Murder Packs a Suitcase (3 page)

A half hour later, Mallory rode down the elevator of the Paragon Publications building, feeling dazed. She could hardly believe she had just said yes to a proposition that she now realized was completely ridiculous.

But it was too late. In her purse she had an e-ticket, the name and address of an Orlando hotel, the confirmation number of a car rental, and a cash advance for those extras Trevor had mentioned. She also had an official Assignment Letter printed on
The Good Life
letterhead that stated she was writing an article for the magazine. She'd glanced at it only long enough to see that it ended with the phrase,
Please extend to Ms. Marlowe all courtesies as a journalist.

I have a job! she marveled. Like it or not, I'm a real live travel writer!

She wasn't sure whether she should be rejoicing or kicking herself. But one thing she was certain of was that simply repeating those words in her mind sent so much adrenaline surging through her veins that she doubted she'd ever need a cup of coffee again.

2

“The World is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.”

—St. Augustine

N
ext stop, Rivington. Rivington!”

As the Metro North train pulled into the station, Mallory took one last glance at the To Do list she'd scribbled during the ride home. It had grown considerably from the mental version she'd begun constructing in Trevor's office. “Get summer clothes out of storage. Schedule haircut. Get cash from ATM. Buy guidebooks. Shop for sandals. Write down important phone numbers for Jordan.”

How am I ever going to get all this done in time? she wondered with alarm.

But preparing for her trip was only part of it. What she was really worried about was how her children would react to the news. She wanted to believe they'd be excited for her. Yet two decades in the mother business had taught her that the one thing children didn't like was change. Especially if it involved their parents.

“Jordan?” she called as she stepped into the foyer. She dropped her keys and her purse on the marble table that was there expressly for that purpose. “Sweetie, are you home?”

She glanced into the living room, where her son was sprawled out on the couch. As usual, he was engrossed in some video game that enabled him to pulverize, mangle, and otherwise destroy a variety of digital bad guys merely by clicking a few keys.

“Jordan, did you—oh, my God!” Mallory froze, not quite believing what she was seeing. “Amanda? What are
you
doing here?”

“Frankly, I was hoping for a warmer welcome,” her daughter replied sullenly.

Amanda stood in the kitchen doorway with one hand curled around a steaming mug. With the other hand she twirled a lock of her long, straight auburn hair, a nervous habit left over from childhood.

And a sign that something was wrong.

“Of course I'm happy to see you,” Mallory assured her. “It's just that I didn't
expect
to see you.”

She rushed over to give her a hug, still amazed that her firstborn child towered a good five inches above her. Amanda was also reed-thin, although the gawkiness that had plagued her during her teenage years was mercifully evolving into a willowy gracefulness.

“When did you get here?” Mallory asked, trying to hide her shock. “And more importantly, what are you doing home from college?”

“She just showed up a few minutes ago,” Jordan informed her as he sauntered into the foyer, cradling a bag of some bright orange junk-food product. His baggy yellow T-shirt and equally baggy jeans looked rumpled, as they always did after a long session on the couch. His dark blond hair was similarly disheveled, making him appear as if he'd been engaged in hand-to-hand combat rather than merely fighting virtual enemies. “She's having an identity crisis.”

“Wha—?” Mallory stared at her daughter, shaking her head in bafflement. “What on earth is he talking about, Amanda?”

Amanda took a deep breath. “Mother,” she announced, pushing up the sleeves of the cream-colored cashmere sweater she wore with tailored black slacks, “I needed to get away from school. I'm taking a few days to decide what to do with my life.”

I'm forty-five years old, Mallory thought ruefully, and I still haven't figured out what to do with mine.

But this wasn't about her, she reminded herself. This is about a twenty-year-old who up until this moment has never once strayed from any of the goals she set for herself.

Ever since she was tiny, Amanda had known exactly what she wanted, whether it was a yellow balloon as opposed to any other color or earning the highest SAT scores in her school's history. And once she'd set her sights on something, she exhibited amazing discipline in order to get it, acting as if reaching that particular goal was a matter of life and death.

Which made the fact that for once in her life, Amanda had stepped off that straight and narrow path of hers—even going so far as to have an “identity crisis,” according to her brother—cause for alarm.

“Is there something in particular that precipitated this crisis?” she asked her daughter, trying to remain calm.

“As you know, I've been leaning strongly toward getting an MBA after I graduate from college next year,” Amanda replied, as usual sounding more like a college professor than a college student. “But I just got my score for the law school admission test I took in the fall…”

“And?” Mallory prompted, still bracing herself for the bad part.

“I did better than I expected.
Much
better.” Amanda paused for dramatic effect before adding, “I scored in the ninety-fifth percentile.”

Is
that
all? Mallory thought, nearly falling over with relief. Here I was worried that she was in some kind of trouble—maybe even the kind that requires a lawyer. But it turns out that
her
crisis is deciding whether or not she wants to
be
one.

“If you're that smart,” Jordan piped up, “why don't you just go to law school and business school at the same time? That way, you can make twice as much money—which is what all this is about, right?”

Mallory cast her son a dirty look. Sometimes he acted so much like a baby brother that she wondered if he was eighteen or eight.

“That's wonderful, Amanda!” she told her daughter sincerely. “That means you can pursue either one of them. So I don't understand why—”

“But that's the problem!” Amanda wailed. “Even though I've been thinking in terms of business school, it turns out I'm unbelievably well suited for law school. Everything is suddenly up in the air. I have a major decision to make, probably the most important one of my entire life!”

“Can't you go back to school and make your decision there?” Mallory asked, trying to hide her frustration over her daughter's tendency to overdramatize. Especially since this time around, it meant a major change of plans that affected them both. “The semester just started. You must be missing so many classes—”

“Actually, I thought it was much more important to return to my childhood home,” Amanda replied, straightening her shoulders. “I felt it would give me an opportunity to get back in touch with my true self.”

“Don't tell me,” Jordan said, grinning. “Your inner child, right?”

Amanda cast her brother a scathing look. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

He groaned as he reached into the bag of mysterious junk food. “Do you think your inner child gives a hoot about whether you become an executive or a lawyer? I don't see a lot of little girls dressing their Barbie dolls in business suits and teeny-weeny briefcases.”

Amanda tossed her hair in a way that said that one thing she
was
in touch with was the importance of ignoring her little brother. Widening her eyes at Mallory, she said, “This is a critical time for me, Mother. I'm facing a major crisis, possibly the biggest one of my entire life. And I need you to help me through it.”

“Hey, I've got an idea.” Jordan crunched through a mouthful of orange. “Why don't you toss a coin? Heads means law school, tails means business school—”

“Do you really expect me to take career advice from someone who spent less time in college than he did at Boy Scout camp?” Amanda asked icily, fixing her brother with a scowl.

“Hey, can I help it if college didn't turn out to be the way I expected?” Jordan shot back. “Besides, the timing for a major change in my life was a little awkward, don't you think? Since Dad just died six months ago?”

“If there's one thing Daddy would have wanted,” Amanda countered, “it would be for you to get a college degree.”

“Is that what it's about?” Jordan sneered. “The degree? What about all the important stuff I'm supposed to be learning?”

“Could you two please just stop?” Mallory cried. She put her hands over her ears, as if that could drown out the bickering she'd been listening to almost since Jordan first started talking as a baby. It was at that point that Amanda had realized she'd gotten more than a little brother—she'd gotten a sparring partner. Mallory knew her children loved each other, but they never seemed to tire of replaying the same script over and over again.

At the moment, she simply didn't have the patience for it. Not when she was doing battle with her own demons, the ones that kept bringing up the possibility that she was still too fragile to handle the new challenge she had suddenly been handed. For once, she wanted to focus on her own uncertainty and let her children deal with theirs by themselves, even if merely having that thought made her feel guilty.

“Amanda, I think you should enjoy the weekend at home, then go back to school Sunday evening,” Mallory said firmly. “I understand that you've got a decision to make. But that doesn't mean you should be skipping classes.”

“I don't care about my classes,” Amanda declared, pouting. “Right now it's more important for me to take a break—one that includes spending some quality time with my mother. I thought you'd be thrilled that I came home for a few days. I figured we could, I don't know, go shopping at Bloomingdale's or…or go out for lunch. Aren't those things mothers and daughters are supposed to do together?”

No time like the present for Mallory to make her own announcement. “I'm sorry, honey. I would love to take you shopping, but I'm going away. I just got back from an interview at a magazine called
The Good Life.
The editor offered me a job as a travel writer.”

Amanda gasped. “You didn't take it, did you?”

Mallory's eyebrows shot up. “I certainly did,” she replied indignantly, wondering at what age children finally figured out that their parents had lives, too. “My first assignment is writing an article about Florida. I'll be away for five days—all of next week. And to be perfectly honest, even though I'm a little nervous, I'm actually looking forward to it.”

“Cool, Mom,” Jordan said. Then he frowned. “Wait a minute. Does that mean I'll have to, like, take out the garbage and stuff like that while you're away?”

“You've been taking out the garbage since you came back home,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, but you've always been around to remind me what day.”

“Travel writing? That's so…so extreme!” Amanda exclaimed. “Your job at the
Rivington Record
is nice and safe. You don't even have to go beyond the town limits!”

Mallory was growing increasingly impatient. She could practically see the list she'd been composing in her head. And of all the things she had on her list, arguing with her children about whether or not she was capable of flying to Florida for five days to write about alligator farms and seashell earrings wasn't on it.

“Sweetie,” she said, her exasperation beginning to seep through, “you're the one who's been on my case about meeting new people and having new experiences.”

“Well, yes, but…but…when are you going?” Amanda demanded.

“Early Sunday morning.”

“But Mother, you can't just
leave
me!” Amanda cried, tears welling in her eyes. “I
need
you!”

“Which day is recycling?” Jordan asked, suddenly agitated. “I can never remember if it's Tuesday or Thursday.”

Mallory sighed. She'd so desperately wanted Amanda and Jordan to be happy for her. Or at least accepting. If anyone knew how David's death had affected her, it was the two of them. They'd witnessed her transformation from a confident, self-reliant woman to someone who was so unsure of herself that deciding what to make for dinner had become overwhelming.

Then again, they were children.
Her
children. Up until this point, she had always been available to them, thanks to her flexible schedule as a freelancer for the
Record.
She'd had the time to drive Jordan all over Westchester County for his soccer games and the energy to bake chocolate chip cookies with Amanda after she learned she'd missed becoming class valedictorian by one thousandth of a point—even if it was ten o'clock at night.

“Just call your new boss and tell him something came up,” Amanda urged.

Mallory glanced at her purse, still lying on the front table. In it were her e-ticket and her itinerary. Not long before, those pieces of paper had made her feel excited, if apprehensive, about the fact that she was about to embark on a brand-new chapter of her life.

“I'm sorry, Amanda,” she said gently. “Maybe the timing isn't right for you, but it couldn't be better for me.” With a little shrug, she added, “I'm going.”

Out with the old, in with the new, Mallory thought as she sat in the waiting area at JFK Airport early Sunday morning. She wondered if she was being overly dramatic by thinking that the plane she was about to board would carry her away from her old life and into a brand-new one, one in which she played the role of travel writer.