Deadly Deception

Chapter 3



Once upon a time Carter’s mother was vivacious. She had exuberated youth and radiance; now, she had a delicate frailty about her. She had beautiful thick black hair that fell right over collarbone, skin that was flawless and a figure that was 1950s sexy. Now, Rita Leeds had aged roughly twenty years in a short three. Losing her only son had dismantled her existence.

Her dry, brittle hair had succumbed to streaks of white and her skin told tales of sorrow in the lines and wrinkles that engulfed her sunken face. Rita was skeletal in Anne’s embrace.

“You sounded so urgent on the phone. What’s going on?”

Rita’s lackluster eyes stared at Anne. They were trying to figure out the necessity of this meeting. She hadn’t seen Anne in months.

“Can we go someplace private?” Anne looked around the reception area, knowing there were water cooler ears lurking.

“Sure, let’s go to my office.”

Rita and Anne walked up an open grand staircase to a mezzanine that overlooked the colossal steel warehouse. Turning left, they entered a spacious wood-paneled office. There were pictures of Carter everywhere, making the office seem like a shrine to her son. The smell was enough to unsettle Anne’s stomach. It was a mixture of musty air and sour fruit.

Anne sat down in a stiff green wingback chair that sat across from her desk. She had a mountain of paper work, file folders and pink message sheets. Rita shut the door, walked over to Anne, and sat down opposite her. It appeared she had slept in her clothes. Her silk white blouse and tan slacks were wrinkled, she had a small snag on the foot of her stockings and her brown heels were cracked on the sides.

“So what’s going on? You had something important to discuss with me?” Rita asked once more.

Anne pulled out the envelope and handed it to her. Rita opened it with an inquisitive expression.

“Are these from Carter’s camping trip?” Rita asked, shuffling through them.

“Yes, they are. They were left in that envelope outside my office door sometime over the weekend. But that’s not the craziest part of it. Read the note.”

Rita slowly opened the creased paper. Her hands trembled as she read those three words. Tears flooded her eyes.

“And you said this was waiting for you this morning at your office?” Rita inquired.

“Yeah, and there’s no return address. That’s Carter’s handwriting. He was the only one who called me that. Have you heard from him, Rita?”

If looks could kill, Anne would have been dead on the spot.

“NO! Do you think if I would have heard from him I would be sitting here so stunned by this?”

“I’m sorry, Rita. I’m so confused and I—I don’t know what to do with this.”

Anne swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure in check.

“Did you take this to the police?”

“Not yet. I wanted to come to you first. I thought maybe you knew something….”

Rita shot up. Anne’s spine stiffened.

“This is crazy! Carter has been gone for three years. I have had to accept the fact that my son is dead. This is some cruel joke!”

She threw the note and pictures back at Anne, scattering them across her lap.

“Rita, I’m not trying to hurt you. You know me better than that. I mourned him too. A lot of people did. I’m going to find out what happened that day. Something doesn’t seem right.” Anne raised the note into the air. “It looks like his handwriting and he was the only one who called me Anneliese!”

Rita shook her head at Anne’s words and darted for the door.

“You need to leave. I can’t do this right now.”

Anne halted in front of Rita, whose face was cloaked with fierce red blotches.

“Maybe someone forged this note, maybe Carter is dead, but why would they do this? Why now? Don’t you want to know?”

Rita looked away as her pale lips quivered.

“I just want my baby back,” she sobbed.

“And I just want the truth. I deserve that much.” Anne replied, choking back her emotion.

Quickly she made her way back to her car, feeling defeated and weak. The winds were starting to pick up and there was a vicious chill in the air, matching the one she had just left behind. Anne questioned Rita’s sincerity and true knowledge of the contents that burned through that manila envelope.

Getting back into her car, she sat for a moment peering toward the building. Rita’s silhouette stood hovering in the window. She is definitely hiding something, Anne thought. She took out her phone and saw that she had missed many calls from Adam. Inhaling deeply, she dialed his number, knowing he would be upset about her ditching their lunch date.

“Anne!” Adam said in a tense tone.

“I’m so sorry. I had an errand to run and I left my phone in the car.”

“I called your office and Shelly said you left looking quite ill. When you didn’t answer your cell I was starting to get worried. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m heading back downtown now. No worries, I’m fine. I’m sorry about lunch. Are you still coming over after work?”

“I have to run but yes, I’ll be over the moment the trial is done.”

“Okay. I love you so much Adam.” Her tone dripped with desperation.

“I love you too, babe. I’ll see you soon.”

Anne placed the phone down in her lap and tried not to burst into an emotional downpour. She couldn’t keep this secret to herself but she knew she couldn’t say anything to Adam—not right now anyway. As she started pulling out of the parking lot of Leeds Imports, she dialed Casey.

“Hey you! Where are you? Shelly said you were sick or something.”

Casey must have been in the hallway. Anne was having difficulty making out the echo of words.

“Yeah, um, do you have a patient right now?”

“Not until one o’clock. I was heading down to get a coffee. Why? What’s up?”

“You know that envelope that was mysteriously left by the door?”

“Yeah.”

“There are pictures of Carter at his last camping trip and a note with his handwriting on it.”

Anne could hear Casey lose her breath.

“What? Are you serious?”

“So, let’s meet at the coffee shop. I don’t want to talk about this at the office. I should be there in about twenty minutes.”

“Are you sure coffee is going to work with this conversation? Maybe a cocktail?” Casey asked.

“I don’t think seeing patients after cocktails is a good idea.” Anne snickered.

“You win. Coffee it is. See you in a bit.”

Hanging up, Anne continued back on to the interstate. She began to think about the motives behind this sudden revelation. Why now? Three years have passed so why would anyone want me to have these photos? Anne racked her brain for answers. She was losing her concentration on the journey back downtown, and she nearly missed her exit.

The Jetta quietly arrived in front of the quaint coffee shop that was about a block away from their office building. She searched for change in her purse and fed the meter. With a heavy gust of wind another set of somber clouds rolled in, showing signs of late season precipitation.

She pulled open the thick wooden door and instantly an aroma of coffee and pastries filled her senses. She couldn’t help but intensely draw in all that sweet caffeine goodness. Casey was sitting at a small wooden bistro table in the back corner, already armed with mochas and scones.

“That was fast.”

Casey stood up and hugged her visibly shaken friend.

“Traffic wasn’t too bad. Thanks for getting me this.”

“I knew you would need it. So tell me what’s going on.”

Anne took out the envelope and handed it to Casey. She looked through the pictures and read the note while Anne dove into the blueberry scone, carefully watching her expression.

“What do you think about this?” Anne inquired.

“I don’t know. I just don’t understand why now.” Casey was staring at her. “Do you think Carter is alive?”

Anne pondered the question.

“It’s crazy for me to say yes to the possibility but then that little sliver of hope that sits dormant inside starts to emerge. I mean, it could be forged. Maybe one of his friends had these pictures and wanted me to have them—I don’t know.”

“So where’d you go this morning?” Casey asked lifting a quizzical brow.

“I went to see Carter’s mother.”

“What? How’d that go?”

“Not so well. I wanted to see if she knew something but it just made everything worse and more confusing. I know that I’m reading a lot into this but it’s this constant open-ended event, you know. Where did he go? Did he really drown?”

“Anne, it’s been three years.”

“I know, I know, I know.”

Anne placed her index fingers onto her temples, trying to rub away the headache that had been plaguing her since early that morning.

“Are you going to tell Adam?”

“Not right now. He has enough going on without dealing with his nutty fiancé receiving notes and pictures from her dead boyfriend.”

“Dead boyfriend?” Casey asked.

“Don’t start over-analyzing this. In my head he’s dead but in my heart….”

Anne swallowed hard.

“Maybe we should ask to look at the security tapes from over the weekend,” Casey suggested.

“Do you think they will let us?”

“Why not? If there is some random person breaking in, wouldn’t they have it on tape and wouldn’t they want to know that the building isn’t as secure as they thought it was? I’ll go to the security office and ask. In the meantime, why don’t you go home, relax, maybe take a nap, and I’ll call you later.”

“Thanks, Casey.”

For as long as Anne could remember, Casey had been her voice of reason even when there was nothing but darkness in her life. She never gave up pulling Anne out of the abyss.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Anne nodded and they walked out of the coffee shop and onto the bustling sidewalk. They said their goodbyes and she was once again in her car.

Anne’s apartment was just a few miles from her office. She adored her place. It was modern but cozy, and had all the amenities of the downtown culture. Art galleries, shopping and theaters were all within walking distance.

The brick and concrete façade towered six floors and had scroll iron balconies. The black Jetta disappeared into the underground garage. Anne was ready to toss her heels off and relax for a bit. The elevator ascended to the main floor so she could retrieve her mail. A wall of steel mailboxes lined to the right; she stopped at 507. Feeling that familiar pull that someone was watching her, Anne surveyed the surroundings but saw no one.

“I’m becoming paranoid,” she whispered and began to insert the key into the lock.

There was a white section of an envelope sticking out of the corner of the rectangular box. Anxiety pushed through her and with a quivering hand she slowly opened the door and let out a huge sigh of relief when she seized a crumpled cable bill.

Get a grip, she thought, rolling her eyes at her irrational reactions to the simple retrieval of her mail. She made her way back to the elevator feeling a slight twinge of embarrassment.

Anne threw her mail on the stone island that sat in the contemporary kitchen. Carter’s family had been the construction company for the apartments; beaming with pride, Carter had eagerly flaunted their completed product at her. She fell in love with the design and quality immediately and had moved in two weeks later.

It still had that “new” smell to it. The maple cabinets and floor married the black granite countertops flawlessly. She and Carter had picked out the bronze glass pendant lights that had coffee swirls etched around the oval shape and all the stainless steel appliances.

Anne changed out of her work attire and threw on some black yoga pants and a fitted pink t-shirt. After throwing her blonde locks up into a loose ponytail, she began thumbing through her mail. Nothing but bills and junk. She grabbed the manila envelope and stared at it for the longest time like Carter was going to magically pop out of the enclosure. She entered into her walk-in closet that was sandwiched between the bedroom and bathroom.

At the very top of the three levels of wooden shelving there sat a black-and-purple shoe box. Reaching while on the tip of her toes, she pulled the rectangular cardboard down to her then placed herself in the center of the closet, sitting cross-legged like a young child would. With the contents of the envelope laid out in front of her, she gazed at her entire life with Carter in a simple size seven shoe box. Anne pulled out newspaper clippings that told of his disappearance and death, photos of the two of them together at the park and out with friends, little mementos that he had given to her over their intense but passionate time together and beautiful notes he had handwritten just for her. His words were always filled with such adoration. Opening one of his many notes to her, she read the sweet words slowly.



My Dearest Anneliese, how my life would be filled with darkness if I didn’t have you. You fill me with hope and promise. I have never known love like this. I have never felt desire like this. Please my love, never leave my side.

Yours Faithfully, Carter



Anne inhaled the scent of the paper; vanilla and sandalwood still lingered on each weaved fiber. She compared the handwriting of the note she received this morning and the one that Carter wrote right after they had met. They were a perfect match. But how could that be? She thought. And what was so significant about the photos? What am I missing?

In one of the photos there was a man whose stature rang familiarity; he was standing behind Carter wearing a bright yellow ski jacket, but his face was blurred. He had on black gloves with a white symbol on them. She knew the symbol was one of an expensive clothing store, but she didn’t know anyone who owned a pair.

She remembered receiving that phone call from Carter’s oldest friend, Sam Goodman, informing her of Carter’s disappearance.

“Carter’s raft flipped in the river. He’s missing! They think he drowned. He’s gone Anne, he’s gone!” Sam had howled.

Numbness had overwhelmed her body; she had collapsed to the floor in hysterics. Her neighbors heard her and feared a medical emergency; they immediately called Minneapolis PD, who within minutes were hammering on her apartment door. They had done so with such force it had launched off its hinges. Inside, they found her unconscious in the middle of the living room, still gripping the phone.

“When you experience something traumatic, your brain attempts to shield itself. Therefore you go into shock,” Dr. Rasmussen had explained, once she had regained consciousness days later. Anne had locked herself up in a comatose world for nearly seventy-two hours. Time had been lost in her self-created hell. She had wanted to return once they revealed to her the bleak and devastating news in what they called a “controlled environment.”

Anne pulled herself from the flashback and looked over to her nightstand drawer which contained various medications to make sure that her space stayed light and cheerful. Dr. Lindsey prescribed them to her but she hadn’t touched them in months. As of 9:30 a.m., Carter had been just a faded memory imprinted in her life so many years ago, but the writing on that note told of something different. She bent forward unleashing an agonizing cry. The salty tears dripped down into the box of relics, expanding over the words that Carter wrote to her so long ago.

“Carter.” She whispered.

After regaining her composure, she could still feel her lungs burning from the tormenting trip down memory lane. She placed each item back into the shoebox ever so gently like it was a newly born baby. She walked over to the maple nightstand, taking out one of the translucent orange cylinders. Popping open the child-proof cap, she tapped out a single oblong white pill. Recalling how she felt when taking them caused a tremor through her spine. Anne would feel nothing, absolutely nothing. They desensitized her from all the hurt and agony. Before she could place the little oval of nothingness on her tongue there was a knock at the door.

“Anne?” A male voice asked.

Quickly, she placed the pill back in the bottle closing the nightstand drawer.

“Coming!” She belted out to the man who captured her soul from the dark.

She opened the door, and there he stood, debonair and un-apologetically handsome, her fiancé—Adam Whitney.