“No, you don’t understand. It sounded like they were in trouble and needed help. I… I think it was Dawn.”
“So… she’s having car trouble or something? Did she tell you what she needed help with?”
“No…” I squeeze my hands together. “She just said ‘help me’ and hung up.”
“Oh.” The expression on his face betrays a distinct lack of concern. He doesn’t look even the slightest bit worried. “Well, just call her back and ask what she needs help with.”
“I have. She’s not picking up.”
He shrugs. “I’m sure she’s fine. What could have happened?”
“I don’t know…” I start to bite on my thumbnail—an old bad habit when I’m nervous—but I stop myself. I spent a lot on this French manicure, and the last thing I want to do is wreck it. “Maybe she was in an accident.”
“Let me give her a call.”
My shoulders relax slightly as Seth picks his cellphone off his desk and scrolls through the numbers. Now that I can see his hands, I notice the wedding band he always wears on his left fourth finger is gone. Recently gone—there’s a visible tan line. My eyes stray to the photograph he always keeps on his desk of him and his wife Melinda, but that’s gone too.
Hmm. That’s interesting.
I’m itching to ask Seth about the missing ring and picture of his wife. But it’s none of my business. He’s my boss, after all. And there are more pressing problems at the moment.
Seth places the call and we both wait while it presumably rings on the other line. After a few seconds, I can hear the muted sound of Dawn’s voicemail message. Seth drums his fingers against his desk as he waits for her irritatingly long voicemail message to run.
“Hey, Dawn,” Seth says. “We haven’t seen you at work today, and I wanted to know what’s going on. Is everything okay? Give me a call as soon as you can.” He disconnects the call and places his phone down on his desk. “Not picking up. But she’ll call back.”
“Oh.”
“You know what?” He snaps his fingers. “I just remembered—Dawn and I were supposed to have a meeting today at two. She made a big thing out of how she needed an appointment and it was so important.”
“Important?” My stomach flutters, remembering the similar email she sent to me. A matter of great importance. It must have been at least a bit of a big deal if she scheduled a meeting with the boss about it. “What was so important?”
“No clue. Probably something ridiculous, knowing Dawn.” He cracks what feels like a very inappropriate smile, given the circumstances. “Anyway, she made such a big deal out of it, so I’m sure she’ll show up at two to talk to me.”
I shift my weight between my bright red Louboutins. I always wear heels, and red is my favorite color for shoes, but these are pinching my toes like crazy. I should’ve gotten a size eight. “Maybe we should call the police?”
“Call the police?” Seth blinks at me. “Are you serious? She’s an hour late to work and you want to call the police?”
“She called asking for help!” I remind him.
He blows air out between his pursed lips. “Are you sure it was even Dawn on the phone? Maybe it was a customer who needed help.”
“It wasn’t a customer.”
“Are you sure?”
I start to say yes, but now he’s got me questioning my own memory. I picked up the phone and the other person on the line said “help me.” And they did sound upset. But then again, some customers do sound upset when they call. Is it possible that it wasn’t Dawn calling, and it really was just a customer? And maybe they hung up when they heard my voice instead of hers?
“There are a hundred things that could’ve happened to her,” he points out. “I don’t think we need to call the police. They would laugh at us.”
That could be true.
Seth’s eyes soften. “Are you okay, Nat? You look kind of frazzled.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’m just saying. You’ve been working your butt off lately. Your sales have been through the roof, and you’ve been organizing this 5K. I don’t even know how you have the time. You should relax a little.”
The beginning of a lump forms in my throat. “I make time for things that are important.”
“I know.”
I swallow down the lump. “You’re showing up to run on Saturday, right? I’m counting on you.”
“I’ll be there.” He places a hand on his chest. “I promise. And don’t worry—I bet anything Dawn will be in my office at two. She’s always on time.”
As soon as I get out of Seth’s office, I return to my cubicle. That turtle figurine is still on my desk, staring up at me with its vacant black eyes. Seth’s comment about how I look frazzled is still ringing in my ears, so I pull out my compact. Despite the expensive face cream I smeared over my cheeks this morning, my skin looks sallow. Usually, I have great skin. It’s one of the things that helps me sell our product. But I didn’t sleep well last night. My blond hair looks uncharacteristically limp and lifeless.
I just can’t stop thinking about that phone call… I can’t stop hearing the frantic edge in the caller’s voice.
Help me.
It didn’t sound like somebody asking for customer assistance. It sounded like the cries of somebody who was truly in trouble.
But Seth is right. I can’t call the police to report that my coworker is an hour late to work. I’m sure Dawn will show up to work soon. This is surely all a big misunderstanding.
Chapter Three
NINE MONTHS EARLIER
To: Mia Hodge
From: Dawn Schiff
Subject: Greetings
Dear Mia,
Today was my first day at my new job that I was telling you about.
I wish I could say it was easy, but you know me. You know I’m shy. I have that in common with turtles—they are naturally shy animals. Not to say that they don’t have any personality, because they certainly do, but most turtles prefer to stay in their own environment. They don’t want to be played with. And when faced with any kind of threat, their first reaction isn’t to attack. It’s to retract into their shells and hide. Sound familiar?
My life would be easier if I had a shell like a turtle does. Remember when you helped me build that shell out of cardboard boxes? I gathered the rocks at the park and we glued them onto the boxes together in my living room. It didn’t look real, of course—we were only seven years old. But when I was having a bad day, I had a place to hide.
How long did that shell last? A week? Two? I just remember coming home one day and it was gone. My mother had dismantled it while I was at school, and threw it in the trash. She ripped it to shreds so there was no chance of possibly reconstructing it. She said to me: This is why you only have one friend, Dawn.
As if I need another friend besides you. I just wish you didn’t live across the entire country right now.
The closest thing I currently have to a shell is my round tortoiseshell glasses, which I purchased about a year ago. I don’t think you’ve seen them. Don’t worry—they’re not made of real tortoise shells.