Captured Lies (5 page)

Immediately she heard her mom’s
voice, ‘you have to put your stuff away. It’ll get wrinkled. There’s no one to
pick up behind you. And don’t expect it. You have to do it yourself. You’re not
royalty you know.’

Every chore since she could
remember had been followed by that statement.

Bailey flopped backwards onto the
bed, her arms flung out at her side. “Ouch.” Sitting up, she pulled out the
hair clip she’d carelessly put in that morning. She tossed it on the bedside
stand and finger-combed her straight, brown hair. She tugged on it and then
winced. Something finally felt real.

Lots of things floated through
her mind. The only thing she kept coming back to was that she should call one
of her friends. Only what would she say? She could tell them what was going on.
But not really. She’d never really talked with the two of them about her mom.
Her mom had always sworn her to secrecy about telling anything about her
history – where they’d lived, what kind of work her mom had done, who her dad
was - which she didn’t know anyway, where she went to school, where her
relatives lived, sometimes even what her real name was.

Everything was always a damn
secret. Even your death.

Tired and wrung out, Bailey
closed her eyes. Tears trickled out, ran down her face and into her hair.
There’d be no more jokes between them – not that there had been many in a long
time. Or ever really for that matter.

Now she’d have the fun of dealing
with all of her mom’s legal stuff. She didn’t know where to start but she
shrugged off the dilemma and yawned. She should get up and shed her coat, her
navy blue pantsuit, her shoes… maybe put on pajamas. The thoughts rolled
through her head every now and then but didn’t have enough impact to propel her
upwards. Her body remained flopped and probably wouldn’t move even if a fire
alarm went off. If she was lucky, sleep would come quickly and then she’d wake
up to find out she’d had a bad dream. Her nightmare would be just that. She
could call her mom and make up with her. Forgive her for being so damn
obstinate. Something they definitely had in common.

Her mom’s face with one of her
rare smiles flashed through her mind. Just as quickly her mom lying in the
casket soon followed. When did it end? Her body might have been resting but her
brain wouldn’t shut down. Thoughts continued to swirl for a long time, until
all that was left was exhaustion, pulling her down a deep dark hole.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The phone rang.

Guy shifted in his seat.

It rang again.

He slouched against the car door.

It rang again.

He stared off into space,
thinking he should be used to this by now but he always seemed to forget her
little quirk of deciding when she’d answer.

Then came the fourth ring. “Yes.”

Her tone made him feel like he’d
been the one keeping her waiting. “It’s her, Gramama. No mistake.”

Silence. Hesitation. He knew she
was torn. On one hand, wanting it to be true; on the other, she knew what this
information would do to her family. “What’s she like? What does she know about
the kidnapping? How greedy is she?” His grandmother’s voice sounded abrupt,
angry.

He blew out an exasperated
breath. “I haven’t really had a chance to go through much with her. I don’t
think she knows anything.”

“What does she look like? And
don’t tell me ‘just like Mama did.’ I know she’s the spitting image of my
mother. What color is her hair? Is she a real brunette or is it dyed? Her eyes?
Are they as green-blue as a mountain lake? How much money does she want?”

There was a loud whack sound. He
jerked the phone away from his ear. She’d hit her cane against the cherry wood
Montclair Credenza desk in her office, a bad habit he’d like her to stop. Or
just break her cane. She needed it but really used it more as a weapon or
instrument to keep people in line than as the crutch it was supposed to be.

The desk had been covered in a
very thick layer of varnish. His grandpa had been smart enough to get someone
in every six months to sand it down and recoat the desk. She was just a tad
hard on it. Same as she was with anyone in her life. His grandfather had been
one of the few who’d known how to handle her and make her smile while he was
doing it.

I miss you. You died too
young, Gramps.
Sighing, he brought himself back to the conversation, as his
grandmother was saying, “you can’t bring her home until you know more about
her. I will not have Gina and Daniel put on an emotional roller coaster by this
woman. Find out what you can about her and then give me a call. I want to know
how much she’s going to cost me. Understand?”

Guy didn’t bother telling her
that he had already found out all about her background. She was twenty-nine, single,
had been offered a lucrative job in Toronto with her own TV show, on interior
decorating. She’d moved a lot in the first eighteen years of her life. Then a
few more times but she’d been in the same apartment for the last five years,
the longest she’d been anywhere. She seemed like a straight shooter. He hadn’t
talked with any clients or friends, because he hadn’t felt the need. His task
was simple: find her, tell her and get home.

The only piece to the puzzle he
hadn’t figured out was how she came to be with Donna Saunders. That piece was
still a bit murky. In the last six months, he’d focused his time on finding her.
He still wasn’t quite clear on how his grandmother had found that west coast
newspaper article on how she’d helped some poor family remodel their home.
She’d given him enough facts to make him curious but not enough to satisfy his
curiosity.

“Understand?”

“Yes Gramere. I understand.”

“Don’t call me that. It makes me
sound old. And I’m not.”

He jerked the phone away from his
head but not before he was grinning from ear to ear. He knew she’d be smiling
too. Not that she’d let anyone see her. That didn’t go with the head of the
Caspian Wine Company. Not a woman who, against all odds, ran an empire in a
man’s world and in a day when a man had been the head of everything.

He admired the hell out of her.

After the distinct click from her
phone, he hit the end button on his. Fighting the urge to get out of his car
and stretch, he rolled his head around to loosen the tight muscles. The last
time he’d slept in a car he was sure he’d been eighteen and drunk, one of the
only times he’d indulged himself. If the hangover hadn’t cured him, the
disappointment in his grandmother’s eyes had. That was the only time he’d been
glad his grandpa hadn’t been alive. Guy didn’t think he could have lived with
that.

He shifted a few more times to
work out some kinks. A car zoomed by. He turned his face away. Once the vehicle
was gone, he looked out his window at the house two doors down the street. No
movement yet. In fact, since she’d entered late afternoon the day before there
hadn’t been much of anything happening. He’d been tempted a time or two to go
and check but his gut told him to wait. So wait he did. Fourteen hours later,
he was still trying to be patient. Get him on the computer and he was fine, he
could spend hours searching and at least feel like he was doing something useful.
But when it came to doing long surveillance alone, he hated it and would dump
it on Graham when he could. It usually cost him tickets to some baseball game
but he gladly paid it.

His stomach clenched, letting him
know he was well beyond hungry. Sighing, he wished he’d thought to bring a
thermos of coffee or some snacks. Everything had happened in such a hurry. And
he wasn’t quite ready to admit that meeting Bailey had thrown him off track as
well. The picture he’d seen of her in the paper – the only one he’d been able
to find of her – had let him know she was attractive but he hadn’t been
prepared for the vulnerability.

Knowing who she was, her life, her
life as it should have been and having to be the one to tell her, had hit him
like a sonic boom at the gravesite. He’d had it all planned - he’d sit down
with her, gently tell her that she’d been stolen, listen to her grief, connect
her with her grandmother and he’d be done. It had struck him in that moment
that he was going to rip someone’s life apart. A life she’d had nothing to do
with creating.

He couldn’t do it. So now he had
to figure out how to share with her what he knew. He couldn’t even come up with
how he’d like someone to tell him. It was one thing to say yes to his grandmother
and be reassured it would be easy – go out, find her, talk to her, set up a
meeting so I can meet her - and another to actually do that. He missed working
with his computer. It was easy to punch in information and get back answers or
more questions but he had no worries about how his computer would feel. When
he’d taken on this assignment he hadn’t really thought about how Bailey would
take the news. It was as simple as telling her and handing her over. But now
that he’d seen her, he felt like he was going over the Niagara Falls in a
barrel. And he hadn’t done anything yet.

Exhaustion and grit burned his
eyes. He pressed his fingers gently against the lids. In the mirror, he noted
red road maps that should have meant a night of debauchery. Not that he’d ever
really had one of those. Knowing he wasn’t going to stay awake without some
help, he started the car and drove to the nearest gas station, about eight
blocks away. Coffee and food were not something he was willing to give up. What
made him think he’d had to stay and sleep there overnight he didn’t know but
that uneasy feeling still hadn’t left him and it had always served him well.

Fifteen minutes later he was back
in the same spot, knowing that it would have been smart if he was on a real
stake-out to park in a different place. Her car was still sitting in the same
spot. And there didn’t seem to be any new cars or movement in the predawn day.
He’d driven down the back alley and around the block twice, just to make sure.
Knowing that he was going to have to confront her with what he knew, he drank
his second cup of coffee and ate his third donut. And waited for a decent hour
to knock on her door. Only he wasn’t sure there was a decent hour to tell
someone what he had to tell.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Bailey rolled over for the tenth
time, her body protesting. She flipped onto her back and stared at the ceiling
above her. Frustrated that her eyes were wide open, when she felt anything but
rested, she finally gave up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her
feet accidently hit her black two inch heel shoes, which she’d kicked off at
some point in the night. She nudged them to the side, before standing. Her legs
felt shaky like she’d been running a couple of marathons. While gaining her
equilibrium, she took a deep, almost defeated breath as she shrugged out of her
horribly wrinkled blue coat and tossed onto the chair in the corner. Her outfit
wasn’t in much better condition. Rubbing her hands down over the soft material
of her two-piece pantsuit, she worked at smoothing out the pleats that now
adorned it.

She flipped her suitcase onto the
bed and opened it. Her toiletry bag was tucked into the right front corner.
Opening it, she pulled out her shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste then headed
into the bathroom across the hall. She tossed everything onto the counter and
then stepped back into the hallway to get a towel from the closet just outside
the door.

Ignoring her mom’s voice ringing
in her head,
don’t waste water, Bails. It’s a luxury. Don’t get used to it,
she spent forty-five minutes showering until there wasn’t a drop of hot water
left. Then she climbed out of the shower and dried off. Too many times when
they’d moved, they hadn’t had enough clean water to do more than sponge bath
once or twice a week.

Sorry, Mom but I needed this.
I think it’s okay I used all the hot water this time.

In the bedroom, she yanked on
jeans and a t-shirt and brushed her hair. Her stomach growled, her body’s way
of telling her that she couldn’t keep avoiding the tasks facing her.

Get it done and get home
,
played out in the back of her mind.

She dealt with her hair by
putting it into a ponytail then headed to the kitchen and put two slices of
bread in the toaster. She leaned up against the sink and looked outside. Blue
clear skies and beautiful rays of sun greeted her. A few cars drove by. Her mom
had loved that it was a quiet street off the beaten path.

The toast popped up, the metallic
jangle of the toaster echoing in the empty room, barren of anything that
suggested love. She had no deep connecting memories in this house. She’d barely
set foot in it in the five years her mom had lived here.

One thing did come clear. Her mom
was no longer here. She really was gone.

A vacuum opened up in Bailey, a
hole that she didn’t know how to plug. She clutched her chest as sobs rocked
her body. They’d never be together again.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
What
was going on with you, Mom?

Giving up any pretense that she
was going to be able to stop this, Bailey dropped into her mom’s chair at the
table. She laid her head down and gave in to the pain that had been gnawing at
her for a few days. Tears ran down her face as she shook with the finality of
it.

She’d never touch her mother
again.

She’d never hear her mother’s
voice again.

She’d never be able to say “I’m
sorry” again.

Her mom would never be here
again.

They’d never be together again.

Anguish wrapped her in its claws,
holding her tight, closing off her throat. It gnawed at her stomach, until it
was empty and churning on the verge of heaving. She ached in every corner of
her being. Her emotional storm went on for so long she wasn’t sure it was ever
going to end.

Finally, the tears subsided.
Bailey lay there for a long time, feeling a lot like she imagined a rag would
after it had been used to scrub everything in sight and then tossed into the
corner - damp, limp and fully wrung out. She didn’t care if she ever moved
again. Her stomach growled. Stunned, she snorted in disbelief. Her mom had
always told her that her body would keep her on track. As a kid she’d been able
to eat all the time. One time after getting off a ride at the fair, she’d puked
her guts out and five minutes later she’d wanted a hamburger.

Again, her belly protested loudly
at her failure to feed it. It startled her. Laughing self-consciously, she stood
and walked to the fridge. She pulled out the jam and spread it on her cold
toast. She nibbled on it as she made her way back and flopped down into her
mom’s chair. Resting her elbows on the table, she picked up her mom’s cup and
cradled it in her hands.
Life is a guilt trip waiting to happen.

She smiled. Her mom had loved
that saying but Bailey had no idea why since it was rather depressing. Turning
the mug, she noted the smudge of lipstick on the back side. Ruby Red, the only
color her mom would wear. She rubbed her thumb just under the spot. She could
almost feel her mom’s lips.

Shaking her head, she realized
she could sit there and morosely think about all that should have been. All
that she regretted and all that she should have done. She could ‘should’
herself to death or get busy with the things she had to do. Her mom’s things
needed to be sorted. She needed to decide what she’d take and what she’d give
away. Her mom had left all the contents to her. The house had already been
taken care of. The lawyer wouldn’t budge on what that had meant. Why had her
mom let her believe the house was hers – bought and paid for? If it had been
and her mom had sold it, the money wasn’t going to Bailey.

They’d never had much in their
life. Her mom had never wanted to own something she couldn’t leave behind or
get rid of quickly, just in case she decided to move. And she had been a master
mover. Twenty seven times in the first eighteen years of her life. Then after
she’d moved out, there’d been a few more moves. Only the last five had been in
the same place. It was a record.

Bailey looked around. The lawyer
had told her to take her time - she had all of three weeks to get all the stuff
packed and out. No pressure. But then she wasn’t sure her new job offer would
wait that long for her.

The envelopes her mother had left
her popped into her mind. She’d stashed them in the glove box. She needed to
give some time to them to figure out what her mom wanted her to know.
But
not now
kept running through her mind. She’d look at that stuff when she
had time to take all this in, time when she was at her home.

She stood and stretched. Her body
creaked and cracked enough to make any eighty-year old proud. She grinned at
that thought. Feeling lighter than she had in a long time, she stepped over to
the cupboard, took out a set of keys and headed out the door. Nestled in the
back corner of the lawn, was a small shed. She crossed the dry, brittle grass
that was starting to show a few green blades and made her way to the small
shed. She put the key in the lock and then just held it. It felt like she was
unraveling another secret her mother had. This was another place she’d never
been in. Anytime she’d offered to cut the grass or clean out the shed she
assumed it would need, since she knew her mom was a bit of a pack rat, her mom
had turned her down.

She turned the key, yanked off the
lock and thrust open both doors. Her forward movement was halted. Boxes and
boxes and boxes filled the small shed. She used her nail to cut the tape and
pry open one end of one. Newspaper. Pulling frantically, she hauled newspaper
after newspaper out, tossing them carelessly onto another box. Then she opened
another one, only to find the same thing. Once she stopped acting like a mad
woman, ripping and tearing, she realized the containers were dated.

Jan. 2004 to Dec. 2006 –
Vancouver and Victoria Newspapers.

Jan. 2004 to Dec. 2006 - Edmonton
Newspapers.

Jan. 2004 to Dec. 2006 - Ottawa
Newspapers.

All were dated and seemed to hold
major newspapers from across the country.

She dropped her face into her
hands. What was it with her mom and the news? She’d gotten ones from across the
country and that was how she’d seen Bailey’s picture in the paper. The picture
they’d argued about. Her mom still didn’t want any publicity when it came to
her. To either of them. The idea of it almost gave her a heart attack.

Or maybe it had. That article
about her helping that poor family had sent her mom over the top, when she’d
read it. All Bailey had done was to remodel a low-income family’s home. It
hadn’t been meant for publicity but her boss at the time had been more than
thrilled to use it to drum up business.

Reality crashed in.

“Dammit.”

“Dammit.”

“Dammit.”

There was no way she was going to
get through this if she couldn’t stop those thoughts from creeping in. Later
she could kick the crap out of herself. She shut off her mind and got to work.
She finished emptying the box she’d started yanking stuff out of and proceeded
to empty five more, not sure how many she’d need for the household stuff. There
was a kid her mom used to get to do her lawn. She’d try him first and see if
he’d like to make some money.

She locked the door, grabbed hold
of all the boxes and headed back into the house. She tossed them into the living
room and then went back to the kitchen where she took a few garbage bags and
the garbage can from under the sink.

She put all of it in the hallway,
before going back to the phone. On the wall was a list of phone numbers.
Scanning it, she realized she only knew a few names – Mr. Lund - lawyer, Mrs.
Tyner – neighbor but that was it. Lawn mowing – Jason. Figuring that had to be
the young kid, she called him up. After talking with his mother for a few
minutes, they arranged for a few local kids to do that job. Bailey felt guilty,
only offering them two hundred dollars for doing it. But the lady seemed happy.

The phone clicked as she set it
down. The simple act drained her. She rested her head on her arm for a minute
and took a few deep breaths. After a brief moment, she stepped back and looked
at the list. Not sure why, she tore it off the wall and tucked it into her
pocket. Sighing, she forced herself to get to the work that she needed to get
done. She headed down the hall.

Time to get some things cleaned
out.