you Paula.”
“I understand.”
“Obviously, there will be no visits with Cindy Cross today. In light of this morning’s problems, I will have to rethink my position on that.”
Without a word, Phillip shut the door and locked it from the outside. Paula lay down on top of the white bathroom rug and cried for the rest of the day.
TWENTY-SEVEN
S ondra sipped her club soda while she waited for Cicely. She was desperate for a cigarette, but Chicago, like New York, was smoke-free. She drummed her fingers on the seat next to her and kept an eye out for her sister’s best friend. She saw her breeze through the door in all her five foot two, size zero glory. Her pink suit was flawless against her milk white skin, which offset the soft sweep of dark brown hair and flashing green eyes. Sondra threw up her hand to signal to Cicely and upon spotting her, the tiny brunette click-clacked on her teeny high-heeled sandals over to where Sondra was sitting. Sondra rose to greet her.
“Hey, stranger,” Cicely said as she gave Sondra a fierce hug.
“Hey yourself.” Sondra said as she returned Cicely’s embrace. She pulled back and motioned to her glass.
“Can I get you something?”
Cicely nodded to the bartender. “Whatever the house pinot noir is, please.”
Cicely settled into the chair next to Sondra and turned her attention to her friend’s sister. “So… how was your flight?”
Sondra nodded. “Oh, it was good. Uneventful.”
“So what brings you to town?”
“I’m, um… thinking about doing a film on Tracy and her disappearance.”
“Oh. Wow. What brought that on?”
“I was flipping through the newspaper and came across this story about this woman who’d gone jogging—just like Tracy—and disappeared.”
“Okay.”
“And this story got huge, huge coverage. I mean, you would have thought the Pope had up and vanished. Now, this girl was eventually found dead, but it struck me as kind of interesting how much coverage this got.”
Cicely sipped her wine. “Yeah.”
“Anyway, I was looking up coverage of Tracy’s death and aside from her obits and a few stories you guys did, nada.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Okay, so then I found this “USA Today” article about how when white women disappear it’s all over the news, but when a black woman disappears,” Sondra snapped her fingers, “nothing.”
“Sad to say, it happens.”
“Originally, I was thinking I would do the documentary about that and Tracy, but now… well, there were some things going on with Tracy before she died.”
“Like what?”
“Cicely… did you know Tracy was planning to divorce Phillip?”
Cicely choked on her wine. “Excuse me?”
“I found the number of an attorney, Damon Randall, in her datebook. I called him and he said she wanted to meet with him to discuss divorcing her husband.”
“My God. I had no idea.”
“She made an appointment to meet with him the Monday after she died.”
“You’re joking,” Cicely said, coughing.
“There’s more. Phillip sent a letter to Mimi, telling her he’d gotten remarried.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Anyway, I wanted to talk to him about Tracy, you know about the documentary and well… everything. I thought maybe he was protecting us by not telling us about the divorce. I just want the full story, right?”
“I get it.”
“Well, first I try finding him online and his last listed address is here. Then the address on the letter is some mailbox rental place in Michigan.” Sondra leaned closer. “If you rent a box from them, they’ll forward your mail to you anywhere you want them to send it.”
Cicely motioned to the bartender for a menu. “Did they give you his address?”
“No, but I have to tell you, I get the feeling he’s not in Michigan.”
“I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact she was filing for divorce. Although… ”
Sondra sat up. “What?”
“Well, I didn’t think too much of this at the time. I didn’t
“I understand.”
“Obviously, there will be no visits with Cindy Cross today. In light of this morning’s problems, I will have to rethink my position on that.”
Without a word, Phillip shut the door and locked it from the outside. Paula lay down on top of the white bathroom rug and cried for the rest of the day.
TWENTY-SEVEN
S ondra sipped her club soda while she waited for Cicely. She was desperate for a cigarette, but Chicago, like New York, was smoke-free. She drummed her fingers on the seat next to her and kept an eye out for her sister’s best friend. She saw her breeze through the door in all her five foot two, size zero glory. Her pink suit was flawless against her milk white skin, which offset the soft sweep of dark brown hair and flashing green eyes. Sondra threw up her hand to signal to Cicely and upon spotting her, the tiny brunette click-clacked on her teeny high-heeled sandals over to where Sondra was sitting. Sondra rose to greet her.
“Hey, stranger,” Cicely said as she gave Sondra a fierce hug.
“Hey yourself.” Sondra said as she returned Cicely’s embrace. She pulled back and motioned to her glass.
“Can I get you something?”
Cicely nodded to the bartender. “Whatever the house pinot noir is, please.”
Cicely settled into the chair next to Sondra and turned her attention to her friend’s sister. “So… how was your flight?”
Sondra nodded. “Oh, it was good. Uneventful.”
“So what brings you to town?”
“I’m, um… thinking about doing a film on Tracy and her disappearance.”
“Oh. Wow. What brought that on?”
“I was flipping through the newspaper and came across this story about this woman who’d gone jogging—just like Tracy—and disappeared.”
“Okay.”
“And this story got huge, huge coverage. I mean, you would have thought the Pope had up and vanished. Now, this girl was eventually found dead, but it struck me as kind of interesting how much coverage this got.”
Cicely sipped her wine. “Yeah.”
“Anyway, I was looking up coverage of Tracy’s death and aside from her obits and a few stories you guys did, nada.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Okay, so then I found this “USA Today” article about how when white women disappear it’s all over the news, but when a black woman disappears,” Sondra snapped her fingers, “nothing.”
“Sad to say, it happens.”
“Originally, I was thinking I would do the documentary about that and Tracy, but now… well, there were some things going on with Tracy before she died.”
“Like what?”
“Cicely… did you know Tracy was planning to divorce Phillip?”
Cicely choked on her wine. “Excuse me?”
“I found the number of an attorney, Damon Randall, in her datebook. I called him and he said she wanted to meet with him to discuss divorcing her husband.”
“My God. I had no idea.”
“She made an appointment to meet with him the Monday after she died.”
“You’re joking,” Cicely said, coughing.
“There’s more. Phillip sent a letter to Mimi, telling her he’d gotten remarried.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Anyway, I wanted to talk to him about Tracy, you know about the documentary and well… everything. I thought maybe he was protecting us by not telling us about the divorce. I just want the full story, right?”
“I get it.”
“Well, first I try finding him online and his last listed address is here. Then the address on the letter is some mailbox rental place in Michigan.” Sondra leaned closer. “If you rent a box from them, they’ll forward your mail to you anywhere you want them to send it.”
Cicely motioned to the bartender for a menu. “Did they give you his address?”
“No, but I have to tell you, I get the feeling he’s not in Michigan.”
“I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact she was filing for divorce. Although… ”
Sondra sat up. “What?”
“Well, I didn’t think too much of this at the time. I didn’t
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