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“Hmmm,” Elizabeth said, though she was having trouble keeping her mind on the conversation. She was at her desk, cell phone pressed to her ear, but she couldn’t think past last night—first the car flying through the restaurant window, then confessing everything to Detective Thronson and challenging the detective to arrest her, and Chloe saying she’d seen the elderly man’s death....
Elizabeth tried to focus as Marg rattled on. “I was just looking on Zillow and bingo! There it was. I can’t believe you missed it. Four bedrooms, a pool, completely remodeled, and in our price range. I’ve convinced Buddy to see it, so maybe this afternoon . . . if you have time?”
Elizabeth glanced at her calendar. The afternoon was clear, but she didn’t know if she was up for another round with Marg and Buddy. But then again, could she afford to lose them as clients? If she didn’t step up, Connie Berker would be all over them like a bad smell. “Sure,” she agreed, forcing herself to concentrate. “How about after lunch, maybe around two? Meet here at the office?”
Marg agreed and gave her the necessary information.
“I’ll double-check with the listing agent and if there’s a problem, I’ll call you back.” Elizabeth hung up, then rested her head on her arms on her desk. If she was lucky, the showing would go quickly, leaving plenty of time to pick up Chloe early from school again. All she wanted was to be with her daughter.
She’d planned to keep Chloe home, spend the day with her, and shut out the world,
but Chloe, as capricious as ever, had insisted she wanted to go to school, no matter what. She’d argued with Elizabeth over a bowl of cereal, then had marched into her room, dressed herself, and announced, “I’m ready!” in that belligerent way she had that meant she wasn’t going to listen to any ideas to the contrary.
Rather than upset her further, Elizabeth had acquiesced and once Chloe was dropped off and she was back home, she’d found she didn’t want to be at the house without her. The vision, the crash, the aftermath, and Detective Thronson’s probing questions kept circling her mind and circling yet again.
At work, she’d heard from all her friends. Tara told her that the media was asking about the woman who’d saved the little boy and his family and then walked away. She also told Deirdre and Jade about what had transpired, and Jade, of course, had asked probing questions that, once again, Elizabeth had to fob off. Vivian called, and Nadia, because they knew Elizabeth and Tara had planned to be at Lots Of Beef around the time of the accident.
It had almost been too much. Elizabeth had been a bit short with Vivian and even worse with Nadia. Short enough that she’d called them back and apologized, though the messages had gone to the women’s respective voice mails.
Closing her eyes for a second, she took in a deep breath, told herself to stay calm, find some kind of inner peace. Serenity was elusive, however; guilt, anger, and fear kept right on clawing at her brain.
When her cell phone rang again, she lifted her head and reluctantly reached for it. Marg, again. She let it go to voice mail. From the corner of her eye, she saw Pat strolling past her cubicle, smiling as if at a private joke. She continued on toward the front of the office and Elizabeth felt anger bubbling up. Nosy old bitch, she fumed, then shut that thought down toute suite. So Pat was grinning like a devil, so what? She couldn’t afford to think ill of her.
You’re jumping at shadows. Getting paranoid and you can’t afford to. Chloe needs you.
Throat thick, Elizabeth picked up a small framed picture of her daughter at age three. In the shot, Chloe’s blond curls had been tamed into pigtails and her face was turned up to the camera. Apple cheeks, wide eyes, and a smile filled with pure mirth showing her baby teeth.
How long had it been since she’d seen such joy on her child’s face?
He’s sending me messages, but I think they’re for you.
“Who, Chloe?” she whispered.
Deep in thought, she didn’t hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway until they paused on the other side of her cubicle. She looked up just as a male voice asked, “Elizabeth?”
Gil Dyne.
Elizabeth felt herself tense and forced a smile to her lips as she greeted him. “Well, hi.”
“I hope this isn’t a bad time,” he said as she righted the picture and set it back in its spot on her desk. “I was in the area and I’d thought, well, I’d hoped, maybe you’d gotten my message and were up for lunch?”
Not a chance. “I-I don’t know. I’m—”
“Don’t say no,” he said, smiling charmingly.
Again, she caught a glimpse of Pat at the end of the hall, craning her neck to watch the exchange. Elizabeth wanted to throw something at her, but once again curbed the impulse.
“Lunch sounds great,” she said, deciding she wanted nothing more than to get out of the office, away from the ringing phones, away from Connie’s avaricious interest in her listings, away from Pat’s sharp ears and sidelong glances.
Gil was pleasantly surprised by her reaction as she pushed her chair back. “Well, that was easy. I was sure you were going to say no.”
“It’s got to be quick. I’ve got clients coming in.”
“Ahh, I knew there was bound to be a catch.”
“How about Sombrero’s? It’s just down the street about quarter of a mile. Er, I mean unless you had another place in mind?” She still needed to call the listing agent on the house Marg had found on Zillow. “And I just need a sec to finish up something.”
“Sounds great,” Gil said. “I love Mexican.”
