Thinking about her parents’ love had Gloria reflecting on her own marriage. She was sad about leaving Elton, but she wasn’t heartbroken. Why wasn’t she heartbroken? Did that mean they were really over?
Gloria’s heart screamed a resounding yes.
46
* * *
* * *
Kay didn’t know exactly what a ride-or-die chick was, but if she had to guess, she would definitely say it was the woman sitting in the passenger seat of her Mercedes-Benz.
“Let’s go. What are you waiting for?” Camille said as she motioned for Kay to pull out of Camille’s driveway.
“I’m just trying to figure out where you’re going in all black with a skullcap.” Kay chuckled.
“Umm. I’m prepared,” Camille said.
“We’re just going to talk to Valerie, not beat her up.” When Kay had called Camille to tell her about the deposit slip, Camille had gone directly to work. She put on her tracking skills and found out Valerie made a deposit the day before Marty approached Kay in the parking garage. The deposit was a check from RJS Holdings, which Camille had discovered was a manufacturing company owned by Rosalyn Simon, Marty’s wife.
Of course, Camille had been ready to roll right after that.
“A good Girl Scout is always prepared.” Camille pulled a gigantic tube of Vaseline from her purse and said, “Here.”
“What in the world is that for?” Kay said.
“Look, we might have to revert to some old collegiate ways and stomp this chick.”
Kay pushed the tube away. “First of all, I have never stomped anyone, collegiate or otherwise. Second, I’m a law enforcement official.”
“Yeah, so that means you got a legal right to stomp somebody.”
Kay shook her head as she backed out. “Girl, we’re grown women. We’re not about to go and stomp anybody. We’re going to question her.”
“Exactly, and if we don’t get the answers that we want, we’re stomping her.”
Kay could only laugh at her friend. They made their way across town to Valerie’s Galleria area apartment and pulled into a parking space in front of her building.
“So, you said she’s normally home from the gym about this time?” Camille asked.
“Yes. She takes a Pilates class from seven to eight that she’s always trying to get me to attend. I know she comes straight home after that. I probably should have gone and talked with her alone. But I want a witness,” Kay said.
“No, you did the right thing,” Camille said, “because we’re going to get to the bottom of this. I promise you that. Now, what I can’t figure out is how she found out. But Bailey’s Bail Bonds ain’t been around this long for nothing. We got a knack for getting information out of reluctant folks.”
“Girl, will you calm down? We’re just going to talk,” Kay reminded her.
Camille shook her head, undeterred. “Nah, this chick is consorting with the enemy and she’s supposed to be working for you? She doesn’t get a pass on that.”
They pulled up to Valerie’s townhouse. Kay looked around and didn’t see Valerie’s Honda Accord.
Kay glanced at the clock on her dashboard. “Well, we’re still early. It’s ten minutes till eight.”
Camille pulled down the rearview mirror and gave herself the once-over before popping the cap on the Vaseline. She looked over at Kay. “Do you know where this goes?”
“I don’t know,” Kay replied.
“Oh, well.” Camille shrugged and then took a glob of the petroleum jelly and rubbed it under each eye.
“There she is,” Kay said, as she noticed Valerie in her gym clothes, making her way up the stairs. She hadn’t even noticed Valerie pull in.
“Valerie,” Kay called after she jumped out of the car and raced over to her. “Valerie!”
Valerie looked shocked as she stopped. “Mrs. Christiansen?” she said.
She looked even more confused when she saw Camille appear on the side of Kay.
“Uhhh, is something wrong?”
“You better believe it is . . .” Camille began.
Kay held up her hand to stop her friend. “I got this.”
“Hmph,” Camille said, but she did step back.
“What’s going on?” Valerie asked.
“Can we come and talk for a minute?” Kay was going to give her a chance to explain. She hoped that Valerie had an explanation. She hated to think that the girl had betrayed her like this.
Valerie looked around. “Uhh, uhh.”
“That was a rhetorical question,” Camille said, moving toward the door.
If the situation wasn’t so unbelievable, it would actually be quite funny, Kay thought. Camille was acting like she was one of the Sopranos.
Valerie unlocked her front door and then led the way in.
“Where’s your daughter?” Kay asked.
“W-with my mom,” Valerie stuttered. She dropped her gym bag and then turned to Kay. “Are you okay?”
“Not really,” Kay said as Camille locked the door, then stood in front of it as if she was guarding it. “Valerie, how long have you worked for me?”
Valerie hesitated. “A little over six years.”
Kay walked around, taking in the modest apartment. It was sparsely decorated with lots of pictures of her daughter, Daisy. “Have I been good to you?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Valerie said. “I love working for you.”
Kay spun around. “That’s what I thought and that’s why I’m trying to understand why you would betray me.”
Valerie was quiet for a moment, then she said, “B-betray you? I d-don’t understand.”
“B-but is there an echo in here?” Camille snapped.
“Camille,” Kay said.
“Hmph.” Camille stepped back again, but Kay could tell her input was far from over.
“Valerie, do you know Marty Simon?”
Although she tried to play dumb, her expression answered for her. “Marty Simon?”
“Yeah, you know, my opponent.”
“Uh, other than, you know, the stuff when you’re running against him, no, I don’t know him.”
Kay decided she was tired of beating around the bush. “Have you ever had any contact with Marty Simon?”
Valerie opened her mouth, but Kay stopped her. “Before you say anything, let me remind you, I’m a prosecutor. It’s my job to get to the truth.”
Valerie let out a sigh, but didn’t respond.
“It’s also my job to prosecute those who break the law.”
“I . . . I didn’t break any laws,” Valerie said, her eyes growing wide with fear.
“But you did do something, right?” Camille stepped forward.
“Who is she?” Valerie said, taking a step back as she cowered from Camille’s towering presence.
“Who I am is not important,” Camille hissed.
“She’s a friend,” Kay said. “Look, I’m not here in an official capacity. I’m here because I just want to know why.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Valerie said.
“Stop lying,” Camille said, slamming her palm on the door over Valerie’s head. It made Valerie jump and she started to tremble.
“So, what did Marty do? Offer you money to spy on me?”
Valerie was quiet for a minute, then looked at Camille, who glared at her. Finally, Valerie slowly nodded her head. “Yes, he approached me and he made an offer I couldn’t refuse if I could just get some dirt on you,” she confessed.
“Wow.” Kay was hurt. Valerie never crossed her mind as the one who could’ve given Marty the information.
“I am so sorry,” Valerie cried. “You know I adore and respect you, but the money and my daughter and I was thinking about her future and—”
“Just trifling,”
Camille interjected.
By this point tears had filled Valerie’s eyes. It tugged Kay’s heart, but Camille wasn’t moved. She rolled her eyes, clicked her teeth, and mumbled, “Don’t fall for that bull,” before taking her post back by the door.
“How did you find out?”
Valerie just kept trembling.
“You’d better tell her because if I have to come up off this door one mo’ time,” Camille threatened.
Valerie lowered her eyes. “When you had the meeting with Mrs. Jones in the conference room. You were so nervous when she kept calling and I thought something was up with that. So, I-I set up a recorder. I heard everything.”
“And you sold it to the highest bidder.” Kay couldn’t believe that she’d let herself be played so easily. Valerie had pushed for her to meet with Gloria and even arranged the meeting in the conference room. And Kay had never suspected a thing.
“I’m so sorry. Please don’t hate me,” Valerie pled.
Kay shook her head in disbelief. “Well, thank you for admitting it.” She headed toward the door. “I suspect you won’t be at work tomorrow.”
“So, I’m fired?” Valerie asked.
Kay just looked at her, but it was Camille who spoke. “Really? You gotta ask that? Go work for Marty Simon. And you’re lucky she’s the nice one because if it were me, I’d put that cute little chickadee”—she picked up a picture of Daisy—“in a foster home because her mom would be in the morgue.”
Kay was already out the door. At another time, she’d have a hearty laugh over Camille’s Tony Soprano act. But right now, all Kay wanted to do was cry.
47
* * *
* * *
Even Leslie knew something was wrong.
Mommy, why does daddy look so sad?” their little girl had asked this morning as they left the house.
Phillip was still angry. And while Kay understood why, it didn’t make the situation any easier.
“Daddy just has a lot on his mind,” Kay replied. That seemed to satisfy Leslie because she went back to playing with her Barbie in the backseat.
After Kay dropped Leslie off at daycare, she headed to a campaign strategy meeting. Her mind was all over the place and she was in no mood to strategize. Plus she needed to figure out how to handle Marty. She had so much on her plate, she didn’t know how she could possibly focus on a campaign, especially now with Valerie gone. But since time was winding down, Kay didn’t have a choice. That’s why she was sitting, without complaint, with Loni and Jeff, going over some strategies. Luckily, the temp that the agency had sent over this morning was diligently taking notes.
“You’re pretty good at that.” Loni motioned toward the pad that the temp was writing on. “You don’t miss a thing.”
The temp, Morgan, gave a modest smile. “Yeah, I’m very meticulous with my notes. Hopefully, it will be good enough to take me somewhere.”
They made more small talk about the campaign, then a text came in from Phillip.
Call me. It’s urgent.
She’d been in the meeting for most of the morning so she hadn’t even realized that she missed five calls from Phillip, and since her secretary had been instructed not to put anyone through, he probably hadn’t been able to get in touch with her that way, either. Something had to be wrong because he hadn’t said a word to her this morning.
“Hey, guys, if you’ll excuse me. I need to make a call.” All of them nodded as they made their way back to their respective offices.
Kay punched in her husband’s cell phone number. “Hey. I’m sorry I missed your call. I was in a meeting. What’s going on?”
“Ryan’s school called,” Phillip said, skipping any formalities. “I’m on my way up there now.”
“What? What’s wrong?” Kay said, sitting up in her seat.
“He’s okay. But apparently he’s gotten into some trouble.”
“Trouble? Ryan? What kind of trouble?” Kay asked in disbelief. Not her straitlaced son.
“I don’t know. Something about drugs.”
“Drugs! Are you kidding me?”
“Apparently they found him making them or something. I don’t have details. Just meet me there.”
“Okay, I’m on my way,” she replied, her heart racing.
“All right. I’m about ten minutes away.”
“See you soon,” she said hurriedly. She stood and gathered her things. This wasn’t making sense. Ryan never got into trouble. Somebody was setting him up, or wrongfully accusing him of something. She’d almost have to catch him in the act to believe he was capable of doing anything that would warrant a call from the school headmaster, let alone believe he was mixed up with drugs.
Twenty minutes later, both Kay and Phillip sat in front of the headmaster, Mr. Montclair, at Whittington Academy. They spent big money to keep their son in the prestigious private school and this was their first visit to the school for disciplinary reasons.
“Thanks for joining us,” Mr. Montclair said as he shifted in his seat behind his large cherrywood desk. A stout man with snow-white hair and brass-rimmed glasses, Mr. Montclair was all about business.
“Okay, Mr. Montclair. You have our undivided attention,” Phillip said.
Just then the door opened and Ryan was led in by one of the school security guards. His eyes were downcast and his demeanor revealed his shame.
“Ryan, have a seat,” Mr. Montclair sternly said before turning his attention back to Phillip and Kay. Ryan still didn’t look at them as he slid onto a bench along the back wall.
“Mr. and Mrs. Christiansen, I’m sorry to have to inform you of this but Master Ryan has found himself in a world of trouble and Whittington Academy is faced with no other choice but to expel him.”
“Expel?” both Kay and Phillip said at the same time.
“What happened?” Kay said.
“Well,” the headmaster said, looking at his notes, “it appears Ryan has been manufacturing drugs on our campus and has even set up an elaborate distribution system, involving other students.”
“What? That’s ludicrous,” Kay said. “My son isn’t some drug dealer.”
Mr. Montclair reached in his drawer and pulled out several Baggies of what looked like small blue pills. “These were found on another student today. He was trying to sell them. When he was caught, he fingered Ryan as the person who gave him the drugs to sell.”
Ryan sat up in his chair. “He’s a li—”
Phillip turned to him. “Don’t you dare talk like that!” he snapped.
They rarely got angry with Ryan, so this fury was completely out of character.
“Mr. Montclair,” Kay began, “I’m sure you understand due process. We are going to need more than just the word of someone who was actually caught selling drugs that our son is the one behind this all.”
“Of course,” he replied. “We believe in having all the facts as well. That’s why we set up cameras in the chemistry lab.” He tapped some keys on his desktop computer, then turned the screen around to face them. “Master Ryan is on camera manufacturing drugs.”
That was indeed Ryan in the deserted lab, weighing, measuring, cutting, and tapping away on a computer. But it looked like he could’ve been doing any kind of experiment.
They must’ve been on the same page, because Phillip asked, “How do you know it’s drugs?”
“Trust me, Mr. and Mrs. Christiansen, we wouldn’t have you here unless we were absolutely sure. You son was making, then distributing, ecstasy.”
“What?” Phillip exclaimed. Kay was too stunned to speak.
“As you know,” Mr. Montclair continued, “we have a zero-tolerance policy here at Whittington Academy. That means any child with even a first offense involving drugs is permanently expelled.”
“Ryan, do you want to explain to me what’s going on?” Phil
lip asked, turning to glare at his son. The last time Ryan had been in any trouble was when he was nine and had sneakily eaten all of his cousin’s cupcakes. He’d gotten sick and thrown up all over the birthday boy. So to go from cupcakes to drugs was unfathomable.
“Answer me, son.”
Ryan shrugged. “I don’t know what he’s talking about . . .” Kay couldn’t understand what was going on. Ryan was acting cocky and nonchalant. She’d expected that he’d be crying apologetically.
Mr. Montclair shook his head, like he was thoroughly disappointed. “Well, when you’re as intelligent as Master Ryan, it’s not that hard,” Mr. Montclair said. “We just had hoped he would use his intelligence for good.”
Kay was dumbfounded as she stared at Ryan. “So all those nights you claimed you were doing chemistry equations you were trying to figure out how to make drugs?” she asked in disbelief.
“I didn’t do anything,” Ryan said. “Someone’s setting me up.”
Mr. Montclair turned the screen back around and signaled he would no longer entertain any lies. “Again, I assure you, we have all the evidence we need to back up our claim, which we will gladly produce should you wish to pursue this legally. But let me urge you to consider that route carefully.” He closed the file on his desk. “The only reason the police aren’t involved now is because we don’t want the stain on the legacy of Whittington Academy. But we won’t hesitate to press charges and answer any questions, within the measure of the law, of course, posed to us by the media.”
His veiled threat hung in the air. He knew Kay was running for mayor and this was not something they’d want getting out.
“Unfortunately, per our policy, you know that we don’t refund tuition for moral expulsions,” Mr. Montclair continued. “And it saddens me to say this, but effective today, Ryan is no longer a student at Whittington Academy.”
Both Kay and Phillip could tell there would be no more discussion, no changing Mr. Montclair’s mind.
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