The Other Woman

54

Jane stared at the woman. She’d never seen this person in her life. Not at the Springfield rally. Not at the Esplanade event. Not in Archive Gus’s photos. How could she have gotten this wrong?

She put out a hand, touching the thick glass of the headquarters window, grounding herself.

“You’re-?” Jane’s voice was out of order. Not working. There’s an explanation.

“Kenna Wilkes?” Jake finished her question.

“But I thought-” Jane’s brain struggled to remember. The hotel clerk had shown her the name on the computer screen, clearly, unmistakably. Kenna Wilkes. She was registered there. Jane had talked to her, taken her photo, for gosh sake, and the woman-not Kenna?-had answered to that name. Hadn’t she?

How could she have gotten this wrong?

Oh, god. Alex. Her story. The paper. Her job. Her career. She would forever be Wrong-Guy Ryland.

“Do we know each other?” the woman said. She looked at Jane, inquiring, then at Jake. She caressed her hair back from her forehead with one hand, let her curls fall into place again.

“Jane?” Jake said. His voice was wrong, too. Cold, cop-ish, and not-Jake. “Do we need to be somewhere else? To-talk?”

“No, no,” Jane said. Now she’d not only blown her own career, but Jake’s, too. “I mean, no, we don’t know each other. Sorry. I’m just-distracted.”

“Don’t give it another thought,” the woman said. She wrapped her arms across her chest, hugging herself. “But, brrrr. I need to go inside. Lovely to meet you.”

Jane watched the woman’s back revolve through the glass headquarters door, a burst of tinny march music spilling out.

She was determined not to burst into tears. “I don’t know, Jakey, I mean-there’s just no way that-she was absolutely-I mean, I saw, I talked to-”

Jake zipped his jacket up and down. “I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t do a front-page story about the beautiful and mysterious Lassiter campaign staffer who was done in by the elusive Bridge Killer.”

She was going to lose it. “But I know that she-”

He reached out a finger, lifted her chin. “Janey? You going to be okay? I really have to go. But no harm. I mean, we’re lucky. Right? No confrontations, no embarrassments, no headlines. You just-got it wrong. She’s the wrong woman. Everyone makes mistakes.”

Jane watched him click open the door of his unmarked cruiser. He gave her a final look-pity? disappointment?-before he got in and drove up Causeway Street, siren blaring. She stared after him, unseeing.

Her phone rang, its muffled trill struggling out from inside her tote bag.

“Shut up,” she told it. Then dug it out, clicked it on. “This is Jane,” she said. Whatever. At this point, how bad could it be?

“Is this Jane Ryland?”

A familiar voice. A man. But not-

“This is Samuel Shapiro.”

The lawyer for Channel 11. A flitter of hope struggled to emerge. Maybe this was some kind of good news. The million-dollar judgment was overturned, or Arthur Vick admitted he lied. Maybe she’d won the appeal? Could it be?

“Oh, hi, Sam.” Jane perched on a masonry ledge along the front of the building, feet braced on the sidewalk. Sam was a good guy, defended her every moment of that horrible trial, stood shoulder to shoulder with her on the courthouse steps on verdict day. “What’s up?”

“It’s about your appeal,” Sam said. “We’re pushing the deadline. It’s fish or cut bait time. If you can prove you weren’t wrong, let’s hear it. You got anything from your source? Any confirmation? Anything at all?”

Sellica was dead. And she couldn’t say a word about their relationship. Her ex-employers would have to fork over a million bucks. “No, Sam. Not any more evidence than I had at the beginning. I mean-you know this. My source is impeccable. Vick was lying.”

“Yeah, well, we told that to the jury. And look what happened. Now, frankly, we’re somewhat disturbed that at this juncture you’re having a difficult time proving what you told your employers is the truth.”

“But-”

“We need to have a brief meeting of the minds, Miss Ryland.”

Miss Ryland? Sam never called her that.

“We’re, shall we say, of the opinion that we’re not actually the ones with the liability here. If you were-and I’m not saying you were, but merely if you were-not totally honest with Channel Eleven, then legally, it’s you who are liable for the judgment. I’ve been instructed to inform you, you might want to retain your own counsel.”

Jane felt the blood drain from her face. She took the phone away from her ear, briefly examining it as if it were an alien being. Taking a shuddering breath, she tried to answer.

“Retain my own-?”

“Exactly. Because if the judgment is primarily a result of your negligence, Miss Ryland, then Channel Eleven feels they should not have to pay it. Here’s the bottom line: You’re the one who’s answerable for the million-dollar damages. Not Channel Eleven. It’s not our responsibility to pay that judgment. It’s yours.”