Page 65 of Dark Ugly Places

“Wait here,” she says and leaves me standing in the middle of the room. The sitting room faces the garden, an expansive space of green lawn, an oblong-shaped pool, and a waterfall. I had an inkling the Redferns would have it good, but you don’t quite understand how the other half lives until you are literally surrounded by it on all sides.

High heels click down the empty hallway, and I turn, catching the faintest scent of Nicola’s fear in my nostrils. With a quick pinch, I urge her away and focus on Bambi Redfern walking toward me, her blonde hair swishing just below her shoulders, perfectly straight and slick. She’s tanned and slender in that way that is uncomfortably beautiful, her face so well-proportioned and flawless, you could marvel at it from every angle.

She gazes at me but doesn’t smile, then takes a seat in one of two boney-cream sofas and gestures for me to sit. “So, you were the one?”

Things don’t unsettle me easily, but for a second, I remember my face and the fact that I look like Nicola. Does she recognize me from the accident? Was she in the car that day? Or do I just look familiar?

“Sorry?”

Bambi raises an eyebrow. “You were the one who answered my ad so quickly?”

“Yes, yes. That was me.”

“Tell me about yourself.”

I feel Nicola kicking again, like an unborn child inside of me.

“I’ve been a PA since college. My clients are all high-net-worth CEOs and business owners, but I’m afraid I signed non-disclosure agreements, so I can’t reveal their identities because, obviously, I dealt with all their confidential personal matters. References can be provided assuming the job is mine.” I straighten myself on the sofa and take a breath. “I was with one individual for the past five years. She was very prolific in the tech industry.”

“You’re from Silicon Valley?”

“I move around, wherever my clients need me to be.”

“But where are you from originally?”

Don’t tell her Los Angeles.

“I’m not from anywhere, really. My family moved around a lot.”

“Well, where were you born?”

“The Midwest.”

She wrinkles her nose. Her head literally moves from my feet to the top of my head as if individually taking in the parts of me.

“Well, you called me Mrs. Redfern when you came in. And I only gave you my first name. So, you know who we are then?”

“Mrs. Redfern, no offense, but it wasn’t exactly difficult to piece things together.”

Her head tilts a little. “How so?”

“Well, there are only so many people named Bambi, and coupled with your address? It made sense.”

She gives me a thoughtful, satisfied stare. “And my husband?”

“I’m aware of who your husband is, yes.”

She smiles a large fake grin that doesn’t make sense here in this moment. “Everyone is aware of who my husband is,” she says coolly.

It’s the way she says husband that makes my skin prickle, my muscles stiffen.

“Yes,” is all I can think to say. She releases the smile.

I sense her discomfort and add, “But I’m not really interested in film, per se.”

She looks defensive. “Oh, really? Well, what are you interested in?”

“Helping people.”