Live and Let Die (11 page)

Cicely nodded to the bartender. “Whatever the house pinot noir is, please.”

Cicely settled into the chair next to Sondra and turned her attention to her friend’s sister. “So… how was your flight?”

Sondra nodded. “Oh, it was good. Uneventful.”

“So what brings you to town?”

“I’m, um… thinking about doing a film on Tracy and her disappearance.”

“Oh. Wow. What brought that on?”

“I was flipping through the newspaper and came across this story about this woman who’d gone jogging—just like Tracy—and disappeared.”

“Okay.”

“And this story got huge, huge coverage. I mean, you would have thought the Pope had up and vanished. Now, this girl was eventually found dead, but it struck me as kind of interesting how much coverage this got.”

Cicely sipped her wine. “Yeah.”

“Anyway, I was looking up coverage of Tracy’s death and aside from her obits and a few stories you guys did, nada.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Okay, so then I found this “USA Today” article about how when white women disappear it’s all over the news, but when a black woman disappears,” Sondra snapped her fingers, “nothing.”

“Sad to say, it happens.”

“Originally, I was thinking I would do the documentary about that and Tracy, but now… well, there were some things going on with Tracy before she died.”

“Like what?”

“Cicely… did you know Tracy was planning to divorce Phillip?”

Cicely choked on her wine. “Excuse me?”

“I found the number of an attorney, Damon Randall, in her datebook. I called him and he said she wanted to meet with him to discuss divorcing her husband.”

“My God. I had no idea.”

“She made an appointment to meet with him the Monday after she died.”

“You’re joking,” Cicely said, coughing.

“There’s more. Phillip sent a letter to Mimi, telling her he’d gotten remarried.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Anyway, I wanted to talk to him about Tracy, you know about the documentary and well… everything. I thought maybe he was protecting us by not telling us about the divorce. I just want the full story, right?”

“I get it.”

“Well, first I try finding him online and his last listed address is here. Then the address on the letter is some mailbox rental place in Michigan.” Sondra leaned closer. “If you rent a box from them, they’ll forward your mail to you anywhere you want them to send it.”

Cicely motioned to the bartender for a menu. “Did they give you his address?”

“No, but I have to tell you, I get the feeling he’s not in Michigan.”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact she was filing for divorce. Although… ”

Sondra sat up. “What?”

“Well, I didn’t think too much of this at the time. I didn’t think much of it until just now… ” Cicely licked her lips. “The last show we worked together, I do remember she kept getting a lot of phone calls that night, and she seemed agitated. I mean the phones are always going crazy and she could handle them like a pro, but this particular night, she seemed really bothered by it.”

“Did she tell you who it was?”

Cicely shook her head. “No. Well, she said it was some PR person hounding her, which we get a lot of.”

“Who do you think it really was?”

“Jack.”

Sondra crunched on her ice. “What makes you say that?

“Well, a few weeks before Tracy… disappeared, my husband and I were having dinner at Flow and Jack came over to say hi. Jimmy went to the restroom, and I asked him how he was—really—and he said he still loved her, but that he wished her nothing but happiness. But… ”

“But you don’t believe him.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just… sometimes, when you love someone, you’ll do things you never thought you would do—good and bad.”

“Did you tell her about what Jack said?”

“No. It wasn’t my place to tell her that kind of news.”

Sondra tapped her finger against the bar, disturbed. “I ran into Jack myself not too long ago.”

“Really,” Cicely said, surprised. “Where?”

“In New York—he was in town on business. He also said he saw Tracy the night before her disappearance. Told me that she told him she was unhappy.”

“Unhappy about what?”

“He said she ran away before she told him anything.”

Cicely wrinkled her nose. “Did he tell the police?”

“No. Said he didn’t know what difference it would have made and he didn’t want to lay that on Phillip. You know, him wondering if his wife was doing her ex, that kind of thing.”

“I could see that.”

Sondra chewed on what was left of the nail of her index finger. “What did you think of Phillip?”

Cicely shrugged. “He seemed nice enough. I never thought he was her type though. If I’m being honest, I think Jack was her soulmate, but you know, it doesn’t always work out with your soulmate. Still, she seemed like she was really in love with Phillip.”

“Did you like him? Phillip, I mean.”

“Um… he was okay. I mean, it took me a while to warm up to him, but he seemed alright. Like I said, though, I wouldn’t have picked him for her, that’s for sure.”

Sondra snorted. “That’s the same thing I said.”

“He was… quiet, just… I don’t know. Just a different energy from Jack, which we were all used to and loved.”

“In that letter he sent my mother, he went on and on and about what a great marriage he and Tracy had.”

“Well, maybe it’s like you said, he was trying to protect you all from whatever was going on between them.”

“I guess.”

“Maybe they just realized that they had rushed into things,” Cicely said. “I mean they hadn’t even known each other a year when they got married.” Cicely picked up her wineglass. “Besides, she was probably too embarrassed to talk about any problems. Whatever they may have been. Of course she’s not here, so we can’t ask her.”

Sondra picked up her glass. “There wasn’t anything in her journal either.” She paused. “Tell me about the last time you talked to her.”

Cicely swallowed her wine before she spoke. “Well, we did the ten together that Thursday. And except for that business with the phone calls, she was fine. Anyway, she was taking a personal day on Friday, so we talked about that as we walked out together that night. She said if I wasn’t doing anything over the weekend to give her a call and we’d go catch a movie or something. I called her Saturday afternoon and got her voicemail. I called her again on Sunday when I hadn’t heard from her and left her another voicemail. Again, at the time, I didn’t think anything of it. Like she got busy with other stuff and forgot to check her messages. She wasn’t expected back to work until the following Monday. Sunday night, Phillip called and asked if I had talked to Tracy, because he had left her a few voicemails and she hadn’t called him back.”

“Then what?”

“The police were called and as you know, we did a few stories, Phillip came back, passed out flyers—we all did—and by the end of the week, we got the call her body had been found.”

“What did he seem like?”

“He was frantic, I mean just terrified something had happened to her. A total wreck.”

“What did you tell the police about Phillip?”

“That as far as I knew, he and Tracy were happy. He was cleared as a suspect almost immediately. He was in Milwaukee at that conference. Probably a hundred people saw him.”

“Well, at this point, I don’t know what the hell to think. Maybe it’s like Gary said… I should just let Tracy go.” She paused. “Except I wanna talk to Jack again.”

“Can I do anything?”

“I was wondering if you could pull the tapes of the coverage from Tracy’s disappearance. I’d like to look at them, maybe use them. I don’t know.”

“Of course. I can have an intern pull them. Stop by any time after two and I’ll set you up in an editing bay so you can look at them. Station is just down the street from here, big red “four” out front. Can’t miss it.”

Sondra smiled. “I remember. Cicely, thank you so much. For everything.”

“You know, even though we weren’t related by blood, I felt as close to her as anyone in my own family.”

Sondra sniffed, the all-too-familiar tears welling in her eyes. “She had that effect on people. Just made everyone feel… welcome.”

Cicely lifted her glass in the air, and Sondra picked up her now replenished club soda.

“To Tracy,” Cicely said.

“To Tracy.”

W
hen Phillip arrived home that evening to let Paula out of the bathroom, a fresh wave of tears had unleashed themselves down her already swollen face.

Phillip crossed his arms, disgust smeared across his face. Paula continued to lay crumpled across the bathroom floor like a discarded winter coat in the dead of summer.

“I would have thought you’d have this out of your system by now.”

“I’m so sorry I keep disappointing you. I just, I love you so much and want to please you.”

“Then why do you insist upon making things so difficult Paula? After everything I’ve done for you?”

Paula nodded her head as if a puppet master was pulling a string. “You’ve been so good to me, I know—”

“I’ve given you my life, given you a good life, certainly better than you would have had otherwise. And what do you do? Treat me like I mean nothing.”

Paula’s eyes became big watery saucers. “No, no, you’re everything. My world, my reason for living.”

“I gave up so much to be with you,” Phillip continued, as though he hadn’t heard Paula. “I had a wonderful life in Chicago. A loving wife who took care of me, a beautiful home.” Phillip looked at Paula and narrowed his eyes. “And then you came along—”

Paula jammed her hands over her ears, knowing what was coming. “No please, stop it,” she whimpered as her head snapped left to right.

Phillip dropped to his knees and buttoned his hands over Paula’s wrists before he wrenched them down by her sides. “And then you came along and threw yourself at me, begging me to take you back, telling me how much better you were for me than she was.”

“Please—!”

“And even after I told you I was devoted to my wife, you kept coming at me, pleading and whining—”

“Phillip, no!” Paula squirmed beneath Phillip’s grasp, the torrent of water still spurting from her eyes.

Phillip’s voice plowed through Paula’s protests like a bulldozer. “And then you made her believe we were having an affair, made her want to leave me and when that wasn’t enough, you started stalking her, calling her, following her—”

“Oh, God!”

“And then you killed her! You followed her that night and you smashed that rock into her beautiful face and killed her!”

Paula let out an anguished yelp and tried again in vain to twist away from Phillip’s rough grasp on her wrist and the ugly truth that had pushed past his lips.

“But I had to! I had to kill her!”

“And then because I felt sorry for you, I covered for you, kept you from going to jail, put you in the hospital instead. And all I asked in return was that you take care of me, be good to me.” Repulsed, Phillip flung Paula’s hands down until they hung by her sides like limp strands of spaghetti.

Paula collapsed across the edge of the tub, her tears slippery against the fiberglass. Phillip had verbalized the worst nightmare of them all. She often saw herself running after Tracy that snowy night, her feet crunching into the fresh flakes. She had finally caught up to Tracy and swung her around to face her. The two women had argued and in a rage, Paula had pushed her down onto the ground and slammed that rock into Tracy’s face until she finally stopped screaming and writhing. Horrified by what she had done, Paula had called Phillip and begged him to help her. He had agreed, saying it was obvious Paula wasn’t well and he would take care of everything.

And he had.

But every day Paula was reminded of what she had done. Phillip had saved her life and she was determined not to let him down.

Phillip was leaning against the doorjamb. “I think you should stay in here the rest of the night. Maybe that will teach you a lesson.” For the second time that day, Phillip slammed the door shut behind him and locked it with a strident click.

T
rue to its name, Dive’s décor boasted an aquatic theme. There was a water wall separating the bar from the restaurant and water swirled beneath the light blue Plexiglas floors. The deep azure walls were interrupted by stark postmodern black and white prints of various water images. Each table was draped with crisp white linen tablecloths and small cobalt colored vases with white tea lights floating inside. Located in River North, a neighborhood renowned for its upscale restaurants, Dive had been a roaring success with its soul food tapas concept and its sister restaurant, Flow, tucked off the Magnificent Mile on St. Clair, had come on the scene a few years later as a wine bar. Both had made Jack Turner a rich man and a minor celebrity in Chicago.

Sondra now sat inside the dimly lit restaurant waiting for her sister’s former boyfriend. Sondra checked her watch. She had called earlier and was told he would be in around eleven. It was now a few minutes past. As was her way, Sondra was growing impatient and let her gaze wonder across the vast expanse of blue as the staff bustled around her getting ready for the lunch rush. At eleven-fifteen, Jack came bounding through the door in full deal-making mode, cell phone glued to his ear, shades pulled down over his eyes, and talking a mile a minute. He was swathed in a cream linen shirt and trousers with black leather man sandals or mandals, as Sondra called them. He came to a dead stop when he saw Sondra sitting at the bar staring at him. He hung up and ambled over to where she was.

“Sondra? Hey what are you doing here?”

She ran her tongue across her teeth. “I’m in town for a few days. I need to talk to you and it’s important.”

“Yeah sure, my office is in the back.”

He motioned for Sondra to follow him, and she hopped down off the black iron bar chair. She jogged to catch up to Jack, who was unlocking the door of his office. He turned on the light and set his briefcase, keys and cell phone down on the tempered glass desk.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a straight back, hammered metal chair with a deep blue cushion. Jack pulled his desk chair around so that he was sitting face-to-face with Sondra.