I called my mother, who lived just a few miles down the road, to let her know we’d be gone. As with practically everyone else who met Sabrina, my mother fell in love with her the moment I introduced them. My mother was a voracious reader, but had never read one of Sabrina’s books. She quickly remedied that and informed Sabrina that she had become one of her new favorite authors. And if my mother said it, she meant it. She told me to be careful, something she had never had to do my whole life until my trip to Brazil with Sabrina in our real-life adventure.
Sabrina and I made love that night. A common occurrence these days. When I first met Sabrina, sex was, shall we say, awkward. For someone so beautiful and successful, I had assumed that she had had to fight off the men. So I found it strange when she clung to me like a puppy dog during sex. She so desperately wanted to make love, but was so awkward in doing so. And then I found out about her past. Years of an abusive relationship, followed by six years in prison might do that to somebody. But now that she was with someone she completely trusted, Sabrina’s sexual appetite had become voracious to the point where I sometimes had trouble keeping up. She was willing to wait for me, though. Nice of her.
*****
We arrived at Logan Airport the next morning for a ten o’clock flight to Madison. In the short time we had been together, Sabrina and I had flown a number of times, mostly a series of short vacations to recover from our harrowing experience of discovering our families’ sordid histories. Whenever we flew, we tried to time our arrival as close to flight time as possible. It wasn’t that we enjoyed tempting fate, wondering if we could win the security game in time, but more of a case of self-preservation. Because our adventure had been big news and the fact that Sabrina was already famous, her picture had been all over the news of late—dozens of magazine covers, news reports, and reality show specials—and as much as she tried to change her appearance, it never worked. She was always recognized. For a person who didn’t trust other people, it was hell. But she loved to travel and tried hard to balance her fear of being recognized with her love of seeing new places.
Needless to say, Sabrina was once again recognized, this time within two minutes of entering the terminal. She quickly signed an autograph and chatted politely with the fan, then we ran to security. Sabrina always looked longingly at the TSA PreCheck line when we were backed up in the regular security queue, but sadly, her felonious history sort of eliminated PreCheck as a possibility. Surprisingly, we made it through in record time and arrived at the gate five minutes before we were allowed to board. Waiting in the boarding area, Sabrina was once again recognized and had to sign a half dozen autographs.
Sabrina was no snob, and despite her distrust of people, she was always happy to give an autograph and talk books with a real fan. Her problem was with those who waited for her autograph not really knowing who she was. They would see her signing for a fan and assume that she had to be famous. Their motto was “Get the autograph now and figure out who it was later.” Sabrina saw that as dishonest, furthering her wariness of the human race. So, whereas she was totally comfortable with the first fan, and maybe even the second, she very quickly became nervous. It was my job to interrupt at that point and inform her that she had an important phone call. She would talk into the dead phone until it was boarding time. She felt that was dishonest too, but it didn’t stop her from doing it. On the plane she always took the window seat, with me as the buffer. It didn’t stop some people though. There were many times when I had women hanging over me—almost always women, interestingly enough—trying to talk books with Sabrina and affording me a clear view down their shirts. Not as titillating as it sounds. I also often had to deal with heavy perfume or body odor, and sometimes a combination of the two. When it was available on a flight, we flew First-Class to try to cut down on the interruptions.
We arrived in Madison without incident, went to the car rental counter, and were on our way to a town called Brookville in less than an hour. We always breathed sighs of relief when we were away from the airport and on our own again. Brookville was a two hour drive from Madison, giving us plenty of decompression time.
I pointed out a field full of cows, but Sabrina was deep in thought and didn’t notice.
“Thinking about Daisy?”
“Mmmm,” she answered. “Why me? Why not her daughter? Why would she think something was going to happen to her. But mostly, why me?”
“From everything you’ve described, those women in prison had a lot of respect for you. They trusted you with some of their most intimate thoughts and feelings if they had you writing personal letters. You are also worldly and famous. Maybe Daisy didn’t feel her daughter could handle whatever it is.”
“Maybe.”
Sabrina dozed while I drove. I spent my time thinking and looking at cows. The cows were great. The thinking … not so great. The more I thought, the more I realized how strange this whole thing was. All I could hope was that we weren’t walking into a hornets’ nest.
Chapter 3
Brookville was a sleepy town. That was the term Sabrina used. Sleepy. What makes a town sleepy? People curled up on the sidewalks? After five minutes of traveling from one end of the town to the other, I realized that “sleepy” in this case was a polite euphemism for “boring.”
The town looked like a set from a 1950’s Disney movie: squeaky clean streets, power washed brick storefronts, and lots of pedestrians wandering the downtown. Everyone appeared happy, but maybe that was because it was a beautiful, sunny day. Boring, maybe, but there was a slight tug from deep within. I had spent the last ten years living and working in Boston. I never felt that sense of contentment, even growing up in small-town Western Mass. It didn’t have the same feel. There was an innocence surrounding Brookville.
Evidently, Sabrina felt it too.
“I could live in a town like this. I hated living in New York City.”
“It’s funny, some people seem to thrive in a city.”
“Did you?”
“I rarely experienced city life. My existence was confined to my apartment and my job.”
“Well, your life has sure changed.”
“And you are the most amazing part of that change.”
Sabrina leaned over and nibbled my ear. The car swerved over the center line.
She sat back and I righted the vehicle.
“You do that again and the town will experience some real excitement.”
She pouted. “You’re no fun. But I love you anyway.” She pointed off to the right. “There’s the road.”
We turned down the residential street and found the house immediately. It was a plain, but well-kept two-story Cape. To go along with the Disney image, the front yard was bordered by a white picket fence.
I pulled into a small driveway and parked behind a Toyota Corolla of indeterminate age. Sabrina looked the house over before taking off her seatbelt.
“If this is Daisy’s daughter’s house, she is nothing like her mother. I can’t imagine Daisy ever living in a place as normal as this.”
The front door opened and a young blonde woman looked out at us. She appeared exactly as I had imagined her on the phone—pretty in a plain sort of way. She definitely belonged in Brookville.
She came out onto the porch and waited for us as we exited the car and walked up the path. Somehow I didn’t feel the need to lock the car. Sabrina held out her hand and spoke first.
“Hi, I’m Sabrina. This is Del.”
I was awarded a millisecond glance, then she turned her attention back to Sabrina. I was used to that when I was with Sabrina. She was the star—apparently even with people, like Daisy’s daughter, who had never heard of her.
“I’m Veronica … Ronnie. Thank you for coming. I didn’t know what else to do. My mother left me a letter and the package for you. I’m all alone. Just me and the kids. I’m divorced.”
Ah, a crack in the Disney veneer.
“You did the right thing,” Sabrina said reassuringly.
/> “How did you know my mom? She was in prison for a long time.”
Wow, she really hadn’t heard of Sabrina, whose story had dominated the news cycle for weeks. Maybe they didn’t get the news in Brookville.
“Long story. The short of it is that I was in prison with her.”
“You?”
“As I said, it’s a long story. May we come in?”
“Uh, oh sure. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. Please come in.”
Obviously Sabrina’s news had thrown Ronnie for a loop. But as she ushered us into the house, she regained her composure and offered us coffee, which we declined. She seemed just as happy to get right to it. Sabrina and I sat on the couch and Ronnie took a chair opposite us. There was a moment of silence. Even though she called us, Ronnie obviously wanted us to get the ball rolling, so Sabrina obliged.
“I knew your mom in prison.”
“You don’t look like you were in prison.”
“That’s what I told her when I first met her,” I said.
Ronnie gave me a look. My comments weren’t important, so I shut up.
Sabrina gave her the shortened version of the events that led up to her being incarcerated: The abusive husband she killed, the court that found her guilty of murder, and the judge who—despite the jury’s ruling—went easy on her and gave her a minimal sentence that would result in her being eligible for parole after only six years.
“Your mom and a woman named Terri were the two who changed everything for me. If it hadn’t been for them and their influence on the rest of the prison population, I probably would have died.”
Ronnie hesitated. “What was my mom like? I mean in prison. I was real young when she killed my father.”
Sabrina didn’t whitewash her answer.
“She was tough. You had to be to survive. Other than Terri, she was the toughest one there. But she was different from the others. Despite her place in the prison hierarchy, she was a loner. I never really got to know her. I could tell she was intelligent, but it was like she wanted to keep it hidden.”
“Did she ever talk about me?”
“Not to me. Maybe to Terri. But I can tell you that she had pictures of you in her cell. They were pictures of you when you were very young.”
“Once she went to prison, I never saw her again,” said Ronnie. “I came here to live with my grandparents—my father’s parents. They died a few years ago. They were decent people and tried to be good parents to me. They would never talk about my mom though. My mother killed their son. I can understand them hating her. Anyway, the more time that passed, the less I thought about my parents.”
“What about when your mom got out of prison?” asked Sabrina.
“She called me when she first got out. Asked me how I was doing. She didn’t apologize for not being in my life all those years. After that, we texted from time to time. That’s when she told me that she was sending me something and that I should never open it. She said I should call you and give it to you if anything happened to her. So that’s what I did.”
“Did she indicate why she thought something might happen to her?” I asked.
She looked at me long and hard before formulating her answer.
“No.”
Okay then.
“Not even a hint?” asked Sabrina. “One doesn’t usually say something like that without a solid reason.”
Ronnie shook her head.
“Could we see the package?”
Ronnie got up without a word and left the room. She returned a minute later with a plain 9 x 11 padded envelope. On the front was written: If you get word that I am dead, call the number at the bottom of this note and ask for Sabrina Spencer. Ask her to come for it. She’ll know what to do with it. Whatever you do, don’t open it! This is as much as I want you involved.
There was no “Love, Mom,” or even a thank you. Just Sabrina’s cell phone number.
“I can take it with me or open it here. Your choice,” said Sabrina.
“Here. My kids won’t be back for another couple of hours. I’d like to see what it’s all about. I could feel a key in there, but there doesn’t seem to be anything else.”
It was definitely thin. Other than the key, I could only imagine that there was a letter of some sort.
I was right.
Sabrina opened it and dumped the contents onto the coffee table in front of her. It was a key in a paper pouch and a number 10 envelope.
“It’s a safe deposit box key,” said Sabrina. She opened the envelope and pulled out a handwritten note:
Sabrina, if you are reading this, I am dead, and it means they killed me. I’ve spent my life having nothing to do with them, but if they finally put an end to this miserable existence they caused, then I want them to pay. Maybe my last act in life will help provide Veronica with the life I was never able to have. The key is for a safe deposit box in your name and mine. The address of the bank is on the pouch the key is in. The contents of the box will explain everything. I’m sorry this is so cryptic. I just want it far away from Veronica and her children. Daisy.
Chapter 4
Someday someone will write a secret message that spells it out. This wasn’t that day.
“You were right about her being educated,” I said. “The note has that feel to it. Nothing misspelled and the use of words like ‘existence.’ So, where is the bank?”
Sabrina looked at the key pouch. “Texas.”
“Of course. It couldn’t be around the corner.”
“Did they say where your mother was killed?” Sabrina asked Ronnie.
“A little town in Texas called Spur. I looked it up. It’s in the middle of nowhere.”
“Did she ever say why she chose that place?”
“We never talked. As I said, over the last year we texted a few times, but very superficial stuff. You know her better than I do. You tell me.”
“I don’t think anyone really knew her. She wasn’t one for confiding in people. If I had to guess, when she got out, she probably just wanted to slip into the background. But I have no clue as to why Texas.”
It was time to go. I could tell that Ronnie wanted to be rid of us. She had performed her duty by giving Sabrina the envelope. Now she could resume her life and hopefully forget about her mother altogether.
We got up from the couch and shook hands with Ronnie.
“I’ll let you know what we find,” said Sabrina.
“Uh, you don’t think she put money or something in the safe deposit box, do you?”
“I don’t know,” answered Sabrina. “If so, we’ll make sure it gets to you. I know things must not be easy being a single parent. Daisy indicated in the note that she wanted you to have the life she couldn’t have, whatever that means, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up. I promise to let you know.”
With that reassurance, Ronnie ushered us out.
*****
We were back at the airport in Madison, buying tickets to Lubbock, Texas, the closest city to Spur. There were no direct flights and it was going to take us a while to get there, and since it was already late afternoon, we decided to start fresh in the morning. We checked into a Marriott near the airport. The traveling had taken its toll on us and we took naps, snuggled together on the king-sized bed. There was nothing really to talk about concerning Daisy, so a nap seemed the logical option.
An hour was all we needed. Upon waking, we showered together. For some reason, that took a lot longer than the nap had, and it was almost seven o’clock by the time we were ready to go to dinner. We weren’t in the mood for driving, so we went to the hotel restaurant, which looked decent.
As we passed through the lobby, I noticed a man sitting in one of the plush chairs reading a newspaper. I shouldn’t have noticed him, because he seemed absorbed in his paper. But maybe that was exactly why he stood out. Who reads a newspaper in a hotel lobby at seven o’clock at night? Not that it doesn’t happen, of course, but it just seemed out of place. It could have been totally innocen
t—he was waiting for someone to pick him up for dinner—but my gut told me something different. He was trying too hard. It looked like something out of a cheesy spy movie. As we passed, he very nonchalantly raised the paper so that it partially covered his face. I told Sabrina about him as we sat down for dinner.
“I saw him,” she said. Nothing got past her. “Maybe he was just someone who recognized me. I’m not sure how it could be tied into our visit with Ronnie, but seeing how secretive Daisy sounded in her note…”
“And the fact that someone murdered her,” I added.
“Yes, that little fact. I suppose we should be extra careful.”
We dropped the subject and had a nice quiet dinner, although I don’t think either of us totally put it out of our mind.
Sabrina was recognized while we ate, but it was the kind of recognition she didn’t mind. A family across the room had been staring at us for most of the meal. Finally, a teenage girl sprinted from the restaurant and returned a few minutes later with a book in her hand. After much encouragement from her parents, she tentatively made her way to our table just as I was paying the bill.
“Excuse me,” she said to Sabrina. “I don’t mean to bother you, but are you Sabrina Spencer?”
Sabrina gave her a big smile and said she was.
“Could I have your autograph? I’m reading one of your books right now and ran to my room to get it, hoping this was really you.”
“She is really her,” I said, trying to make a joke.
The girl gave me a glance and a half-smile, then turned back to Sabrina, totally ignoring me. That couldn’t have been more of a “shut up” if she had actually said the words. However, I didn’t take offense. Sabrina was just about to make this girl’s day.
Sabrina signed the book and chatted with the girl for a few moments. I saw that the girl was holding her cell phone, so I asked if she’d like me to take a picture of her and Sabrina. I was finally in her good graces. She couldn’t pass me the phone fast enough.
Fatal Lies ( Lies Mystery Thriller Series Book 2) Page 2