Someone's Watching

by Sharon Potts

  Robbie watched Lieber join the group by the creek.

  The helicopter swooped lower, scattering leaves and debris. Then it rose and drifted away into the sharp blue sky. The sound of droning became softer and softer and softer.

  Chapter 11

  Robbie jogged back to her apartment. Breathing was difficult. Her sister’s friend was dead. It was tragic, but it only heightened Robbie’s sense of urgency to find Kate. But where could she be? And how was all this affecting their father?

  Robbie ran upstairs. It was after nine, too late for the local news. She wondered if the TV cameras had captured footage for the early morning broadcasts. Would any of Kate or Joanne’s friends have seen it? And what about Kate? Could she have been watching from somewhere? Robbie logged onto her computer and went straight to Facebook. First she looked for a message from Kate Brooks. Nothing.

  Then Robbie searched for Joanne Sparks. She was annoyed with herself for not having thought of this earlier. And there she was. Although the photo was different from the one on the police flyer, Robbie recognized the young, narrow face. Joanne was smiling, hugging a horse. Happy. Alive. Unlike Kate Brooks, Joanne had not blocked her profile. Just what Robbie had been hoping for.

  She looked for messages on Joanne’s Facebook wall. Somehow, Joanne’s friends had already gotten the news of her death and set up a group to share their grief.

  Oh no. This can’t be real . . . I love you Joanne . . . You can’t really be gone . . . you’ll always be in my heart . . .

  Robbie scrolled down the recent comments, hoping but not really expecting one from Kate Brooks, and finding none.

  She went to Joanne’s photo albums, feeling a deep ache as she clicked through them. Joanne with the cheerleading squad. Joanne riding a tall dappled horse bareback, Joanne with her friends. And there was what Robbie had been looking for—a pretty blue-eyed girl with long dark hair—laughing with Joanne in photo after photo. Robbie held the cursor over one of the images. “Kate Brooks,” it said.

  Robbie began going through the comments and photos more slowly, scrutinizing them for something that might provide a clue as to where Joanne and Kate had gone when they’d separated from the rest of their group last Friday. She scanned the comments written over a week ago on Joanne’s wall. There was the familiar arrowhead picture, the one Kate Brooks used for her own profile.

  South Beach here we come. Woo-woo! Kate had written. Then something more cryptic. We’ll return broken, but fixed.

  There was a knock on the door. Not Brett’s knock, but the same tentative tap Robbie had heard three days ago. Her stomach twisted. So he’d come to see her after all.

  She looked out the kitchen window. Her father was pacing. Then he perched on the catwalk railing and tapped his foot impatiently. He wore cordovan penny loafers, just like she remembered from her childhood. He used to let her put the pennies in when he got a new pair.

  Robbie opened the door.

  His gray hair was disheveled and there were large perspiration stains on his white shirt. He moistened his lips with his tongue before he spoke. “Hello, Roberta. Can we talk for just a minute?”

  “Sure.” She leaned against the open door so he could pass.

  He seemed surprised that she was offering her apartment. “Thank you.”

  She gestured toward the small oak table in the kitchen.

  He sat down on one of the two chairs and took in the mother and daughter salt and pepper shakers on the table, the undersized stove and sink, and the toaster oven, butcher block with assorted knives, and coffee maker that sat on the white countertop.

  “Would you like coffee or some water?” Robbie asked.

  “Water would be great.”

  She handed him a bottle from the refrigerator.

  “Thanks.” He took a long swallow.

  “I saw you at the creek,” Robbie said.

  “I figured. I saw you talking to that detective.”

  “Judy Lieber.”

  “That’s right. Lieber.” He picked up the mother and daughter shakers and tapped their ceramic heads together lightly.

  “She told me you’d gone to the creek with Joanne’s parents. That you were a big comfort to them.”

  “I’ve known Joanne all her life,” he said, putting the shakers down on the table. “She and Kaitlin were best friends.”

  “I’m sorry.” Robbie pulled out the other chair and sat down across from him.

  “I wish I knew what to do,” he said. “Where to look for her. I’ve checked all the local hospitals and she’s not at any of them. If only I could be sure she’s all right.” He took another gulp of water. His face was pale. “I’m very angry with the police. I said some insulting things to that detective. I hope she doesn’t hold that against Kaitlin.”

  “I’m sure she won’t. Detective Lieber understands you’re upset.”

  “But why aren’t they doing more to find her?” He put his head in his hands.

  She thought about the night so many years ago at the river. How sad he was. Come give your old man a hug, he’d said. She wanted to touch his shoulder now, but held back. “I think when they get the medical examiner’s report, they’ll at least have something to go on.”

  He lifted his head. “You’re right, of course. I’m just so damn worried.”

  “Of course you are.”

  He twisted his wedding ring around his finger.

  It occurred to Robbie for the first time that maybe he hadn’t come down to Miami by himself. That Kate’s mother was probably here with him. And the idea left her cold.

  “You have to understand,” he said. “Kaitlin was my second chance.”

  “Second chance for what?” she asked, tensing.

  “Being a father. And now, what if I’ve lost her, too?”

  But you haven’t lost me, Robbie wanted to scream. I’m right here. Instead, she said, “I’ve been trying to figure out what the girls were planning. Why they left the rest of their group.”

  “You’ve been talking to Kaitlin’s friends?”

  “No. I went on Facebook.” She touched the laptop screen. “I was able to get on Joanne’s page.”

  “You can do that? Kaitlin’s always on her computer, but I never made much sense out of what she was doing.”

  “She goes by Kate, doesn’t she?”

  His blue eyes widened.

  “It said ‘Kate’ on the Missing flyer.”

  He nodded. “That’s right. Her friends call her Kate, but she’ll always be my little Kaitlin to me.”

  Robbie felt another stab.

  “Have you found anything?” he asked. “Anything helpful about Kaitlin?”

  “I’m not sure. Kids are usually a little cryptic in their messages to each other.”

  “I suppose. But Kaitlin’s always been very direct with me. I’d know if she had been planning something. That’s why I’m so worried. I tried to explain that to the police. She must be in trouble, or she would have called me.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course. I’m her father.”

  She couldn’t express the anger she felt at his words. His certainty about this daughter of his; that she would go to him if she was in trouble. “Kate wrote to Joanne last week on Facebook,” Robbie said. “I think it had something to do with what they were planning while they were down here. She turned the laptop back toward him and pointed.

  He read, “We’ll return broken, but fixed.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “I guess you don’t know her as well as you thought.”

  He folded his fingers and looked down at them. “I suppose not.”

  She wanted to stop the meanness, but things were still mixed up in her head. “What about her mother?” Robbie said. “How’s their relationship?”

  “Kaitlin’s mother died six years ago when Kaitlin was twelve.”

  Robbie stared at him.

  “You wouldn’t have known that. She was killed in a car accident. Her
fault. She’d been drinking. She had…she had a problem with alcohol.”

  Poor Kate. Robbie thought about the five years of sickness her own mother went through after she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had died when Robbie was eighteen, but at least Robbie had had her mother as she entered womanhood. But Kate would have had no one but her father to help her through those difficult years. “I’m sorry,” Robbie said.

  “Both my girls have had a tough time,” he said. “Both lost their mothers.”

  But one had a father, at least.

  He seemed to read the unspoken words in her eyes. He slowly pushed the chair back and stood. “This is difficult for me, Robbie. All of it. Losing Kaitlin, finding you. I’m sorry I keep coming back here and burdening you.”

  He stepped out of the kitchen, but paused at the sight of the living room tables covered with beads and feathers. “You make jewelry,” he said.

  He went over to one of the tables and picked up a beaded necklace. “Pocahontas,” he said, then put the necklace down. “You’re my little Pocahontas.”

  The words echoed in her mind. She watched him go to the door. He glanced back, and his bloodshot eyes were begging her for something. But she couldn’t speak.

  So he turned away, closing the door behind him.

  Robbie picked up the necklace. You’re my little Pocahontas, he’d said. Just like he used to when he tucked her into bed.

  Chapter 12

  Jeremy leaned against the railing at the edge of the bay. Behind him loomed the SOBE Grande, three magnificent, mostly glass buildings with balconies and amazing views. He and Robbie had moved into the north tower when they returned from the trip he’d honestly believed would crystallize everything for him. So why was he feeling even more uncertain about his future than ever?

  A few boats were moored at the dock reserved for residents. The boats bobbed in the choppy water. This was where he came when he was hurting. It had been over a year since his parents had been killed, but some days the sense of loss was so strong he found it hard to breathe. So he’d come out here to feel the breeze against his face and try to remember the good times. His mom, dad, sister—the four of them out fishing, then barbequing on one of the nameless islands in the bay. His mom reading a book under the umbrella his dad set up in the sand. Jeremy, Elise, and their dad diving for pennies beside the anchored boat.

  The memories. That was the main reason he had pressured Robbie to rent an apartment here. The studio was expensive and too small for them, but it was on the bay, and that was all Jeremy needed. Robbie had hated living at the SOBE Grande with its two swimming pools, volleyball court, and boat marina. It was too big, too plastic, too full of people they had nothing in common with. She called it Spoiled-Obnoxious-Brat Eden. And Jeremy had loved the acronym. Laughed about it with her, because he agreed. That was exactly what the SOBE Grande was.

  But it wasn’t long after they moved here that Robbie began acting weird. Said that maybe he wasn’t ready for a commitment. And while it was true that after years of being in loner mode, he was practically mainlining the social scene, Jeremy didn’t understand why he and Robbie couldn’t have both—friends and each other.

  Now he was beginning to wonder if she’d ended their relationship because she was worried that he was going to leave her. Just like her father had done.

  He wanted to see her, talk to her. He’d heard the news about that girl—her half sister’s friend being found dead yesterday—but he hadn’t called her. He figured if Robbie wanted to lean on him, she would call. And she hadn’t. Maybe his theory about the reason for their breakup was bullshit and the truth was she’d grown tired of Jeremy. Or maybe she was leaning on Brett Chandler now. Whatever. The fact was Jeremy was here and Robbie was somewhere else. And that’s the way it was going to be.

  Jeremy rested his elbows on the railing. The downtown Miami skyline was directly across the water. The early afternoon sun glinted off the towering office buildings, condos, and cranes perched on the rooftops of construction-in-progress.

  His phone buzzed, surprising him. Lately he’d gotten into the habit of deliberately “forgetting” his phone at home, tired of the endless calls and messages about things he didn’t care about. But he had his phone with him now, just in case Robbie was trying to reach him.

  But it wasn’t Robbie. He read the text message from Ben. Pregame at my place, then BURN.

  OK, Jeremy wrote back, wondering why he no longer felt excited by the prospect of the club scene and partying with his friends.

  Behind him, near the pool, came the sound of metal scraping against concrete. Someone moving a lounge chair to maximize exposure to the sun. Twittering laughter. Cigarette smoke. Coconut oil. The girls were down. The SOBE Grande attracted all types. The rich girls, living on allowances from daddy. The working girls, who crammed three or four to an apartment to stretch their earnings as waitresses and salesgirls, while they waited for a break in modeling. And the club girls, who partied all night and slept much of the day. They clustered around the pool with their own kind, stretched out on lounge chairs. He could usually pick out the club girls. They were the ones who sunbathed topless.

  A butterfly, Robbie had called him. “You’re still a butterfly,” she’d said, “picking up the dew from all the pretty flowers. Not ready to settle for one.” And she was right. Or was she?

  A blonde girl in a white bikini was standing near the railing a short distance from him. She hugged herself like she was cold as she looked out at the water. He’d never seen her before, but something about her was familiar—the gentle slope of her shoulders, the way her back swayed down into a perfect rounded butt. A lot like Robbie. And yet, very different from Robbie. This girl seemed vulnerable, as though she didn’t quite know what she was doing here. Jeremy was tempted to rush to her side and rescue her, but he resisted the impulse. He’d learned his lesson last year about going after needy, wounded girls when he’d gotten involved with his father’s graduate assistant. And look how that had ended.

  A boat went by, kicking up a large wake and making lots of noise. The blonde girl tensed like a cornered cat. She looked like she was either going to run away or jump over the rail into the water.

  Screw past lessons, he thought, crossing the pool deck toward her.

  “It’s just Marine Patrol,” he said, when he was beside her.

  “Huh?”

  “The boat that went by,” Jeremy said. “Sometimes they like to exercise the engines.”

  “Oh.” The girl stood slightly pigeon-toed, as though in a trance. She had straight, shoulder-length, white-blonde hair with long bangs that covered the tops of her oversized sunglasses. Her lips were so full they seemed about to burst.

  “I’m Jeremy,” he said.

  She turned back to the water. There was a tattoo he couldn’t quite make out near the base of her spine. She might have been blowing him off, but he didn’t think so. Her jaw quivered. She couldn’t be cold; was she going to cry? He realized how young she was. Probably his sister’s age—Elise was almost eighteen. She’d be graduating soon, then going off to college. When was the last time he’d visited her and their grandfather? A couple of weeks? No. It had to be longer. It made him feel like a real shit. And this girl? What was her story? She looked awfully unhappy.

  “Are you from around here?” he asked.

  No answer. Her fingers tightened around the railing. No rings. No jewelry. Most of the girls around here wore something.

  He took a cautious step closer like he might do with an injured, frightened animal. “Listen,” he said, “if you want to get out of—”

  “How ya doin,’ Muscleman?” The female voice—deep and rich as fudge—came from behind them. Tyra was a regular at the club scene and Jeremy often saw her at BURN. Her wild bronze hair was tucked into an African-print scarf, gold hoop earrings dangling. She was tall and painfully skinny with her naked breasts the size of cantaloupes, and she gave off a spicy smell that made his throat contract. She was complet
ely at ease as her large brown nipples taunted Jeremy. He guessed Tyra was in her thirties, though she played at being much younger. She put her long dark arm around the blonde. He never could figure out whether Tyra was deeply tanned or if that was the natural color of her skin. Tyra whispered something to the blonde, and the girl’s body went slack.

  Was the blonde a club girl too?

  Tyra smiled at Jeremy, stained teeth that wouldn’t be noticeable in the fake, glittering club lights. She reached over and ran her long fingers up and down his arm. “Mmmm, nice. I need you to personally train me sometime, Muscleman.”

  “My pleasure. Sixty an hour.”

  “Oooo, only sixty?” She fluttered her lashes over eyes too green to be natural. “Don’t sell yourself so cheap, baby. If you’ve got something worth selling, you can name your price.”

  “Okay, for you a hundred.”

  She threw back her head and let out a low guttural laugh. The sunlight glinted off her hoop earrings.

  The blonde girl remained motionless, as though in a daze.

  Tyra stopped laughing. “So, Muscles, you comin’ out to BURN tomorrow? Friday’s always hot.”

  “Probably. What about you and your friend?”

  “Why don’t you see for yourself?” Tyra tightened her arm around the blonde and guided her toward the lounge chairs. “Come on, angel, you need to get some sun. Your tan’s just about faded.”

  “Hey,” Jeremy called after the blonde, “what’s your name?”

  The blonde looked confused.

  “This is my friend, Angel,” Tyra said. “She’ll be stayin’ with me for a while.”

  “If you ever want to hang out,” Jeremy said to Angel.

  “She won’t.” Tyra said. “Angel’s a busy girl.”

  “I’m in apartment eight twenty,” he finished.

  Tyra shook out a large white towel and spread it over the lounge. She reached over and unfastened the back of Angel’s bikini top. The girl’s breasts fell out, bouncy, white and conspicuously natural.