Live and Let Die (23 page)

“Excuse me. Excuse me,” Sondra called out as she reached the woman.

“Yes?”

Sondra held out her hand. “Hi,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I’m Sondra Ellis. Phillip’s sister-in-law. Well, I guess former sister-in-law. He still works here, right?”

The woman eyed Sondra, skeptical. “Yes, he works here,” she said. “He should be here any minute.”

“Oh. Oh, good! I’m actually glad we had a chance to talk before he got here. Forgive me if I sound rude, but I thought he said you stayed home?”

The woman placed her hand on her hip and stared Sondra down. “I’m sorry, but what do you want?”

“Oh, gosh, Paula, I’m sorry to—”

The woman cut her off. “Paula? Wait, did you just call me Paula?”

Sondra frowned. “Yeah?”

“I’m not Paula. That’s his wife. I’m Camille. I just work for Phillip.”

Sondra saw the words tumble out of the woman’s mouth, but wasn’t quite able to catch them. “Excuse me?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “
Paula
is his wife. Phillip and I just work together.”

“Oh, my… God, wait, wait a minute.” Sondra groped inside her bag for the picture. “Phillip sent this picture of the two of you to my mother and said you were married.” Sondra held the picture up in front of Camille, an anxious look on her face. Camille took the picture and looked at it a moment before she handed it back to Sondra.

“Yeah, that’s me. It was taken at our Christmas party last year. Are you sure that’s what he said?”

Sondra looked back down at the picture clamped between her trembling fingers. “I don’t understand. I know he said—” She glanced back up to see an irritated Camille gazing at her. Sondra gave up, knowing if she tried to explain this whole mess, the woman wouldn’t believe it anyway.

“You know, I’m mistaken. He never said that.” Sondra dropped the picture back into her bag. “Look, I would appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to him about this. I want to surprise him… kind of a family thing. Please? Don’t say anything?”

The woman set a hard stare on Sondra for a few seconds before she rolled her eyes and nodded. “Yeah, fine whatever. I gotta get to work.” She pulled a duffel bag out of the trunk, slammed it shut and went to step around Sondra.

“Oh, um, just one more thing.” Sondra opened up the crumpled piece of paper that she had shoved into the pocket of her jeans before she left New York. “Can you tell me how to get to Red Rose Lane?”

Camille rolled her eyes again. “Yeah, just go out to Miller Road here, make a right, take that about three miles until you see a sign for The Crossings, where you will make a left. Then make another left at Red Rose Lane. Can’t miss it.”

“Thanks so much,” she said as she turned back towards the rental car. Sondra slid into the front seat, replaying her encounter with Camille.

She heard her phone jangle from inside her purse. She dropped her hand inside until her fingers closed around it. It was Cecily.

“Hi Cecily, I can’t talk right now.”

“Sondra, listen, it’s important.”

“If you’re gonna tell me to go to the police—”

“We got a call from a guy who knows Phillip. A doctor.”

“What kind of a doctor?”

“A psychologist. Sondra, listen, I need to let you know what he told us.”

Sondra gripped the steering wheel. “What?”

Cicely sighed. “According to this guy Keegan—”

Sondra’s phone went dead. She groaned and looked at the battery and realized she’d forgotten to charge the phone.

“Damn,” she muttered and threw the phone onto the passenger seat. She’d have to call Cicely when she got back to the hotel. She sighed again, wondering what to do about Phillip. She checked her watch and bit her bottom lip. Paula. She’d visit with Paula. Maybe she could glean some insight about Phillip. Sondra wrinkled her nose as she started the car. Paula could be the key to all of this.

Paula.

Why would Phillip try to pass another woman off as his wife?

Paula.

What didn’t he want them to know?

Paula.

Carole.

Camille.

Tracy.

Paula.

Carole.

Tracy.

Tracy.

“Fuck!” Sondra pounded the steering wheel. “Fuck!”

Tracy had been alive all along.

“That son of a bitch. He lied and lied. To all of us. He killed Carol and said it was Tracy, he said Camille was Paula and… ugh… dammit.” Sondra slammed her foot on the accelerator, racing to get to her sister. Too late, she realized she had skidded through a red light as she saw the blur of lights and heard the sickening crunch of metal right before she passed out.

P
aula stepped back to admire her work. The white tufts of carpet gleamed and the scent of lilies from the shampoo mixed with the roast cooking in the oven. She smiled as she hauled the steamer back into the laundry room and started humming. She stopped. She’d never done that before. She shook her head and smiled, elated as she realized she didn’t need the vitamins anymore. She wanted to wait a few days before she told Phillip. She knew he only did what he thought was right. She just didn’t need them anymore. Surely, he would be happy to know all his good work had enabled her to feel better than she ever had.

She still didn’t believe that Cindy Cross woman that one of her vitamins was to keep her from getting pregnant. Paula shook her head. Like
she
had a medical degree. Paula pulled out her roast to baste it before shoving it back into the oven. She went to the pantry to pull down her ingredients for the peach cobbler they would have for dessert that night. The buzzer on the dryer sounded and Paula loaded her laundry basket with Phillip’s shirts and khakis. She tiptoed across the still-damp carpet to the bedroom and turned the basket over on the bed. She went to grab a handful of hangers out of the closet when she frowned and looked at the plastic hanger in her hand. Had she always used plastic? Didn’t she use wooden hangers once? Paula looked over at her side of the closet and had another flash as she looked at the array of housedresses. She blinked as an image of a long white coat with black piping flashed across her mind. Paula shook her head to wipe away the image.

“Silly,” she mumbled as she quickly hung up Phillip’s clothes. She’d iron everything later. Paula headed back to the kitchen to start work on her peach cobbler.

S
ondra moaned as her eyes drifted open. It felt like someone had thrown a pile of bricks on top of her head. She could hear a faint beeping in the background. She was lying in a bed and wherever she was, it was dark. She went to put her hand to her forehead and realized an IV was snaking out of the vein in her arm.

“Holy shit,” she mumbled as she looked around. The hospital. She was in a hospital. The accident came rushing back to her. She’d run a red light and didn’t have time to swerve before a black SUV came screeching towards her.

“Oh, my God,” she said as she felt pain jolt through her. The door creaked open, bringing a flood of fluorescent light. A tall redheaded nurse came into the room, a bright smile on her face.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake. You’ve been out all day.”

Sondra ran her tongue across her parched lips. “Where am I?”

The nurse checked the machines and wrote some things on a chart. “You’re at Memorial General Hospital. The ambulance brought you in. You’re pretty banged up. Nasty concussion,” she chirped in her Midwestern twang. “We have to keep you overnight.”

“Oh, no, no.” Sondra shook her head as she struggled to sit up and ran smack into the brick wall in front of her. She sank back against the flat concrete pillows. “I can’t stay, I have to get to my sister—”

“Ms. Ellis, I’m gonna need you to lie down. You’re really hurt.”

Sondra shook her head and once again licked her dry, cracked lips. “Tracy. Have to get to Tracy.”

“Does she live here? We found a number for a Gary Tate in New York in your wallet for an emergency contact number. He’s on his way.”

Sondra swallowed, her mouth crammed with paste. “Jesus, I wish you hadn’t done that.” She blinked several times, trying to get oriented. “I told you, I can’t stay. I have to go.”

“Ms. Ellis, you aren’t going anywhere. You are seriously hurt. Now, lie down and the doctor will be in shortly to see you.”

The nurse turned to leave the room and Sondra waited until she was gone before she slowly pushed the fraying blue blanket away from her body. She moaned and waited a moment before trying to move again. Every part of her screamed out in pain, but she didn’t care. Her eyes darted around the room looking for her clothes. She spotted them folded up in a plastic bag on a wooden chair with an orange pleather cushion. Sucking in her breath, she eased out of bed and stood up. She swayed back against the bed, panting. Taking a few deep breaths, she again attempted to stand up. The IV stand pulled against her as she tried to edge over to the chair.

“Well, that will slow me down,” she said under her breath as she looked at it. Impulsively, she jerked it out and blood squirted out of her arm and splattered across the white tile floor.

“Shit,” she muttered as she locked her palm across the gusher. She waited a few moments, her breath heavy, before she chanced taking her hand away. The blood spewed out again, so she raised her hand over her head, cursing the entire time. She managed to pull on her jeans and sweatshirt, wincing in agony with each movement. She didn’t have time to think about that now. She picked up her purse and slid her feet into her black ballet flats. She tiptoed over to the door, partly so no one would hear her and partly because her body was throbbing and that was about all she could do. She eased the door open and looked into the hallway. She squinted against the fluorescent lights bouncing off the pink and yellow floor tiles. There was one person at the nurse’s station whose back was to her. She glanced to her right, saw a red exit sign, and race-walked for it, the rubber of her shoes hissing across the shiny, squeaky floor. She backed into the door and grimaced, as she had to expend more effort than usual to get it open. Her breath coming in terse spurts, she stood at the top of the stairwell, wondering how many flights it was.

“At least it’s not up,” she said as she grabbed hold of the railing and began to inch her way down. She stopped several times to sit and catch her breath as trails of blood ran out of her arm, soaking the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Finally, she reached the lobby and wanted to kiss God when through the open automatic doors, she saw a cab pull up to the curb and let someone out. Limping now, she stumbled towards it and fell inside.

“You alright?” the cabbie asked. “You don’t look so good.”

Sondra licked the cracked landscape of her lips and pulled her purse onto her lap, fumbling for Phillip’s address. “I need you to take me to this address,” she said as she waved the piece of paper in front of his face. “And keep the meter running when we get there.” She leaned her head back against the seat. “I have a feeling you’ll be bringing me back here.”

He glanced at the paper before looking back at Sondra. “You sure you oughta be leaving? You look terrible.”

Sondra closed her eyes. “I’ll double the meter if you leave now.”

“You’re the boss,” he said as he put the cab in gear.

With considerable effort, Sondra rolled the window down and let the muggy late afternoon air wash across her face. The warm wind made her drowsy and she had to blink several times to keep herself awake.

The cab turned down a residential street and slowed to a stop in front of a small white house. The driver twisted around to look at her.

“Here we are. You need some help getting out?”

Sondra stared at the house, sadness, fear, and disgust welling up inside of her. She shook her head and struggled to push the door open. “No, but stay here.”

Sondra grunted as the struggled to get out of the cab. She stumbled up the front walk and rang the doorbell.

B
usiness had been brisk that day. Lots of prescriptions to fill, ordering to be done. He liked days like this. He looked at his watch. It was four, almost time to go home. Phillip rolled his neck around a few times before he turned his attention back to the paperwork in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two of the nurses from the clinic engaged in an animated discussion in the corner. He shifted his weight and focused once again on the claims he was processing. He didn’t bother himself with the rampant gossip many of the women who worked there used to fuel their own miserable lives. Camille, his second-in-command, walked up to him, brandishing a thick sheaf of papers.

“I just finished the inventory. I need you to check it over.”

Phillip’s head jerked over in Camille’s direction. “What?”

Camille rolled her eyes. “The inventory. I’m done.”

Phillip relaxed. “That will be all, Camille. Thank you.”

“Fine. Oh. How was your family thing?”

“What family thing?”

“Oops. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

“Camille, what
are
you talking about?”

She sighed. “That woman who came by this morning. Said she was your sister-in-law and wanted to talk to you.”

Phillip felt his blood go cold. “Camille, you’re not making any sense. I don’t have a sister-in-law.”

“Well, it was this crazy-looking woman with all this hair,” Camille said as she waved her hands in the air near her head.

The realization started to sink in. It couldn’t be anybody but Sondra.

“I think she said her name was… Sondra. You don’t know her?”

Phillip’s heart slammed against his chest. “No, uh, no. It must have been a mistake.” He wiped his suddenly damp hands across his pants and adjusted his glasses.

She shook her head. “It was weird. You know for some reason, she thought I was Paula. She had that picture we took at that Christmas party.” Camille cocked her head to one side. “Why would she think that? Come to think of it, how’d she get that picture?”

Phillip cleared his throat. “I’m sure I don’t know. Listen Camille, I just remembered an errand I have to run.” He yanked off his pharmacy smock. “I won’t be back today. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he rasped, backing towards the front door.