You Are Not Alone(34)
I jotted all this down in my Data Book. Even if her suicide makes a little more sense to me now, her method does not.
“Melissa?”
I don’t react until my name is called a second time. I look up and see a nurse in pink scrubs standing there. Her hair is in a ponytail, she wears no makeup, and she looks completely exhausted. I have even more respect for her profession now—nurses are as underpaid as teachers.
“Oh! Sorry, I was just lost in thought.” I get to my feet. I look at her quizzically, hoping she gets the impression I was expecting Amanda.
“I’m Gina. I was Amanda’s supervisor. Why don’t we talk over here.” She leads me to a relatively quiet corner. “You were a patient of Amanda’s?”
“Yes,” I lie. “Ruptured appendix.”
I’d prepared this story because I knew it was highly unlikely a hospital employee would share any personal information about Amanda if they knew my true connection to her.
She nods and I’m grateful no one ran my name through the system to verify that I’d actually been admitted here.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Amanda died a few weeks ago.” For a moment I’m taken aback by her matter-of-fact delivery. Then I realize she probably has to give news like this all day long.
“Oh my gosh! What happened?”
“It was sudden and unexpected.” Gina pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She glances at a man walking through the door, his leg bandaged, leaning on the arm of a younger woman, then turns back to me. “But I’m sure she would have appreciated your visit. She truly cared for her patients.”
I shake my head as if in disbelief. I look down at the flowers in my hand. “I was going to give her these. She saved my life.”
The mournful wail of an ambulance trails off as the vehicle pulls up on the other side of the wide glass doors. I know I don’t have much time left; Gina has probably already given me more than she can afford.
I lift my head and blink. “I’d like to write to her mom, Mrs. Evinger. I feel like I should send her a sympathy card and tell her what a wonderful nurse Amanda was.”
Gina starts to respond, then a staticky announcement comes over the intercom. “Why don’t you leave a card at the front desk and we’ll forward it.” She takes a step away from me.
I’d assumed Amanda and her mom had the same last name, since the Moore sisters indicated her mother never remarried after the death of Amanda’s dad. Gina didn’t correct me when I called her Mrs. Evinger, so I feel confident that piece of information is correct. But I still need more data.
“Could I just get her mother’s first name? So I can personalize the note.”
The announcement comes on again and I can barely hear Gina’s distracted response over it: “Um, it’s Ellen.… Wait, no, it’s Eleanor. Just leave the note at the desk and I’ll forward it on.”
Eleanor Evinger.
I already know she’s from Delaware. There can’t be too many of them. All I need to do is find the right one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
VALERIE
INSTEAD OF TIDYING UP in anticipation of her visitor’s arrival, Valerie begins to create chaos.
In the master bedroom of her apartment in the East Village, she gently tosses the contents of her dresser drawers and mixes her summer and winter clothes together in her closet. She removes the light-green polka-dot dress from a back hanger, hiding it in a Bloomingdale’s shopping bag under her bed. She scatters a few pairs of shoes on the floor and throws a couple of light jackets over the back of a chair.
Securing this appointment with the professional organizer wasn’t difficult. During the introductory phone call to arrange the meeting, Valerie had claimed to be free anytime in the late afternoons or evenings. Which was true—Cassandra and Jane had told her this was far more of a priority than any work waiting at their PR firm.
Jody had suggested four P.M. the next day. “My clients make the most progress with a three-hour window, since any more than that is fatiguing.”
“I’m excited,” Valerie had replied, smiling over the edge of her cell phone at Jane and Cassandra, who were leaning in close. “I know you’re going to be so helpful.”
There has been no word from Shay despite her vow to retrieve the necklace. And the police seem to be circling nearer to Daphne. The sisters need to go on the offensive. Perhaps Sean’s girlfriend, Jody, can provide some insight into his mysterious roommate.
Now, less than twenty-four hours later, Valerie takes a final walk through her apartment, tucking away personal photos as well as pieces of mail with her identifying information on it. She also plans to pay in cash.
Valerie dresses in an outfit that suits her character of being a newly divorced, somewhat idle, well-off woman: ballerina flats, slightly distressed jeans, and a two-hundred-dollar T-shirt. As an added precaution, she wears her hair in a messy bun so its length and style can’t be identified, and she puts on fake eyeglasses.
Valerie heads to the lobby ten minutes before the appointed time. When Jody arrives, Valerie greets her with a warm smile and begins chatting about the weather as she ushers Jody past the doorman.
Most visitors give doormen the name of the person they’re going to see, but this can’t happen today. Valerie isn’t using her real name.