The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(107)

"When is good for you?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end, and I assumed she was checking her calendar. "Well, my husband has a business trip coming up in a few weeks, so sometime before that I would imagine."

"I have an opening at the end of the week. How would Friday work?"

"Oh, that would be perfect," she replied. "Can we say eight o'clock?"

"At night? Won't your husband be home?"

"Um, no," she said quickly. "He'll be working late." She sighed into the phone. "Again."

"I see. That's fine. Eight it is, then."

I took down Karen Howard's contact information and home address and hung up the phone. I returned to the living room to find the conversation had gone on fine without me. Julia, of course, was in control, and she was passionately discussing how reality TV was corrupting America's youth. Hannah looked bored to tears.

I quietly entered my appointment with Mrs. Howard into my phone and slipped it into my bag.

"So, should we go to lunch?" I asked, clapping my hands to get everyone's attention.

Hannah jumped up enthusiastically, as if I had just saved her from a trip to the dentist. My mom and Julia stood up as well and stretched their legs.

"Yes," my mom replied, coming over and putting her arm around my shoulders. "Where shall we go, Jen? This is, after all, your...'hood."

"Reality TV corrupting our youth?" I said sarcastically to Julia. "More like our parents. No more MTV Cribs for you, Mom."

I locked the door behind me and herded everyone into the elevator. "How about Mexican?"

As Julia started to tell us a story about the last time she ate bad Mexican food, Hannah motioned me close to her. I smiled and bent down next to her ear so she could tell me whatever juicy secret she had stored up during the week.

"I have a question," she said timidly.

The elevator doors opened and my mom and Julia walked on ahead as I slowed my pace to stay behind with Hannah. "What is it?" I whispered, half expecting a question about sex in general and half expecting a question about my sex life specifically. Those are usually what Hannah's "secret" questions are about.

She cautiously glanced at our two mothers up ahead, making sure they were a safe distance away, and then whispered back, "Who's Ashlyn?"





25

Raw Fish . . . Dead Meat


I FROZE in my tracks.

My mom and Julia continued ahead unsuspectingly, but Hannah and I stayed behind as I struggled to come up with something to say. She must have heard part of my phone conversation. I had to create a lie. And quickly. You would have thought I would be good at it by now. But I'm rarely put on the spot so unexpectedly, especially by my niece, whom I loved dearly and hated lying to more than anyone.

"Um . . ." I stalled. "Ashlyn is...my boss at work. She went on vacation this weekend, but she doesn't want any of her clients to know, so she asked me to answer her calls as if I were her."

I exhaled loudly. Not bad. Not bad at all. I looked up, past the top of Hannah's head, and saw Julia and my mom approaching Julia's Chrysler parked on the street. I began to walk toward them until I saw the look on Hannah's face. She now appeared more confused than ever. As if my solution hadn't shed any light on the subject but rather had made things even more unclear.

What was wrong with her? That was a perfectly believable explanation for why I would be calling myself Ashlyn on the phone... and then I stopped again. A chill ran through my entire body. My legs and arms were like dead weight.

I never say the name Ashlyn on the phone. In fact, I make it a point not to.

In a silent panic, I quickly rewound the conversation with Karen Howard in my head. "Yes, hello, Ashlyn?" is what she said. And then I replied, "Who's calling, please?" The name Ashlyn never came out of my mouth.

I looked down at Hannah, who was obviously reviewing facts in her head as well. Trying to make sense of my bogus explanation and fit it together with whatever unknown pieces she had swimming around in there. She knew my explanation had to fit somehow. Because why would I ever lie to her?

My hand was shaking as I tenderly rested it on her shoulder and pretended that nothing was wrong. "Um, Hannah. Where did you hear that name?" I asked, fearful of what answer would come back.

She bit her lip and looked up at me, squinting from the sun glaring in through the windows of my building's lobby. "From the letter."

I suddenly felt like I might throw up. The hand that I had gently placed on her shoulder for reassurance was now being used as support to keep myself from falling over. I breathed in deeply and tried to regain my composure.

"What letter?" I managed to ask with feigned nonchalance.

"I got a letter the other day. Like a real one. In the mail."

"From who?" I blurted out desperately. So much for my calm, composed self.

She shrugged indifferently, surely not understanding the complete horror of this situation. "Don't know," she said. But she was starting to sense something was wrong. She looked up at me again. "What's the matter?"

"What did the letter say?" I insisted with dire urgency.

She scrunched up her mouth as she thought back to the mysterious piece of mail. "Um, it was a picture. Like a copied picture. You know, with a copy machine."