“It’s okay. We should probably get out of here as fast as possible.” She buckled her seat belt and took the moist phone out of her bra.
“Where do you wanna go?” Gillian put the car into drive and did a slow U-turn till they were pointed toward Route 15, not asking any further questions despite that all she knew at that point was that Veronica’s mom and Sophie were missing and that the police refused to help. A part of Veronica’s mind thought that it was crazy for Gillian to be so willing to help her, but another had seen the loneliness in that woman’s eyes last night. Loneliness was a difficult affliction to remedy alone.
“I need clothes and shoes and a charger for my phone,” she said, checking her power levels again—twenty percent and a red battery indicator.
“Walmart okay?” Gillian asked, turning on her blinker in an action that seemed far too normal to Veronica given the current situation.
“Yeah, it’s fine.” She probably had ten, fifteen minutes tops before someone would come looking for her. Running made her look guilty, she knew that, but the first twenty-four hours were the most crucial in an abduction case; that’s what the detective said, right?
“Do you have a plan?” Gillian asked, glancing at her while also trying to watch the road. “Do you think you know who took Sophie?”
Veronica filled Gillian in about the video and the flash and mulled over the question for the hundredth time that day.
“Whoever took that video took Sophie. Only problem is that I don’t know who took the video,” she admitted, the sentence sounding almost like a surrender.
But then there was a twinge in her foot where she’d scratched it against the peeling bark of a tree root, and she knew that she hadn’t sneaked out of the house and literally run from authorities to surrender to her own insecurities now. They needed more help. Gillian was willing and eager but didn’t have many tools to provide beyond a half-broken cell phone. Veronica flipped over her phone, taking stock of what she had and what she needed from the small wallet attached to the back where she kept her driver’s license and a few unused gift cards from her birthday.
Her gaze landed on a newer addition to the collection of cards and cash: a stiff white business card. Mark DeVenuto from the waiting room looked back at her when she slipped the card from its hiding place. Mark. He seemed smart enough; he said that he had a friend in security; he had some money, that was clear; and he was interested enough to offer his help. He’d have access to computers and maybe even have an idea of how to proceed. But most important, he was a dad. That meant something to Veronica.
“I have an idea,” she said to Gillian, who was pulling into the Walmart parking lot. “I think I’m going to call Mark.” She cocked her eyebrow as Gillian put the car into park toward the back of the side parking lot.
“You mean that guy that’s stalking you from Stacey’s office? Do you really think you can trust him?” Gillian unbuckled her seat belt and grabbed her wallet from the middle console.
“He’s not stalking me.” She paused and put her hand out to stop Gillian. “What are you doing?”
“I’ll go—just tell me your sizes. First thing the cops are going to do is ask if anybody saw you. There are video cameras everywhere.”
Veronica rustled through her wallet and retrieved a neatly folded twenty, feeling guilty about involving Gillian in so much of her dysfunction. She passed the money over. “Don’t worry about style. Just get me a pair of medium flip-flops, a simple pair of size-two pants, and an iPhone charger if you have enough.”
Gillian took the money and smirked in response to Veronica’s softening demeanor. “Size two? They’re going to wonder who in the world I’m buying those pants for.”
Veronica looked at her, not knowing how to respond, not knowing if it was a joke or a serious concern about keeping their connection a secret.
The hesitation seemed to register with Gillian. “I’m sorry, no more jokes. I get nervous and don’t know what to say, and I want to help. I really am worried about your little girl. I want to help you the best I can. Maybe Mark can help, but I think we need to see him face-to-face. Nobody would believe this kind of thing over the phone.”
“Uh . . . thank you, Gillian,” Veronica responded. She was already unsure whether Mark was going to think they were insane or call the police himself. But she had an underlying sense that he was the kind of man who would help a damsel in distress, especially a damsel in distress who had a little girl just like he did. Gillian went to open the driver-side door.
“I’ll lie in the back seat.” Veronica maneuvered between the front seats and over the middle console. “Try to go as fast as you can . . . um . . . please.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Gillian smiled, then silently corrected her facial expression. She looked right into Veronica’s eyes as she settled into the back seat, her legs cramped up till they were nearly touching her chest. “We’re going to find your little girl if I have anything to do with it. I promise you.”
Veronica swallowed hard, trying to hold back tears. That was all she’d wanted anyone to say to her: “We will get your daughter back.” Gillian had been the one to say it. As her one friend walked away, Veronica realized the woman was her greatest ally.
Now it was time to get one more.
CHAPTER 15
Gillian came out of the store with a pair of stretchy pants that slid easily underneath Veronica’s knee-length dress and a pair of sparkly flip-flops with the clearance tag on them. Along with a discount charger, a bottle of diet soda, and another bottle of chilled generic water, Gillian had only spent $15.37. With their small budget, Veronica found herself grateful that she found a bargain shopper to help her escape from the police.
The bank where Mark worked was only two miles away from Walmart. The police were probably looking for her by now; who knew what terrible accusations and labels they were tossing around. Crazy mom. Baby killer. But even with the cops on her trail, she was way ahead of them. No way they’d know about Gillian or her car, and neither woman had any ties to MDB Bank.
“Maybe I should just call him after all. It’s Saturday. He might not be there.” Now that they were sitting around the corner from the bank, Veronica was starting to panic. It was a fancy institution, one that gave out loans and had bank accounts for people with far more zeros behind their salary than she had, so she had never set foot inside, and now that it sat in front of her, she wished she never had to.
“I’m not gonna tell you what to do, darlin’, but I know you better than this Mark guy, and even I thought you sounded a little crazy when you texted me.” Veronica started at Gillian’s admission. She was tired of people thinking she was crazy for wanting to find her baby. Since when did saving your baby from kidnappers make you insane? Gillian could read the outrage in Veronica and patted the steering wheel. “Now don’t get all steamy. As soon as I saw you, I knew you were serious and needed help. I just think this man needs to see you. Plus, his card says nine to one on Saturdays. I can go in and get him if you’re worried. Want me to do that?”
Although Gillian was a timid woman in general, she seemed to have more gumption than Veronica had given her credit for previously.
“No, you’re right—it needs to be me,” Veronica said, remembering the way Mark had looked at her the night before, like she was the most interesting person he’d met in a long time. She straightened her hair in the visor mirror and made sure there were no remaining pine needles embedded in her dress. With a pinch of her cheeks, a swab of her half-melted tinted ChapStick, and the last-minute addition of Gillian’s wide-brimmed sun visor to hide her face, Veronica headed inside the bank to find Mark while Gillian sat in the car, waiting. “Wish me luck.”
“You’ve got this,” she said with a thumbs-up that would normally have made Veronica roll her eyes but today gave her a boost of confidence.
The bank was one of the largest structures in Sanford. Veronica appreciated the grand nature of the Roman columns out front and the wide, sweepi
ng staircase that led to the front door. When she and Nick would occasionally go into Sanford for date nights or any shopping she couldn’t complete at online retailers, she used to imagine what it would look like for someone to pose for wedding pictures on those steps or to paint the masonry like she had on her trip to France as a young art student. But it seemed a bit grandiose for her more recent tastes.
Today, as she looked at the columns and the twenty or so steps, she saw the beauty and the statement of power those architectural decisions conveyed. And it all made her heart beat faster as she thought about walking through those doors and asking to speak to a man she’d only talked to twice, then convincing that man to help her find her daughter.
The front doors were made of a greenish glass with brass handles that pulled open easily. This must be what it feels like to be a bank robber walking into a bank for a heist, Veronica thought, trying to locate the cameras while keeping her head down and face hidden under the massive visor. She knew someone must be there watching, but she was finding it hard to avoid detection while also trying to look as average as possible. It was difficult for Veronica to feel normal on any given day, but today she thought she must stand out like a tall man in a lineup.
As she looked around the grand lobby, there were teller stations to her right and open desks to her left, and in the back, she could see some glass-wall offices occupied by men and women in business attire. The desks to her left were empty, and one teller stood at her station, watching Veronica as though she was ready to have her last client before she went on her lunch break.
“Can I help you?” The teller waved to Veronica, encouraging her forward. Seeing very few other options beyond barging into the walled-off offices at the back of the bank or just yelling “Mark” at the top of her lungs, Veronica went up to the station where the teller was waiting with her half smile and held out Mark’s business card.
“Yes, I’m looking for Mark DeVenuto.” She wondered if it would be awkward to mention he was the VP at this location. Instead, she let the card speak for itself. “He gave me this card. I don’t know if he’s working today, but I wanted to stop by and see if I could have a conversation with him. Privately.”
The teller picked up the card and examined it carefully. She ran her finger over the logo and then placed a fingernail underneath Mark’s name, her lips twisted to one side.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I know who this is. Is he new?”
Veronica knew very little about Mark. He had a child. He worked at the bank. He was interested in Veronica in a way that men other than Nick had not been interested in her in a long time. He made her feel safe. That was all.
“You know, I’m not sure. I met him at”—she almost said “our therapists’ office” but then thought better of it—“the supermarket, and he said that he might be able to help me with some issues I’m having and gave me his card. I thought I would just stop by, but maybe I should’ve called first.” Veronica reached for the card, but the teller snatched it up and stepped back from the counter.
“Oh, no worries! I’m sure that I’m just confused. I’m new here myself. Let me go ask my manager. I am sure he would know better than I would. Not like we’re busy here today or anything.” She chuckled, gesturing to the empty lobby, and then walked away with a little bounce in her step. It was possible that a new teller would have no reason to interact with someone as high up as a vice president. Maybe this was her chance to rub elbows with the higher-ups? Veronica hadn’t considered what she’d do if Mark wasn’t at work. It seemed strange to find him missing. She’d never seen him out of a suit, so she was sure he didn’t take a day off often. She shook the suspicious thoughts off. If she let those feelings take her over, she’d never trust anyone again.
Once the business card was gone, Veronica started to get nervous. This was her only idea. If getting help from Mark didn’t work out, what would she do? They could go to the library and try to search on a computer for a specialist that could analyze the video, but it seemed dangerous and very low-tech.
She could contact her editor. They’d been working together for years, and Carol had been very helpful and patient through Veronica’s roughest hours, but that would mean letting her office know about the drama in her life. Working with children’s books meant keeping a squeaky-clean reputation, or at least keeping her less-than-stellar qualities under wraps. Mia’s Travels was her paycheck; she couldn’t risk that. Then again, she could always call Lisa, but Lisa would advise her to call the police. And there was no way she was going to put her trust in the police again.
As Veronica examined her options, a man in a suit of the same caliber and style as Mark’s from the night before came up to the counter. But it wasn’t Mark. This man was shorter, with less hair, and was wearing a clunky wedding ring on his left hand. He held Mark’s card in front of him as though he were examining a hundred-dollar bill to see if it was counterfeit.
“Hello, Miss . . . ?” He paused, waiting for Veronica to complete the sentence.
“Jane. Jane Nickel,” she said, almost cringing at the money reference that was completely unintentional.
The manager gave her a brief smile and then looked down at the card again and then back up at her. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but I don’t know any DeVenuto. I can help you with any of your account needs. But first . . .” He hesitated and then placed the business card on the counter. “Where did you get this card?”
Veronica swallowed and tugged at the visor again, a newly developing nervous twitch. What the hell? A spreading desperation filled her chest cavity and clutched at her throat. Did he lie about where he worked?
There was no time to think about that with the bank manager staring her down. She was in a very dangerous position that could lead to the police showing up in a matter of minutes. She would find out about the man on the card, but right now she needed to get out of the bank and back into the safety of Gillian’s car.
“I met a man at the grocery store. He said he could help me with some financial issues and gave me his card. I’m sorry. Maybe I have the wrong bank.”
The bank manager placed his hand on top of the card. “This is our updated logo, new as of a few months ago, and the address is for this branch. I’m concerned that you may have been approached by a con artist of some kind. I am going to call headquarters and see if there’s been some mix-up. I’m sorry, miss, I’m afraid you may have been scammed. Did you give this man any personal information, things like your Social Security number or any information about your bank account?”
The concern on the bank manager’s face was real. His questions about her bank account sent a pit of dark tar churning in her stomach. She wasn’t worried about her money; she didn’t even have an account here. She was more concerned with why Mark DeVenuto just happened to turn up in so many places in her life. He’d bought her a drink, and she’d felt more intoxicated after that cocktail hour than she should have. Did he slip her something? Maybe something far more nefarious than a scam to steal her identity? Could he have anything to do with taking Sophie?
The room spun around her. She had started to open up to this man. Perhaps it had been innocent, but still. Who talked to strange men at supermarkets? She let him buy her a drink without hesitation. And now her daughter was gone. She needed that card back. Her list of things she knew for sure was growing: Sophie was gone. Her mother was gone. Gillian was on her side. The police couldn’t help her. Mark DeVenuto was a fraud.
“No, he didn’t ask for anything like that. To be honest, I think he wanted to ask me for a date.” She leaned against the counter and tried to giggle, but it came out hysterical, as if she were high. “Maybe he uses those cards to impress girls. I will have to give him a call and chew him out myself. Thanks so much for your help.” She put her hand out for the card.
The bank manager shifted uncomfortably, ran his empty hand over his balding head, and then patted his cheek in thought.
“I’m not sure about this,” he sa
id, not giving up the card and starting to scan Veronica as though she held some clue as to what was really going on. “I really think you should wait right here while I look up your information and make sure your account has not been breached,” he said, tapping the counter with the card.
Veronica glanced quickly from the teller to the manager, trying to figure out how to change the tone of the conversation. The new employee and her supervisor were not going to let this go, and if they looked up Jane Nickel, they’d know in less than a minute that she was lying.
“Thanks so much for your concern,” Veronica crooned, “but I’m going to take a pass.” In between his incessant taps, she snatched the card from his hand before he could stop her. “I’m positive this is all just a big misunderstanding.”
“It will only take a moment. Your privacy is important to us,” the manager pushed, his hand frozen in the same position as when she’d grabbed the card.
“I have an appointment I need to get to, so I have to go, but I’ll come back if I see anything shady,” she said, backing away quickly. The teller looked up at her manager like she was scared he might explode, but Veronica didn’t hesitate. She kept her back to the exit until the very last minute, then turned and shoved the glass door open and stepped out into the steamy afternoon sun.
They’re going to call the police, she thought to herself. They’re going to call the police, and they will pull the video tapes, and they will know I was here, and they’ll know I was asking about Mark. It all played out in her mind. This was a big mistake. She may have kept her face off the cameras at Walmart, but thanks to fictional Mark, this time she would be discovered.
The Waiting Room Page 13