“Sky,” I said. “Do you have any idea who might have sent these to Dylan?”
She didn’t look at me. Her gaze stayed riveted to the phone. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I do.”
Nine
“She did it,” Sky said. We were one floor down from the corporate offices, in Gonzo’s security suite. The head of security was an older guy named Maurice Dupree. He was a former Boston cop, and when Sky had introduced us, he’d recognized me—not from theGlobearticle, but as “Phil Randall’s little girl”—which made me like him instantly.
At Sky’s request, Maurice had taken us to a room full of CCTV monitors and called up footage from three weeks ago. What we were looking at had been recorded at ten a.m. in the hallway between Sky’s and Dylan’s offices—a thin, short-haired woman in a hoodie and jeans, raging.
“She’s the one who texted Dylan,” Sky said. “I know it.”
The footage was recorded without audio, but as she kicked the walls, pushed over a large abstract sculpture, and fell to herknees, I felt as though I could hear her shrieking. She was facing a terrified-looking Sky, who stood in the doorway of her office, her hands raised, her fingers spread.Calm, calm…Sky moved toward the woman. She seemed as though she wanted to put her arms around her, but she barely made it two steps when the woman sprung to her feet and lunged at her, yelling something, her teeth bared. Sky jumped back quickly, the way you would from a biting dog. The woman collapsed again, face buried in her hands. The whole time, Dylan’s door stayed shut.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“Rhonda Lewis,” Maurice said, his gaze pinned to the screen as he and another guard moved into the frame, lifting Rhonda to her feet. He pushed a button on the console. The screen froze. I looked at the image. That frail woman, flanked by two big guards, her mouth wrenched open in a silent scream. “She’s been in the corporate offices a few times, yelling at people. Defacing property,” he said. “Sky didn’t want to do much about it because she felt sorry for her.”
“I still do,” Sky said.
“I feel for her, too,” Maurice said, “but I gotta confess I’d have called the cops after that particular incident.”
“We did increase security,” Sky said. “That metal detector is new.”
Maurice let out an exasperated sigh. For a moment, they both seemed to forget I was in the room.
“What happened today was not good,” Sky said. “But Rhonda did leave peacefully.”
“After breaking a neon sign,” Maurice said.
“I know, I know.”
“And scaring Elspeth half to death. I understand how you feel, Sky. Really I do. But what the hell does Elspeth have to do with what happened to Rhonda’s daughter?”
“Nothing, but—”
“Come on, man. Elspeth’s just a kid. And that sign was freakin’ expens—”
I cleared my throat very loudly. They both turned to me.
“What are you guys talking about?” I said.
Maurice looked at Sky. “You want to take this?”
Sky’s back straightened. “Rhonda Lewis experienced a tragic event and, as a result, has exhibited behavior that’s made us concerned for the safety of our employees,” she said.
I looked at Maurice, then at Sky. “Excuse me?” Neither one of them said a word.
“If you want me to help you find your friend, Sky,” I said, “you’re going to need to be a little clearer.”
Sky winced. “Sorry. I don’t like phrasing things that way, either. But I have to.”
I wanted to ask Sky why working at a company that observed Bottle Poppin’ Fridays would necessitate talking like a member of the State Department. But I decided to save that for later. “What was the tragic event?” I said.
“Rhonda’s daughter passed,” Maurice said.
“How old was she?”
“Seventeen,” Sky said.
