Trust Me (38 page)

Then Carly realized something so important that she could not believe that it had ever slipped her mind. She jumped to her
feet, grabbed the phone, and began to dial. By now, she knew Max’s hotel phone number by heart. “Please be there,” she whispered
as she listened to the ringing. “Please.”

When she heard the sickeningly familiar message on his voice mail, she almost started to cry. She swallowed hard and waited
for the beep. “Max,” she said urgently. “Please listen. I wasn’t driving the white van on the day that your grandfather fell.
It was in the shop. I had my own car. Nobody asked me anything about the van until today, or I would have remembered. But
then the police were firing questions at me, and I got so rattled that I wasn’t thinking clearly…”

She took a quick breath. “It was Richard who picked up the van that afternoon. You can check the records at the dealer—I’m
sure that he must have signed something. But there’s another thing. I just found a letter from Henry in Richard’s desk. I
didn’t know about the loans, but Henry did, and he was threatening Rich with—”

With a gasp, she stopped. There was a figure standing in the office doorway, and it took her almost a second to realize that
it was not Richard. It was small and silent, and wearing a leopard-print coat. Edie. Carly breathed out. Her heart felt as
if it were about to jump out of her chest.

“Max,” she said into the phone, “I’m taking Henry’s letter home with me. Please come over as soon as you get this message.
I want to talk to you before I go to the police.” She hung up and tried to compose herself.

“What’s going on?” Edie asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Carly said. “You surprised me, that’s all. What are you doing here?”

“Brian said that I could come and help him. Why are you here? It’s late.”

“Not that late. And I’m about to leave. I just came to pick up some papers.” That was certainly true, she thought, as she
bent down to gather up the scattered loan documents and dunning letters. She decided not to bother to photocopy them, and
slid the whole pile into her bag.
To hell with Richard
, she thought.
If he wants his papers back, he can talk to my lawyer.
She tucked Henry’s letter into the inside pocket of her coat.

“You don’t care if I’m here tonight, right?” Edie asked.

Carly did not have the energy or patience to choose her words carefully. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, picking up her
bag. “It would make me very happy if you would come to work every day.”

“With your cokehead friend? Great.”

“He’s not my friend. And I’m afraid that this clinic won’t be around for much longer. But I’ll promise you something, Edie.
If you really do care about this work, and you’re willing to show up and do it well, I’ll make sure that one way or another,
you will always have a job. Okay?”

Edie shrugged and said nothing.

“Think about it,” Carly said wearily. She slung her bag over her shoulder and walked past the girl, turning off the lights
in Richard’s office and pulling the door shut behind her.

She was at the front door by the time Edie finally spoke.

“Carly.”

Carly stopped. It was the first time that she remembered ever hearing the girl say her name. She turned. “What?”

Edie stood awkwardly, silhouetted in the light spilling down the hallway from the staff room. As Carly’s eyes adjusted to
the darkness, the dim glow of the streetlights coming through the front windows was just enough to illuminate the girl’s face.

Edie smiled at her. It was a tiny smile, tentative and hopeful. “Okay,” she said.

M
ax was toweling himself dry after his shower when the phone rang. There was an extension in the bathroom, right next to the
toilet, which was more connectivity than anyone needed, in his opinion. Some spaces should be sacred. It had also been ringing
earlier, while he was standing under the cascade of hot water, trying to rinse some clarity back into his brain. He had intentionally
ignored it then, and did not feel inclined to answer it now. The hospital had his cell phone number, they would call it if
there was any problem, and as for everyone else…

He shook his head. Everyone else could go to hell.

The rings bounced insistently off the marble walls, and he thought of Carly. She never wanted to see him again, he reminded
himself. Therefore, she would not be calling him. And even if she was, he was in no shape to talk to her. He felt as if he
had been hollowed out in the middle, and he didn’t trust himself to make any decisions.

The phone kept ringing. How long did it take before the voice mail picked up? The sound was obnoxiously loud in the small
space, destroying the warm relaxation he had found in the shower, and setting his nerves on edge again.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered. He dropped his towel and grabbed the receiver. “What?”

There was a silence on the other end, and just as he was about to hang up, an unfamiliar female voice said, “Who is this?”

“If you don’t know that,” Max growled, “then you have the wrong number. Good-bye.”

“I want to talk to Carly’s friend Max.”

Max, who had been about to hang up, stopped. He frowned. The voice was not actually unfamiliar, he thought. He recognized
it, but he could not place it. “Speaking,” he said.

“You sounded different,” said the voice accusingly. “Look, you need to go over to Carly’s house right now, okay? I think she’s
in trouble.”

“What?” Max said. “Wait a minute. Edie? How did you get this number?”

“I didn’t,” she said. “I pushed redial. Carly called you half an hour ago before she left. Look, this is serious. I’m at the
clinic, and that guy she works with was just here—”

“Richard Wexler?”

“Pay attention, genius.” She sounded agitated. “That’s what I just said. He came in to pick up his car. Carly broke into his
desk and took some papers, and when he saw what she did, he went crazy. We didn’t say anything, but he knew it was her. He
just drove off, and I think he’s going to her house.”

Max had absolutely no idea what the girl was talking about, but her alarm transmitted itself clearly. “Did you call Carly?”

“Yes! We’ve been calling her, but she’s not answering. You have to go over there. There’s going to be trouble. He’s really
mad, and he’s all coked up—”

“He’s
what
?”

“Just shut up and go, okay? Now!” Edie hung up.

Stunned, Max replaced the receiver. Carly had broken into Richard’s desk? Richard was on drugs and going to her house? What
the hell was going on? It was as if everything had just fast-forwarded around him and left him standing six frames behind.
It made no sense, but that didn’t matter. If Carly was in danger, he would act first and ask questions later. He strode into
the bedroom, grabbed pants and a shirt out of the closet, and threw them on. He could be at her house in fifteen minutes if
he drove fast. Wexler did not have much of a head start. And if he laid so much as a finger on Carly, then that California
rich boy would learn more than he had ever wanted to know about how things worked in Brooklyn.

It had taken Carly longer than she had planned to get home. Halfway there, she suddenly remembered that Henry’s pets still
needed to be fed. She had gone cautiously to the mansion, unsure of her welcome after the events of the day, half-expecting
Pauline to slam the door in her face. But Pauline had not been there, so Carly quickly fed the animals and left, glad to have
avoided any confrontation.

Outside her apartment door, she could hear her phone ringing. She fumbled for her keys, feeling the reassuring crackle of
Henry’s letter in her coat pocket, then unlocked the door and hurried into her dark apartment.

It took her only a few seconds to realize that she smelled cigarette smoke in the air, but even so, the awareness did not
come fast enough to help her. Someone slammed the door shut behind her. Carly gasped, dropped her bag, and whirled around.

The lights went on, and she saw who was standing there, between her and the door. “Richard,” she said, her heart pounding
so hard that she could feel it throughout her body. She was briefly relieved that it was not a stranger, but the look on Richard
Wexler’s face did not make her feel very safe. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Florida.”

“My flight got in an hour ago,” he said. “Then I went to the clinic to pick up my car and found that somebody had been in
my office while I was gone. Any idea who that might be, Carly?”

Carly ignored the question. “How did you get into my apartment?”

“With this.” He held up her spare key. “You’ve had a key in that flowerpot for two years.”

“You had no right to let yourself in here.”

“And you had no right to break into my goddamned desk!” He was wearing a black leather jacket, and even in the dim light,
she could see that he had a tan. He was sweating, and his face looked creased and oily. His eyes were strangely bright.

“Look,” she said, trying to sound calm, “I’ve had a long day, and I’m tired. I think you should go home now, and we’ll talk
about all of this tomorrow. Okay?”

“You think so?” He smiled. It was not a nice smile, and Carly felt a stab of fear.

“Richard, I want you to leave. Now.”

“I’ll bet you do, but I don’t give a shit what you want, Carly. Where’s the letter?”

“If you don’t go right now, I’m going to call the police.”

He moved so quickly that she was barely able to step back before he grabbed her. His hands knotted into the front of her coat,
lifting her. She had forgotten how strong he was, she thought wildly, as he propelled her backward. He threw her up against
the wall, knocking the wind out of her, and pinned her there, breathing hard. She kicked at him, gasping.

“You are not in charge here, Carly,” he said, his face inches from hers. His pupils were dilated, she realized. That was why
his eyes looked so strange. “I am. Get it? You broke into my desk. You took my papers. I want the letter back. You better
believe that I am not going to jail just because some lame old man can’t keep his balance. Where is the letter? If I’d known
that you were so good with a screwdriver, I would have gotten rid of it a month ago.”

He started to laugh. He was talking too fast, and for the first time, Carly was truly afraid. This man with the crazy face
was a total stranger. She thought she knew Richard, but she was wrong. The drugs had changed him, or the stress had pushed
him over the edge. Either way, she had no idea what he was now capable of.

“It’s in my bag,” she whispered.

He released her abruptly, and she staggered forward, sucking in deep breaths of air, her pulse pounding in her temples. He
grabbed the bag and threw it at her. It thumped to the floor at her feet. “Find it,” he said.

She knelt and began to shuffle through the stack of bank papers, pretending to search for Henry’s letter. Her head was throbbing,
and she felt dizzy. She needed just a moment to think… Max had said that Henry had no memory of the accident or the days
surrounding it. Had he also forgotten sending the letter to Richard? If so, and if she gave Richard the letter and he destroyed
it, then she would have nothing to prove that Richard had had a motive to attack Henry. Without that letter, her own fate
might depend on whether or not the Chevy dealer had any record of Richard’s picking up the van that afternoon, and that was
more of a risk than she was willing to take.

As she fumbled inside the bag, her hands shaking, her fingers brushed against her cell phone. Hope seized her for a moment,
before she realized that she could not possibly dial 911 without Richard realizing what she was doing. Even if she was able
to get the call through before he stopped her, it would take the police too long to arrive. It was too risky. She didn’t think
that he would seriously hurt her, but she was not sure enough.

“Carly,” said Richard, “you are pissing me off. What are you doing? Where is it?”

“Just a minute,” she said sharply, stress putting an edge on her voice, and, to her shock, she felt his hand close around
her hair, yanking her head back. He hit her across the face, hard, with the back of his hand, and she tasted the coppery tang
of blood in her mouth.

“You have developed an attitude problem,” he said. “You were better when you were younger. Remember how well we got along?
You were so sweet then, but now you have this bitch mouth. Does your rich boyfriend like being argued with all the time? I
don’t let women talk like that to me. You’d better apologize before I get mad.”

Carly blinked tears out of her eyes and glared at him. “Richard,” she said through her teeth, “do you want me to find your
goddamned letter, or not?”

He backhanded her again, and she cried out, as much in rage as in fear. The side of her face was burning, and she could feel
her cut lip beginning to swell. “Say it,” he said, bending over her, his fingers still knotted into her hair. “Say,
I’m sorry, Richard, darling. Please forgive me.
”

He moved her head up and down in a parody of a nod, and Carly tensed, breathing hard. She was trembling with anger and adrenaline,
and she looked up at him through the hair that had fallen around her face, wanting to launch herself at his throat like a
pit bull. But she was no physical match for him. If only she could distract him for a moment. Just long enough for her to
get out the cell phone and call for help. Even if she couldn’t talk to the 911 operator, the call would be recorded, and someone
would eventually come to help her.