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The Sweet Life #6
Bittersweet
By Francine Pascal, Cara Lockwood St. Martin's Press
Copyright © 2012 Francine Pascal
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-5839-4
CHAPTER 1
Elizabeth pulled into the circular drive for the Lexington Center for Recovery in Kentucky, not too far from the Lexington airport, and parked her rental car in a visitor's space near the front door. She was still not sure what she hoped to find there. Whatever it was, it had to be a long shot. She'd been all over Robin Platt's hometown, Richmond, with no luck, and now she was almost done with her trip. In a few hours she'd catch a flight back to California.
She'd come up with nothing. Everything Robin had ever said about herself, down to her childhood friends, had checked out. And if everything she'd said was true, then maybe it was also true that Bruce Patman had attacked her that night. And yet she felt in her heart that wasn't the truth.
No, Elizabeth couldn't concede defeat. She wouldn't. She was here to help Bruce, and she wouldn't stop until she was satisfied that there was no other possibility.
She'd only pulled into the drug addiction treatment center on a whim. She knew she was reaching, but she was early for her flight and she had time. What if Robin had been a patient there? It was beyond a long shot; it was desperation. She knew the treatment center wouldn't tell her about its patients. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she should check it out anyway.
Maybe it was Robin's sometimes shaky hands. When Elizabeth had surprised her once, she had seemed a bit frantic, a little too jumpy, and not just with coffee jitters. There was something weird about Robin and her tremors. And she was often secretive about her apartment, rarely letting Elizabeth in on the first knock. She was always picking up — or hiding something — before opening the door. Suppose she was into drugs. Or alcohol. It would explain a lot.
Not to mention the rumor Elizabeth heard from one of her old boyfriends that Robin might have been a lesbian. The stress of staying in the closet in a small town could've driven her to drugs.
Elizabeth knew she was exaggerating the possibilities, but it was her last chance here. She didn't want to go home empty-handed. She couldn't.
She walked through the sliding glass doors of the recovery center and headed to the front desk, making up her story in her head as she went.
"Hi," she said, smiling at the man behind the counter. He was wearing a white jacket, like an orderly. "Is there someone here who can tell me a little about this place? I'm here for my sister. I think she could use ... help."
The tall guy blinked. "I'll get the director for you," he said, nodding. A few seconds later, a trim woman with jet-black hair and bronzed skin, wearing a slate-gray suit, came to the front desk.
"I'm Stacey Walter," she said. "May I help you?"
"Hi, Stacey. I'm here to look at your facility and ask a few questions. I think my sister needs help from a place like this."
"Certainly. Of course. Here, let me give you a visitor's pass and then I can take you on a tour."
"Thank you." Elizabeth glanced around at the cream-colored walls and mint-green tiled floor. Behind the receptionist's desk two hallways stretched in opposite directions. The doors Elizabeth could see were closed. She wondered just what she was looking for. A picture of Robin? Someone who knew her? She'd take anything at this point.
"And what was your name?"
Elizabeth met the director's eyes. "Rachel Platt."
The director stopped writing. Elizabeth's heart leaped ...
"Is that two ts?" ... and dropped. "Yes, two ts."
The director finished writing the name tag and handed it to Elizabeth.
"Rachel, come right this way," the director said, punching in the code to unlock the door behind her. "First, you should know that we pride ourselves on a very impressive success rate for our patients. We believe in a very holistic approach to treating drug and alcohol dependency."
Elizabeth nodded and pretended to listen while she scanned the hallway, trying to get a glimpse into patient rooms, not really knowing what she was looking for. They walked past several group-therapy rooms, and then out the back door and into a small garden where some patients congregated, smoking cigarettes.
Elizabeth noticed that they seemed older, maybe in their forties.
"My sister is only twenty-three," Elizabeth said. "Would she fit in here? Do you even take patients that young?"
"Oh, yes, we do." The director nodded. "We even have a small wing dedicated to teen addiction."
"Oh, good. Well, that makes sense."
They were ending the tour, and Elizabeth hadn't found out anything more about Robin Platt or if she'd even been here at all. She was beginning to feel like this was a fool's errand, a long shot hardly worth pursuing. What did Elizabeth think she'd find anyway? As they approached the front doors of the treatment center, she was prepared to call it a wash.
"Well, if you need anything else, let me know." Stacey gave Elizabeth her business card and opened the front door for her. "If you'd like to talk to some of our therapists, I'd be happy to arrange a meeting. Just let me know."
Elizabeth walked back to her car, dejected. Her last-ditch effort had turned up nothing. Now there was nothing to do but head to the airport and admit the truth: She'd failed.
CHAPTER 2
"Just who are you?" Nola, the receptionist at Warner's gas company, asked Aaron, the pretend architecture student. "And what are you doing with a picture of Mona Thomas on your phone?"
Aaron Dallas looked at his phone and tried to think of an answer. He had been tricking Nola for weeks now in order to dig up information that might prove Rick Warner, the company's owner and Bruce Patman's sworn enemy, had something to do with the attempted rape charges against Bruce.
And now he might have found it: Bruce's accuser, the once-unassailable, perfect victim Robin Platt was actually Mona Thomas, an embezzler and former Warner employee. He'd pulled off a Columbo-level detective job, but he'd blown his cover in the process. Nola was seconds away from calling security, probably to have him arrested.
"Nola, I can explain." Cold sweat trickled down Aaron's back as he frantically searched for a believable lie. Think, Aaron, he screamed in his head. Think of something! He had another rash thought: Could I really go to jail? Is this corporate espionage? Could I, Emma's dad, husband of Steven Wakefield, the respected lawyer, a successful architect in my own right, end up a convicted criminal? I can't go to jail!
This had all happened because Elizabeth Wakefield, his sister-in-law, had asked him to help Bruce. He loved Liz and would do most anything for her.
Nola frowned. "You sneak around asking about people and then you have a picture of Mona Thomas. It doesn't add up. Just who are you? You're not an architecture graduate student."
That had been his cover, despite the fact that he hadn't been a student for years.
"No, you got me, I'm not."
"I'm calling security." She picked up her phone.
"No, wait! Nola!" Aaron put up his hand like a school crossing guard. "Okay, I'm not a graduate student." Aaron grasped at any story to explain himself — anything but the truth.
There were those rumors swirling around that Mona Thomas was fired for stealing and drug use. Aaron remembered Steven talking about lawyers at his firm who handled just that kind of case. In an instant, he had his story.
"I'm working for Mona Thomas."
"What?"
"She's suing for discrimination and termination of employment without cause. I'm an investigator for the law firm."
"That little bitch!" Nola exclaimed. "She was a thief. She deserved to be fired."
Aaron shrugged. Nola's face clouded with suspicion. "Wait," she said, "if you're working for her, why did you look so surprised just now about her picture on your phone?"
"What?" Aaron's heart thumped.
"It looked like you had no idea that was Mona on your phone."
"No. I mean, yes, I knew it was her. Of course, I did, I just ..." Again, Aaron scrambled for an excuse. "I just didn't want to blow my cover. But now the jig is up."
"Well, Mona has no case. You're working for the losing side."
"Yeah, that's the way it's looking to me," he said. "I can almost guarantee my firm will drop her."
"They should," Nola said, picking up the phone. She narrowed her eyes at him, suspicion still simmering there. "I still think I should call security."
Aaron squared his shoulders.
"And tell them what? You let a discrimination attorney's investigator in here to look through the company files?"
Nola's mouth dropped open in shock. Aaron hated to play hardball, but he didn't see that he had a choice.
"You wouldn't." Nola put the phone down slowly.
"Look, Mona doesn't have a case," Aaron said, softening his tone. "You don't have to be involved. Why risk it? None of this is going to come out. You won't see me again."
"I think it was very underhanded what you did." Nola glared at him.
"I'm sorry, but what can I do? It's my job." Aaron began backing away from Nola's desk and toward the exit.
"I don't want to see you again," Nola said.
"You won't. I'm going. Sorry," Aaron said, apologizing his way to the elevator. "Really sorry."
And he was sorry. She was a nice woman but not worth getting arrested for, and besides, this could be great news for Bruce. And Aaron couldn't help feeling slightly brilliant for the way he'd pulled that last bit off. What a recovery.
Maybe the CIA could use an architect.
On the way to his car, he texted both Jessica and Elizabeth.
GOT IT! YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO BELIEVE THIS.
CHAPTER 3
Just as Elizabeth stepped through the entrance to the Lexington airport, her phone dinged. She fished it out of the side pocket of her bag.
ROBIN PLATT DID WORK FOR RICK WARNER. BUT SHE USED A DIFFERENT NAME: MONA THOMAS! SECRETARY CONFIRMED: THE PIC YOU SENT IS MONA THOMAS.
Aaron had attached the picture Elizabeth had sent him.
The wheels in Elizabeth's head whirled. Why had Robin used a different name? What was she hiding?
Another text from Aaron came through.
BTW, MONA THOMAS WAS FIRED FROM WARNER GAS FOR EMBEZZLING TO SUPPORT A DRUG HABIT!
Drugs. That was the connection she was looking for. She thought about the girl who was Robin or Mona and realized her suspicions were right: Drugs were somehow involved. Elizabeth felt she now had the evidence she had been looking for.
She had to get back to that rehab center to talk to the director again.
She wheeled her luggage straight back out and jumped into the first cab she found.
When the cab arrived at the rehab center, Elizabeth asked the driver to wait. She still hoped she could get what she'd come for and still make the plane to Sweet Valley that night.
Elizabeth swallowed her nerves and walked back into the recovery center. She had to find out if Mona Thomas had been a patient there. Aaron had said she'd been fired from Warner Gas for theft to fuel a drug habit. From a quick iPad search in the cab, she'd found Mona Thomas on Facebook, but the profile was set to private and she couldn't get access to pictures. She did, however, see that Mona Thomas had gone to the same high school in Richmond that Robin had.
She walked up to the front desk.
"Hi, I was just here, and I need to see Stacey again, please," Elizabeth said. She noticed the locked gate at the front desk was not quite latched this time.
"I'm sorry," the orderly behind the desk said as he glanced back and saw the director's door, which was slightly ajar. "It looks like the director is in a meeting. I'd be happy to take a message."
Elizabeth looked at the clock on the wall behind him. She didn't have time. She'd need to be on the road to the airport in no more than fifteen minutes.
"No, I'm sorry. I have to see her now."
"I'm afraid I can't let you through. You can wait over there if you'd like."
Elizabeth thought about pushing her way back to the director's office but froze in a moment of nerves. She backed down, going to sit on the bench.
Immediately, she felt like a coward, just sitting and waiting. Her sister, Jessica, wouldn't just take "no" for an answer, would she? Elizabeth stewed for a couple of minutes. She was tired of playing by the rules. Besides, if she was going to help Bruce, she needed to find her courage.
The phone rang and the orderly picked it up. While he was turned away from her, Elizabeth knew what she had to do. She stood and strode purposefully straight past the front desk toward the director's office.
"Hey! You can't go in there!" cried the orderly behind her, but it was already too late. Elizabeth had her hand on the knob. She threw open the door and saw the director sitting behind her desk, a look of surprise on her face. She was talking to a woman with a salt-and-pepper bob and wire-rimmed glasses.
"Excuse me?" Stacey said.
"I need to talk to you." Elizabeth was proud her voice remained firm and in control. The orderly appeared behind her. He put a hand on her arm. She pulled away from him.
"Stacey?" the orderly asked.
"It's okay, Mike." The director nodded to him to let Elizabeth go. "I'll handle this."
"You have answers, and I need them." Elizabeth surprised herself with her own forcefulness. She took out her phone and pulled up the picture of Robin Platt, now Mona Thomas.
"Do you know this girl?" Elizabeth held up her phone almost in the director's face.
Surprise — and clear recognition — darted across the director's face before she could suppress it.
"Mona? How did you —" Stacey began, and then stopped, realizing she might have revealed too much.
"Mona Thomas, right?" Elizabeth finished. "That's what I thought! You need to tell me about her."
"I can't tell you about our patients," the director said quickly.
So, she was a patient here. Bingo, Elizabeth thought.
"You can and you will because your patient is my sister."
"I thought your name was Rachel Platt."
"It doesn't matter what my name is." Elizabeth's voice rose. "You have to tell me about Mona. Now."
"And why do I have to do that?"
Elizabeth swallowed. It was time for her big play.
"Because our mom has terminal cancer, that's why."
Dead silence filled the room as the two women in front of Elizabeth absorbed the shock.
"That's right. I promised my dying mother that I'd find Mona. And you need to help me do that. Or I'm going to tell the Lexington Post and Channel Five and anybody else who'll listen how you denied a dying woman her last wish."
Elizabeth's voice was loud now, drawing the attention of a visiting family signing in at the front desk.
"No need for that," Stacey said, standing. "We'll help. Please sit. Let's talk about your sister." Stacey walked around her desk and shut the office door behind Elizabeth.
Relieved her ploy had worked, Elizabeth sat down. She glanced at the other woman in the office.
"This is Lee Anne," the director said. "She knew your sister, too."
Elizabeth nodded at the woman. "Tell me: Why did you let her go when you knew she wasn't well yet?"
"She's a troubled girl, but we can't keep people here against their will. And, I'll have you know, she left us with her portion of the bill unpaid. She owes us quite a lot."
"But she needed your help. You failed her. Now my mother is dying and all she wants is to say good-bye to her daughters — both of them."
The director sighed, regaining a bit of her composure and her patience. "I'm sorry about your mother. I am sure this is hard for you."
Elizabeth grabbed a tissue off the director's desk and buried her dry eyes in it. "I just don't understand what happened. We were so close, my sister and I, and now I don't know her at all. I find out through friends she's partying again and ... I thought I could trust you to make her better. So did my mom. She was devastated when she heard Mona had been released and wasn't any better than she'd been before. And no one let us know."
These words seemed to hit the director hard.
"Look, I know what you're feeling. My brother also had an addiction and it tore our family apart. He lied to us and every time we tried to help him, he would just disappear. Sometimes, the only time we'd even know he was still alive was when he showed up at the ER from an overdose."
"Then you know what I'm going through. The least you could do is tell me why she left. How did it happen? Please."
The director paused and glanced at the other woman in the room.
"You're my last hope to understanding all this," Elizabeth said, continuing her full-court press. "My sister isn't talking to me and I can't find her. The entire family thought she was in rehab, but now we find out she's out on the loose doing God knows what. I don't even know where she is. She could be unconscious on the street somewhere. Please. Give me something. My mom has worried herself sick. Literally. You know what it's like to wait and worry and not know. I don't know how much time my mother has left. I might not even find Mona before she ..." Elizabeth swallowed. "My worst fear is that my mother will die alone, without either of us there."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Sweet Life #6 by Francine Pascal, Cara Lockwood. Copyright © 2012 Francine Pascal. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
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