“Sorry, that was … my dad.” To me, it’s clear that I’m lying. Hopefully not to this Diana person. “He’s outside. Can you tell Mark that I’ll come right back or he can, um, call me if there’s a specific time that’s good?”
She pats my shoulder. “Of course, sweetheart,” she says kindly. “You do what you need to do. Whenever you want to come back is fine. I’m sure Mark will make the time.”
I ride the packed elevator back to the lobby, staring at the wall of navy and khaki suits in front of me, brain buzzing. I look around to be sure no one is watching me before I respond to Jules.
What is going on? What do you mean, not safe?
Did you leave?
I’m headed down in the elevator.
There are two men outside in a black car. I was there a minute ago. I saw them.
What? Who are they?
Go somewhere safe. Don’t let them follow you. There are people watching you, Cleo.
I can’t get myself to move when the elevator doors open. People watching? It sounds paranoid. And yet my momismissing. As the doors start to close, I slip out into the lobby and then through the revolving doors and onto the sidewalk. I brace myself. But I don’t see any black car with two men in it. There’s a box truck, double-parked, cab empty. Lots of parked cars—also all empty.
Jules, there’s no one. What’s going on?
“Cleo, what’s wrong?” When I turn, Mark is heading toward me, face flushed with concern. Relief—the instant I see him. “Why did you rush out? Diana told me that you came looking for Jules. I’m sorry to have to tell you this. But we had to let her go.”
Yes, Jules and my mom are close, but so are she and Mark.I’veknown Mark for years. He and his wife, Ruth, have been sending me birthday cards since I was little. They were at my high school graduation party.
“Oh,” I say. “That woman said she wasn’t fired.”
“We’ve been trying to keep it confidential, for Jules’s sake. She’s had something of an episode. Manic. Your mother knew. She’d been trying to help. For the sake of the other employees’ well-being, we had to let Jules go.” He steps closer. “I’m sorry. I know the last thing you need is … well, something else.”
Jules’s texts did sound kind of delusional. And therearen’tany guys out there waiting for me like she said. Also, she hasn’t responded to my last text. I swallow hard. I really do not want to cry, but the longer Mark stares at me, the tighter my throat feels.
He steps forward and wraps an arm kind of awkwardly around my shoulder. “Come back inside, Cleo,” he says gently. “We have hot chocolate.”
A few minutes later, I’m sitting in Mark’s office as his assistant, Geraldine, hands me a mug of cocoa. I feel like a kid and it’s such a relief.
“You sure you don’t want anything else, sweetheart?” Geraldine asks. When I shake my head, she, too, puts a hand on my shoulder. “We all adore your mom here. And we’re all worried. But she’s going to be okay. I know that she is.”
For some reason, it finally makes me feel better when Geraldine says it.
Mark takes a seat across from me as she closes the office door behind her. “Have the police turned up anything yet? We at the firm can certainly help in many ways, but I also don’t want to interfere with their progress or step on any toes.”
“They don’t know anything yet,” I say, and I sound annoyed. “They’re mostly focused on my dad and me.”
But I do think Detective Wilson is trying. Maybe I just want some sympathy and comfort right now from a dadlike person who isn’tmydad. Somebody who might actually step up and help.
“They’re focused on you?” Mark laughs.
I shrug. “Because my mom and I argue a lot, I guess,” I say. “I don’t think theyreallysuspect me. I’m not so sure the same is true for my dad …” I don’t want to air my dad’s dirty laundry. On the other hand, I could use some information. “If I tell you something, could it be confidential?”
“Of course. You’re family as far as I’m concerned,” he says. “Also, Iama lawyer. And starting now, you are my client.”
“My dad was having some kind of affair. Also, he wanted a loan from my mom. And, well, she said no—but now somehow he has the money.” It comes out in a rush.
“I see.” Mark looks troubled. “There’s an explanation, surely.” He hesitates. “I mean, is that what you think—that there’s an explanation?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“Yes …” Mark hesitates. “That’s certainly understandable.”
