Authors: Lis Wiehl,April Henry
“Good morning.” Leif gave Nic a nod. Completely professional.
So why did it feel like someone had reached into her chest and given her heart a twist?
He hefted the pot. “Do you want some?”
This was harder than she had thought. Why had she ever given in to him in the first place? She should have kept her private life separate from her work life. She had lived by that principle for ten years. Every night when Nic left work, she tried to really leave it, putting it out of her mind as soon as she put her key in her car’s ignition. And at work, she made no mention of her home life. But Leif had slipped past her defenses.
“Want some?” he repeated, and Nic realized she hadn’t answered. Her eyes met his for a minute. He held her gaze without a flicker, but she saw how much it cost him to keep his words light. She had pushed him away with every weapon at her disposal, except the truth.
Now she wanted to fall to her knees, lean her forehead against his thighs, and weep. Tell him how afraid she was that her life was already lost, that she was walking around like a living woman who was soon destined to be bones moldering in a coffin.
Instead she just said “sure” and held out her cup. Careful not to meet his eyes again.
Channel Four
C
assidy Shaw,” Cassidy said in a distracted tone. She was working on a story about a man who had conned dozens of Portland-area women into giving him money, clothes, cars, credit cards, and worst of all—love.
“Someone for Jenna on line one,” Marcy, the receptionist, said. “I told them she wasn’t here, and they asked to speak to one of her coworkers.”
“Who is it?” Cassidy felt a twist of annoyance.
Coworker
sounded like peer. Really, Marcy was far more Jenna’s coworker than Cassidy was. The girl had called in sick over the weekend, but no one knew when she would be back. Supposedly she had some kind of flu. With Cassidy’s luck, Jenna would show up in a day or two with a pretty flush and looking even thinner.
“A motel in Southwest Portland. The Barbur Bargain Motel.”
A motel? Cassidy had wondered if Jenna was really off enjoying the spring sunshine. But maybe she was carrying on some kind of torrid affair.
“Put it through,” she said with considerably less annoyance and more interest.
“Hello?” A man’s voice.
“This is Cassidy Shaw. I understand you’re trying to get hold of Jenna. Unfortunately, she’s out today, and I don’t know when she’ll be back. Can I help you?”
“Hm . . . are you a friend of hers?”
“Jenna?” Sensing it would be worth her while, she said, “We’re very close. We’re practically like sisters.” Well, they
were
, Cassidy thought. Jenna could be the younger sister who was always jealous of her older sister’s poise and success.
“We have something of hers that she left here.”
Cassidy imagined a sexy black teddy, a pair of fur-lined handcuffs. There had to be a way she could use whatever it was as a weapon. “What is it?”
“Her purse and car keys. The housekeeper found them in one of our rooms. We got this number from her business card.”
Purse and car keys?
The little matter of Jenna having business cards Cassidy would address later. “When were they found?”
“Sunday around noon.”
Today was Tuesday. “Why didn’t you call yesterday then?”
He sighed noisily. “Look, lady, a lot of people don’t come here because they just need a room for the night. They come here because their house just got foreclosed on and this is the only place they can afford. Or they’re here to see someone at the hospital. Or they come here because they fell in lust with someone who’s not their spouse and they need someplace private. We’re more for emergency situations, like. I would never have tried to get hold of this Jenna lady at her house— but I figured her work would be okay.”
The reality of what he was saying began to sink in. Cassidy would never be more than five feet from her purse. Every woman she knew was the same way. So how could Jenna have simply left it behind? And her keys? That made even less sense. She tried to remember what Jenna drove.
“Let me ask you something. Is there a black Honda in your parking lot? I think it’s an Accord.”
“Parked at the far end of the lot. Is that her car?”
“It sounds like it. And it’s hard to imagine Jenna leaving her purse and keys. Why didn’t you turn her things over to the police?”
“We figured she had to leave suddenly. It happens.”
Cassidy imagined irate spouses recognizing certain vehicles as they drove past. “And you’ve heard nothing from her since she rented the room,” she said, thinking out loud.
“It was actually two rooms.”
“What?”
“She rented two rooms,” he said. “Right next to each other.”
“You mean one of those suites where there’s a door in between and you can lock it or not?”
“No. They’re adjacent, but there’s no interior connection.”
This was making less and less sense. “Okay, you said you found her purse and keys,” Cassidy said. “What about the other room? Was anything found in it?”
“No. But there was something missing. The bedspread.”
Cassidy had a bad feeling about this. “Could you hold on to her keys and purse for a little while? I need to do some checking.”
After she hung up, Cassidy made a few phone calls, but hit nothing but dead ends. Then she called Allison. “What are you working on today?”
“Nicole and I are prepping for a grand jury presentation tomorrow. Why?”
“Do you think the three of us could grab a quick lunch? Because I think something’s wrong, but I’m not sure. I need your advice.”
“What’s wrong?”
Cassidy looked around to make sure no one was listening. It was second nature, making sure her stories stayed hers. Then she realized who she was subconsciously trying to hide from.
Jenna
.
“Something bad might have happened to our intern.”
“That Jenna person?”
“That Jenna person,” Cassidy echoed. “I can’t decide if I should keep my nose out of it or call the police. That’s why I want to run it past you guys.”
Allison conferred with Nicole, and the three of them agreed to meet in an hour at one of the many dedicated food cart areas scattered throughout the city. The carts were a popular addition to the Portland food scene. Even if you could only cook one thing, if you did it really, really well, with a cart you might be able to scratch out a living making it. And without the expense and overhead of opening a real restaurant.
This area was only a few blocks from Portland State, so it was popular with students as well as office workers. It was within walking distance for Allison and Nicole, and only about a mile from Channel Four. But Cassidy’s four-inch heels made the distance prohibitive, so she drove. The day was overcast, but it wasn’t raining, which made it a fine spring day by Portland standards.
They met up on the corner and began debating what to get. It seemed like new carts had sprung up overnight. Cassidy ended up with a pulled pork waffle from Parkers Waffles. Allison ordered a sandwich stuffed with handmade mozzarella and sun-dried tomatoes from the Portland Soup Company. And Nicole gravitated toward Asaase, a brightly painted green, yellow, and red cart. The man who served her wore a tall blue turban that nearly touched the ceiling of his tiny trailer.
“So what kind of food is that?” Cassidy asked Nicole as they walked across Fourth Avenue to the little park tucked behind an office building. It all looked fried, which in Cassidy’s mind was a good thing.
Nicole popped a round orange-yellow slice of something into her mouth. “Afro-Caribbean. The people are from Trinidad. The husband’s a reggae musician.”
Cassidy tried to remember where Trinidad was, but she was more intrigued by Nicole’s food. Pulled pork on a waffle had sounded exotic, but now she wished she had ordered something different. “What are those?”
“Fried plantains.” Anticipating Cassidy’s next question, Nicole held out her paper plate. “Want to try one?”
Cassidy picked up one of the circles. It was cut like a coin, yellow with crispy black edges from its time in the fryer. She popped it into her mouth. It was hot and sweet and soft. And irresistible. “Is this some kind of sauce?” she said, generously dipping another coin into the bright red sauce squiggled on the edge of Nicole’s plate.
“Actually,” Nicole started, “I think that’s pretty ho—”
Too late. Cassidy’s tongue was already on fire. Tears sprang to her eyes as she waved her hand in front of her mouth.
Allison shoved an open carton of milk into her hand. “Quick. Drink this. The milk fat will help wash away the oils.”
Cassidy followed orders. Blessed coolness spread across her tongue. Allison
should
be a mother. She already knew all the tricks.
Nicole pointed at another of the goodies on her plate, a folded triangle of fried pastry. “That sauce was for the samosa. It’s kind of bland without it. They told me they make the sauce themselves from Scotch bonnets. That’s one of the hottest peppers in the world.” She wagged her finger. “So will that teach you not to eat off someone else’s plate?”
Cassidy chugged the last of the milk and grinned through her tears. “What do you think?”
Sharing a laugh, the three of them settled on a bench.
Allison turned serious. “So what’s up with Jenna?”
Cassidy explained about the phone call from the hotel. “I’ve called her cell. Straight to voice mail, like it’s turned off. And the answering machine at her apartment just has one of those really long beeps, you know, like when someone already has a million messages. I even managed to get in touch with her college advisor and got her parents’ number in Florida, but Jenna wasn’t there, and they didn’t know anything. I tried to make it sound like it was my mistake in case it was nothing.”
Nicole looked serious. “And she left her purse and keys?”
“That’s not all.” Cassidy blew air out of her pursed lips. “Her car is still parked in the lot.”
“Does she have a roommate?” Allison asked. “Or a boyfriend?”
“No roommate. And a boyfriend back home. Jenna flirts with anyone in pants, but never more than that. That I know of.” Cassidy had often wondered if the whole boyfriend thing was an act, designed to make Jenna a little more valuable.
“So what do you think of the idea of her meeting someone at a motel?” Nicole tossed her now empty plate into the garbage can next to her. “I know where the Barbur Bargain is. That place is a dive. From what you’ve said about Jenna, she’d be more likely to end up at a hotel with turndown service and a gourmet chocolate on the pillow.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t seem like her. The only reason I can think she would be out there was that maybe she was meeting a source for a story. She’s always looking for anything that will make her stand out when she graduates. Although I have no idea why she would rent two rooms.”
“I have a buddy at the Portland police,” Nicole said. “I’ll ask him to have someone on patrol look at the rooms. See if the hotel manager missed anything.”
Allison touched Cassidy’s arm. “And you should ask around and find out what story Jenna was working on.”
“Sure,” Cassidy agreed, taking the last bite of her waffle.
Although she knew there was no point in asking. If Jenna had been working on a story, she wouldn’t have shared it with anyone else for fear it would be assigned to a more veteran reporter. She would have waited until she was so deeply woven into the story that it would have been impossible to tease her out.
Cassidy had taken the same approach herself.
Back when she had been a Jenna.
Bridgetown Medical Specialists
T
he human body, when confronted with a threat, naturally responded with fight or flight. It wasn’t designed to sit patiently with a two-year-old copy of
Better Homes & Gardens
.
Nic was beginning to realize just how much waiting there would be in her future. Waiting for the day of an appointment to arrive. Waiting to see the doctor. Waiting for test results.
The universe certainly had a sense of humor. Nic hated waiting. She hated pills, doctors, and needles. And most of all, she hated being forced to admit she needed help.
Today, she had come prepared for the wait with her BlackBerry and a thick stack of files. But when she checked in for her one thirty appointment, all that happened was that they drew some blood. Then it was back to the waiting room while the minutes ticked by and a succession of people filed in to join in the waiting or eventually have their names called to go back. Some of those who left later came back, walking toward the lobby with red-rimmed, unseeing eyes.
Propped up next to Nic’s chair was a huge brown envelope—24 x 36 inches—looped twice with a thin cord and containing her films. Dr. Magel had given them to Nic and asked her to hand-carry them to the breast surgeon. When she took them, she had felt like she was carrying her future. But it turned out to be written in a language she couldn’t read. In the privacy of her garage, out of Makayla’s sight, she had undone the cord and sneaked a peek at the images, but they had meant nothing to her.
Soon, though, the surgeon would look at them. Today would mark another turning point. Just like the day she found the lump. The day she told Leif to leave her alone. And now the day she became the patient of a surgeon who specialized in breast cancer patients.
Nic desperately wanted off the conveyor belt that had been set in motion. Her foot jigged faster and faster.
“That’s it,” she finally said out loud but to no one in particular. “I’m not going to wait any longer.” Nic picked up the envelope, gathered up the rest of her things, and stopped by the front desk. “I’ve been here nearly two hours without anyone saying boo to me. I need to go.”
“Now just wait a minute, honey,” said the receptionist. She was an older black woman with cornrows.
Nic pressed her lips together. “I think I’m done waiting. My office was expecting me back an hour ago.”