Spooked

Chapter 3 - Kimberly

CHAPTER 3 - KIMBERLY

“WHAT THE HECK happened?”

Annie pulled back the curtain, looking perfect from her artfully twisted chignon to the manicured nails in her peep-toe pumps. As always. How she didn’t freeze to death in her pastel-pink suit was beyond me. We’d met seven years ago, just after I got married and started my company. Annie had been a year older than me at twenty-two, but she’d already spent four years living with an abusive asshole before she escaped on a Greyhound bus in the middle of the night.

I’d helped her through that trauma, and since then, she’d repaid me tenfold—firstly, by being the best assistant a girl could ever hope for, then by helping to pick up the pieces when my own relationship failed, and now, once again, she was here to fix my mess. Annie wasn’t just an employee, she was my best friend. Being honest, I didn’t have many friends at all. I found it difficult to get close to people, and although I had hundreds of acquaintances, I never spent time with them outside work and organised social events.

But Annie? Annie was different. Once or twice, I’d even considered telling her about my strange gift, but I was too afraid of her reaction to risk it. Why upset the status quo?

“I had a small problem last night.”

“Really? You think? I almost died of shock when a cop called me. When you didn’t come to work, I thought something terrible had happened.”

“Something terrible did happen.”

“I meant that you’d been kidnapped, or gotten hit by a car, or drunk too much and accidentally slept with someone’s fiancé at the wedding show.”

“Why would you think that? You know I rarely drink.”

“Well, you did go to the bar with Maria Fitzgerald.”

“I did?”

Maria was one of our best customers, seeing as she was about to embark on her third marriage and to a movie mogul this time. She’d once confessed that each wedding felt more like a business transaction, although that didn’t stop her from ordering expensive dresses and six-tier artisanal cakes and thousands of pure-white roses. Soon, she’d be Maria Rosenberg, and Annie and I had a secret bet Maria would be shopping for a new husband within two years. Don Rosenberg had an eye for the ladies, and Maria’s prenup gave her a great settlement if he got caught cheating.

But why had I gone to the bar with her?

“She wanted to buy both of us a drink to celebrate finding the perfect table centrepieces, but I stayed behind to finish packing up the booth. Remember how last time the movers broke a vase and scratched one of the leather stools?”

I did. I also remembered that Annie didn’t like Maria much. Said she was mercenary. But Annie still believed in the concept of true love, while I believed in putting food on my table, so I didn’t have so much of a problem with Maria’s approach to marriage. But now it seemed that Maria’s approach to drinking may have put my life in danger. She always had liked cocktails.

“I don’t even remember seeing her after the show. And I’d never sleep with somebody’s fiancé.”

“Not knowingly, but I always said that too and look what happened after Better Brides last year. If that swine’s engagement ring hadn’t fallen out of his wallet when he paid for our drinks, I’d have gone on another date with him.”

Instead, she’d caught a cab over to my place and spent the rest of the night downing margaritas and cursing men while Margaret, the spirit of a sixty-year-old former housewife who resided in one corner of my living room, shook her head and tutted and muttered that ladies in her day would never have acted that way.

But even when she got drunk, Annie’s hair had stayed perfect, and although she might have wobbled a bit on her way up the stairs, she didn’t have the slightest hangover the next morning. While I, on the other hand, felt as though I’d been hit by a semi.

How many bosses got jealous of their assistants? Was it just me?

“But you did the smart thing and walked away, while I…I… Honestly? I have no idea what happened, just that I ended up in this guy’s car, and he scared me, so I jumped out.”

Annie’s mouth formed a perfect O. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, but I’m almost certain he drugged me, and I feel really, really sick.”

“You do look kind of green, and your hair… Never mind.” She plastered on a perky smile. “I can fix it up for you before we leave. You don’t have to stay here, right? I brought you yoga pants and a comfy sweater, and Kayla’s going to meet with Marnie Blake and her husband-to-be so I can take you home.”

Kayla was the third member of our small team, twenty years old and a little too enthusiastic at times.

“Kayla knows we can’t do the live swans, right? I checked, and it’s just not possible to train them to carry baskets in their beaks.”

“Absolutely, it’s a no on the swans. Kayla promised to look into alternatives. Maybe dogs.”

Marnie Blake had originally planned on having flower girls, but a falling out with her future sister-in-law meant Daisy and Petunia’s services had been withdrawn. Marnie desperately wanted to give the woman the finger as she walked down the aisle, hence her outlandish ideas for the girls’ replacements. We’d already vetoed monkeys and micro pigs, and I dreaded to think what she’d come up with next.

“Dogs? I guess, but what if—”

Annie held up a hand. “Stop! You shouldn’t even be thinking about work today. Everything’s under control. You seriously think a guy drugged you? Did you speak to the cops?”

“As soon as I woke up.”

“Maybe they’ll catch him.” She gave her head a little shake because she didn’t really believe that. Not after her experiences with her ex. “In the meantime, forget all about what happened, and let’s get you home. Dwelling on the bad things never helps. How does sushi and a movie sound?”

Awful. I wasn’t hungry, and I’d never be able to concentrate on a movie.

“Perfect.”

“Then I’ll drop you at home so you can take a shower while I pick up dinner from Sushito. Maki rolls, kaiso nigiri, and mango ice cream mochi?”

“Don’t forget the edamame beans.”

Annie gave a mock salute, and the peridot ring I gifted her for her birthday flashed under the strip lights. Her birthstone. Born on August thirteenth, and when that date fell on a Friday, she took the day off and stayed in bed.

“I never do, boss.”

***

“Maria? It’s Kimberly.”

With Annie on her way to pick up our food, I had fifteen minutes to speak to Maria and find out what the hell happened last night before my assistant came back and chastised me for living in the past. Her attitude was my own fault. I’d said exactly the same thing to her so many times after she escaped from her ex, and now she’d adopted it as her own personal mantra.

“Kimmy!” Maria sounded larger than life, as usual. In reality, she was five feet one and a size two. At six inches taller, I felt like a giant beside her, although I was slumped into an armchair in my living room right now. “How did it go last night? With that guy?”

“You saw me with a guy?”

Maria roared with laughter, and my head throbbed harder. Painkillers hadn’t made much of a dent in the ache.

“You ask that after you ditched me for him? Can’t say I blamed you though, hun. A hot invalid? I’d have wanted to take care of him too.”

“An invalid?”

“The bandage on his arm? Hell, Kimmy, how much did you have to drink after I left?”

“I don’t know. Uh, this is a bit embarrassing…”

“We’ve all been there. Remember right before my last wedding when I drank too many cosmos and fell off Marco’s yacht?”

“I think he drugged me.”

“What, the British guy? Like, you took coke?”

“Not coke. Something that sent me to sleep.”

“A roofie?”

“Apparently not one of those. Wait! He was British?”

“He said he was on vacation.” She put on a Bridget Jones-ish accent. “Or ‘holiday.’ Why do Brits use the wrong words for everything?”

“Technically, it was their language first.”

“Forget language. He drugged you? OMG. He didn’t…”

“No, thank goodness. I felt ill in his car and jumped out at a traffic light. Then he drove off with my purse and left me there.”

“Do you need cash? A ride? New make-up?”

“I’m home now. Annie picked me up. But when I spoke to the police, I couldn’t remember anything that happened, and I’m hoping you might be able to fill in some of the blanks.”

“They’re gonna catch the guy, right? No woman is safe while freaks like that are walking the streets. Or wine bars. You know what I mean.”

“What did he look like?”

“As I said, he was wearing a bandage. Said he sprained his wrist snowboarding in Switzerland three weeks ago, and he couldn’t drive his Porsche because it was a stick.”

“Hair colour? Eye colour?”

“Brown hair, definitely. Quite dark. No idea about the eyes.”

“Any distinguishing features?”

“Uh… He wore a Hermès belt.”

“What shape was his face? Big nose? Small nose? Bushy eyebrows?”

“Sorry, I’m useless with faces. I remember thinking he was hot. Oh, and he drank sparkling water, which was kind of weird when he’d just bought us a bottle of champagne.”

Bad with faces? No wonder Maria always married ugly rich guys. Perhaps she’d trained herself not to look at them over the years.

“Probably he needed to keep a clear head for assaulting me later.”

“Oh, hun, I’m so sorry! What can I do to cheer you up? A spa day? Shopping?”

“It’s sweet of you to offer, but I just want to piece together what happened.”

“I wish I could help more, but when he came over and seemed interested in you, I didn’t want to get in the way.”

“Will you talk to the police if they call?”

“Sure I will. Maybe they can speak to the bartender too? Although the guy paid cash, I recall that much. He had a big roll of hundred-dollar bills.”

“A roll of—”

“Oh, wait! I remember his name.”

“You do? What was it?”

“Tim.”

“Tim?”

That sounded so normal. Mind you, a potential rapist was hardly going to walk around calling himself Satan, was he?

“Yep, like Tim Burton.”

“Did he mention his surname?”

“I’m not sure. Sorry. And probably Tim wasn’t his real name either. In the movies, the bad guys always make something up.”

Right. Except this wasn’t the movies, this was my life. Ever since I was born, I’d been following somebody else’s script, and just when I thought I might be able to write my own ending, a new scene reminded me I was nothing but a puppet here on Earth.

“I’ll call you later in the week, okay? We need to go over the options for your wedding favours.”

“Any time. Apart from Wednesday morning when I have yoga. Or Thursday lunchtime because I’ve got lunch with Don and some of his investors at the country club. Or my regular manicure slot between two and three on Friday. Any time apart from that.”

“Friday at eleven a.m.?”

“Perfect.”