Getting Away Is Deadly (14 page)

“W
hat are you doing here?” I asked Nadia.

“We’re here to help. Abby said you were short-handed so we grabbed a taxi and came over,” Nadia said. “What about your tour? You’ll miss Mount Vernon.”

“Too cold and rainy today.” Nadia dismissed one of Washington, D.C.’s, premier tourist attractions with a flick of her hand. “Besides, I love that border.” Nadia’s head tilted back as she talked to Ivan. “You’ve got to show me how you do that.”

“Watch out,” Tony called as he entered the room and set the headboard down in the middle of the room. Gina held it steady so it wouldn’t lean against any of the walls. “I’m not any good at that froufrou stuff. I can’t even put up a wallpaper border, but I can put this bed together. Irene, hold this and I’ll go find a cordless screwdriver.”

Irene patted my shoulder. “You look a little dazed.”

“I’m just amazed that you’re all taking time to help me out.”

“Are you kidding? Decorating is fun and it’ll be in
Mom Magazine
. Besides, I’m a big believer in supporting other military wives. I have no desire to own my own business, but I’ve known lots of spouses who have. It’s hard enough to succeed in business, but throw in a move every few years and it’s even more of a challenge.

“Now, after I finish holding this headboard, I’ll paint those window seats. They’re darling, by the way. White? Like the rest of the trim.”

“Sure. Yes, that would be great,” I said and realized that they’d all just assigned themselves jobs and gotten busy. I wasn’t very good at leading-a-troupe-of-people things. I was more of a one-woman show when it came to organizing jobs, but at least it was getting done.

“Oh, and we saw the news this morning,” Irene said with an expectant tone.

Nadia, paintbrush already in her hand, turned to us and said, “We just couldn’t believe it. Wellesley, of all people. No wonder she couldn’t make it this morning.”

I was at a complete loss. “What? Something was on the news?” I just hoped it wasn’t me, Summer, and Abby. They’d have mentioned that first thing, wouldn’t they?

“It was on the local morning news show. One of those short clips that they play to get you to watch the news at night. You didn’t see it?” Irene asked.

“No,” I said and moved over as Gina entered the room, carrying the drill. She put it down and began fitting the bed frame together.

“It was one of those hidden camera investigations,” Irene said as she obediently followed Gina’s instructions on where to stand and how to hold the headboard.

“Hidden camera? Like undercover stuff?” I asked.

Gina didn’t look up as she spoke over the whine of the drill. “Undercover news investigation. You know, like when they try to catch sex offenders who want to hook up with kids after chatting with them on the Internet?”

I nodded.

Irene jumped back into the conversation. “The clip they showed had Wellesley in it. We all recognized her right off, even in black-and-white.”

“Wellesley was being investigated as a sex offender?” I think my voice sounded kind of shrill.

“No! No, the investigation was about sham marriages. Her tour business is a front. Apparently, she runs a tour every month or so to keep it going, but her real business is arranging marriages for illegal aliens.”

“Really? That was on the news?”

“Yes. Full report tonight,” Irene confirmed and Gina nodded as she shifted around to the other side of the frame.

Nadia turned to us again. “And she seemed like such a nice girl.”

“So the police know about it?”

Gina said, “They do now. They interviewed the reporter this morning and she said they’ve turned all the information over to the police.”

“Well.” That was all I could say.

“It does make sense now,” Nadia said, “all that about the landscapers and the word
boda
. She was the wedding lady.”

Gina said, “
Was
is the operative word there. I don’t think she’s in that business anymore.”

“Well. That’s amazing,” I said. I’d had a few run-ins with the news media and I couldn’t say that I liked the sensationalized state of the media, but, in this case, I was actually glad they’d investigated.

“I know,” Nadia said. “But at least we got most of our tour finished before she showed up on the six o’clock news.”

“Yes, I suppose that is a good thing.” And it was one thing I could mark off my list.

Two hours later, Ivan was packing up his paints and arguing with Abby about the placement of a window seat pillow. Gina stood on the other window seat, drilling in the screws to hang the last curtain rod. The bedposts didn’t get made into turrets, but other than that one item, the room had come together quickly with seven people working on it. Tony and I’d just made up the bed and we tossed the last of the decorative pillows on it. I was sure Ivan cringed at our haphazard placement, but it would have to do.

My phone rang and I whipped it up to my ear. “Summer—”

“Hi, Mommy!” Livvy’s voice squeaked in my ear.

“Hi, Livvy. How are you?”

“Okay.” Silence filled the line and I did a quick mental check of the organizational items in the room, expecting my mom’s voice next since Livvy had only been into one-or two-word conversations with me lately.

“Mommy?”

“You’re still there, Livvy? What have you been doing?”

“I got bows. Pink ones.”

“I knew you would,” I said and surveyed the closet. It looked neat and, well, you wouldn’t say spacious, but it was a huge improvement with a shoe caddy and hanging shelves. Clothes were neatly folded in the new chest of drawers, which even had sock dividers. My favorite piece was the bookcase that did double duty with books on the top shelves and bins of toys (with labels, of course) on the bottom shelves.

“Pink’s my favorite color.”

“I know. What else have you done today?”

“Umm…Grammy took me to a store…and…then,” she sighed. “Can’t remember.”

“That’s okay. I’m glad you want to talk to me.”

More silence. “Livvy?”

“Hmm?”

“Is Grammy there?”

“Yes, but I want to talk to you.”

“Okay.” I blew out a breath and tried to focus on the conversation instead of the room. I’d been wanting to talk to Livvy for days and, finally, she wanted to talk to me. There were still several trash bags and bits of paper scattered over the carpet. I closed my eyes. Trash bags could wait. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Don’t know.”

I blew out another breath. I heard my mom’s voice in the background, coaxing Livvy to give up the phone.

Livvy said good-bye and I talked to my mom for a minute, explaining the time crunch we were in, and then hung up with the promise to talk later tonight. I felt terrible. I’d been waiting for Livvy to want to talk to me and now that she finally did, I had to go. Actually, there hadn’t been a lot of conversation. She seemed to want to breathe into the phone. But still.

Gina smoothed out the curtain, pink with white swirls trimmed in black ribbon, and stepped down off the window seat. “Is that it?”

“I think so.” I grabbed the trash bags. Gina replaced the cordless drill in its case and handed it to Tony. Abby and Ivan had compromised on the placement of the pillow and she came over, took the trash bags from me, and said, “Okay, we’re going to get out of your hair so you can have your interview in peace. I called for the hotel shuttle and it’s here.”

There was a flurry of hugs, compliments, and thanks. Then it was just me, Tony, and Ivan in the room. Ivan moved the pillow he’d been arguing with Abby about, repositioning it about forty-five degrees to the left, and stepped back to look at it.

Good grief. It was just a pillow. Tony grabbed his jacket off the floor and said, “Thanks so much for your help. They’re pulling into the driveway now. I’m going to pick up lunch for everyone at a deli. Can I bring you back a sandwich?” he asked as he folded the jacket and put it in the messenger bag he was carrying.

“No, thanks.” I really wanted to get the interview over and try and track down Summer. “And no problem about helping out. I’m glad it all worked out.” I still couldn’t believe that Summer wanted to work for Vicki Archer. If she had Tony, her right-hand man, painting bedrooms pink and running out to fetch lunch, no telling what assignments she’d give to someone even lower in the office hierarchy.

I called out to Tony, “Hey, before you leave.” He paused at the top of the stairs. “Have you heard from Summer?”

“No. I’m going to cover for her with Ms. Archer, but she won’t be pleased when she realizes Summer wasn’t here today. If you and your friends hadn’t helped out, it would have been a disaster.”

“Well, maybe she thought she’d be able to help finish up everything tonight. The photos were scheduled for tomorrow.”

“Right. The schedule’s always fluid. She knows that.” I detected a hint of frustration in his tone, but he covered it quickly. “I’m sure she had a good reason.”

I could hear voices in the kitchen downstairs, so I said, “What was she like when she called you last night? Was she upset or anything?”

Tony shook his head quickly. “She seemed fine, excited almost. You know, her usual upbeat self.” He trotted down the stairs.

When Summer had dropped us off at the hotel last night, she’d been anything but upbeat. Depressed and worried were more apt descriptions of her mood. What had happened to change that? And where
was
she?

I went back to the room to do a quick visual sweep. Ivan was tweaking a curtain tieback. I felt my shoulder muscles relax as I took in the room. Even though it was still cloudy, the fog had lifted and the clouds were thinning. Watery sunlight glowed in the windows. I noticed a strip of silver on the carpet, just under the edge of the bed’s dust ruffle. Expecting a bit of paper or a piece of the metal bed frame, I was surprised to find it was a flash drive, a slim memory chip about two inches long. “Ivan, is this yours?”

He said, “No,” and ran his hand over his bare head. I heard someone pounding up the stairs, so I slipped the memory chip into my pocket. I’d figure out who it belonged to later. I noticed Ivan’s rings were back on and he’d changed into leather pants and a shirt with a pink and black paisley design. Was he trying to match the room? And when had he had time to change? It must have been while Tony and I were talking on the stairs. Well, I couldn’t blame Ivan for wanting to make an impression on the writer. As a small business owner, I knew that any publicity you could get was a bonus. I wished I was wearing something more snazzy than my sleeveless white top and navy skort. Very schoolgirlish next to Ivan’s paisley. Oh well. If I’d known what the day was going to hold I would have had Abby pick out my outfit. I just hoped I didn’t have any pink paint in my hair.

A little girl in a purple jumper embroidered with kites bounded into the room. Her fine blond hair was pulled back into pigtails secured with pink ribbons, which bobbed as she ran to the bookcase and pawed through the toys; then, she noticed the bed. “A castle!” she squealed as she hurtled across the room and landed with a thud that sent pillows and stuffed animals catapulting through the air. Ivan nearly had a seizure.

“Where’s the moat?” she demanded.

As I walked across the Archers’ driveway, I pulled the last Hershey’s Kiss out of my purse. I’d have to restock. The “interview” had lasted about two minutes and I doubted that my name, or Ivan’s for that matter, would end up in the finished piece. He looked as depressed as I felt. In his van, he raised his hand at me, an abbreviated good-bye wave, the weak sun glinting on the gold of his rings, before he reversed out of the driveway.

I’d just spent a good portion of my vacation organizing a bedroom and then I hadn’t even heard the words “thank you” from Vicki Archer. She just said, “Oh. It’s more cutesy than modern, isn’t it?”

What had she expected? Stainless steel and white laminate? And several of my friends had donated their vacation time, too. I felt more irritated about that fact than the lack of appreciation from Vicki. It wasn’t like she was a charity case. She could certainly afford to hire help.

Forget about it
, I lectured myself. I did it to help Summer. Sure, a mention in
Mom Magazine
wouldn’t be anything to pass up, but I was doing it to help Summer get more brownie points with Vicki Archer. The magazine thing was a bonus.

I reached Summer’s apartment and peered in her living room window. For someone so energetic and bubbly as Summer, her place felt remarkably orderly. Except for the boxes that Abby had stacked next to several toys in the entry by the front door, the apartment was immaculate.

The dishes were washed and put away, her kitchen counters were clear. Magazines, an eclectic mix of
Elle
,
In Style
, and
Time
, were arranged neatly on the coffee table. Her laptop, which was closed, sat next to the magazines. A tiny green light on the side blinked every few seconds. I smiled when I saw the pile of junk mail on the couch, thinking about how she’d kidded me about shredding my mail right away. Across the room, next to a bookcase, sat two bins, one piled high with newspapers and the other brimming with envelopes and credit card offers. A shredder, its bin empty, sat next to the junk mail.

I studied the far end of the studio, where her closet lined one wall next to the bathroom. Her hats hung from a row of hooks next to the closet. The closet doors were neatly shut and I could see part of the bathroom. No towels on the bath mat or blow-dryer on the counter. It all looked reassuringly normal.

For some reason, it bothered me.

I pulled out my phone and called her number again. This time when the voice mail came on I left a message. “Summer. I’m standing outside your apartment and I’m starting to worry about you. I haven’t heard from you since last night. Tony says you had an emergency and had to leave. I’m going to use the key you told him about to go in your apartment and look around. I hope you’re not mad, but I’m concerned. Oh, and the deadline for the photo shoot for
Mom Magazine
got moved up to today.”