Hell to pay, p.29
Hell to Pay, page 29
“Let me be the judge of it. I’ll be there Monday afternoon.”
“Maybe I’ll be here, and maybe I won’t.”
“You owe this to Dotty,” said Laurel.
“No,” said Katlyn, her voice flat. “You owe it to Dotty.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
The line went dead.
Laurel stared at the phone, unable to tell if the woman had cut her off as a way of ending the conversation or of saying they would never meet in person. She knew she had to go to the city, whether Katlyn Mandell saw her or not. She’d returned her call for a reason, and no matter how much she acted as if she had nothing to tell her, Laurel believed the opposite. Katlyn had called her back because she had much to say. But was Laurel prepared to hear it?
Now she had to get through the weekend in a cloud of cheerful pretense. She had to get to New York and back, and hope she came home with a plan.
TWENTY-EIGHT
IT WAS THE LONGEST WEEKEND of her life. After speaking with Katlyn Mandell, Laurel knew she had to get through the next three days pretending nothing was out of the ordinary, when everything was. She managed to spend the rest of Friday not looking at a clock. She knew the minutes would pass like hours if she kept glancing to see what time it was. For once she was grateful when Isabel became restless, allowing her to focus on the baby for some of the time.
That evening, she and Jeremy had dinner and talked as if it were just another Friday.
“I told Steve I’m staying home on Monday,” Jeremy said, finishing up an easy meal of fish and chips Jeremy had picked up on the way home. Laurel was grateful it was their go-to dinner at the end of the work week.
“And he’s okay with that?” asked Laurel. She’d been secretly hoping things fell through for Jeremy and he had to work his regular hours, giving her a chance to take Isabel with her in the car and quite possibly never come back.
“He has to be. This is my family. You’re my family,” Jeremy said, gently putting his hand over Laurel’s.
She hoped it didn’t indicate he was expecting more than a simple caress that evening. She was finding it difficult to be in the same room with him, let alone the same bed.
“This is great,” she said, afraid the lie was transparent. “Does this mean you’re going to start working from home?”
He shrugged. “I hope so, some of the time. That’s my plan. What’s yours?”
Laurel stared at him, not sure she heard him correctly.
“My plan?”
“For the city, silly! What did you think I meant? Your plan for the future?”
Well, yes.
“I wasn’t sure. We have so many!”
“There’s your trip to Manhattan, and my new schedule, and Isabel’s birthday party …”
Laurel froze. “What about Isabel’s birthday party?”
“It’s a week from tonight,” Jeremy said.
“But that’s not her birthday.”
“Eileen said this was the only time everyone could come, so she’s having it early.”
“Who has a child’s birthday party at night?” Laurel said, grasping for reasons to call it off.
“It won’t be that late,” he replied, “but Luther’s closing the store for this, and he’s open till six o’clock. Eileen wants to accommodate him.”
Laurel felt her blood begin to rise. Eileen had decided on a party. Eileen had invited everyone—whoever they were—before Isabel’s actual birthday because that was when they could make it. Eileen wanted to accommodate Luther’s store hours.
“She seems to be running the show,” Laurel said.
Jeremy looked surprised at her reaction. “This bothers you?”
“Isabel is not her child. She’s not even her grandchild. Why is she taking so much interest in her birthday?”
Jeremy looked away a moment, then back at Laurel. He took a deep breath.
“She’s dying.”
Laurel dropped her fork on the table. It bounced off and crashed to the floor.
“What are you talking about? Isabel is—”
“Eileen,” he said, cutting her off. “Eileen is very sick. She didn’t want you to know it.”
“But she told you?”
“She knew I could keep a secret.”
“Apparently.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” replied Laurel, determined to be as good at keeping secrets as everyone around her.
“You don’t seem very concerned,” Jeremy said. “She’s our friend and neighbor. We’re basically living here because of her. You remember the first time we met her? You nearly jumped out of your skin when she opened the door at the old house.”
The old house. Oh, yes, Laurel remembered quite well how they’d met. She was leaving a note on the door of a house she thought was empty, and suddenly she’d been face to face with Eileen. Sweet, long-suffering Eileen.
“I am concerned,” Laurel said. “I’m just … shocked, I guess. What’s wrong with her?”
“She won’t say,” replied Jeremy. “She just told me she’s not well and she wanted to have this party for Isabel while she still could.”
Great, thought Laurel. Now this is all about giving Eileen a few good memories to carry with her to the grave, where something tells me she won’t stay.
“I’m not feeling well,” Laurel said, pushing her chair out. “I think I’ll go lay down. Just leave the dishes in the sink.”
“I’ll do the dishes!” Jeremy said. “Don’t worry about it. But what’s going on with you?”
“Too much excitement, too many things happening,” said Laurel, getting up from the table. “I’m going to the city. You’re changing work days to stay home more. Eileen’s got two weeks to live, apparently.”
“That’s very harsh, Laurel. Should I call Poppy?”
Turning on him, Laurel said, “Absolutely not! I’m fine, Jeremy. I’m just tired. I talked to Gayle, everything’s set for Monday. Dotty loves the new book. Maybe we’ll have enough to move back to New York, or Philadelphia, or anywhere.”
Jeremy looked at her as if she were talking gibberish. “But we love it here!”
“Right,” she replied, sounding as exhausted as she felt. “We love it here. So very much. I’ll see you later.”
All the while they’d forgotten about Isabel, who had fallen asleep in her high chair. Laurel started to wake her, but stopped when Jeremy waved his hand.
“I’ll take care of her. Just go lie down.”
Laurel nodded. “Promise you won’t call Poppy.”
“I won’t.”
“Or Eileen.”
“Absolutely not.”
As she left the room, Laurel said over her shoulder, “Or Woodsman Joe.”
“What did you say?” asked Jeremy, turning toward her in his seat.
“Nothing.”
A moment later Laurel had disappeared down the hall. She headed straight to the bed and lay down fully clothed. She did not wake up for twelve hours.
TWENTY-NINE
LAUREL WASN’T USED TO SEEING Jeremy home on a Monday morning. It had taken her several moments to realize he was not running late. She’d started to wake him up to tell him he’d overslept. Then she remembered he was not going to work that day, and she felt the dread that had hovered over her all weekend return as she sat up and slid her legs off the mattress.
The baby had woken her up once in the night, but had gone back to sleep. The house was dark and quiet, and she got out of bed to the sound of Jeremy lightly snoring.
She wanted to make her escape then and there. She wanted to put her clothes on, grab Isabel, and be gone before Jeremy woke up. She would not leave a note—that would take too much time. She would be miles away when he figured out she’d left with the baby. He would not think she’d run off. That would come later when he’d called her phone and gotten voicemail, over and over. By then she’d be halfway to … anywhere else, and she would not be coming back.
“You alright, babe?” Jeremy said, turning over slightly and reaching out to put his hand on her back. His voice was groggy as he teetered between waking and sleep.
So much for running away, she thought.
“I’m good,” she replied. “Just excited for the trip.”
“Mmm,” he said, as he rolled back onto his side.
She hadn’t seen Gayle in at least six months. She and Jeremy had taken the bus into Manhattan to see a Broadway show, leaving Isabel with Eileen. They’d decided to split up for a few hours after the matinee, Jeremy to visit some old friends from his acting days, and Laurel to have coffee and conversation with Gayle. The truth was they had never really liked each other’s friends that much, and it was a way for them to enjoy themselves without having to pretend. She knew if Jeremy had gone with her to see Gayle he would keep looking at his watch, just as she would struggle to be part of any conversation he had with his old theater pals, none of whom had made it closer to Broadway than the East Village. It was a mutual understanding, and it had made the visit memorable. Then they’d met up for dinner near Port Authority and caught the last bus back.
She was grateful for the silence in the house. It allowed her to think about the day ahead as she showered and dressed. By the time she was finished with her morning routine, only slightly more involved today because she was going to Manhattan instead of spending her day at home, Jeremy was up and making pancakes for the two of them, with a jar of Isabel’s favorite baby food warming in a dish.
Laurel went into the kitchen and kissed the baby, who was being exceptionally quiet.
“Do you think she knows I’m going away?” Laurel asked, slipping into a seat at the table. “She’s not usually this well-behaved.”
“She knows Daddy’s home,” Jeremy replied over his shoulder. He was flipping pancakes from a pan onto a plate. “She’s in heaven.”
At least one of us thinks so, thought Laurel.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take her with me?” Laurel asked, knowing how nonsensical it was at this point. She fantasized getting off one bus with Isabel and getting onto another one that would carry them far away.
“That’s ridiculous,” Jeremy said. “You’re just having separation anxiety. Relax! I’m home with her. We’re going to have a wonderful day together while you visit the bitch—I mean Gayle.”
“Be nice,” replied Laurel. “It’s been over ten years since she said I could do better. She’s never repeated it!”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“That’s right, you wouldn’t. Just like I wouldn’t know what your friends say about me. So let’s leave it at that. I’ll give her your best.”
“She’ll know you’re lying.”
Jeremy brought the plate over with a stack of six pancakes and proceeded to put three on each of their plates. He put the pan back on the stove and joined Laurel at the table, taking Isabel’s baby food and putting it in front of her. She’d been able to feed herself for the past month, with adult supervision.
“Eat up,” Jeremy said to Isabel. “We’re taking Mommy to the bus stop soon.”
Laurel stared at him. She’d planned on driving her own car. Without Isabel, it didn’t matter, but having him announce they were taking her made her feel as if a trap was getting tighter around her.
“I can drive myself,” Laurel said.
“That’s not necessary. Besides, Isabel loves to ride in the car. We’ll be early anyways to beat the crowd, this way we can keep you company. Now let’s enjoy breakfast.” Jeremy reached for the butter dish with a knife. “Daddy making pancakes is a rare treat. I think I could get used to this.”
Laurel hoped her expression did not betray her emotions. Jeremy staying home with her was the last thing she wanted, even if things weren’t incredibly strange right now. The thought of it made her wonder if this was the beginning of the end, no matter what that end was. She smiled at him and began pouring syrup on her pancakes, about to force herself to eat when she had not really been hungry for days.
The Clinton park-and-ride was always busy. It was a hub for local commuters from the surrounding towns, some coming from as far as an hour away. While plenty of people didn’t mind driving to the city, there was just as many who dreaded it. Laurel and Jeremy had not made the trip with any frequency, but it had only taken a few back-and-forths for them to know it was a last resort. There were trains from Trenton and Princeton, but Laurel much preferred the bus.
Laurel wanted to get a good seat, so they arrived at the bus stop a half hour early. She’d hoped to be dropped off, giving her more time to process her thoughts and less time to second-guess what she was doing. But Jeremy had insisted on waiting with her, the three of them in the car as more people showed up. Finally, when the bus pulled in and there were already two dozen commuters in line, Laurel insisted she had to go.
“I love you, Baby Girl,” she said, turning around and squeezing Isabel’s hand.
“I could say the same to you,” Jeremy said.
Laurel smiled at him. He had called her Baby Girl only once, and she’d told him she didn’t like it. She was a woman.
“I’ll call you when I’m in the city,” she said. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I know you’ll be fine,” he replied. “You have the pepper spray?”
She patted her purse.
“Good. The city’s getting crazier every year,” he said. Then he leaned over and kissed her.
“You two have fun today,” Laurel said, as she got out of the car. She had not asked him if he had any plans for a workday spent at home with their daughter. She’d been too preoccupied.
“Oh, we will. Eileen’s making lunch! Isn’t that right, Baby Girl?”
Isabel waved her tiny arms.
Laurel froze.
“I thought you said she was dying.”
“What does that have to do with making lunch? Let her enjoy herself. She likes to cook.”
And you seem to know a lot more about Eileen than I do, thought Laurel.
“Give her my love,” Laurel said. “And have a great time.”
“I’ll do that,” Jeremy replied. “And you give my love to Dotty.”
She glanced up and wondered if he was toying with her. Did he know Dotty was dead? Was this all part of it, whatever it was?
“Invite her out,” Jeremy added. “It’s about time she saw how her golden goose lives.”
Laurel didn’t like the comment. “She’s an agent. She gets a commission. That’s the way it works.”
“Oh, is it?” he said. “I wouldn’t know.”
The conversation was turning sour and Laurel wanted to avoid that. She leaned in and kissed him one more time.
“Have fun today,” she said, the she closed the door and hurried to get in line for the bus just as everyone began to board.
He resented her success.
He hated her friends.
He knew Dotty was dead.
She found a seat near the back and stared out the window, watching as Jeremy drove out of the parking lot.
It was the freest she’d felt in years.
THIRTY
THE HARDEST PART OF THE bus ride was watching the New York City skyline come into view. Laurel was startled by how much she missed it, and how much she wished she were coming home. She realized, gazing through the window as they approached the city, that it was the one place she had ever really felt comfortable. Her small town in Michigan had been the soil in which she’d grown and developed, and the fertile ground for her imagination when she finally wrote a book about the people and the life in a place just like it. Then she’d spent her college years in Chicago, where life’s twists of fate had brought her Jeremy, and subsequently her beloved Isabel. But even Chicago had not offered her the sort of liberty she felt in Manhattan. It was as if she’d been Dorothy all those years and finally found her way to the Emerald City. And here she was, coming to visit, to try and find out what happened to Dotty, to have lunch with the one person who knew her from Michigan, to talk to a psychic. Excuse me, she thought, as the bus approached the Lincoln Tunnel. An intuitive.
Was it possible Katlyn had intuited something deadly, something dangerous? Had she told Dotty something worth being killed for? Was Katlyn herself in danger? She acted as if she were. She’d avoided Laurel’s phone calls at first, and she’d made it clear she wanted it to end there. But Laurel was insistent. She would decide the ending. Her own ending. She would uncover the truth, and make sure, no matter what it took, that she made it to the other side. She was pondering it all as the bus slid into the tunnel and darkness enveloped them, as it seemed to be wrapping itself around her entire life.
Oliver’s was one of a handful of restaurants that had survived for the long haul. Located on Eighth Avenue between 19th and 20th Streets, it had already been a mainstay of the neighborhood when Laurel discovered it the first time she’d gone to Chelsea Literary to meet with Dotty Barringer. Laurel had been so nervous that day she’d ordered lunch and left it uneaten, but she’d liked the server and the atmosphere, and she’d gone back many times. It was also one of Dotty’s favorite eateries, which gave being there a sense of melancholy and dread. Laurel had gotten there early and taken a booth by a window, watching the passersby while she waited for Gayle. Everything about the place reminded her of her last meeting with Dotty, to discuss the offers coming in for film rights to her first book. That had been a joyous occasion, the complete opposite of how she felt now.
“It’s terrible,” a voice said.
Laurel looked up and saw a waiter standing next to the table. She’d seen him there before but didn’t know his name.
“About Dotty,” he clarified, seeing a look of confusion on Laurel’s face. “You were here with her the last time I saw you. In this same booth.”
Laurel looked at the cushion she was sitting on, and the tabletop. Could this really be the same booth she’d sat in with Dotty last year? It was last year, wasn’t it?
