Dreamers (The Dreamers Series) (20 page)

BOOK: Dreamers (The Dreamers Series)
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Co-owner: Heather Melaine Grayson

My head spins as every inconsistency rolls into a hard boil to the surface of my brain.
Of course Heather didn’t want me to dig this information up, she’s tied to it. Peyton is her mother. I can’t believe I didn’t put it together. I knew her mother is a psychiatrist; she prescribed Heather medication to keep Nick from her head, and she was among the first people to arrive here when Lana killed herself. The police couldn’t have notified her that quickly—owner of the building or not. She was on the phone with Lana when everything went south. It all makes sense now.

I grab my keys from the hook in the kitchen. I will not be pushed over this time. I’m going to Heather’s work, and I will expose her if I have to. I want to know where Nick’s body is—now.

***

12
The Right to Remain Silent

“I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s no Heather Grayson at this business, never has been. I’ve been here fifteen years. You must be confused; she doesn’t work here,” the man speaks, irritated.

My blood is ready to boil as a heavyset man in his late fifties informs me for the hundredth time that Heather is not an employee of Music Pro. His dress shirt stretches along his round stomach, pulling a gap in the straining buttons. If he breathes any heavier, it will burst at the seams, a sight my nausea couldn’t handle.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you, sir. Have a nice day.”

I walk away with my head down, feeling foolish for falling into every lie she has ever told me. I can’t even relate the disappointment I feel right now. I walk towards the darkening parking lot, kicking rocks with my converse, wondering where I went wrong. What did I ever do to Heather to make her feel like she had to lie about every part of her life? Was I a bad friend? Did I make her feel inadequate as a companion? This situation goes way back—before Nick. She was lying to me from the start.

Sadness and anger mix into a raging cocktail that stings my throat as it sears its way down. My head throbs and a bout of nausea creeps into my stomach. I swallow several times before popping a pre-peeled piece of ginger between my cheek and gum, suffering through the burn for a few seconds. The contracting muscles that threaten to eject the acidic stomach fluid begin to loosen and relax. In this moment I am eternally grateful to my sister for her tips on how to ward this off. I don’t know how to manage this kind of hormone upset; it weakens me every time it hits. Even to pull my ringing phone from my pocket feels like a chore. My stomach flips once again as I read the caller ID.

It’s her…

“Hello?” I steady my voice, still entirely conflicted on how to approach her.

“Hey, Squid. What’cha up to?” she chirps cheerfully.

Despair flips a switch to anger just at the sound of her unassuming voice. The fact that she continues to act as if everything’s fine digs deeply under my skin. While I would love nothing more than to lay into her right now, I can’t. I’ve made that mistake before. I need to be smart and really consider my next move. She obviously has information on Nick’s death, and I can’t chance his body being destroyed or moved because I shoot my mouth off and they panic. I need to take a breath, act normal, and also begin untangling her web of lies. It’s high time she realizes I’m not the fool she takes me for. I quickly decide to let her know I’m here—at her phony job. I’m going to spook her into talking—and stretch the truth a little to accomplish that.

“Heather, I’m actually here at Music Pro. I—uh… came to surprise you with dinner.”

She quiets for a moment then begins rambling quickly. Her voice is startled and uneasy. I can feel her sweating from here.

“I um…already grabbed a sandwich. Go on home and I will bring dessert later. Just don’t go inside; we are super slammed. It might get me in trouble to have visitors right now.”

“Aww, well I already brought you a gyro. I got extra cucumber sauce and everything. Surely you can make a little room in your tummy. I’ll tell you what, why don’t I just go in and leave your food with the receptionist? I’ll let her know it’s for you.”

“No, Syd. The receptionist is actually off tonight. I have a great idea: I’ll go talk to my boss and we can meet at the apartment and eat there. I might be able to spare an hour. I would rather get out of here for a while anyway,” she offers.

She is trying so hard to get out of this. She’s squirming—hard.

“Okay, I’ll just wait for you to come out, and we can ride together since you don’t have your truck.”

“Sydney, I will meet you at home. Let me finish up what I’m doing. What’s with you, tonight? You’re being pushy.” Anxiety pricks her voice.

“I’m just ready for some company, is all. If you really want, I can just meet you at home,” I relent.

“Okay, see you in a while. Bye, darlin’.”

By the time I walk through the door she’s already made it home. I had a bit of a delay from having to stop by Athena’s Grille and pick up the dinner I had supposedly brought her at work. Sweat drips from her messy hair and a ring of saturation sits under the arms of her gray t-shirt. Her cheeks flush cherry-red as she sits at the table. I’m overly warm as well from the energy pulsing through my veins. Call it determination, fear, anticipation—it’s somehow lit a fire inside me. I pull my sweatshirt off and stand before her with nothing more than a thin camisole for cover. I don’t intend to use myself again to divert her attention, but somehow it snaps her focus in and she struggles to keep from staring. She squirms in her seat nervously and begins toying with a loose string on the table cloth. At this point it’s hard to tell if she’s nervous because she suspects I know about her job, or that she doesn’t trust herself alone with me while I’m lightly clothed. Either way, I can use her anxiety to my benefit and maybe she will crack from sheer guilt. It’s eating at her. I can see it. She’s on the brink of talking. I just have to keep up the conversation and hope that she’s ready to purge her conscience, especially since I have an idea. I’m thinking… it’s time to meet the family.

“How was work, Heather?” I ask.

“Uh, fine, I guess. The boss man went ahead and let me go for the rest of the night.” She avoids eye contact.

“Really? I thought y’all were slammed?” I purse my lips instinctively. “Whatever, I have way better plans anyway.”

“And what plans would those be?” She perks up a little.

“I was thinking, in all these years I’ve never formally met your Mom. I want to invite her over for some dessert. I picked up some tiramisu when I got dinner. Let’s call her over.”

“She’s probably busy, Syd. Maybe another time,” she answers uncomfortably.

I don’t know what I’m thinking, more than likely I’m not thinking at all, but before I can talk myself out of it I snatch her phone off the table and begin dialing. She protests, trying to rip it from my hands, but it’s too late. Peyton answers on the first ring.

“Hey, sweetheart,” a mesmerizingly smooth voice speaks.

“Hi, Mrs. Grayson, this is Sydney Preston. Heather and I wanted to invite you over for some tiramisu and coffee.”

“Heather is okay with this?” she asks, surprised.

“Yes, ma’am. We would be delighted to have you over,” I reply.

“Well, Sydney, that’s a very nice offer. When?” she asks.

“Now would be great, actually. With everything that’s happened lately, I would love some good company. Plus, I never thanked you for handling all the legal stuff with Lana. I saw you talking with the police when I was found. I’m very grateful.”

“No thanks necessary, Sydney, but if your thanks comes in the form of tiramisu, then I delightfully accept. I can be there in five minutes. I’m at my Atlanta office.”

“Great, see you in five then.” I hand Heather her phone back with a devious smirk
.

“Syd, what was all that about? You are acting so freaking weird today, for real. I don’t want to spend the night with my mom. I wanted to hang out with you,” she asks cautiously.

“We have every day to hang out. I wanted to meet your mom and thank her for dealing with the police and all the paperwork involved with Lana. She didn’t have to do that. She didn’t even know me. I just wanted to make a gesture to show her that I’m grateful.” The lies burn my tongue like toxic waste.

“Whatever, I guess,” she sighs as she stuffs the last of her gyro down in one bite.

***

“Come on in, Mrs. Grayson.” I take her coat.

She is around five foot ten—very tall and slender. I wasn’t really expecting platinum blonde hair since the last time I saw her it was more of a light brown, but clearly it’s not a natural color. I don’t remember much about the day I saw her when Lana committed suicide, and I only remember a side view. Today I realize she is absolutely beautiful and holds her fifty years impeccably well. Part of me wishes she were hideous and unattractive; it would make me feel better knowing at some point she had her paws all over my Nick. As much as he implied he wasn’t interested, I have to wonder how true that is. She’s stunning.

“Thank you, Sydney. You are very welcoming.” A shrinky tone coats her words like thick mud.

“Let’s sit by the fire. I’ve taken the liberty of setting the coffee table for us all,” I reply sweetly.

I lead her to the living room, forgetting momentarily that she knows this place like the back of her hand—she owns it.

We settle in and fall into the typical getting-to-know-you questions and small talk. I don’t have very long to lead this conversation so I really need to get on it before she decides to leave. I have no idea how to dig through her mind; she would know it the moment I began. This is what she does for a living: she gets into people’s heads. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s already figured out that I’m on to her. The way she watches me makes me squirm. It’s clear she is analyzing my every move—my every word. As much as I want to—I can’t manipulate this woman.

“Mrs. Grayson, I was so impressed to find out you were a psychiatrist. It must be a really hard profession.”

“Oh, it certainly can be, Sydney.” Her smooth voice rolls over my ears like melting chocolate.

“I can’t even imagine getting into someone’s head, getting into their inner core. How do you not get attached to these people? It must be hard to nurse someone back to health just to turn around and let them go.”

Her head tilts slightly to the left. I’m not exactly certain what she heard from my words, but it was something.

“I suppose it depends on who you’re working with. I always have an agenda. Sometimes it’s simple and people can be treated and sent on their way. Others require more special attention, and attachments do form. Sometimes when there is no help for a certain patient, I have trouble giving up on them, especially because their worst enemy is invisible. I’m protective, like a lioness. I take my job very seriously.”

“Well, Mrs. Grayson. I can respect that. I’ve had some experience myself in dabbling in the mind of another person, my boyfriend actually. He has bipolar and is in a very bad place. I won’t be giving up on him either—ever.”

“Here, here, Sydney. To never giving up on the lost.” She raises her coffee in cheers. “Now we can cut through the formalities. You can call me Peyton.” A smirk lines her painted lips.

“Mother!” Heather shouts with wide eyes.

They have a moment of a Wild West stare down before focusing back on me. Heather is mortified and Peyton smiles as if she’s having the best time in the world. She is no more threatened by me than a lion of a kitten.

“Oh, Heather, relax child! She already knows, haven’t you been listening? Give it up, honey. You’re busted.”

I can almost hear Heather’s heart pounding from across the room. Her honey-colored eyes stare down the floor. I cash in on my opportunity.

“Peyton’s right, Heather. I already know. I searched the records as instructed by Lana in her note. I know you both own the building. I went to confront you at work tonight, but it seems you don’t work there either—never have. Is there anything you’ve ever told me that’s actually true, or was everything a lie?”

“I’m sorry, Sydney. I really am.” Her eyes stay planted to the floor.

“Sorry or not, Heather, one of you better start talking. What did y’all do to Nick?”

“Sydney, you don’t know anything about this. You need to stay out of it,” Heather replies.

“Heather, she needs to know. Tell her now, before she does something stupid,” Peyton orders.

“No, Mother, we are not going to involve her any further in this! I want you out of my fucking house! I will deal with Sydney myself. Leave—now!” Heather shouts angrily.

“Heather, I warned you about this. When we realized Dominick was still lingering around in this apartment, I told you not to move anyone else in. You ignored me. You let your stupid obsession for Sydney, someone who doesn’t even love you, put you in this position. She should never have come here. This is your fault, dear, not mine.”

“I wanted her here. And I don’t care if you think I’m stupid or not. I fucking love her, and I hate you! I’m tired of having to live alone because of your fucking mess, Mother. Now, mind your own damn business and let me fix this. Because of you Sydney will probably never forgive me for this. Get out of my fucking house!” She shakes furiously, pointing Peyton from our house.

Peyton looks indifferent. Not hurt—not happy. She has a very stern hold on her feelings as she responds flatly to Heather.

“Tell her the truth, Heather. You know what you have to do. I’m leaving as you’ve requested, but if you don’t tell her, I will.” She lightly closes the door behind her, leaving Heather fuming and me speechless.

As Peyton leaves Heather storms to the kitchen filling a glass to the rim with some left-over wine in the fridge. She gags as she attempts to chug it down. At this point I can’t have her zoning out on me.

“You can’t chug wine, Heather. It’ll make you sick. Stop it. Sit down and talk to me,” I speak in a relaxed tone as to not further anger her.

“Don’t try to ask me anything, Syd. I’m handling this myself. Mind your own business. The less you know the better.”

“I’m not leaving it like this. You said you’re cleaning up your mother’s mess, Heather. What did she do to him? Please, you’re my friend; don’t do this to me. Don’t lie to me anymore!” I beg.

“I fucking can’t tell you, Sydney!” Her speech slurs with anger.

“Why did you lie about your job? Are you doing something illegal? You have tons of money and no job; it makes no sense. Who the hell are you?” I demand.

“I said no questions. If you want to leave, then go. I’m not answering anything.”

I grab my purse off the counter, pulling my phone from the front pocket. I’ve had enough of the lies.

The only way this girl is ever going to talk is by force. I can see she’s covering for her mother in some way. “Why” is the question of the hour. I’m not putting up with this for one more minute.

“I’m calling the cops, Heather. I’m turning both of your asses in. I won’t take part in covering either of you.”

BOOK: Dreamers (The Dreamers Series)
13.8Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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