by Lorena May
“Do you see her?” Darby asks.
Rose scoffs. “The ice queen? Ha!”
“I knew her parents,” Eva says. “They gave her everything from the time they got her. A spoiled little princess. I don’t think she even bothers with them now.”
“She was adopted?” Jim asks.
“Yes. When she was about nine years old. Helen and George were in their fifties, and unable to have children. I’m not sure that George really wanted one, but Helen did. Desperately.” Eva looks upward, thinking. “Chloe was a pretty girl, but sly.”
Darby’s ears prick up. “She’s not what she seems?”
Eva plays anxiously with the pearls around her neck. “She’s a gold-digger and a fake.” She clamps her lips decisively.
“You think she married your son for his money?” Darby digs.
“Once she set her sights on him the poor guy was hooked,” Eva hisses. “Please.” She clutches Darby’s arm. “Please look into this. My son is innocent. Please.”
The desperation in her eyes grabs Darby by the heart-strings.
“I will. I promise.”
Chapter 46
~ Darby
“Take a look at this!” Jill calls out to Darby who is rushing through the door, yanking her helmet from her head. These late nights – this double life – is killing me!
LAST NIGHT, AFTER THEIR visit with Rose and Eva, Darby and Jim said good-bye outside the retirement home. Jim pulled her into a hug that asked for more, and was rewarded with a light kiss on the cheek, a, “Glad you’re back, Jim. Gotta go, though,” and she’d pulled away.
Thoughts swirled through Darby’s head as she drove towards her condo. Steve and Chloe apparently lived in Rockydale because Steve wanted to be close to his ailing mother. What a lovely lady! According to Eva, Chloe was ambitiously involved in all aspects of the restaurant. She had no time for the parents that had spoiled and doted on her. But did Eva suffer from some dementia? It seemed likely . . . and the staff at the Ritz adore Chloe. That counts for a lot.
When Darby arrived home Sam’s truck was sitting in the driveway. He jumped out as she exited her car, meeting her on the front sidewalk. “I know it’s late. I know I shouldn’t be here, but please?”
What could she say? She let him in.
They sat across from each other in her living room, staring without words. Finally, he asked, “Who were you with tonight?” Was there a hint of anger in his voice?
“What do you mean?”
“Who were you with tonight?” The hostility is unmistakable now.
“Who I was with is none of your fucking business.” Darby felt heat flushing through her body.
“You were with another man. I saw you kiss him.” A menacing tone crept into his words.
Darby stood, aghast. “You were following me?”
He sat and slowly, visibly wilted into a blubbering pool of anguish. “Darb, I need you. You and I. We understand each other. I . . .”
She melted. Knelt by his side. Stroked his wet cheek. “Sam, you need help, but not from me. Don’t you see? We would pull each other down; we’d destroy each other.”
He yanked at her jacket, tugged her face into his shoulder. “Please, Darby. I’m drowning here.”
Pushing her arms against his chest, she rose to stand. Determined, muscles tensed, fists clenched, she exuded a calm and focus that she did not feel. Her insides vibrated. “No. Go home. I can not - I will not do this. Go home, Sam.”
Would he punch her? Get down on his knees and grab her? Force himself upon her? His agonized face - his body - went through all the motions. Like a mime frantically rehearsing a crazy tragedy. She stood, resolute, and he didn’t touch her. Finally, shrugging deeply, he dragged himself back to his truck. Darby watched him go. When she heard him roar out of the driveway and down the street, she stumbled to her bedroom, feeling like she’d broken through heavy ice; as if she’d punched her way through a frozen pond.
NOW SHE STRIDES OVER to Jill’s desk and looks, sleepy-eyed, at the computer screen. Her eyes pop. The lethargy is jolted right out of her. There, on the screen is a photo of a woman from the neck down, dressed in high stockings, a thong and sexy upper-body armor, wielding a whip toward a naked man who lies on a bed with his hands tied to the bed-stead. He wears a mask, making him unrecognizable. Who are these people?
Another picture shows the bodies of a man and woman, naked, locked in an embrace. In her hand, wrapped around his back, the woman holds a gun pointed toward his head.
“From Gabe’s computer. They were wiped, but IT retrieved them. Looks like he was blackmailing Steve.” Jill says.
“What does the attached message say?” Darby peers at the screen as Jill scrolls down.
How would your mother, your clientele, your associates like to see these? Meet me.
“Is there a date? Does it say where and when he wants to meet?”
“No. But it was sent to Steve three days before the murder.”
Darby exhales, a large puff of air. And I promised his mother I’d try to exonerate him. Fuck! “Wow, Jill. Is this Steve? Any idea who the woman might be?”
“Mmmmm. The black and white photos make it hard to tell the skin-tone . . . Somebody with a killer body.”
Darby stares at Jill’s computer. “In more ways than one? Print them, okay? Maybe Steve will tell us.”
Chapter 47
~Darby
For a ‘kind and gentle guy’ Steve is certainly defensive and uncooperative! Darby is not exactly surprised when he answers, “No comment” to her inquiries. He doesn’t bat an eye when she shows him the pictures of what must be BDSM, taken from Gabe’s computer. Pictures that were sent to Steve with threats of exposure. Are they of him? “No comment.” He and his wife? “No comment.” Grey eyes stare vacantly ahead. How in the hell am I supposed to help this guy?
HOPEFULLY SHE’LL HAVE more luck with Chloe’s parents. Helen and George Simpson live in a lovely old brick house with a large porch, several gables and dormer windows, lush green lawns, manicured flower beds and a big, weeping birch gracing the front yard. Helen answers Darby’s ring immediately, an expectant look on her lively, lined face. “Sergeant Greer, come in.”
Darby is led into an elegant living room filled with sumptuous Persian rugs and leather furniture. Helen sits herself primly down by a large, wooden coffee-table and pours tea. “Do sit down,” she says, indicating a big, burgundy leather chair across from her. Darby sits.
“I’m always happy to talk about my daughter.” Helen smiles a wistful smile, looking into Darby’s face.
“She has your good taste, it seems.” Darby grins, looking with admiration at a woman who must be in her seventies, dressed in a fitted blue dress and matching heels. Slim and graceful and stylish.
Helen laughs a little trilling laugh. “She always had a flare. Tell me, how is she?”
Darby hesitates. “As well as can be expected, I think, though she was very upset at her husband’s arrest.”
“Oh, she would be. She adores Steve. And he’s so good to her.”
“They met through you and your husband, I gather?”
“Yes. George is in Vancouver on business now,” Helen explains, flinging her arm as if to shoosh him away. “Steve’s parents, Eva and Frank, were dear friends. Frank worked with George and Steve, and then Steve started his own restaurants. Chloe was so young, but we were thrilled when they fell in love.”
“You adopted Chloe when she was how old?” Darby asks.
“She was nine. Living in a foster home. Poor thing. Beautiful even then. We were beyond the age to have children of our own, so she was a like gift from heaven.”
“You chose her, then.” Darby smiles.
“Yes . . I would’ve liked . . .” Helen fades off a moment, tears brimming in her eyes. “She was an identical twin, you know? But George insisted we could only take one.” Helen looks forlornly at the floor. “She adapted, but I always felt there was something missing for Chloe.”
<
br /> An identical twin!. “Does she have any contact with her sister?”
Helen’s face is creased in sadness. “She did, at first. They wrote. But . . . I don’t think so any more.”
“Do you know what became of her sister? Where she is? Her name?” Darby feels an adrenaline rush; a strong desire to jump up and pace. What could this mean?
“I don’t know anything about her, except that her name is Grace Hanson. Unless she’s changed it.”
Chapter 48
~ Darby
There she is. Grace Hanson. It’s hard to believe this baby-faced waif with a black eye and a split lip, glaring at the camera could be related to Chloe. But the resemblance is unmistakable. She has the same milky skin, heart-shaped face, dainty nose, full lips, light green eyes fringed with dark lashes and thick brows. Her hair is matted and dirty, but it’s bushy and red. Her criminal record dates back to 2013.
Born March 22, 1996, she was seventeen when she acquired a criminal record. She was charged with disturbing the peace; screaming outside a night-club, apparently high on drugs, attacking the police officer who arrested her. Darby scrolls down the list: soliciting in 2015, assault, charges dropped in 2016, soliciting, shop-lifting, soliciting . . . A list of felonies right up to 2018. Nothing recent. Is she still alive?
Darby clicks onto Facebook. Yes! There she is. Her first post, December, 2014. Big, capital letters. GABRIEL, WHEREVER YOU ARE I MISS YOU. PLEASE CALL ME.
Gabriel! Could it be? I’ve got to find this woman. Her posts are infrequent but stunning. She posts photographs: A brilliant turquoise Gerber daisy in a wooden crate with interesting knot-holes. A child, hands and feet thrown in the air, laying in a pile of red, yellow and orange autumn leaves. An elderly person’s folded hands. Did she take these? What talent!
In 2017 Grace posted a selfie taken in what looks like a school cafeteria with children in the background. The caption says, “Look at me! A lunch lady!” Big smile on her face. There are more creative photographs: A cat peering at a bird. An interesting crack in the sidewalk. An old man dressed in baggy clothing pushing a grocery cart filled with blankets and old shoes. A funky-looking little restaurant, ‘Mama’s Kitchen’, posted just two weeks ago, captioned “Come in and see us. The best food on the planet!” Come see us? Can I find her there?
Darby looks Mama’s Kitchen up and dials.
A woman answers. “Hello. Mama’s Kitchen.” A friendly voice.
“Hello. I’m Sergeant Darby Greer, Rockydale RCMP. Have you an employee, Grace Hanson?”
The woman hesitates. “Yes. Why do you ask?” Her voice is less friendly.
“I’d like to speak to her, if I may.”
“I’m sorry, she’s not here right now. Can I give her a message?”
“Do you know where I can reach her?”
“No, I don’t.” Darby can almost hear the alarm bells going off in the woman’s head.
“When will she be in to work again?”
“I’m expecting her tomorrow morning. We don’t open until 11:00 am.” Definitely the friendly warmth is gone.
“Thank you.” Shit. It means an early morning trip to Edmonton.
Chapter 49
~ Chloe
“Grace?” The woman’s voice on the other end of the phone sounds panicky.
Chloe barely hesitates. “Yes?”
“It’s me. Sue. I don’t know what it was about, but the RCMP called looking for you.”
“For me?” Chloe is feeling playful. This new condo is so liberating. “Weird. I’ve been such a good girl lately.”
“I know. It was a Sergeant Darby Greer from Rockydale.”
Chloe’s shock is real. “Police from Rockydale looking for me?”
“Yes. The officer asked when you’d be in, and I told her you’d be here tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks, Sue,” Chloe says, hanging up.
She can hear Grace singing in the shower. But their care-free, condo sharing days are over. Rockydale Police! That means they’ve discovered her twin. It won’t be long until they put two and two together. It’s crucial that the equation equals one.
“Hey.” Chloe is sitting in an arm-chair reading Vogue when Grace emerges from the bathroom all fresh and rosy. “Mona from the restaurant just called. They need me to go in and straighten out some kinks in the books before the audit tomorrow. Wanna take a trip to Rockydale?”
Grace rubs her hair with a towel. “Rockydale? Chloe, I can’t. I have the clinic tomorrow and then work.”
Chloe’s chin trembles, and her eyes are pleading. “Please? We could go right after you finish at the clinic, maybe ask for a supply of methadone? Can you get someone else to work for a few days? I really need you, Gracie, now that Steve’s gone. He’s been my rock. I don’t think I can do it all on my own.” She struggles to hold back tears, but they keep coming. She breaks into pitiful, heart-wrenching sobs.
Grace holds her tightly, stroking her sister’s slim back, caressing her quaking body. “Of course. I’ll phone Sue. It’ll be fine. We’ll go straight from the clinic tomorrow. It’s the least I can do.”
Chloe whimpers, “Don’t tell her where you’re going. Don’t mention me, okay? Makes me feel so weak, I could never face her . . . It’s just you and me now, Gracie.”
Chapter 50
~ Grace
It’s like being on vacation. She’s stocked with methadone for a week and Sue was most understanding. “Of course, Grace. We managed before, we can manage now for a few days. Where are you going?”
She couldn’t lie to Sue any more. “To a little town in the Rockies. Rockydale.”
“The town the RCMP that called are from?” Sue sounded alarmed.
“Yes, but it’s okay, Sue. It’s my sister. Her husband is in jail there and she needs my help.” She felt a twinge of guilt even as she said it. Chloe did tell her not to say where she was going, it’s true. But I couldn’t lie. If they were to meet some day Sue would not find Chloe weak. Chloe doesn’t realize how understanding Sue is.
Now Grace watches rain pelt the windshield. Through a grey curtain of drizzle she gazes at fields thrashing and blowing, trees swaying, wild-flowers and long grasses fluttering in ditches. The country-side fascinates her. She chatters merrily, snapping photos along the way. “Look at those poor cows with heads down in this storm! All facing the same way. Who do they follow, I wonder?”
Chloe laughs. “The bull? I don’t know . . . obviously they’re not very liberated.”
As they approach Rockydale Grace cries out, “Look! You can see the mountains over there.” She points, her face suffused with happiness. “What a beautiful country Canada is!” She turns to her sister, squeezing the arm that flanks the steering wheel. “Thank you. Thank you so much for this.”
“My God, Grace, it’s just the Canadian prairies.” Chloe flashes her sister a curious look. “If you had a bunch of money what country would you live in?”
Grace ponders. “New Zealand. . . the UK maybe . . . or France, Spain . . . They all look beautiful. Maybe a warm place like the Bahamas or Mexico or Costa Rica . . . They’re all just names and photographs to me.”
Chloe becomes serious. “Grace, if I gave you the money would you do that? Move to another country and take up a new identity?”
Grace gives her sister’s shoulder a playful swat. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m serious. Would you?”
“I . . . no . . . I . . .”
“Would you just disappear, never to return?” Chloe persists.
“No!”
“Why not, Gracie? You could start all over. A whole new life.” Chloe’s jaw clenches and she stares at the highway in front of her.
“I’d end up on the streets for sure. Here I have my job and you and Sue. I have the clinic and my therapy group. It’s all that keeps me straight, Chloe. I’d be dead within a month.” Her brows draw together. “Why are you asking me this?”
Chloe remains expressionless, watches the road ahead,
passes the car in front of her. Finally, “Ah, I was just curious.”
In silence they approach the sign, ‘Welcome to Rockydale’. They turn onto a back road and drive slowly through a neighborhood of stylish older houses. “They remind me of plantations,” Grace chirps.
“And here we are.” Chloe pulls up to a big, green and white house with peaks and windows and a huge porch. Grace gasps. “Is this your house? It’s beautiful!”
“Especially here in front!” Chloe says, rolling her eyes, doing her best to step over a front sidewalk under construction. “They’re building new sidewalks. Tell me, should that take forever?” She looks, scornfully, at the framework snaking its way along the street, filled with mucky sand. “A little bit of rain and it chases all those big strong men inside.” She scoffs, lifting her overnight bag high.
Grace stumbles along behind her, the muck oozing over the tops of her boots. “The superior sex. Ha!” she agrees. Glancing around, she is in awe, however. “First world problems,” she mutters, looking at the grand home her sister lives in.
They shed their footwear outside. No point in dirtying the rug in Chloe’s luxurious foyer. Grace stands on the steps, agog. Looking up, she hears robins twittering in a nest that they’ve built in the geranium pot overhanging the large front porch. So lovely! Inside, the house is immaculate and very, very large.
“Come on. I’ll make us a drink while you settle in.” Chloe marches Grace to her bedroom, a large, wood-paneled chamber with a big canopy bed. She flops onto it, bouncing. I feel like little orphan Annie at Daddy Warbucks!
“Drinks are mixed!” Chloe calls from the kitchen, a shining marble wonder with two sinks, two ovens, and two walk-in pantries.