I only know you, Miss Jada.”
“Sorry,” Jada said to Elly. “I was talking to Marina. She’s my sister. On the phone.” She held out her cell.
“Oh, your sister? Tell her I said hi.”
“Elly says hi, Marina.”
“Tell her I said hi back.”
“Hi back, Elly.”
The picture on the screen changed to a cringe-worthy school photo of Jada in second grade when she’d recently lost one of her front teeth and would only go to school if her mother let her wear a huge, feathery pom-pom on the top of her head.
“Jada was an eccentric child, who attended school at this picturesque little building,” Piper crooned, the screen changing to a small school that Jada had never seen before. It looked like a one room schoolhouse from the nineteenth century.
Jada snorted. “What a crock.”
Elly shot her an uncertain glance while Marina shushed her.
A tiny, wrinkled elderly woman with a snow white bun on top of her head appeared on the screen. Jada didn’t recognize the woman until she read the caption: “Stella Crocker, retired kindergarten teacher.”
“It’s Mrs. Crocker!” Jada and Miranda called out in unison.
“She looks so old,” Miranda said.
Jada goggled. “She must be a hundred and fifty. She was ancient back then.”
“Oh yes, I remember Jada well,” Mrs. Crocker said in her crackly, fragile voice. “She was a very good girl. Always washed her hands after she used the bathroom and never ate the glue sticks. I knew she’d turn out fine. Her younger sister was another matter. That one was trouble from the git-go. She ate glue sticks like they were sweet pickles.”
“Oh my God,” Marina moaned. “I can’t believe she called me out on national television for eating glue. I never did like that woman.”
Jada stifled a laugh. Movement by her open bedroom door caught her attention. Sasha sauntered into the room, her arms filled with tabby cat and several large baggies.
“I brought Cat back for you,” Sasha said, strolling over to the bed, and peering at the TV. “Whatcha watching?”
“It’s a show about Miss Jada and Mr. Ian,” Elly said, never taking her eyes from the program.
“Huh.” Sasha dropped Ms. Kitty onto the bed, then crawled past Elly, over Jada’s legs, propped up a few pillows against the headboard, and settled in beside Jada. “How fun. I’d love to learn all about Mr. and Mrs. Buckley.”
Ms. Kitty wedged herself between Jada and Sasha, curled herself in a ball and promptly closed her eyes for a nap.
“Who is that?” Marina asked in the phone.
“It’s Sasha.”
Marina squealed loud enough that Sasha heard it.
“Who’s that?” Sasha asked.
“My sister, Marina.”
“Why is she screaming? Is someone attacking her? Tell her to go for the eyes. It’s more effective than going for the groin, trust me.”
Jada struggled to hear Piper Sandy on the television, but between Marina and Sasha, she was having no luck. “For crying out loud,” Jada said. “I’m putting you on speaker, Marina. Introduce yourself to Sasha.”
“Hi Sasha! I’m Marina.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Buckley’s sister.”
“So you really don’t care that Jada married your fiancée?”
“Of course not. Only Agatha could care about that.”
“Shh!” Jada hissed.
A good-looking woman was on the screen. She was around Jada’s age, and Jada instantly knew who she was without reading the caption.
Marina gasped. “It’s Lindy Swinson.”
“Who’s Lindy Swinson?” Sasha asked, opening up one of the baggies and scooping out a handful of what appeared to be an orange colored chip. A cheese curl/puff? Surely not, Jada thought.
“She’s a mean girl from high school,” Jada said.
“Jada and I were like this,” Lindy gushed all over the screen, holding up a pair of manicured, crossed fingers. “You never found one of us without the other. We were true BFFs. I think we had one of those necklaces, you know, where the charm is cut in half and you each have your own half. She always looked up to me because I was so popular. Such a dear, even though she had jealousy issues. I’m so happy she finally found a husband. She called me right away, of course, to give me the good news and—”
“I’m going to throw up,” Marina said. “She’s a lying bi—”
“We weren’t friends,” Jada interrupted, addressing herself to Sasha and Elly. “She and her girls pretended like I didn’t exist except when they wanted to torture me.”
Sasha chomped on her cheese puffs. “I know her kind. She’s hot, but I wouldn’t do her. Want some?” She looked at Jada and Elly and gestured in offering at her two baggies. Jada and Elly declined with shakes of their heads.
“Want what?” Marina asked.
“Crunchy cheese puffs,” Sasha said. “Homemade. Mrs. Best makes them for me. They’re heaven. I’ve also got some of her trail mix here. I’d offer you some, but obviously, you’re not actually here, so ...”
“That’s okay,” Marina said. “I appreciate the thought.”
“Ooh, that man’s kind of scary looking,” Elly said in reaction to a new face on the screen.
“Who is that?” Marina asked.
“I have no idea,” Jada answered. “It says his name is Jerome Winton.”
“Jada Howarth has been my neighbor for a wh
ile now,” the grouchy-looking man said. “I appreciate that she keeps her lawn tidy and her grass mowed. Too bad all her new pampas grass got mashed clean flat yesterday. I hope she gets it out of there soon. It’s unsightly and brings down the neighborhood.”
“There you have it,” Piper droned cheerily. “Jada Howarth’s unkempt lawn lowers property values in Springers Glen. We’ll return with more in a moment.” The show cut to a commercial.
Chapter Four
SASHA CHORTLED IN GLEE. ELLY covered her mouth with her hand and Marina’s snort snapped through the phone’s speakers.
Jada sighed. “Couldn’t they interview someone who actually knows me? I think CGTV must be the most incompetent network ever.”
“Maybe so, but they make money, young lady. And money makes the world go round,” came a loud, nasal voice from the doorway. Agatha Brimgore clomped into the room. “So this is where you all are. What are you doing?”
Like her daughter, she didn’t wait for an invitation, merely headed around to the other side of the bed and scrabbled up beside Sasha.
“We’re watching this fabulous documentary about Jada,” Sasha said. “Cheese puffs? Trail mix?”
“Both,” Agatha replied, reaching a hand into one of the baggies.
“Who’s that?” Marina asked.
“Who are you?” Agatha asked by way of reply, pointing at the phone beside Ms. Kitty.
“It’s Agatha, my publicist,” Sasha answered.
“Oh, nice to meet you,” Marina said. “I’m Jada’s sister, Marina.”
“I didn’t know you had a sibling, Jada,” Agatha said, craning her long, skinny neck out to see past Sasha.
“Didn’t you?” Jada answered, fishing to see what else she might say.
“How could I? I never heard of you until yesterday when you stole Ian from poor Sasha.”
Sasha acted like she hadn’t heard her. Ms. Kitty raised her head and glared at Agatha, ears slightly flattened and tail flicking at the tip.
“Oh,” Jada said, “I thought maybe you knew me before, somehow. You’ve made several pronouncements about my character, for instance, which is surprising coming from someone who just met me.”