To Have and to Heist(7)

I heard the rustling of hangers, a gasp. “It’s perfect,” Chloe said. “He won’t stand a chance.”

“Don’t get too excited.” I moved out of Cristian’s hearing range. Even the slightest sexual innuendo could set him off. “You don’t even know what he looks like. He could be a forty-year-old geek who lives in his mother’s basement.”

“He’s a single parent of a teenage girl, just like me,” she said. “We have a lot in common—same taste in music, same love of rom-coms, same interest in modern contemporary design, same passion for hacking. I feel like I know him better than I ever knew Kyle.”

A shiver ran down my spine when Chloe mentioned her abusive ex. She’d met him when she was sixteen and working as a waitress for the summer at his parents’ country club. Kyle was a college sophomore majoring in computer engineering and showed up every day to golf with his dad. He was charming and handsome and swept Chloe off her feet and into a storage shed, where he became her first. Two months later she found out she was pregnant and decided to have the baby. Kyle had initially walked away, but when his parents threatened to disinherit him, he changed his mind and asked Chloe to marry him. Only sixteen and living with her alcoholic mother, Chloe took the lifeline he offered. She would have been better off alone.

“You never really knew Kyle,” I said. “He wasn’t interested in sharing his life with you. He only married you to get his parents’ money. I think that was pretty clear after you left him and he refused to pay child support and then had the audacity to try to reconcile when his parents finally cut him off.”

Chloe had spent six horrendous years with an angry and resentful Kyle, caught in a cycle of physical and emotional abuse. When she finally broke free, she worked two jobs and went to college at night to give Olivia the best possible life she could.

“Can you meet us for drinks afterward?” she asked. “I need you to check him out. I don’t trust my own judgment. What if he’s another Kyle and I just don’t see it?”

“Of course I’ll be there. Just text me the address.” I popped a few Fuzzy Peaches in my mouth. The problem with working in a candy store when you have a sugar addiction is the limitless supply. I was amazed I still had all my teeth.

I tried to stay upbeat, but I was worried about Chloe. Despite everything she’d been through, Chloe was still sweet, gentle, kind, and trusting. She thought the best of people. She believed in romance, love, and happily-ever-afters.

“Maybe he has a friend and they each turn out to be ‘the one’ and we can have the double wedding we dreamed about when we were kids,” she said.

I would have laughed out loud, but my mouth was full of candy. There was no “one.” Men thought of me as a pal, or worse, a sister. My dates usually devolved into ad hoc counseling sessions where I gave the dude tips on how to ask out the woman he really wanted to be with. Relationships ended when I beat the men at pickup or humiliated them at pool. With three brothers, I’d learned how to hold my own in the activities they enjoyed.

The delivery truck pulled up in the loading zone outside the store and I motioned to Cristian to open the door. “The truck is here. Gotta go inspect bolts of cloth as my penance for losing my job. If he’s hot, send me a picture. If he’s under sixteen, send me a pimple count.”

“I can’t even . . .”

“You forgive me.”

“I do.”

“Have fun, babe.”

“Right back at you.”

I tucked my phone away, pushed up my sleeves, and went to have “fun” with Cristian.

Three

Cristian and I had just stacked the last bolt of cloth in the storage room when Chloe called. My pulse went immediately into overdrive.

Chloe never called.

We messaged, chatted on apps, commented on social media posts, video-called, or communicated on servers. Voice calls were for the rare occasions our hands were occupied with mostly dead octogenarians, baking disasters, or true emergencies.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Chloe didn’t live near any seniors, and she wasn’t baking tonight.

“Help! I’m trapped.”

My body went from chill to panicked in a heartbeat. “Where are you? I’ll be right there.”

“What’s up?” Cristian had removed his shirt to stack the bolts of cloth, not because the work was particularly taxing, but because he liked to show off the results of his gym obsession.

“I have to go.” I tossed the keys to him. “Lock up for me. I’ll owe you.”

“Does that mean we get to play Murder in the Dark?” he called out.

“You wish.” I pushed open the door to the shop and put Chloe on speaker so I could figure out the fastest way to get to her.

“The door’s locked.” Chloe’s voice rose in pitch. “I can’t open it.”

“Do you know where you are? Did you see the van? Was it white? Were you blindfolded? Did you count turns like we learned in self-defense class? How about sounds? Smells? Did you call the police?”

“I can’t call the police,” she sobbed. “They’ll think I did it.”

“Did what? You’re losing me, babe. Take a breath and calm down. Where are you?”

“I’m at the museum,” she said. “The door was open, and the lights were on when I arrived, but no one was here. I figured they’d started the tour without me because I was late. I was looking for them when I heard breaking glass upstairs. I went up to see what was going on, and as soon as I walked into the upper gallery, the door slammed shut behind me. It can’t be opened from the inside. I called the museum phone number, and I sent an e-mail to the museum address, but no one responded. I never communicated with the executive director directly, so I don’t have his details. I don’t know who else to call.”