Authors: Maggie Thom
Captured Lies (3 page)
“Mr. Lund? Miss Bailey Saunders is here to see you.”
Bailey stood by the reception
desk tapping her fingernails on the polished wood surface. The secretary
glared, sniffed indignantly and then turned sideways, her hand cupped around
the phone mike resting against her cheek. She talked quietly into the phone
receiver. A brash, no nonsense voice on the other end of that phone though,
came through the ear piece, loud and clear.
“Right. Uhm, I need the file on
Donna Za–. No. No, forget it. I’ll get it. Give me twenty minutes.”
“Okay.” The receptionist turned
toward Bailey with an insincere smile. “Please have a seat. He’ll be a while.
That’s why you should have an appointment.”
Although Bailey wanted to slam
her hands on the desk, she slid them to her sides and slowly curled her fingers
into her palms until her nails pressed into the flesh. She pasted on as sincere
a smile as the receptionist. “I’m sorry, I didn't get your name?”
“Isabel.”
I’d have guessed Gretchen
.
“Isabel, my name is Bailey. I really need to see Mr. Lund. My mom just died and
I...”
Isabel’s demeanor changed like
the flip of a coin. “I’m so sorry. That’s got to be really tough. I can’t
imagine what that’s like. I’m blessed to have both my parents still alive. I
sure don’t look forward to the day they pass away.”
Unsure of what to do, Bailey
nodded and instinctively took a step back. Something in her actions must have
gotten through to the other woman because she switched back to her professional
self but with a softer edge.
“You have a seat and I’ll see if
I can speed up Mr. Lund. Can I get you something to drink?”
Bailey shook her head before
turning and walking across the expansive chrome and glass lobby. A picture of
the CN Tower in Toronto caught her eye. As she got closer she realized it was a
painting, not a print as she had first thought. It was an incredible picture.
She glanced at the name of the artist. D. Zajic.
Hmmm. Never heard of him.
She had jumped to the conclusion
that the painter was male and smiled ruefully at that slip. She wanted to ask
the secretary about it but was scared the woman would want to continue to talk
to her. Wandering around the office, she looked at all the art work displayed.
All seemed to have the same theme of high rises in Ottawa or Toronto. The rest
of the pictures adorning the walls were nature photographs. Someone had an eye
for seeing the beauty in the mountains and in streams flowing over a rock. The
scenes were amazing.
She stared at one on the wall
directly opposite the receptionist’s desk, which depicted a lake with
overhanging trees in the foreground. On its left was a painting of a river and
mountains. She cocked her head. The scenery looked familiar…too familiar. An
icy chill crawled up her neck and wrapped around to brush at her temples. She
jerked back.
“Excuse me, Miss Saunders. Mr.
Lund will see you now.”
Bailey glanced over her shoulder
at the starched and pressed receptionist walking away.
Shaking off her unease, which she
chalked up to fatigue and stress, she snapped out of her trance and followed.
The receptionist led Bailey to a
plush room that could have housed ten individual offices and paid for probably
twenty furnished. Behind the desk was a well-dressed older man in a blue-gray
fitted suit. His thinning white hair carefully slicked to the side and the hard
lines around his mouth gave away that he was past his prime and nearing
retirement. The curve of his lips would have looked like a smile, except that
it never reached his hard black eyes. He came around his massive cherry wood
desk that was twice the size of her double bed.
“Bails.”
“What?” Her eyes widened as she
stared hard at him, waiting for an explanation.
“Whales. I’m sorry. I was just
finishing up on a case I’m working on.” He extended his hand. “Miss Saunders.
I’m glad to finally meet you.”
She carefully schooled her face
in only a slight frown but her mind was racing. Something wasn’t right. Her mom
was the only one who had ever called her Bails. She tilted her head, wondering
if she had heard him correctly. Exhaustion and a thousand unanswered questions
might have added to her wariness but she knew she needed to listen to her gut
instinct. It had always served her well.
It went against every impulse she
had but knowing it was the expected norm, she accepted his handshake but
dropped his hand as soon as was acceptable without being rude.
“I’m really sorry for your loss.
It was such a shock.”
Scrutinizing him, she asked, “You
weren’t aware of her being sick?”
His eyes remained hard and fixed on
her for a moment before he reassumed his seat behind the desk. “No. No. I was
quite surprised that she had died.”
Bailey pondered what she knew but
nothing added up. She continued to examine his facial expression. “Yet she had
her funeral organized and paid for. Who put up the money?” She sat on the plush
leather chair facing him.
“Donna told me you’d be full of
questions. Even if I knew, I couldn’t tell you, Client Confidentiality.” He
sounded smug.
His attitude grated. “You don’t
know?”
“What I can share with you is
what’s in Donna’s Will and that her funeral was paid in full, in cash.”
“What’s in her Will?”
“Customarily we discuss that
after the funeral.”
Bailey glowered at him.
He grabbed a file on top of a
stack to his left. “Well…” He read aloud the formal introduction and sailed
through the three pieces of paper that were the last connection she had to her
mom.
She wrapped her mind around the
information and asked, “Essentially I get everything except the house? What
about the Dandy Candy store and inventory?” She slumped back in the soft
leather chair.
“Uhm, there’s a letter to do with
the store.” He picked up an envelope.
She accepted it from him barely
restraining herself from ripping it from him and running from the room. Turning
away from him, she opened it, careful not to distort or ruin any of the doodles
on it. She read the note inside then put it in her purse, careful to hide the
extra page that was in the envelope. She’d save that to decipher later.
“What the hell is going on?” Her
fists thumped against her thighs. She strode over to the large windows that
overlooked the river valley. The Bow River flowed freely, winding through the
concrete and noise to continue on its journey from the mountains across the
prairies. She wanted to walk right into it and let the water take her where it
would. Tempting, but she had to get this over with. She sighed.
Turning, a framed picture on the
wall caught her attention. The name “D. Zajic” was again scribbled in the
bottom right hand corner. The picture was a tree with branches that draped over
a creek.
The cabin was nestled in
trees, with the gurgle of a river nearby. The rutted road was rough and
overgrown, hiding the entrance. She was running and laughing. A man was chasing
her. She giggled and ran faster, loving the game they played.
****
Lund picked up his phone and
dialed a number he knew well. “I need you to follow her. Keep me informed of
who she talks to. Where she goes. What she does.” He almost said what she
finds.
“All right. Fifty thousand up front.”
“That’s pretty steep.”
“Yeah and you wouldn’t be coming
to me if you weren’t desperate.” Lund’s caller laughed. “Is she a looker?”
“Touch her and you’ll answer to
me.” He shuddered as he thought about Payme’s grimy appearance – stringy,
matted brown hair, grease stained clothes, runners that looked more like
sandals now. At least that was how he looked the last time he’d seen him and
kept his butt out of jail.
“Good one. You might be a big
shot in your world. But you’re nothing in mine. Remember that. The price goes
up if I have to dispose of anyone.” Payme, as he had been dubbed due to the
graffiti he always wrote by his victims, ‘pay me with your death’, might have
been a small, wiry man at 5’4” but also very deadly. Lund had hoped never to
use Payme again, once had been more than enough. Unfortunately, fate had a
different agenda and he needed someone who was loyal enough and could take her
out, if the necessity came. He’d rather not get his hands dirty again, if he
didn’t have to.
“Hopefully we won’t have to
discuss that. Just keep me informed.” He set down the receiver with a shaky
hand, knowing that he was into something that may backfire on him. He was
already going to hell for what he did. What he was. What he had done.
This, though, was something he’d
thought would die with Donna. Only she’d taken that photo that had been taken
of him a long time ago and hidden it. Actually she’d led him to believe she’d
gotten rid of it but the photocopy that had arrived just that day, had been
enough for him to know it still existed. He’d burned that little present in a
pail with a liter of gas. It had been like Donna had reached out from her grave
to let him know he wasn’t off the hook. He’d pay for what he’d done to her.
It had been an invigorating game,
letting Donna think she’d been in control. He could have taken her out at any
time. He’d made so much money because of her. He’d been the one in control but
she’d had no idea. She thought she’d been running him. He chuckled as he sat up
straight in his chair and slowly climbed to his feet. It had been too easy.
She’d been a scared rabbit, trying to act all tough. He was going to miss her
hard smackin’ demands. She’d fed him so much information about all those men in
government. Her husband included. Really he was going to miss her. She’d given
him enough to blackmail at least fifty more people. Ah… the sins of the rich and
powerful.
He brushed his hand back over his
hair as he made his way across the room to his scotch. As he reached for a
glass, he froze.
What if someone else finds it?
Feeling light-headed for a
minute, he rested his fingers on the table to steady himself. The picture
should have been little more than an embarrassment. One that he could have
created some elaborate story around. One that made him seem more like a victim.
His in-laws didn’t like him and would do anything to get rid of him. That photo
might lead them to look at him more closely. Right now he was an annoyance they
tolerated but it wouldn’t take much to shift that image. If they knew the photo
existed...to him the things he’d done to protect himself - the bribes, the
blackmail, the man he’d murdered, the extortion - and the lifestyle he lived,
were acceptable. People finding out about him and his real preferences in life,
was not. He made a lot of money from just that kind of secret. If his were
known…
He shuddered. He couldn’t take
the chance. His game of twenty-nine years was going to have to come to an end.
He just had to make sure that not all parties were aware of what exactly he’d
been playing at. It had been so damn invigorating and thrilling, especially
knowing that there was a degrading picture of him that would have solved all of
their problems, had they gotten their hands on it. One of them would surely
like to actually put the bullet between his eyes that he’d been threatened with
on many occasions.
He had started it and now must
end it.
All because of a damned picture.
“Oh Heavenly Father please accept Donna into your arms. Take
care of her for those on earth who loved her…”
The minister’s voice droned on.
Bailey bowed her head, letting the tears fall freely. She couldn’t understand
why her mom hadn’t told her she was ill. They never really talked about
anything personal, ever unless it was a fight, but she didn’t think that was an
excuse for her mom not to tell her something of this magnitude.
Bailey dug in the right pocket of
her long, blue coat, to dig out a fresh tissue. All she managed to find was a
mangled one that had seen better times. The left one was already full of used
ones. She held the shredded pieces together and blew her nose as best she
could. Stuffing it back in her pocket she raised her head. The few other
attendees, whom she had no idea who they were, still had their heads bowed.
Thankful for the reprieve from the, I’m-so-sorry look everyone was giving her,
she looked straight up. Clouds and blue sky mixed, letting the sun play hide
and seek. She let herself drift with the ever changing sky, blanking out all
that was going on around her. A stiff breeze whipped around her, enveloping her
in its cool biting presence. She shivered. She shifted from foot to foot.
Normally two-inch heels didn’t bother her but today they were pinching like
crab pincers. The minister’s voice carried on in that monotone voice that was
an instant sleep inducer. She tuned him out. Sleep was something she could use.
About seventy-two hours worth.
But not yet.
She had just a conversation with
her mom the week before. It had been awkward and stilted and about the weather
and politics rather than their fight several days before. Her mom never said a
word about being unwell.
But she’d known.
Bailey clenched her hands. She
was tempted to look at her watch but she could hear her mom telling her it
would be just plain rude. ‘It’s over when it’s over.’ She didn’t want to do
anything that would upset her mom on this day. Maybe she could do something
just once that would make her mom proud.
The pressure sitting on her chest
felt like a hundred pound anvil, teetering, ready to crash. Anger, frustration,
anguish, fear, sadness, rolled, twisted and churned in Bailey’s stomach, as all
the times she and her mom used to fight, ran through her mind. They came fast
and furious, spinning like a top, zipping from one to another and back again.
Startled by the speed with which it hit, she looked around feeling exposed,
like everyone knew what she was thinking. And thinking she deserved it.
She forced her thoughts to other
things. Had she called Tina before she left? She hoped that her friend hadn’t
driven across the city to find out she wasn’t at her office. A niggling memory
of planning something with Tina and Deb this weekend popped into her mind but
she couldn’t remember what exactly. She’d have to call them.
They’d be mad. It wasn’t the
first time. The other times had involved her mom too. Not that her friends knew
that. She’d never discussed her family or lack of it. This was another rule
she’d had to live by.
It’s all fixable.
Looking up, her gaze was caught
by the sight of the casket. The finality of what it meant slammed into her.
This… this isn’t fixable.
She buried her face in her hands
and pushed hard. Not here. Not now. She wanted privacy when she let loose. Up
until now she’d been too numb to really take it in. But this…this was final.
There was no going back. No, ‘I’m sorry Mom. We disagree but that’s okay I
still love you.’
Why didn’t you tell me you
were sick Mom? Or did you?
The time, a few months before,
when she’d left her friends high and dry, to zip home because of her mom’s urgent
and very bizarre phone call, wouldn’t be pushed away. Her mom had phoned and
demanded that Bailey come home immediately.
She’d panicked and taken the next
flight. It had been a really bizarre week. Her mom had insisted she just needed
to see her daughter, they didn’t spend enough time together but she wouldn’t
share more than that. She had sworn she was just lonely, feeling bad about the
relationship they had. Everything had felt off. Bailey had felt queasy, the
same feeling she’d had growing up, every time they’d fled from their latest
location. At her mom’s insistence, she’d finally put her mom’s bizarre behavior
down to stress, being overworked, worrying too much about the store, about
Bailey being in the news.
But maybe it had been something
else.
Was it part of your illness,
Mom?
Bailey sighed. Exhaustion rolled
over her like a Mac truck. Her hands fell to her sides, her shoulders sagged,
her chin fell to her chest and her mind went blank.
“She was taken from us…”
Bailey shook her head, trying to
deny what was happening. Stretching her eyes open wide, she blinked several
times. Restlessly she shuffled her feet. The scent of lilac drifted up to her.
The funeral home had taken care of every detail. The gravesite was littered
with a carpet of lilacs. Her mother’s favorite flower and smell from her
childhood. One of the few memories she had shared with Bailey. That and that
there were no living relatives. And the rest of her childhood was too painful
to share – especially as to why there was no other family.
“Let’s bow our head in prayer. Oh
Heavenly Father…”
Bailey closed her eyes while the
reverend recited the words. Not because she was following the ritual of prayer
but because she didn’t have the energy left to keep them open. She clasped her
hands in front of her. A strong spring breeze whipped around her, slicing
through her thin dress coat.
“Excuse me, Miss Saunders?”
It took a moment for Bailey to
realize the Minister was talking to her. She blinked at him. Genuine concern
was etched in his features and it pulled at Bailey with the deepest yearnings
of an emotionally starved child. She barely caught herself from leaning against
him. Just for a moment she wanted someone to take this away.
Stand on your own two feet,
Bails. I didn’t raise a weakling.
Bailey snapped upright as her mom’s words
popped into her mind.
“The service is done. Your mom
will be laid to rest in the ground later today….”
Bailey blinked several times. Too
numb to talk or to really understand what he was saying, she nodded. Squeezing her
hand, he said, “May God be with you.”
“Thank you Reverend,” she mumbled
in return. He moved off towards a waiting car. The funeral was finally over.
Could she finally go home and…. and….
“Hello. We’re Mr. and Mrs.
Prichard.” They grasped Bailey’s limp hand. “We’re so sorry for your loss.”
Bailey turned and smiled wanly at
them.
“We were regulars at your mom’s
store. She found some of the most exotic candies I’ve ever tasted. That Delafee
Chocolate she imported was very expensive but it was to die for.” The woman’s
eyes opened wide as what she said registered. She turned a bright shade of red.
“She’d never give away her secrets as to where she got her stuff. She was a
very mysterious lady but such a pleasure. I’m really sorry she’s gone.”
Bailey nodded, not sure what else
to do. “Thank you. Mom would be happy you’re here.” The middle-aged couple
moved off towards a beautiful red convertible.
“Ooooohhhhh. My dear–”
“How tragic. This is just so
wrong–”
“Your mom was in the prime of her
life. I’m so sorry.”
Two stooped, cane-carrying ladies
moved right into her face and talked over the top of each other. Bailey looked
from one to another and then gave up trying to figure out who was saying what.
“It’s never the right time. But
she’s with God now–”
“She’s walking in the hands of
the Lord…”
It dawned on her that these two
might just be professional funeral goers. Her mom didn’t have any best friends.
Or real friends, for that matter. Everyone was just an acquaintance. That was
one of the things they’d argued about over the years. Her mom had taught her
from a young age, don’t make friends, they’ll just hurt you or you’ll hurt
them.
Her friends Tina and Deb
immediately came to mind. Isn’t that what she’d done to them? Again. And again.
She’d tried to make them friends, thinking it would solve everything but it
only created headaches. She sucked at it as she felt she did at most things in
her life.
“Thank you. Excuse me.” Bailey
moved back from the two women who were openly bawling like they’d lost their
very own child. Sidestepping them, Bailey made her way around the gravesite. A
couple and a young girl of about twelve stepped in front of her. Bailey tried
to hide her annoyance.
“Hi. We’re sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Bailey tried to go
around the threesome but the woman put her hand on her arm, detaining her.
Bailey looked at them blankly.
“Your mom was so good to Taylor.”
The woman smiled at her daughter. “She used to come watch Taylor dance. She
taught her more about ballet then I think the instructors did. Our Taylor
blossomed under your mom’s teachings.”
Bailey nodded. It wouldn’t do any
good to tell them they were at the wrong funeral. She’d begged her mom to put
her in dance but her mom had said it was a waste of time and it was expensive.
Who’d pay for it? She doubted her mom even knew what a plié was. The
woman gave her a quick hug before they moved off.
Everyone had gone. She took a
deep breath then turned to look at her mom’s casket. The beautiful black onyx
shone as though under a spotlight, draped with a white satin scarf and a large
bouquet of flowers - daisies, irises, carnations, tiger lilies, pansies, roses
and several others she didn’t know. It exploded with colors - reds, oranges,
yellows, purples - and reminded her of the hill in 'The Sound of Music’,
her mom’s favorite movie.
I think you would have loved
it, Mom.
Bailey pressed her hands together as though in prayer and pressed
them against her lips for a minute. Her mind went on rapid fire.
Were there enough flowers? Were
they the right ones? Was that the right outfit for her Mom? Did it really
matter what she wore? The blue one was her favorite. All those frills. The red,
sleek dress was the one Bailey would have chosen. It was something else from
the old days her mother wouldn’t talk about. Her mom had obviously arranged for
the blue outfit. The funeral home already had it. But who had given it to them?
How long had her mom known she was dying? Who had paid for the funeral? What
else hadn’t she been told?
She took in several calming
breaths.
When can I get out of here? When can I go back home?
Her mom’s
stuff had to be gone through. Then she could go.
Should I have found more
people to come to this?
The letter from her mom had made
it clear she had not wanted her death advertised anywhere, definitely not in
the newspaper. Putting up a small notice at the shop stating it was closed
until further notice couldn’t be construed as advertising. Only the people who
had phoned her cell to find out when it would open again had been told her mom
had died. Walking backward she took one last look before bowing her head. Pain
radiated through her skull with the blunt force of being hit by a hammer.
Stopping, she pressed her fingers into her temples and counted to ten.
Maybe this’ll all disappear
and I’ll wake up.
She looked about. A bleak, bleary
day greeted her along with a clear view of her mom’s casket sitting over the
open hole that was ready to swallow her. Bailey spun around. Her eyes lit on
her car. Walking briskly, she moved towards it.