by Anne Canadeo
“It’s like a pickle jar with a tight lid?” Lucy explained. “Suzanne twisted and banged, ran it under hot water. Did everything she could to pry it loose. But it didn’t budge. Then Liza gives it one tiny turn and it pops right off. And Liza gets the credit, while poor Suzanne did all the work. It’s a law of physics or something.”
“I know what you mean. Though I doubt you’d find that one in a textbook,” Maggie murmured.
“That happens all the time. I just never knew what to call it before,” Phoebe said. “Ever notice when a woman is dating some guy for years, and no matter what she does, he won’t commit? The next girlfriend comes along and that slacker is running down to the mall, shopping for diamond rings. Pickle jar syndrome, definitely.”
“I don’t know about physics, or slacker boyfriends, but in real life, pickle jar syndrome stinks,” Suzanne said.
Dana had put her dish aside and opened up her knitting tote. “I hope you brought this to the attention of your boss.”
“Of course I did. I put in months on these people, gallons of gas and so much smiling, I sprained a dimple.”
Maggie started to say something, then caught herself. “Sounds painful,” she said finally.
“Tell me about it. Liza, as phony as her stick-on eye lashes, chats them up for five seconds and waltzes off with my commission? No way, babe.” Suzanne shook her head. “Over my dead body. Or hers.”
* * *
As Suzanne left the shop with Lucy and Dana, a chilly wind greeted them, tossing tree branches and scuttling dry leaves down Plum Harbor’s quiet Main Street. Up above, a silver sliver of moon glowed in a deep blue sky. Suzanne pulled her poncho close and waved good night to her friends as they each ran in a different direction to their cars.
She climbed into her SUV and headed down the street. Knitting night had definitely brought some peace and perspective.
But alone again, worries crept in. Was Kevin still up? It was only a quarter to eleven, but her husband worked hard at his construction jobs. “Early to bed, early to rise” was his motto. He really did need his sleep and Suzanne knew she wouldn’t have the heart to wake him when she got in, even to share her awful day. Or warn him that she might get fired tomorrow. At least one of us should get some rest, she reasoned.
Right before the turn for her usual route home, the sign for Prestige Properties came into view. Suzanne noticed lights on inside. She expected to see the van for the office cleaning service. They came every Thursday night, without fail. A reason she preferred to invite clients to meet there on a Friday.
But only a white Mercedes SUV stood parked in front of the building tonight. The personalized plates on the back— AMEYMOXI—told Suzanne all she needed to know. Liza was burning the midnight oil.
Probably making her case for getting me fired. Or trying to figure out what other deals she can steal.
Now, now . . . you have to summon up a better attitude, pronto. Remember what your friends said? Good advice. Get yourself resigned to some heavy duty groveling. Or you might be very sorry. You can catch more black widow spiders with honey than vinegar, right? You’ve got to sweeten her up, before she talks Harry into giving you the boot.
Suzanne slowed down and pulled up behind Liza’s vehicle. Time to get this over with. The pep talk from her pals had psyched Suzanne into doing the right thing. But she knew that by tomorrow, she could wake up feeling mad all over again. It had certainly happened before.
Suzanne shut the ignition, then checked her hair and lipstick in the visor mirror. Not going to win any beauty contests, but looking a little ragged might work on Liza’s sympathy. If she had any, as Maggie claimed.
Suzanne slipped out of the driver’s seat, took a deep breath, and headed for the realty office.
As Mom always said, “No time like the present.”
Chapter 2
Large lights illuminated the gold-lettered logo of Prestige Properties, which hung above the storefront window. The glass was covered with glossy photos of houses, apartments, and vacant land for sale. It was a thriving office with lots of juicy listings, and Suzanne would hate to leave it.
The heavy glass door was unlocked and Suzanne swung it open easily. She wondered why Liza wasn’t more careful. There was little need to worry in Plum Harbor, but a woman alone, especially at night, needed to be cautious anywhere. Suzanne always told her daughter that.
The reception area was dark and empty. Further back, where the worker bees sat in partitioned cubicles, a soft light glowed, and Suzanne headed toward it.
Suzanne liked to joke about the padded walls in her cubicle. Definitely a plus when things got crazy. Most of the time, she didn’t mind not having a “real” office. She did most of her wheeling and dealing in her car, or at home, from her cell phone and tablet, as did the rest of the sales staff. The cubicle was a landing spot, a little nest where she rested and recharged before new adventures. She liked to think of it that way.
She passed her own space, catching a glimpse of the photos that covered one wall. Mostly of her family— dressed in their best at some holiday party; Alexis, in her lacrosse gear, grubby but victorious; her twin boys, Ryan and Jamie, mugging for the camera as they blew out the candles on matching cakes at their last birthday party.
When she felt drained and unmotivated, the smiling faces of the people she loved most in the world never failed to pump her up again.
That’s why I work so hard, she reminded herself as she walked by. Not to “best” Liza Devereaux. Or even for cashmere ponchos and other fine things. I do it for my family and I’ll sweet talk, or even beg this woman, in order to keep my job. I’ll do what I have to.
A thin shaft of light stretched into the hallway from Liza’s space. Suzanne’s steps slowed as she approached. She listened for keyboard clicks or Liza’s voice, talking on the phone. She didn’t hear a thing.
Was she in there? Maybe she was back in the staff kitchen, getting a cup of coffee? Or sipping one of those diet shakes she seemed to live on?
Suzanne paused and delivered her opening lines as she stood near the entrance to Liza’s cubicle. “Sorry to bother you so late. But I saw your car outside and wondered if we could talk.”
Suzanne stepped into the partitioned space, listening for a reply. . . .
But only heard her own scream of panic.
The desk lamp had fallen to one side, the harsh light shining directly in Suzanne’s face, casting long shadows around the small space. She raised her hand to shield her eyes and get a better look at Liza, who was sprawled out on the floor.
Suzanne rushed toward her and crouched down. She quickly checked for a pulse and leaned closer. Was Liza breathing? She couldn’t tell for sure.
“This can’t be . . . Liza? Please! Can you hear me?” Suzanne slapped Liza’s cheek, but there was no reaction. She felt for the pulse in her wrist and then her neck. Then pressed her ear to her rival’s chest, desperate to hear a heartbeat.
Nothing.
“Oh, Liza . . . Answer me . . . please! Can you hear me? Please wake up. What happened to you?”
Suzanne stared down at Liza’s motionless body, the blue-tinged skin of her complexion, her blank, staring eyes. The surprised expression, frozen on her face. Suzanne sat back on her heels and felt the room spin. She staggered to her feet and stumbled backward. The soles of her boots rolled on small, round objects, and nearly made her fall.
She looked down and saw pearls, all over the carpeting. From Liza’s favorite necklace, she realized. The string had somehow burst and sent the precious beads flying.
Someone could gather them up and have the necklace restrung. It would be as good as new, Suzanne thought. No such easy repair for its owner. No remedy at all . . .
She turned and ran into the hall, heading for the light in the staff kitchen. “Help! Help, somebody! Is anyone here?”
No one answered. She was all alone....
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