Someone To Watch Over Me (2 page)

Sarah glanced at Morgan and her eyes watered.
“You don’t have to do this.”

“You deserve one. Mary has been working on a
list and we’re talking about having it about a month from now. We
need you to go over the list to make sure we haven’t overlooked
anyone and give us their addresses.”

Sarah nodded, wiped her eyes, and then
laughed. “I cry at the drop of a hat. It must be all the
hormones.”

Morgan eyes stung, and she blinked, fighting
back the tears that threatened. “You deserve it. Mary and I will
handle everything. All you will have to do is show up.”

Sarah fished through her purse. “Where’s my
Kleenex?”

“Here,” Morgan replied as she skirted around
the display cases, reached the back counter, and pulled out a
box.

The younger woman pulled a few tissues and
dabbed her eyes before stashing them into a pocket of her slacks.
“Let me put my lunch in the fridge and I’ll give you a hand.” Once
Sarah had left the front area, Morgan looked over at Mary. The
older woman’s eyes had a misty film to them. “Here, you take one
too,” Morgan added as she thrust the box at salesperson.

Mary nodded and pulled a tissue. “You know,
your father is proud of you for taking on management of the store
and the fundraiser.”

Morgan smiled and blinked her eyes, fighting
back another round of tears. “Thanks. When you say that, it means a
lot.”

Mary reached out and gently patted Morgan’s
arm. “You’re a chip off the old block. Don’t ever forget that.”

Sarah returned and the trio completed setting
up the display cases. Morgan glanced up at the antique clock on the
wall. “Ladies, we got some time before the store opens. I’m going
down to the Starbucks for a refill. What do you want? My
treat.”

***

Oh my God! She’s here!
He struggled
with the urge to stand up and approach Morgan, but he couldn’t. The
conversation on the phone hadn’t gone as planned. He’d hoped to be
charming, fun, and even witty. So what happened? When Morgan
answered the phone his mind went blank.

Another surprise: Morgan’s reaction. She
should’ve been nice, even interested. Instead, Morgan hadn’t been
happy to hear from him. In fact, she’d been a bitch.

Frank averted his eyes and pretended to study
his computer screen. He sensed her pass him on her way to the
counter. His emotions tossed rational thought around his mind like
a kite in a windstorm. He couldn’t focus. What should he do?
Approach her or wait?

As Morgan placed her order with her back to
him, he studied her with sporadic covert glances. She wore slacks
today. He preferred her in dresses, they showed off her legs. She
had spectacular legs. When alone, he dreamed about Morgan in his
arms. Her brown hair would be loose and falling over a pillow, and
those long legs would be wrapped around him. In his dreams Morgan
wanted him.

He glanced back down to his computer bag.
Tucked inside were souvenirs, taken from her car after she hung up
on him. Morgan probably didn’t know how much she hurt him when she
snapped at him and hung up. Her kind never did.

Morgan turned from the counter carrying a
tray with three cups on it. He glanced up at her and smiled.
“Hi.”

She glanced at him and returned the smile.
“Hi.”

His mind went blank. Say something, the voice
in his head screamed. Here was his chance, but all the words hung
beyond his reach and left him in crippling silence.

Morgan broke eye contact and within seconds
left the café. He exhaled and then took a quick labored draw. To
him, when she left, she took the oxygen in the room with her.

Who was the real Morgan Kennedy? Was she the
bitch on the phone or the woman who smiled at him and said “hi” to
a stranger?

He closed his eyes and angled his head so he
could massage his forehead. “Damn,” he whispered.
I think I
really screwed up.
He opened his eyes, took a sip of his
lukewarm coffee and scanned the room.
Wait till she finds out
about her car.

***

Morgan studied her silver Mercedes. Graceful
loops of neon yellow paint snaked around the hood and the sides of
the car. In some strange way, the bright cheerful color reminded
her of a child’s art project except for the word “bitch” scrawled
on the driver side door. The contents from the glove compartment
lay strewn across the front passenger seat and on the floor. In the
back seat, her gym bag sat ripped open.

The two police officers who responded to her
call donned gloves before they opened the car’s doors. Morgan
shifted position to get a better view at the inside.
What was
the intruder looking for?
She did a quick silent inventory, and
her bra and panties were missing. “Oh my God,” she murmured before
she pressed her fingers to her lips and her stomach churned.

She glanced over to the officer on the other
side of the car as he straightened up after inspecting the front
seat. Their eyes locked, and his wary expression sent waves of
adrenaline washing through her.

He walked toward her with a calm slow stride
as if he didn’t have a care in the world, but the concern in his
eyes reassured her that he took things seriously. He removed a
business card from his pocket. “Ms. Kennedy, I’m Officer Romano.
Any idea who did this?”

Morgan took a deep breath.
What would he
think about her answer?
“Maybe.”

The officer cocked an eyebrow. “Can you
explain that?”

She raked her hand through her hair. “I came
back to the store today from an out-of-town business trip and found
several messages on my voice mail. The caller didn’t say anything
specific. He just called and hung up. I deleted them and chalked it
up to someone calling the wrong number. Until later this morning
when I answered the phone and we spoke.”

“What did he say?”

“Don’t leave me again.” Morgan crossed her
arms and searched the officer’s face in hopes of reading his
response. “The man was creepy. I hung up on him,” she added with a
shrug.

“Did you recognize the man’s voice?”

“No. But I wrote down the phone number and
even tried doing a reverse phone look-up.” Morgan paused and waited
as the officer finished writing. “I thought if I could find out who
he was, I’d report him to you,” she added.

“Do you still have the number?”

She nodded and blinked, her eyes fighting the
sting which promised tears. “I thought this was a practical
joke.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” the officer replied.
“This is no random act of vandalism.” His eyes swung around and he
pointed to the driver’s side door. “This is personal. Is anything
missing?

Morgan gulped. “I can’t be sure about the
glove compartment. I keep receipts for car repairs in there. But I
think he took some articles of clothing.”

“What did he take?”

Personal.
The term pinged through her
mind. Morgan gulped and took a shaky breath. “He took my bra and
panties.” She closed her eyes, raised her hand, and rubbed her
forehead.

“Have you had an argument with anyone you
know lately? What about a disgruntled customer or boyfriend?”

Morgan glanced away from the officer’s gaze
and stared at the cumulus clouds above the mountains in the
distance. She knew where this line of questions would lead, and no
matter what she said, the police would think he did this.

Officer Romano didn’t push her for a
response. He waited. His restraint and the yawning silence applied
even more pressure on her.

“I did break up with my boyfriend recently.
But I’m certain he didn’t do this. This type of thing isn’t his
style.”

She cringed at her last remark.
Not his
style?
Her comment sounded like she belonged on some pseudo
reality TV show. “Officer, what I meant to say is he has no reason
to do this.”

Doubt flickered through the officer’s eyes.
“Would you mind if we contact him?”

Morgan dropped her crossed arms to her sides.
Over the past few minutes, the shock of what happened had faded.
Her temples throbbed as she wiped the beads of sweat from her brow.
Now frustration and anger had arrived fueling what promised to be a
major headache.

“Excuse me, Officer. Can we step inside the
store?”

The policeman flashed a polite smile and
nodded to the store’s back entrance, “After you.”

Morgan opened the door to the jewelry store
and a blast of cool air rolled out. Once inside, she turned and
faced the officer.

“Look, the break up with my boyfriend was
mutual, and we haven’t had any problems at the store.”

“What’s the name of your boyfriend?”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Morgan corrected.

She glared at the officer and then realized
he evaluated not only her answers but her physical response.
He
doesn’t believe me
, she thought as she tamped down the urge to
scream,
hey I’m the victim here
.

She sighed. “His name is Brad Marshall. He’s
a partner at Marshall, Lyons and Smith in downtown Phoenix.”

The officer hesitated before writing the name
down on his pad, and she quickly moved her hand up to her lips to
hide her smirk. The policeman recognized the firm’s name. They
specialized in criminal defense and last year they were at the
center of a media firestorm as they represented a man charged as a
serial killer. As a partner in the firm, there was no way her
former boyfriend would drive to Scottsdale on a Tuesday morning to
vandalize her car.

The officer fidgeted with the pen. “When was
the last time the two of you communicated?”

Morgan crossed her arms. “I don’t know, maybe
two or three weeks ago.”

The officer scribbled on his notepad again.
“What about your mystery caller? Could you have met him at an event
or a club?”

“No,” Morgan replied. “I don’t do the club
scene anymore.”

She crossed her arms and waited for the next
question. The officer’s assumption was a popular one. As part of a
family that owned a successful jewelry store and who actively
worked on charity projects, people thought she led a life of
leisure, juggling manicures and lunches. The truth was far less
glamorous. She studied at the Gemological Institute of America and
when her father had a heart attack several months back she shelved
her jewelry design work to take on day-to-day store management.

The officer slowly closed the notepad. “Can
you give us the phone number you wrote down? We’ll investigate and
get back in touch with you.”

“Of course,” Morgan strode into her office,
retrieved the crumbled sheet of paper from her trash can and
unfurled it. She handed it to the officer, “Here.”

The officer looked briefly at the number
before placing it in the notepad. “We’ll check for a match on the
fingerprints left on your car. But don’t get your hopes up. In the
meantime, you need to be more careful and above all, make sure you
lock your car.”

Morgan nodded and hoped the policeman didn’t
see her cringe.
Idiot! You forgot to lock your car.

She forced a smile. “Thank you Officer
Romano, I’ll be more careful.”

Morgan trailed behind him as he exited out of
the store’s back door. The other policeman had finished dusting for
fingerprints and had packed up. Within minutes, they’d left.

Morgan stood in the doorway and surveyed her
vehicle. She was stranded. Imagine the stares she’d get with the
word “bitch” plastered on the driver’s side. “That would be great
publicity for the fundraiser.”

She turned around and let the back door close
and lock behind her as she headed to her office. With the dinner
and auction in three days, the first order of business was a rental
car, and a tow truck to take her vehicle to the dealership. After
making those arrangements, Morgan left her office and went out to
the front of the store. She nodded at Mary who stood behind the
counter. “How’s it been?”

“Busy. We’ve had quite a bit of pre-charity
auction window shopping.”

Morgan grinned. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Mary crooked a knowing smile. “You shouldn’t
worry. The auction will be a big success.”

“Tell my father,” Morgan quipped. “He’s
convinced that no one can do it as well as he can.”

Sarah padded in from the back rooms and
rubbed her back. “Who are you talking about?”

Morgan smiled. “My father.”

“He’s a force of nature,” Sarah replied. “Can
I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Morgan said.

“Why did your family start the Diamonds in
the Desert Fundraiser?”

Mary coughed, and Sarah shot a quick glance
over at the older woman. Mary pressed her lips together and shook
her head. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” Sarah stammered.

“No,” Morgan replied. “It’s okay.” She
flashed a quick smile at Mary. “My parents started the Diamonds in
the Desert Fundraiser a couple years after my brother’s death. They
wanted to ensure no family had to bear what we did after my
brother, Samuel’s, swimming accident.”

Sarah’s expression became somber. “What
happened?”

Morgan paused. She’d not been asked about
what happened for many years and yet, the pain still felt
fresh.

Sarah put her hands up. “It’s okay if you
don’t want to talk about it.”

Morgan reached out to touch the pregnant
woman. “No. I want to.”

She took a couple seconds to collect her
thoughts. “My brother had always been adventurous, sometimes even
reckless. Samuel and I were swimming in the pool and he’d been
clowning around. He tried a back flip off the diving board and
struck his head.”

“Oh my God,” Sarah said. She looked at Mary
and then back at Morgan. “I didn’t know you were there.”

Sarah’s eyes watered, and Morgan pressed her
fingers to her lips and then dropped them. “I jumped in and dragged
him over to the side of the pool. I kept his head above water so he
could breathe. I screamed for help. My mother heard me and pulled
him out of the pool. He never regained consciousness.” Morgan
gulped and glanced away from Sarah. The young woman was a breath
away from tears, and if Sarah lost it, Morgan would too.