28. Frederick
28
FREDERICK
“ N ot a snowball’s chance in hell,” I tell Mimi.
I’m not giving this sleazy woman another dime of my money. I turn my nose up at her and leave. “I’ll find her on my own, thanks.”
“Good luck,” Mimi scoffs.
Ignoring her, I get back in my car. My next step is to try her at work. We need to confront the situation head-on, discuss it, and move on from there. Hailing a cab, I direct them to the Le Printemps.
“Hello, Frederick,” Cheri greets me as I approach the hostess stand. “Do you have a reservation?”
“I’m here to see Rochelle,” I say, cutting straight to the point. “Is she working?”
“She’s not in today,” Cheri says with a shrug. “I think she’s taken some time off.”
“Where is Edgar? I need to talk to her boss and get her new address.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s against company policy to give out the address of our employees,” Edgar appears from around the corner of the foyer. “Even if I could help you, Rochelle has asked us not to disclose her address to anyone who might inquire.”
“I see.” She doesn’t want me to know her new address. Deciding not to waste my time on this dead end any longer, I turn on my heel and leave, calling up my travel agent to book the next flight to Dallas.
Even if Rochelle won’t take my calls and refuses to see me, I can still follow through with my plan to pick up something from Steve to give to her. She deserves to have this last piece of her mother, and Steve doesn’t scare me one iota.
Within the hour, I’m taking a taxi to Newark Airport, and it doesn’t take long for me to get through the TSA PreCheck line and head to the gate for my flight to Texas.
Just as we’re about to take off, Amyra, the lawyer I recommended to Rochelle, texts me.
I’ve got Steven Harcourt’s financial records, as requested. You were right. He’s not going to know what hit him.
I grin. You’re a genius .
I’m emailing you all of them now.
Perfect .
If Steve isn’t going to part with the last item willingly, I now have a fail-safe. He won’t have anything left of Rochelle’s mom, Nina, by the time I’m done with him.
The flight lands, and I head into the warm Texan sun, calling for an Uber to take me to her ex-stepfather’s current address.
The phone rings as soon as we get onto the interstate. I glance down to see my mother’s name flashing on the screen.
End call .
It starts ringing again.
End call .
“Everything okay?” my driver asks from the front.
“Yeah. My mother. She won’t stop calling.” I end another call.
“Maybe it’s important,” he offers.
“It’s not an emergency, I’m sure of that. If it were, she would text. She wants me to talk to her so she can apologize. She and my uncle said some not-so-nice things about my fiance and she overheard. Now my mom’s upset she’s in trouble for it.”
The driver makes a low whistling noise. “Wow. That’s awful. Did she at least apologize?”
“She’s trying to apologize now. And so is my uncle,” I say, seeing a call coming in from Theron now. “But I’m not ready to forgive them yet.”
“Dang. That’s a hard one, but my mama says that when we let wounds fester, they can get infected. She says if you let the hurt take over, you risk cutting the limb off to spite yourself.”
“Right now, I’m here to make things right for my fiance. Maybe when I’ve cooled down I’ll see what my mother and my uncle have to say,” I tell him. “But thanks for the advice. Your mother is a wise woman.”
It occurs to me that he’s right in more ways than one – the only way to make this right is an apology, and they owe that to Rochelle more than anyone. That’s if I can convince her to at least hear them out. She won’t even speak to me for the time being.
We arrive at the house where Rochelle grew up and I get out, taking it in. The place looks like it needs some serious work. The yard is overgrown, and there are cracks in the sidewalk where weeds push through. One shutter is falling off the front window, and the paint is peeling.
Walking up the front steps, I raise my hand and knock on the door. The man who answers is nothing like I imagined. From Rochelle’s stories, I knew he was white. But I had imagined a tall man, built like a linebacker with a dark and menacing aura.
This man is half a head shorter than me, with a beer belly and dark circles under his eyes. His shirt is stained and his pants have a hole in the knee. He’s clutching a can of beer and squints his eyes, trying to figure out who I am.
“What can I help you with?” Steve asks.
“I’m here on behalf of Rochelle Reynolds,” I say. Steve scowls and makes to shut the door but I jam my foot in the doorway, stopping it from closing.
“I’ve already sent that bitch everything,” Steve slurs out. “What else does she want? She can’t have the house!”
“You have one more thing that she wants. She doesn’t know I’m here, but I intend to get it back on her behalf,” I say, standing up to my full height.
Steve is a former cop so he doesn’t respond to my posturing, instead giving me a smirk with his eyes cold. “You can tell that little leech she can rot in hell,” he says. “I’m not giving her another dime and that’s final.”
“She doesn’t want money,” I say. “She doesn’t need it. This is what she wants,” I show him the photo, taken by the sheriffs who inventoried the possessions during retrieval.
Steve barks out a laugh that turns into a cough, then chugs his beer and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re shitting me. Ain’t no way in hell that bitch getting her hands on that.”
“I thought you’d feel that way,” I say, pulling out my phone. “I’ve heard plenty about you. I know exactly how crooked and petty you can be. But I’ve prepared for that. Either you give me this item, or I’ll go to the IRS with these copies of your financial records from the last fifteen years.”
“You got nothing!” Steve points a finger at me. “I know the law. They can’t go back more than three years.”
“Three years for criminal charges, sure. But there’s no statute of limitations on civil assessments.” I grin. “The IRS can make life extremely unpleasant for you from now to kingdom come if you don’t cooperate.”
Steve gives me one last glare before turning to walk into the house, slamming the screen behind him. He returns a few minutes later with the item, inside a box.
“And it’s all in here?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “If I look inside, will it be intact?”
“What, you think I took it out to mess around or some shit?”
“Just checking,” I say, tucking the box under my arm. “I’ll leave now, but you leave Rochelle alone. Don’t ever contact her again. You can only contact her if you realize you still have something of her mother’s. Otherwise, stay away from her.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t care about that bitch, anyway.”
I curl my lip in disgust, turning to walk down the steps and back to the Uber. I gave my driver a hefty tip to stay while I ‘visited’ with Steve. Now that we’re done, I have him take me straight back to the airport.
Rochelle deserves this last piece of her mother. If I can’t give it to her in person, I’ll ensure that she gets it one way or another.
I keep the box with me, even booking it a separate seat on my return flight. I don’t trust anyone else to touch this precious memento.
Once we’re back in New York, I go straight to the post office. Rochelle won’t let me have her new address, but at least I can send this to her post office box.
Carefully wrapping it up in layers of bubble wrap, I put it inside a fresh shipping box and carry it to the counter.
“Does this package contain liquids, explosives, hazardous material, or electronics?” the postal worker asks, snapping her gum as she pokes the box.
I suppress a laugh, biting my lip. “No. None of that,” I tell her. “Just some precious memories.”
“As long as it isn’t explosive.” She shrugs, then weighs the box and slaps the shipping label on it.
With that done, I leave to go home. It’s been a long, tiring day and all I want is a shower and my bed. Tomorrow, I’ll figure out my next move.