Be Your Everything [All for Love] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (11 page)

There was nothing in her office she ever wanted to see again except maybe her plant. She’d ask Moesha to rescue the poor thing when life settled down if it hadn’t perished without love and affection by then. Freudian. Totally.

She didn’t remember anything about the drive home, but was incredibly grateful she had her car. Public transport would have killed her today, prolonging the agony, looking at all those people and speculating on their lives. She hurried inside, fighting with her keys, the lock a bit blurred with the tears Heather refused to let fall while she was driving. Going straight to the kitchen she yanked the perishables out of the fridge, depositing them in a garbage bag, then went methodically through the apartment, emptying all the trash from each room on top of the discarded food. For a moment she stood and looked around.

Her place was like every other new apartment, resembling a number of white boxes stacked side by each, but she’d transformed it into an oasis of welcome. Her friends loved to visit her and Matthew-Manny had remarked on her taste and choice of furnishings. Heather had done it all on a modest budget, and with a design degree under her belt she thought she could put her talents to greater use. She just had to get her degree. And if that was pie in the sky, so what? It was her pie.

She next went to the bedroom. She didn’t bother to remake her bed. Instead, she put her big suitcase on it and a smaller one. Lists were her thing, partly to manage the OCD, but she found she didn’t need one. It seemed emotional trauma clarified one’s mundane thoughts. One week equalled one of everything.

Good to go, and in under thirty minutes. Heather wondered if she should call her mom or surprise her. Surprise was better, especially when she didn’t know how her mom was doing today, and Wanda tended to perseverate on the time it took for Heather to drive there. Regardless, Heather needed to go somewhere, somewhere far away.

The cases rolled easily to her door and at the last moment she unplugged the television and accompanying electronics as well as the phone. It was an odd sensation, but she wondered if she would ever come back. The garbage bag fit perfectly on top of the bigger suitcase and she left her apartment, carefully locking up behind her. Dumping the garbage in the big bin in the parking lot, Heather then loaded her cases into her trunk, using the edge to first balance then tip them in. She snapped her fingers in frustration, locked the car, and went back to check her mail. Nada. She paid most of her bills online and it was the middle of the month so it was all good.

She was vaguely aware she was pushing full speed ahead, running hard, avoiding the issue, but she couldn’t let herself think. She needed her mom. Wanda wouldn’t be of any real help, but it was the principle of the thing. Moms were supposed to help when their kids came running home, no matter the problem. And Heather had a broken heart and apparently worked for a murderer and a thief.
She
could still be accused of something heinous if they were looking to blame someone.

There was no need to stop for gas. She was always prepared. Being endlessly prepared could be laid smack at the feet of the chaos of her childhood. Having a manic depressive mom who didn’t respond to medication tended to influence a person, despite the mitigating presence of a loving father. She needed to talk to Moesha but thought she should wait awhile. Heather’s work floor was clearly in lockdown mode, and
rumors
would already be circulating, but she’d signed that nondisclosure agreement and didn’t want to be sued unnecessarily.

She decided to stop at the college first.
Never put off until tomorrow…screw the quotes.

* * * *

“May I help you?” The young woman behind the desk wasn’t Heather’s idea of qualified help in the Registrar’s Office, but then she wasn’t sure about the veracity of anything anymore. Today confirmed that.

“I’d like to register for the design program.”

“That’s a process. Students, even mature students, usually do it at home and bring it in. You’ll need a portfolio, identification, any past educational credits, bursary or scholarship applications…”

The woman’s voice trailed off when Heather set all the listed components out on the counter with the exception of the financial applications, sorting through her leather folder. She located the online registration form last, hoping there hadn’t been any changes to this year’s form, blessing the fact she’d printed it off only a few nights ago. Maybe her atavistic self predicted this, the part of her not taken in by Manny’s charm. Heather conveniently forgot it was Manny-Matthew’s very insertion into her life that inspired her to look to change.

Heather’s unwilling helper became gracious and nearly subservient with the arrival of the well-prepared presentation, however unorthodox it may have seemed originally. She asked Heather to call her Kaye and worked some magic at the computer sitting on the counter. Kaye accepted Heather’s credit card after making one change to her application.

“You’ll need this course in furniture designs before you can take furniture four oh three, Heather. I’ve accepted your design portfolio on the face of it. Your professors may request additional designs, but you’ve obviously done some interesting things, and your previous course work will be taken into consideration.

“It’s a four-year program with the option of doing the summer courses. That will see you graduating at the end of two years with the same number of credits and courses. Most likely earlier, in your case, because you’ve already got two years under your belt, although some of the courses aren’t valid any longer. The practicum can be challenging, but many of our students end up employed at their placements in the end.”

Heather accepted her credit card back, and took a map of the campus and a handbook outlining the services and rules of the college. She noted the first day of classes on her phone and in her date book, thanked Kaye and wandered back to her car, hoping it wouldn’t all be for nought. She’d just embarked on her future, and if there wasn’t a man in it, there would be more time for study. When one door closes perhaps another one did indeed open. Mom had spoken in euphemisms and riddles all her life, had raised Heather on them. Her dad balanced the craziness as best he could. But sometimes Mom was dead on. She fished her phone out of her purse and powered it down. There was no one she cared to speak to other than Moesha and she would wait to call her. It was best if she wasn’t distracted by calls or texts. From anyone.

Wanda’s place was only a three-hour drive away, and Heather knew she’d make it well before dinner. She could stay in what most people euphemistically termed “the guest suite” for up to a week, and that usually worked better for her than a hotel. She and her mom could have dinner together. Soon the view of the city was fading in her rear-view, and Heather imagined she could just keep driving forever.

The radio droned on quietly in the background, harmonizing with the whisper of the tires and the rush of air over the windshield. The weather was holding as promised, and she congratulated herself on her choice in footwear. Mundane, casual thoughts held in the forefront of her brain had always tended to support her denial and today was no different. She stayed in the right-hand lane, letting those in a hurry fly past, although her speed was slightly over the limit. She passed the occasional slowpoke, and in no time the turnoff to the small care home appeared on her right. Three hours, almost to the minute.

Taking her foot off the gas, she signalled, then pulled onto the secondary road. Her anxiety began to build again but she forced it down. Maybe her mom would be on her game today, and if not today, tomorrow, although if Wanda was on a bad stretch…Heather decided not to think about the length of Wanda’s bad stretches. They had all week, maybe longer, depending on where the investigation went with Jameson and Company. She was going to be optimistic if it killed her.

* * * *

Heather glumly drove back toward the city, miserable and despondent. Good old Mom chose a fine time to have a bad stretch. Wanda didn’t even know her and the staff recommended she give her mom space before trying to spend time with her, considering how agitated Wanda became. Super. The oldest attendant, Loretta somebody, suggested Heather might have called and saved herself the trip, but if you couldn’t run home to Mom, who could you run home to?

Casting one last look in her mom’s direction, reluctantly accepting her presence wasn’t helping and probably hindering, she’d made her way back out to the car, Loretta promising to alert her if Wanda’s affect changed. They had planned to call her tonight, Loretta asserted, considering Mom’s deterioration. Heather cursed the gods of timeliness and sorted out where she might head next. Her apartment was out of the question, at least for the next several days, and she just had to go and make it nearly inhabitable, too. Not that a couple of pints of cookie dough wouldn’t ease the sting. She didn’t think about the real reason for staying clear.

Digging out her phone she called Moesha. Her friend’s reaction bordered on the nuclear.

“What in hell is going on, Heather? The fourteenth floor is off limits, full of cops, apparently, and security is insane! And you haven’t been answering your phone, either. What’s going on?”

Heather gave Moesha the abridged version, mindful of the nondisclosure agreement, working hard at not allowing the tears of exhaustion and disappointment to enter her voice.

“That thing we suspected Wednesday at the police station is for real. I saw Matthew, who is really Manny Baker, and I don’t want to see him again. I quit. I signed a nondisclosure agreement.”

Silence. A long silence, considering it was Moesha she was talking to. “Okaaaaay…so for sure you quit?”

Moesha was really asking if Heather was fired. “I quit. I went to see my mom but should have called first. She’s not well.”

“Oh, honey. You needed your Mom.” Moesha’s voice was subdued and reflective. “Well, you come back here. We’ll spend some time together. It’s Friday and I’ll ask to get off early and meet you at my place.”

Heather could have wept at the kindness. “Sounds good, Eesh. And sorry I didn’t call earlier. I wasn’t thinking clearly but I knew I couldn’t get you in trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it. You didn’t say anything that wasn’t okay to share, I’m sure. I
still
don’t know what the hell is going on.”

“Moesha? If they’re done upstairs…can you see if you can get my plant? It’s all I want and only because it’ll die. I can’t go back for it…”

“I’ll go now. Gordon will take me. That boy thinks I’m fine and is interested in me. I’ll see if they’ll let me take it. Can I tell them you quit?”

Heather laughed a little, surprising herself. “I guess I need to submit a formal resignation, although I have no clue who to send it to. HR, I suppose. But yeah, you can tell them. But don’t tell Ma…I mean don’t tell anyone where I am.”

“For sure. See you in what? A few hours?”

“Maybe a little more. I’m tired.”

“Should you be driving?” Moesha’s voice was now sharp with worry.

“It’s good highway and I’ll take my time. There’s no sense in me staying here. See you.”

Manny leaned on the buzzer of Heather’s apartment building and checked his phone. Nothing. He punched redial again and listened to several rings before it kicked over to voice mail. Heather’s sweet voice asked him to please leave a message. This time he declined. Several previous messages hadn’t been returned and his texts ignored.

“Did you forget your key?” An elderly woman gave him a quizzical look. He hadn’t heard her come into the vestibule, probably because he was exhausted from the day. The forensic accounts were still hard at it, but all the pertinent staff had been interviewed. All except for Grayson who hadn’t come into work that morning, or called anyone, not even his secretary.

The agent at Heather’s desk fielded several calls but none from Grayson. McAllister sent a unit to his house but his wife thought they were responding to a missing person’s report she’d tried to file in the early hours of the morning. Her husband hadn’t come home the previous night. Manny must have misread Grayson, maybe given himself away, but regardless, the other man had sensed something and ran. The only good news was he hadn’t accessed any more funds, and had missed the big score.

It didn’t make sense that Grayson hadn’t transferred the money if he had the data. He had a small window of opportunity before the team of accountants figured it out and shut him down. If the man knew they’d tumbled to him he had to know
that
. So it was more likely he was on the run, spooked by something. Manny cursed, and the elderly woman flinched back. He hurriedly turned on the charm.

“Sorry, ma’am. My mother would slap me for that language. Blame it on my frustration and worry for my lady friend.”

“Your lady friend?”

“Heather Graham, in six oh three.”

“Heather! Oh, such a sweet young woman. She walked my Trixie and took care of her when I had my bunion surgery a few months ago. Never took a dime for it, either. My own daughter wouldn’t take the dog! And she gave me the most lovely roses Wednesday night, just because. I
thought
I recognized you from the elevator last Sunday! I’m Mrs. Humphries, seven twelve.” Mrs. Humphries’s cheeks stained carnation pink and Manny realized she had seen him kissing Heather in the elevator. Strenuously kissing her. He vaguely remembered a little fluff ball of white yapping in the background and an older woman’s voice indicating she’d catch the next car. He’d been distracted and maybe that was why Grayson had flown the coop.

Shaking off the memory, he said, “That was me, Mrs. Humphries. I’m, uh, Manny Baker. Heather and I had a date for dinner and I don’t know where she’s gotten to. I’m worried.”

“Oh. Well, I haven’t seen her, but we’ll go to her apartment.”