Best of Luck Elsewhere Page 16

  Adam paused for a moment, before smiling a crooked smile.

  I beat him to it. “My office doesn’t have a locking door, if that’s what you’re about to ask me.”

  “My apartment does.”

  “I have to work until five at least.”

  “I have to head up to Oceanside for an interview near my place. I know there is a five-thirty Coaster train that heads from the Santa Fe Station. I could pick you up, and we can find something to distract you.”

  * * *

  After Adam left and I went back, blushing, to my office, I picked up the phone with more confidence than I’d had earlier. Ms. Li answered right away, seeing my name on her phone screener. “Eliza Tahan. How is your roommate feeling?”

  “Better,” I replied.

  “How can I help you?”

  “I really need to meet with you about this position. When can we talk?”

  There was a pause and a muffled salutation. “Sorry about that, Jane just walked in. What were you saying?”

  Jane was there. To tattle on me for blaming her, most likely, and maybe to accuse me of a murder. I needed to act quickly, not schedule to meet at a later time. “I want to talk about this position. I really don’t feel comfortable with it yet, and was wondering if you’d be able to have another editor fill in temporarily until you hire someone permanently? Jane mentioned that she knows some of the stuff. Maybe she could fill in, I don’t know. I’d really prefer to go back to my old position.”

  “Eliza, I’m sorry. Jane was trying to tell me something at the same time, and I didn’t get all that. You’re saying you are not planning to apply for the permanent editor position?”

  “Sort of. I’m saying I don’t want this position at all. I want to go back to my old position, as assistant editor.”

  “I understand,” Ms. Li reassured me absentmindedly. Obviously, Jane was still pulling her attention away from me. “I will cross your name off the list of candidates and we’ll do a final call for résumés and then start looking for Ms. Orwell’s replacement.”

  “But for now—”

  “Yes,” she said absently, “we will let you know when we’ve hired a new editor. In the meantime, let me know if you need anything else. My door is always open. Have a great day, Eliza.” The phone wasn’t even hung up before I heard her addressing Jane.

  “Now Jane, calm down. Whatever is the matter?”

  So that’s how it’s going to be? I had been thrust into a position I didn’t want (well, kind of wanted at first, but never asked for) and now I was stuck. To say I was annoyed would be an understatement.

  Fine, I thought to myself, if they won’t let me out, then, hell, my next order of business will be grabbing lunch!

  I checked at the clock. Eleven. Close enough to a decent lunch hour. I was off to Horton Plaza and Jamba Juice for a quickie smoothie with “energy boost” that just might set me up for a little something more than a quickie later tonight.

  When I headed off to lunch, I saw Jane return to her desk after being MIA all morning. I didn’t say a word, but made my way to the elevators, then back to the first floor, and out the glass doors.

  Like nearly every day in San Diego, outside it was sunny and warm, with a clear blue sky and a cool ocean breeze reminding me that I lived in a postcard world. Horton Plaza was teeming with tourists, and near the Abercrombie and Fitch store a line was forming for the next trolley tour. I passed people in “I Love San Diego–America’s Finest City” shirts with their cameras out and ready, waiting in line and taking pictures of the U.S. Grant Hotel across the street. My steps matched the beat of the ultra-loud music pouring out of Abercrombie and Fitch’s wide-open doors. I grabbed my Strawberry Surf Rider “with energy boost” smoothie and headed up the long staircase to the various upper levels in the open-air mall.

  After an hour of touring the shops—the bookstore up near Nordstrom, the Discovery Channel Store, the Victoria’s Secret with Adam on my mind— I was on my way down the staircase when I felt a hand rest heavily on my shoulder. I nearly toppled over and down the stairs. But I caught myself on the handrail and whirled around to vent my ire.

  There stood California Guy, a stair above and behind me. I had a flutter in my stomach, but for the moment I couldn’t recall why I felt so uneasy. It was a bad night when we last met, and I’d almost forgotten about him. “H—Hi, Donnie,” I stuttered, still trying to remember why I didn’t feel quite right about him.

  “Eliza.” He glossed over my name as though swallowing it with a shot of good, smooth whiskey. He moved beside me so that we could descend the staircase together. “You seem in pretty good shape. I thought you weren’t doing so well.”

  “Not doing well?”

  “Yeah. Sue said you were out for a while. That something had happened.”

  “Oh, well, I called in sick a few days. It was my roommate, though. I was taking care of him.”

  “Your roommate?”

  “My ex-fiancé. We’re friends now, roommates. I’m sorry Sue misunderstood. I hope she wasn’t worried.”

  He gazed around absently, as though there might be something more important going on elsewhere. “I think your assistant told her something like that. I can’t remember what she said. They told her when she called to say she wasn’t coming in, you know.”

  I didn’t know. Jane hadn’t told me anything about Sue calling. Of course, it wasn’t like we’d had a great catch-up meeting this morning. “How is she?” I asked, hoping to ascertain the situation this way.

  “Your assistant?”

  “No, Sue.”

  “Oh, of course.” The bright sun played in his sunny hair. “Better, I guess. She’s had it pretty bad, as you probably know. But she’ll be better soon.”

  “So, it was the flu or something?”

  He looked at me oddly, “No. She isn’t sick. She was in a little accident. So you didn’t know? What did she say happened when she called?”

  “My assistant only told me that she was out. Is she okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s no big deal. She’s fine. It was just a little accident.”

  Our feet hit the ground level simultaneously and we stopped. An accident? My mind flashed back to the night in the taxi after I had run into Sue and Donnie at Sea World. Flashed back to the fleeting suspicion that California Guy was dangerous. And that he might be abusing Sue. I couldn’t think of what to say, hovering somewhere between wanting to know if my concern was justified and wanting to get away from this possibly bad guy.

  He must have picked up on my change of mind about him, because he was quick to change the subject.

  “You know, her real problem right now is with you.” California Guy’s blond hair fluttered in the breeze as he waited for me to reply.

  “With me?”

  “She’s upset about her novel. Remember that book she gave you? The one she wanted your opinion on?”

  “Of course. I can send her those comments via email this afternoon if she’s really that upset about how long it has taken me.”

  “She already knows you think it’s bad.”

  “Then why did she give it a good review? And pass it along to Ms. Orwell to be chewed up?”

  “She wrote it.”

  “She wrote the review.”

  “The book.”

  My stomach churned, brewing a potent mixture of anxiety and guilt. I didn’t reply.

  “She knows you hate it. Maybe you should tell her something good about it. Not something generic, or something harsh like that other editor said about it. Make her feel a little better.”

  I was speechless.

  We said goodbye and I left quickly, assuring him that I’d go easy in my review of the manuscript. About a block from work I let another thought pass over me.

  Has Sue really had an accident? Or has Donnie hurt her? If it was an accident, did he mean a car accident? Could Sue have hit Liam? That would make it an accident. I’d no longer be a target! I wouldn’t be responsible for Liam’s inju
ry.

  Unless it meant that she hit Liam on purpose, thinking it was me, angry that I didn’t like her book. Was it the same thing with Rain, when she’d written those harsh things about the book?

  I felt a chill despite that warm, dry air. It couldn’t be. Not Sue.

  By the time I boarded the elevator, I’d decided that if the police didn’t want me trying to solve mysteries for them, then I’d just do it without them. All I needed was some evidence, not just a vague suspicion. Then I could take the solved crime to Detective Wilson.

  And if I can’t find any evidence?

  That would be even better. It would mean Sue was probably just mad at me, and not murderous.

  I made my way to the interns’ office, trying to act casual, glad to see that it was empty as it was prime lunch time. I walked along one side of the room towards Sue’s section of the long desk. Was there something on her wall that would count as a clue? Just those quotes.

  Three of her quotes gave me pause.

  “A man’s reach should exceed his grasp.”—Robert Browning

  “Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”—Dylan Thomas

  “I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.”—W. E. Henley

  I continued my search, looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching before opening the small drawer next to her chair. Pens, note paper, extra staples. I was turning my attention to the pictures she had in the drawer when I noticed a small, handwritten note stuck to the bottom of the pen sectional. I picked up the pens and read the note.

  There was a toll-free telephone number, and then:

  #DJS62278 Delta.

  This was stapled to another note that read:

  LuAnne

  Ms. Orwell

  Mrs. C

  Eliza or Ms. Li

  What was this? A hit list? I made copies of these too. Who were LuAnne and Mrs. C? Why was I on there? And Ms. Li? I quickly replaced the pens and took my copies towards the door. Jane was coming in and blocked my exit.

  “Jane, hey,” I said nervously. What had she seen? Would she tell Sue to be careful of me? Did Jane still think I was the killer, even after I had accused her? Would she tell Sue that I was spying on her?

  “Hello.”

  “Say, do you know if Sue sent out those rejection letters yet?” It was the best I could come up with in such short reaction time.

  “I have no idea,” Jane replied, looking at me sideways and moving out of my way. She was still suspicious of me; her actions were telling. “Why?”

  “Oh, I think I gave her a rejection to something I’m reconsidering. I wanted to see if she’d sent it out yet. I’d like to take another look at the manuscript. It was a long shot. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Sue isn’t here today. She was in an accident.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Jane peered at me, as if looking for lies or guilt. “I didn’t tell you.”

  “Yeah, thanks for passing along that important message.”

  “You obviously found out on your own, so who cares if I didn’t tell you? How did you find out?”

  “Her boyfriend told me.”

  “Donnie?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You hang out with Donnie?”

  “I ran into him at Horton Plaza on my lunch break.”

  “But how do you know him?”

  “I met him last week while he was out with Sue.”

  “And he was at Horton Plaza today?”

  “Yeah. He recognized me and told me what happened to Sue.”

  Jane stepped aside to let me through the door, but continued talking. “And what did he say happened?”

  “That Sue was in an accident. Sue didn’t tell you that when she called in sick? What did she say?”

  “Oh, yeah, pretty much that.”

  “A car accident?”

  “Just an accident,” she concluded. She then moved past me out the door and to her desk, picking up the phone and dialing before she even sat down.

  I couldn’t worry about her right now. Who cared if she was still angry at me for supposedly taking her stupid job? She could have it.

  I strode out of the intern office, past Jane speaking low on the phone, and into my own office. Once at the computer, I pulled up Delta Airlines’ reservation page and typed in “DJS62278.” Where was Sue going? And was Donnie involved? Was Jane?

  There it was. She was flying into Phoenix, Arizona. Alone on Friday morning. She hadn’t even mentioned to me that she’d be leaving so soon. I turned my attention to the photocopied list of names. LuAnne? I checked our internal directory of the people in the company. No LuAnnes. I pulled up The San Diego Union-Tribune website and searched the obituaries. No LuAnne in the recent past. Was it code?

  “LuAnne,” I muttered, varying it slower and faster, with different enunciations. “L’Ann. Lou Ane. Luan. Luam—” I stopped and continued more quietly. “Liam.” I glanced back at the photocopy and noted the thin line through the name. Liam?

  “Ms. Orwell” was obvious. If this was a hit list, Ms. Orwell, with the thin line through her name, was a hit.

  Mrs. C? And me? Okay, I had insulted her manuscript, just as Rain had and that was why I was there. But why was Liam, of all people?

  Because everyone thinks you still love him, popped into my mind, thinking back to Starbucks when I got back from Greece. Even people from other departments who I barely knew had the dirt on my failed engagement and how I still lived with my old flame. Did she dare? I gritted my teeth.

  So who was Mrs. C? Someone who had insulted her writing? Someone also connected to me? Someone I cared about?

  Cleo!

  I hopped out of my chair and closed the office door. Returning to my desk, I decided to call Cleo right away. Her answering machine picked up.

  “Oh, come on, Cleo,” I whined after the beep. “This is really important. You may be in danger. I think I know who the murderer is! The person who killed Rain, and who tried to kill Liam! Please call me as soon as you get this—” I was about to hang up when Cleo picked up.

  “Liz?” she was breathless.

  I was in no mood for teasing about her romantic life.

  “Don’t hang up! I’m here!” she gasped.

  “Cleo, listen, I need to talk to you. Is your answering machine off?”

  “It’s in the other room. I’ll erase the message as soon as we finish. Are you at work?”

  “Yeah, and I think I know who killed my boss and tried to kill Liam.”

  Cleo was silent for a moment. And then, “They didn’t decide it was a murder, did they? I thought you said it was just an accident.”

  “I think it was a murder. And you may be in danger.”

  I heard her walking, and then a door shut. “What kind of danger? Is this about work?”

  “Yeah,” I stammered.

  “Did someone call you?”

  “No, my work, I meant.”

  Cleo sighed. “Oh geez, you really worried me there, Liz!”

  I paused. What was Cleo so paranoid about? “Are you in some kind of trouble with work, Cleo? You’re not translating for some shady client, are you?” I queried.

  “Of course I am. The government.” I heard her leather chair squeal as she slumped into it. “But I shouldn’t be in trouble with them. I just worry with some of the government stuff I do. I’m translating taped conversations of some really weird stuff. Some really, really bad people. Sometimes I just get freaked out. It’s hard to ‘leave your work at work’ when you work from home.”

  “You need to work for corporations instead, Cleo. Really, work shouldn’t do this to you.”

  “Yeah, you’re calling me all paranoid about something from your work. So look who’s talking.”

  “No kidding.”

  “So?”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m calling about the murderer.”

  “You don’t really think it was a murder, do you?”

  “I do
think that, actually.”

  “Is that what the police have settled on?”

  “I think so. But they’re not telling me anything—”

  “So you’re just assuming—”

  “Cleo, I’m afraid that you’re on her hit list.”

  “The murderer’s hit list?” Hearing the words come from Cleo’s mouth made them sound sillier than they seemed in my mind.

  “Y—yeah. She has a hit list.”

  “The murderer is a woman, then?”

  “If it is who I think it is. It’s all in code. Rain and Liam are on it. Rain’s name is clear. Liam’s is in code. My name is clear on the list, too, and yours is coded as Mrs. C.”

  “I’m not married.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not married. So I am not Mrs. C. But other than that, if you’ve got a list with Rain’s name and Liam’s name and yours…”

  “Yeah, except Liam’s is coded also.”

  “Mrs. L?”

  Cleo chuckled, which annoyed me. This was serious and she was taking it as a joke.

  “No Cleo. LuAnne. Say it a few times fast and it comes out as Liam.”

  “Okay, so who is this supposed murderer?”

  “If you’re not going to take this seriously—”

  “What will you do?”

  I was without an answer and she drove home her point.

  “You’ll call Liam? Freak him out and make him feel even more helpless? Will you call Adam and scare him off by making him think you’re a crazy woman? Will you call the police who listened so intently when you called them trying to connect Liam’s accident and your boss’s?”

  I was on the verge of tears. “I’m hanging up on you. You’re making fun of me.”

  I heard the leather chair squeal again as Cleo readjusted herself. “Hey, Liz, I’m sorry. I was being silly, but I didn’t realize you were so upset about this. Listen, I’m only taking it lightly because I think you’re overreacting. You do this whenever things get out of your control, and with your boss and Liam and the new workload—”

  “But—”

  “Come on. A hit list? Do you really think someone might leave that in a place you’d find it? It’s just a list of names. Look, I’m getting up right now to go to my desk. I’m looking through the papers on this damn cluttered desk and—here, within fifteen seconds I, too, found a list of names. Some are even in ‘code.’ I promise it is no hit list, though.”