Tia Rose got up from the bed and grabbed her dress to cover herself up. She noticed her purse and the items scattered on the rug. She remembered dropping it last night as she had the shock of her life. She saw the light and the phone and grabbed it. Anything to pull away from a dramatic exit from the twins.
“Hello.”
She walked out of the bedroom and into the bathroom.
“Miss Richman?”
“Yes,” she replied, not recognizing the voice.
“My name is Detective Ovens. I’m calling from the 46th Precinct in New York. I was wondering if you could tell me where your brother, Sean, is. Have you heard from him?”
“What? My brother, Sean? No. Why? What happened?”
“He’s wanted for questioning in an armed robbery in Missouri.”
“Oh, my God. Are you serious?”
“Yes, ma’am. If you’re helping him, I need to know. I need you to turn him in.”
“Oh, I can assure you that I’m not helping him, Detective Ovens. First of all, I’m in Paris right now on business, and secondly, I haven’t spoken to my brother in five years.”
&n
bsp; “I spoke with your parents. They weren’t very cooperative.”
“They’re not nice people, Detective.”
“You’ve been sending them money.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s my job to know. It seems that your brother headed here to New York. I’m working with other investigators. When are you returning to the city?”
“Tomorrow. Late evening.”
“Can I leave you my number for you to call me?”
She looked around the bathroom.
“I don’t have a pen. Can you text me the number? I don’t think there’s anything more I can help you with though.”
“I’ll determine that when we meet. You’re sure that he wouldn’t come to see you? Maybe try to get money from you?”
“No. He hates me.”
“Those are harsh words.”
“His treatment was harsher. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
She disconnected the call then felt her gut clench and her heart race. She needed to get home. The perfect wonderful time with Hudson and Jagger was over. Reality came crashing back. Now here she was again, trying to separate herself from a family with bad intentions, and specifically, a brother wanted by the law. How was this going to affect her life? Could he cause her trouble? Could he actually try to contact her for help? She could lose her job. She could go to jail for aiding and abetting, even though she did no such thing. Oh, my God, my life will never improve. They’ll always have control of me. They’ll always bring me down.
The knock on the door frightened her.
“I’ll be right out,” she said, and then threw the dress over her head, zipped up the back best she could, and ran her fingers through her hair. She saw the tube of toothpaste on the counter and quickly spread some onto her finger as a makeshift toothbrush. She rubbed it in then spit it out, nearly gagging.
She fixed herself best she could, adjusted her boobs into the tight bodice, and took a deep breath.
Back to reality.