“Hmm. Anyway, she said she’ll come to your apartment and collect Bird as soon as she arrives.”
She could imagine the look on Griff’s or Connie’s face when the old lady showed up at their door, demanding her dog back. They’d send her off to Bellevue. “Maybe you should just give her my cell number instead, and I’ll bring Bird to her.”
“If she calls me back, I will. Apparently, she’s out of the country.”
“I see. Listen, I was wondering if I could come back out to New Jersey. We’re on a tight deadline with the story, and I’d love to get your input on something that just came up.”
“That’s fine—and in fact, I think it is better we speak before Darby returns.”
“Can I come now?”
“Yes, you may.”
Stella waved away Rose’s polite inquiries about her health.
“I want to know what you’re doing with Darby’s story. She doesn’t know you at all, claims she’s never exchanged a word with you.”
Rose squirmed under her scrutiny. “Well, that’s true enough. I apologize for not being clearer, but as you know, it was an emergency. I was happy to help out.”
Stella pursed her lips, still not convinced.
“Did you know Darby well before her accident?” Rose asked.
“We spent some time together. Not much. We had something of a falling-out soon after she arrived. Why are you so relentless on this subject, Rose? Is it really all that newsworthy? Something that happened more than fifty years ago?”
“It’s part of the story of the hotel, in my mind. The guests, the staff, whatever dividing lines existed. Seems strange she’d want to stay on, after such a tragedy.”
“She had nowhere else to go, no other choices. Before the accident, she’d started coming out of her shell. It was easy to see who she might become given the opportunity. Afterward, though, it was as if she decided she’d been punished for trying to live outside her comfort zone. She withdrew again, and that was pretty much that.”
“I see. Did she seem very different after she got back from the hospital?”
“What exactly are you getting at?”
Rose leaned forward. “The girl she’s been hanging with, I think she called her Tía, not Tina. Which means ‘aunt’ in Spanish. I’m wondering if it’s at all possible that Darby was the girl who fell, and the maid, Esme Castillo, was the one who was scarred.”
Stella went white. “What on earth are you suggesting?”
“Is there any chance the two women may have switched identities? That the woman we think of as Darby is in fact Esme?”
“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” Stella’s hands gripped the armrests, her fingers like talons. “Absolutely not. The poor woman has been through enough—and I won’t let you repaint her life as though it was some two-bit melodrama. Why can’t you just leave her alone?”
“I’m sorry.” Rose had overstepped. Coming here was a bad idea. “I guess I worry about her.”
“You don’t even know her.” Stella’s voice boomed.
“I understand what it’s like to be alone in the city and not have anyone to depend on.”
“How dare you assume to understand Darby? To understand me? You think just because we don’t have a man or children, we’re fragile, bitter old ladies? Scared of being mugged or dying in our apartments and not being found for days? Is that what you think our lives are like?”
“No, of course not.” Her reply wasn’t all that convincing.
“Well, let me put you straight.” She planted her legs wide and leaned forward on her elbows. “We aren’t weak. We don’t need anyone’s help. We help ourselves, and we help out each other. My life is rich and full and I get to do whatever the hell I want, when I want. If I want to eat macaroni and cheese for breakfast, I do it without thinking twice. The city is teeming outside my window with life and people to watch, but I don’t want to be them. I don’t need to be them. I love my life and I don’t need your pity.”
Rose sat back, stunned.
“Don’t you dare project your own fears onto me.” Her nostrils flared. “I reject them. If you’re lonely and scared, you better deal with it now, because life only gets lonelier and scarier, no matter how many people fill your home or your heart.
“It’s up to you, sweetheart. Ultimately, you’re on your own.”
Jason was in the office kitchen when Rose finally made it to work. As he reached up to get a mug from the cabinet, his T-shirt rose slightly, showing off his flat stomach, pale and smooth.
He gave her a catlike grin. “Hey. I saw you left messages; it’s been crazy here. Some big announcement coming down the pike.”
“A new infusion of capital?”
“Don’t know. Tyler’s been in his office talking with men in suits all morning.”
Rose filled him in on the strange turn of events, including the letter from Sam and her conversation with Stanley Jr.
Jason gave a low whistle. “Darby is really Esme? Could she pull off that kind of stunt for so many years?”
“I wondered the same thing. When I mentioned the theory to Stella, she vehemently denied it. Maybe too much so.” Rose didn’t go into further details, as she was still recovering from the woman’s verbal onslaught. Which was well deserved, she had to admit.
“Wait a minute.” Jason held up a finger. “Our conversation with Malcolm. Do you remember what he said when you asked about Esme?”
“Not exactly. That he knew she’d died, something along those lines.”
“Follow me.” He hurried to one of the editing suites and pulled up Malcolm’s interview. He hit a button and Malcolm’s face appeared on the screen.
“Who, Darby?”
“No, Esme.”
“Right. They say she fell off a building and died. But I don’t know much else.”
He sat back and crossed his arms. “Malcolm mixes them up. And why use the qualifier words they say?”
“He also looks away from me when he answers.” Rose took a deep breath. “Do you think he knows the truth?”
“He might, if he and Sam have been in touch.”
Rose picked up her phone and tried Malcolm. Once again, it went straight to voice mail.
She left another message and hung up. “Darby’s coming back into town soon, so maybe we’ll get our answer.”
Jason nodded. “We’ll have to save it for the camera, though. Imagine the reaction shot. This could make this piece really sing.”
“But if we can’t see her eyes, how will we know?”
“She’ll stiffen, pause, something. We’ll be able to tell. As long as you get her to sit down and talk.” Jason moved closer and placed a hand lightly on Rose’s arm. “How’s your dad doing?”
“I’m heading back to the hospital as soon as work is over. I need to be there as much as possible. Even if he doesn’t know who I am.”
“I’m sure he senses something.”
She sighed. “Between the dementia and the sedatives, I’m hoping he doesn’t sense much at all right now.”
A coworker dashed into the room. “Tyler wants all of us together.”
Outside his office, Tyler shook hands with the men in suits and then headed into the conference room. WordMerge employees popped up from their cubicles like meerkats, shuffling in behind him, amid whispers and stifled laughter. Rose and Jason hovered near the back.
Tyler rubbed his hands together. His pants were fashionably short and tight.
“I’m happy to announce we’re exploring a new paradigm here at WordMerge.” He enunciated the company name carefully, the only way to say it without sounding like you hailed from the sticks. “Our audience has made it clear what they want: short, sharp pieces that can be shared on social media. You’ll be getting more details in the next couple of days, but for now I want everyone to start thinking in snappy visuals. Lists, photos, funny, smart, you know the type of thing I’m talking about, because it’s what you seek out every day.”