Truth and Circumstances

by Myrna Parks

  So much for remaining distant and guarded.

  “Carter, do you think it was something you ate?”

  “I don’t know,” Carter mouthed pitifully. “I started feeling sick about an hour before the party ended. I wondered if I might have eaten too much rich food. But I awakened suddenly, feeling deathly ill.”

  “Other than feeling nauseated, are you hurting anywhere? Do you have pain in your chest or in your side?”

  Carter clutched his stomach and moaned. “My head is pounding and I feel wretched.”

  When Carter made another lunge for the commode, Beth left the room and hurried down the hall and across the landing leading into the west wing. She’d ask her mother what to do.

  Within minutes, Beth returned to Carter. She knelt down beside him and pressed a packet into his hand. “Mother said you probably ate a bad prawn. She’ll speak to the caterers tomorrow.” Carter moaned again and Beth winced. “Sorry! But Mother did send you something that will ease your sick stomach and also put you to sleep.”

  “I don’t think I can keep anything down.”

  “It’s not a pill.” Beth swallowed hard, grateful the lighting was dim. All in one breath she said, “Mother sent you a packet of suppositories.”

  Beth scurried from the room. As she closed the door firmly behind her, she knew Carter must indeed be very ill. He didn’t make a single joke, jab, or embarrassing pun.

  Chapter Eleven

  Beth came awake, alert and anxious, despite the fact that she’d had only four hours’ sleep. Lifting her head, she peeked over the barrier. The suppositories must have worked. On the other side of the barricade, Carter snored deeply.

  Beth slid from the bed. She tiptoed about the room, glancing now and again at Carter’s still form. She saw no movement except the steady rise and fall of his chest. Beth suspected it was the combination of exhaustion and sedatives that kept him in such a deep, motionless slumber.

  From her wardrobe, Beth quickly selected the items she needed: one pair of deep-pocket black trousers, her lowest-heeled, black shoes, and the only white blouse she had brought with her, a long sleeved, crisp, white, tailored garment with tiny sewn down pleats. She longed for a plainer shirt, but this would have to do. Quietly, she dressed inside the walk-in closet. She slipped her arms into the sleeves of her blouse, buttoned the garment, and then neatly tucked in the hem. She chose a long gold-braided belt and a brightly patterned silk scarf from her accessories bag. After folding the scarf into a small square, she rolled the belt into a tight ball and stuffed each item inside the large pockets of her trousers. She swiftly pulled black socks over her feet and then stepped into her shoes.

  Beth walked around the bed, carefully giving the sedated occupant a wide berth. Once she entered the bathroom, she pressed the door shut until she heard a soft click. She gave her face and hands a wash, brushed her teeth, and stood in front of the mirror. Gathering her long, thick hair into a tight bun at the base of her neck, she used spray to plaster every strand into place. Satisfied with the look, she opened her cosmetic bag and from its contents, she then applied heavy foundation all over her face, including her eyebrows and lips. There was no doubt she looked different, she decided, as she looked at her pale, washed-out appearance in the mirror.

  She decided to stop at the drugstore on her way downtown and purchase a pair of dark-rimmed glasses. That should complete her disguise.

  Beth hated that Carter was ill. His absence, however, would make things easier. Tiptoeing back to the bedroom, she retrieved her purse and looked around the room. I won’t take the briefcase. I have the thumb drive in my pocket, the vest and cap in my purse. Then she remembered. She’d need the keys to the convertible.

  Where does he keep those keys? Beth glanced at her gold wristwatch and silently grimaced. Time was slipping away.

  Beth searched frantically around the room and then saw Carter’s pants that he had worn the day before tossed casually onto the floor beside the bed. Kneeling down, she lifted the trousers and heard the welcome jingle of keys.

  Her face only inches from his, she slowly withdrew her hand from the pocket. The keys rattled. His eyes popped open. Beth held her breath, gazing at Carter’s vacant stare. Slowly, his eyes began to focus. “What’s going on?” he said, jumbling the words as if his tongue would not cooperate with his lips.

  “I’m leaving for the conference,” Beth whispered. “I need the car keys.”

  Carter’s eyes drifted shut. Beth exhaled and rose.

  “Tell ‘the Huxley’ I won’t be in today.”

  Beth tiptoed from the room, relieved.

  ****

  Carter awakened late in the morning, feeling like he’d been run over by a Mack truck. Weak, empty, and grateful for an empty room, he managed to shave in the shower without cutting himself. When he finished dressing, he felt better.

  In a brave attempt to walk downstairs in search of a little nourishment, Carter moved slowly like an old man, down the winding staircase. He wandered aimlessly for a while in search of the kitchen, until at last, a young woman with small, round eyes and a sharp, little nose came barging through a set of swinging doors, nearly running him over.

  “Excuse me.” The girl bowed her head. “May I help you?”

  “I’m in desperate need of black coffee and dry toast. Could you point me to the kitchen?”

  “Sir, I should be happy to deliver a tray to your room. Mrs. Phillips left instructions. We’ve been waiting for you to ring.”

  Carter smiled weakly. “I hate to be a nuisance.”

  “Would you like anything else, sir?”

  Carter shook his head. Pain shot through his temples. He turned and shuffled back in the direction from which he had come.

  The maid, who Carter learned was Millie, brought the tray promptly to his room. To his delight, the cook had included a medley of fresh fruits, cheese, and the morning paper.

  Millie dipped her knees. “If you require anything else, Mr. Phillips, just call on the house phone.” The maid pointed to an instrument that Carter had not noticed before and Carter knew he wasn’t himself when Millie curtsied again before leaving the room and he didn’t even think it was funny.

  An hour later, after several cups of strong coffee, two pieces of buttered toast, one piece of perfectly-aged cheese, and three chunks of fresh pineapple, Carter felt like a new man. He skimmed through the headlines, glanced at the clock, and then wondered what he’d do for the rest of the day. He could wander downstairs. He might find a well-stocked library... He then decided he was not strong enough yet. Perhaps after lunch?

  Carter’s eyes panned the room, searching for something to interest him. He spied Beth’s briefcase lying open on the floor. I wonder why she left that behind? Carter leaned over, peering inside. He noticed a thick, blue folder that he decided must be her beloved manuscript. He removed the file and glanced at the title, “Murderous Moments,” by Bethany Ashton. Carter chuckled softly.

  Taking the document out onto the terrace, Carter sat down at the table, propped up his feet, laid the title page face down on the table and began to read.

  ****

  Beth watched the clock throughout the morning with agitated discomfort, hardly able to maintain her composure. The hands on her watch seemed to crawl like two slugs over a sand dune. The ball in the pit of her stomach seemed to grow larger with each tick of the clock. Beth tried to listen to the lecturer, a balding middle-aged man with short legs and round stomach, who droned on and on about mastering the art of dialogue until she wanted to scream.

  When at last the hands on her watch reached eleven o’clock, Beth left the building like a chicken flying its coop. She headed down to the parking garage. Crawling into the passenger seat of her father’s car, Beth lifted the vest and cap from her bag. Quickly, she donned her disguise, adding thick black-rimmed eyeglasses she had purchased that morning. One glance in the mirror satisfied her. The cap covered most of her hair, and the glasses made her eyes inconspicuous. With t
rembling fingers, Beth tucked the remaining essential items she would need into her deep pockets.

  The prized letter for Adrian Adams rested securely inside her pocket, Beth reassured herself. At 11:15 a.m. she stepped from the parking garage, looking like a delivery woman. Or at least as close to a delivery person as she could appear in her starched shirt, tailored trousers, and handcrafted shoes. Time for Operation Pizza Delivery.

  Beth decided the small pizza was too small, and the large was too large, so she bought a medium-sized pizza for $17.52. She was pleased to find that it fit just right on the palm of her hand. On the brisk hike back to the conference center, Beth tried to ignore the butterflies doing swan dives and belly flops inside her stomach. I can do this. Just keep cool, stay calm, and look bored, she kept repeating to herself.

  She entered the building and walked past the front desk with a brief nod. The attendant on duty, a young girl with spiked, blonde hair was talking on the telephone. She paid no attention to Beth.

  Beth was ecstatic. She felt invisible. Suddenly, confidence oozed from every pore as she swaggered to the elevator. Feigning boredom, she spoke in a flat nasal tone, telling the attendant, “Tenth floor.”

  As she watched the digital numbers clicking upward, she had to work hard to conceal her excitement. So close. She was just minutes away from Adrian Adams.

  The doors slid open. For a single brief moment, Beth thought her feet wouldn’t carry her forward. One foot moved, however, and then the other. She made it. Beth stepped from the elevator, looking straight ahead. The only remaining obstacles were two attendants standing behind the desk.

  Beth walked toward them.

  One girl, a dark-haired female with brown eyes and a long thin nose, bemoaned the latest rise in fuel costs. The other woman, an athletic-looking woman with short, auburn hair and a nametag labeled “Nancy” glanced at Beth as though she could see right through her.

  Lifting the pizza high in the air, Beth licked her lips. Her voice came out in a croak. “Pizza delivery.” She pretended to glance at the ticket in her hand. One hard swallow and she regained her nasal twang. “For Adrian Adams.”

  Suddenly the atmosphere began to crumble.

  Nancy and her coworker exchanged puzzled glances. When Nancy demanded, “May I see your ticket,” Beth experienced a moment of blind panic.

  “Look, what are you tryin’ to pull? I gotta’ get this delivered on time. Don’t mess with my tip,” Beth said with feigned insolence.

  Beth could feel the women looking her over. Instantly she became acutely aware of her own manicured fingernails, crisp white shirt, expensive gold watch...

  Beth thought she would faint on the spot when Nancy studied her face as if committing every feature to memory and then gave the command to her coworker, “Call security!”

  A kind of terror flickered in the other girl’s eyes as she grabbed for the phone.

  Trying to remain composed, Beth plopped the pizza box down on the counter. “I got no time for this,” she murmured loudly and then turned away. With quick, determined steps, she began to march down the hallway. The elevator was out of the question. There was an exit sign up ahead. Trying not to run, she headed briskly toward the stairs.

  “Wait! Somebody stop that woman,” Nancy shouted.

  Beth broke into a trot that quickly turned into a dead run. All around her, doors opened and people shouted.

  With her head down, she lifted one hand to cover her face, and like a wild woman, Beth sprinted for the stairs. As the sounds of footsteps thumping somewhere behind her faded, she grappled for the door. Flinging open the heavy metal panel, she propelled herself through the fire escape exit. She bolted down the stairs, hearing nothing but the sound of her own feet pounding on the metal grids and her heart pounding in her ears.

  Beth tripped, fumbled, and stumbled her way down three flights of steps, her frightful descent echoing loudly inside the narrow stairwell. She was terrified that any moment an unseen hand would grab her from behind. She ripped off the vest and then the cap, flinging them over the railing, hoping the items would fall as near to the bottom as possible.

  With ears straining and feet flying, Beth made it to the seventh floor landing where she allowed herself one brief glance upward, expecting to see Nancy diving over the railing, before she began frantically beating on the door, praying someone would let her in.

  When a kind, elderly lady with a small, wrinkled face and thick eyeglasses opened the door, Beth honestly and breathlessly gasped, “Thank you! I’m trying to get in shape. I prefer taking the stairs.”

  The most difficult thing Beth had ever done in her life was try to saunter down the hallway like a sane person when all she wanted to do was sprint down the passageway and slide around the corner.

  Chapter Twelve

  At 5:30 p.m. Carter answered his cell phone. On the other end of the line he heard the frantic voice of his associate, Darrin Richardson.

  “Carter? Is that you? Where are you? Are you all right?”

  “I’m away from the conference today. I was sick last night, but I’m fine now. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m standing on the sidewalk in front of the conference center. Security has just evacuated the building.”

  Carter was on his feet. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know! Just after lunch there was a safety alert followed by an immediate lockdown. For a while no one could enter or exit the building. Then sometime later, the police reversed the order and began a methodical evacuation, checking ID tags and security clearance badges, as well as handbags, briefcases, and knapsacks of everyone leaving the building.”

  “What prompted the search?”

  “They won’t tell us. I’ve heard rumors of a bomb threat, a terrorist attack, some crazed lunatic running loose in the building.”

  The muscles in Carter’s legs felt like mush. He sat down on the padded bench at the foot of the bed and tried to concentrate. Where was Beth? Was she safe? Could something have happened to her? Why hadn't she called?

  Carter hung up the phone and paced up and down, outside on the balcony, and back into the room. His worry soon escalated into alarm as his imagination took over. He envisioned her kneeling, begging for her life, tormented by some evil brute. Carter gave himself a mental shake. He tried to remain focused and think logically, berating himself for not exchanging cell phone numbers with the love of his life. Should he tell her parents? What would they think?

  As he threw caution to the wind and picked up the house phone, the bedroom door flew open. With her face flushed, eyes feverish-looking, and a hairdo that looked as if it had been teased by a tornado, Beth rushed into the room.

  A startled cry of relief escaped Carter’s lips. In three steps, he crossed the room. He managed to stop just short of enveloping her in a bone-crushing hug. In a voice thick with emotion, he demanded, “What happened to you?”

  “I couldn’t get away.”

  “Why didn’t you call?”

  “I left my cell phone in the car.”

  Carter took a step backward. Suspiciously, he studied her face.

  Beth chewed her bottom lip and glanced sideways, obviously avoiding his gaze.

  “Bethany?”

  Beth’s eyelids flicked toward him once in a shy, nervous glance and then immediately dropped to the floor.

  “Bethany Ashton, what have you done?”

  Reluctantly, Beth met his gaze. Carter noted the flush in her cheeks and excitement shimmering in her eyes as she innocently protested, “I didn’t lie! Well, not exactly.”

  With arms behind her back, Beth twisted her fingers together, reminding Carter of a little girl caught with her hand in the fish tank again. Carter’s expression softened. She was safe! Right now, that was the only thing that mattered. Retracing his steps to the bench, he sat down, leaned forward and firmly but gently ordered, “Tell me everything.”

  Taking a deep breath, Beth began. At first, her tone was subdued, submissive. However, as she
related her plan, described her disguise, and told him how invisible she felt, her voice grew excited and her expression more animated. She mimicked the tone she had used, swaggering around the room with her palm lifted in the air as if carrying a pizza box.

  As her plot unfolded, Carter experienced a myriad of emotions. Curiosity. Admiration. And anger that some overzealous security cop could have seriously injured her, which brought more than a flicker of anxiety to his heart.

  Carter shook his head. Beth would make a fine actress, which he quickly decided to never mention for fear she would scurry off to New York and try to orchestrate an audition on Broadway. Carter realized he should be irritated at her for planning such a foolish deception, but he wondered if he could ever love her more than he did at that moment. His adorable, charming, daring, impetuous little coward.

  Beth giggled like a little girl. “When that nice lady on the seventh floor opened the door, it was sooo hard not to make a mad dash through the hallway. Instead, I had to stroll nonchalantly down the passageway and into the lavatory, all the while feeling as if I had enough adrenaline pumping through my veins to fuel a rocket ship.”

  “How did you get past security? There must be a detailed description of you plastered all over the building.”

  “After I tossed the vest and cap, which I hoped would come to rest close enough to the first floor landing that everyone would think the culprit had exited through the main level, I changed my entire look with a few simple alterations. Inside the restroom, I rolled up my sleeves and retrieved a gold belt and brightly-patterned scarf from my pockets.”

  Beth pivoted like a model, showing off her outfit. “I unbuttoned a few buttons, tied the scarf loosely around my neck, and unpinned my bun. I flipped my hair up and down, back and forth, teasing and fluffing it out to make it big and full. I then took sample-sized cosmetics, which I acquired at the drugstore this morning, and applied lipstick, eye pencils, and blush generously to my face.”