morning cartoons with Lucy by my side. Maybe it’s only because I’d come so close to losing it, but life is seeming really, really good.
Or so I’m excitedly telling Patty. She seems very impressed by my theory—the one I’m hoping will send Detective Canavan, when he hears what Chris has to say, directly to Fischer Hall with an arrest warrant.
“I’m back,” Patty says. “Where were we?”
“Rachel. Suddenly she’s left holding the reins to the chuck wagon all by her lonesome,” I say. “So what does a modern twenty-first-century gal like Rachel do?”
“Oh, wait, wait, let me try,” Patty says, excitedly. “Rounds up a—what do they call it? Oh yes. A posse?”
“Gets rid of the competition,” I correct her. “Because in Rachel’s twisted mind, she thinks if she kills all Chris’s girlfriends, she’ll get him back through default. You know, if there aren’t any other girls left, he’ll have no choice but to return to her.”
“Wow.” Patty sounds impressed. “So how’s she doing it?”
“What do you mean, how’s she doing it? She’s pushing them down the elevator shaft.”
“Yeah, but how, Heather? How is a skinny bitch like Rachel pushing full-grown women—who surely don’t want to die—down the elevator shaft? I mean, I can’t even get my sister’s damn chihuahua into his carrier, and he’s just a tiny dog. Do you have any idea how hard it must be to push someone who doesn’t want to die down an elevator shaft? You have to open the doors first. What are these girls doing while she’s doing that? Why aren’t they fighting back? Why doesn’t Rachel have scratches on her face or on her arms? My sister’s damned dog scratches me hard when I try to put him in his Sherpa.”
I think back to my formative years of television viewing. “Chloroform,” I say, simply. “She must be using chloroform.”
“Wouldn’t the coroner be able to find traces of this?”
Wow. Patty is good. Especially for someone who claims not to have time to watch CSI.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Maybe she conks them on the head with a baseball bat and slings ’em down the shaft while they’re unconscious.”
“The coroner wouldn’t have noticed this?”
“They’ve just fallen sixteen stories,” I say. “What’s another bump?”
Beep.
My call waiting is going off.
“Oh, that’s gotta be Cooper, Pats,” I say. “Listen, I’ll call you later. Want to go out for a celebratory brunch tomorrow? I mean, after they’ve incarcerated my boss?”
“Sure. Be there with bells on.” Patty hangs up. I push down on the receiver, then say, “Hello?” after I hear the line click.
But the voice I hear isn’t Cooper’s. It’s a woman’s voice.
And it sounds like whoever it belongs to is crying.
“Heather?”
It takes me a second, but then I realize who it is.
“Sarah?” I say. “Is that you?”
“Y-yes.” Sarah sniffles.
“Are you okay?” I sit up in bed. “Sarah, what’s the matter?”
“It’s… it’s Rachel,” Sarah say.
Whoa. Had the cops gotten there and arrested her already? It’s going to be a blow, I know, for the building staff, what with Justine turning out to be a ceramic heater thief, and now Rachel turning out to be a homicidal maniac.
But they’ll get over it. Maybe I’ll bring in Krispy Kremes for everyone tomorrow.
“Yeah?” I say. Because I don’t want to let on that I’d had anything to do with the arrest. Yet, anyway. “What about Rachel?”
“She… she’s dead.”
I nearly drop the phone.
“What?” I cry. “Rachel? Dead? What—”
I can’t believe it. It isn’t possible. Rachel? Dead? How on earth…
“I think she killed herself,” Sarah says with a sob. “Heather, I just came into the office, and she’s… she’s hanging here. From that grate between our office and hers.”
Oh my God.
Rachel’s hanged herself. Rachel realized that the jig was up, but instead of going quietly, she killed herself. Oh my God.
I have to remain calm. For the building’s sake, I realize. I have to be the one in charge now. The director is gone. That leaves me, the assistant director. I’m going to have to be the strong one. I’m going to have to be everybody’s beacon of light in the dark times ahead.
And it’s okay, because I’m totally prepared. It won’t be any different, really, than if Rachel had been hauled off to jail. She’s really just going to a different place. But she’s gone, just the same.
“I don’t know what to do,” Sarah says, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch. “If anyone walks in and sees this—”
“Don’t let anyone in,” I cry. Oh God. The RAs. This is the last thing they need. “Sarah, don’t let anyone come in. And don’t touch anything.” Isn’t that right? Isn’t that what they always say on Law & Order? “Call an ambulance. Call the police. Right away. Don’t let anyone into the office but the police. Okay, Sarah?”
“Okay,” Sarah says, with another sniffle. “But, Heather?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you come over? I’m… I’m so scared.”
But I’ve already sprung from my bed and am reaching for my jeans.
“I’ll be right there,” I tell her. “Hold on, Sarah. I’ll be right there.”
29
There’s a place called home
Or so I’m told
I’ve never been there
So I wouldn’t know.
There’s a place called home
Where they’re always glad to see you
Where they want you just to be you
This place called home
But I wouldn’t know
’Cause I’ve never had one
I wouldn’t know
Heather Wells, “Place Called Home”
It’s my fault.
Rachel’s death, I mean.
I should have known. I should have known this would happen. I mean, clearly she wasn’t mentally stable. Of course at the slightest provocation, she was going to snap. I don’t know how she figured it out—that we suspected her—but she had.
And she’d taken the only way out she felt she could.
