“You didn’t say anything, did you?”
“Of course not.” She gave me a withering look. “I told him that if he’d stop sneaking up on me I wouldn’t have anything to be jumpy about.”
I smiled at that; typical Sarah. “I guess the best defense is a good offense.”
She smiled then, too. “Don’t talk Steelers at me. You know I don’t like these football analogies.”
She’d somehow found all the money by Thursday when we gathered to plan the drop-off. We met at Alison’s house in the early afternoon while the kids were still in school and her husband was at work.
“So this is what twenty thousand dollars in cash looks like,” Heather said in a slightly awed tone. We were standing around Alison’s kitchen table looking at the stacks of bills all neatly lined up on the scarred oak top. “What are we going to carry it in?”
“This.” Alison produced a small black duffel bag. “But let’s wrap it in a garbage bag, too, just in case anyone looks inside the duffel.”
All of us standing around that pile of cash and a duffel bag wearing latex gloves—it was surreal. “I feel like we’re playing drug dealers in some police drama,” I said with a light laugh, but nobody joined in. Alison kept putting her hand to her mouth, then dropping it, like she was going to bite her nails, but kept forgetting she couldn’t reach them because of the gloves. Sarah looked particularly stressed.
“I took the final two thousand dollars from the kids’ education fund,” she said as she loaded her contribution into the plastic bag. “I just hope Eric doesn’t look at that account before I have time to replace the money.” She sounded resentful and kept shooting looks at Heather, who volunteered that she’d raised her money by “pawning two bracelets and a ring from Viktor.” If she thought this would make Sarah feel better, it didn’t; she seemed even more annoyed. Later I overheard her whispering to Alison about not owning anything except her house and her car—certainly not any jewelry—worth that kind of money.
“Did anyone see you?” Alison asked Heather. “What pawnshop did you use?”
“Don’t worry, I went to one in the city. I looked around—no one was following me.”
“We didn’t think anyone was following us that night either,” Sarah said darkly. “Maybe the blackmailer was watching you.”
“Stop it, Sarah,” I said.
“Well, he might have been,” she said defensively. “How do you know he wasn’t?”
“How do you know it’s a he?” Alison said. “The blackmailer could be a woman.”
I thought of Christine Connelly’s odd behavior at the funeral and broke into a sweat. Could my neighbor have followed me that night? Could she be the blackmailer? I thought about telling the others, but just then Alison’s kitchen phone rang, a shrill sound that startled us all, Heather dropping a bundle of money, which spilled across the table.
“Be careful,” Sarah snapped, slapping her hand over the bills to stop their flight off the tabletop.
“You be careful,” Heather snapped back.
“Shh,” I hissed as Alison scrambled to find the phone among a pile of dirty dishes on the counter.
“Hello?” Her voice was breathless as she answered. “Oh, hi.” She turned back to us and mouthed, “Michael.”
The rest of us didn’t speak, quietly shuffling the loose bills back into an orderly stack as Alison carried the phone into another room.
“I need a drink,” Sarah said as soon as she was gone, stalking over to the fridge and taking a bottle of chardonnay from a door shelf as if she lived there. “Anybody else?” She wiggled the bottle in our direction. I shook my head, but Heather said, “Sure, why not.”
Sarah smiled at that—the first smile I’d seen from her that day—and took some glasses down from a cupboard. “Oh, stop looking so disapproving, Julie,” she said as she handed Heather her drink.
“We have to pick up the kids in under an hour,” I said, emphasizing the time.
“It’s just a little wine,” she said, but she left the bottle on the table. “Relax.”
I didn’t say anything more, shoving stacks of bills into the garbage bag and wishing I’d convinced Brian to leave for Cancún. At that moment, I could have been relaxing on a beautiful beach with a fruity drink of my own, enjoying the warm sun thousands of miles away from all of this.
Alison came back into the kitchen just as we finished zipping the garbage bag full of money into the duffel. “Sorry about that—I got off as fast as I could.” She noticed the bottle of wine and she raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything, just pointedly moved the bottle to the kitchen counter. She shifted the duffel to the side of the table and passed out printouts of a map, slapping hers down in the center.
“This is the Sewickley Cemetery,” she said, taking a seat. “Our only insurance is to catch the blackmailer in the act. If we can find out who he or she is, then we can at least keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t go to the police.” The rest of us sat down as well, and watched as she used a highlighter to circle an area on the map. “Here’s where Viktor was buried,” she said, tapping the location. “And here is the site for the drop-off.” She dragged her finger clear across the page to another spot and highlighted it. Had the blackmailer been at Viktor’s funeral? Was that why they suggested the cemetery? Alison circled a third spot. “And here is a place where we can stake out the mausoleum.”
“Julie can do the drop-off,” Sarah suggested.
“Why me? I don’t want to do it,” I said, alarmed.
“Isn’t a client buried there?” Sarah said. “Nobody will think anything of you visiting a friend’s grave.”
“I can’t do the drop-off alone,” I said. “I’m too nervous. One of you has to come with me.”
Alison shook her head. “It can’t be more than one of us—the letter was clear.”
“What about me?” Heather asked. “I’ll do it.”
“You can’t be there,” Alison said. “What if the police are watching you?”
“I’d say I was visiting Viktor’s grave.”
“Yeah, but we don’t want the police anywhere near the blackmailer. And Viktor’s grave isn’t near that mausoleum. You can’t be seen doing anything even remotely suspicious right now.”
“Then you drop off the money,” I said to Alison. “I’ll wait with Sarah in the car at the stakeout spot.”
Alison made a sound that was half growl, half sigh. “Fine, I’ll do the drop-off. But don’t get so caught up in conversation that you two forget to look out for the blackmailer.”
Sarah visibly bristled, but I spoke first to head off her angry response. “Don’t worry—we’ll be watching.”
In theory, the whole thing sounded smart and doable. And if things had gone according to plan, it might have worked. But life so rarely goes according to plan.
*
Alison was right—the letter was very clear. One of us had to come alone to the cemetery before ten A.M., drop the bag at the designated mausoleum and leave. Despite the simplicity, I read and reread the directions numerous times the night before and checked and rechecked both locations on the map. Sarah would pick me up in the morning and we’d get to the stakeout spot more than an hour ahead to make sure that we weren’t noticed.
I’d felt jittery all day, as if I’d had too much caffeine, a wired, high-energy feeling that persisted even after we’d turned off the lights to sleep. While Brian was in the bathroom, I got up and tiptoed downstairs to check the directions in the letter one more time and to look at my copy of the map. Both were hidden inside my purse, which I’d left in my car.
“What are you doing down here?” Brian’s voice startled me. I dropped my bag and whipped around, slamming the car door closed behind me.
“Don’t do that! You scared me.”
“You’re scaring me,” he said. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. I just came down to find my phone.” I held it up to show him.