Venus Project

Contents

Thanksgiving Day

New Year’s Eve

Indianapolis, Indiana

January 1

Maple County, Indiana

(1:05 A.M.)

Maple County

(10:00 A.M.)

January 2

Chicago

(3:00 P.M.)

January 3

Maple County

(11:00 A.M.)

January 4

Maple County

(7:10 A.M.)

January 5

Chicago

(2:00 A.M.)

January 6

Chicago

(10:20 A.M.)

January 7

Chicago

(10:15 A.M.)

January 8

Maple County

(7:30 P.M.)

January 9

Chicago

(11:55 A.M.)

January 10

Chicago

(1:04 P.M.)

January 14

Chicago

(7:30 P.M.)

January 19

Maple County

(10:30 A.M.)

January 21

Maple County

(10:45 A.M.)

January 22

Maple County

(3:30 P.M.)

January 27

Washington D.C.

(3:30 P.M.)

February 2

Maple County

(4:30 P.M.)

February 3

Chicago

(6:30 P.M.)

February 6

Chicago

(7:30 A.M.)

February 8

Chicago

(1:00 P.M.)

February 9

North Of Chicago

(5:45 P.M.)

February 10

30 Miles South Of Milwaukee,

Wisconsin

(8:45 A.M.)

Hartford, Connecticut

(10:00 A.M.)

February 11

Maple County

(8:00 A.M.)

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

(10:30 A.M.)

February 12

Washington, D.C.

Early Afternoon

February 14

Maple County

(11:30 A.M.)

February 16

Maple County

February 18

Maple County

(4:00 P.M.)

February 20

Hartford, Connecticut

(9:00 P.M.)

February 21

Maple County

(10:30 A.M.)

February 23

Maple County

(2:15 P.M.)

February 24

(2:30 P.M.)

February 25

Maple County

(9:45 A.M.)

February 26

Maple County

(9:45 A.M.)

Maple County

(9.45 A.M.)

Maple County

(8:30 P.M.)

February 27

Maple County

(8:15 A.M.)

February 28

Maple County

(11:30 A.M.)

March 1

Maple County

(8:00 A.M.)

March 2

Maple County

(8:30 A.M.)

March 3

(8:15 A.M.)

March 4

Maple County

(8:30 A.M.)

West Lafayette, Indiana

(2:15 P.M.)

Maple County

(6:15 P.M.)

March 5

Maple County

(8:45 A.M.)

March 6Th

Chicago

(8:15 A.M.)

Chicago

(1:30 P.M.)

March 7

Chicago

(1:15 P.M.)

March 8

8:15 A.M.

March 9

Chicago

(Noon)

March 10

Chicago

March 11

Maple County

(9:15 A.M.)

March 15

(8:15 A.M.)

March 16

Maple County

(10:15 P.M.)

Easter Sunday

Maple County

(10:05 A.M.)

About The Author

THANKSGIVING DAY

For 2 0 minutes, two men had been waiting in the hallway. A middle-aged, overweight yuppie in a flamboyant designer jogging suit continuously paced the width of the hall, while a blond, tan, and fit man, dressed in a tailored beige suit, calmly leaned against the wall as they waited for clearance to enter the conference room.

He’s got a lot of nerve ordering us here on Thanksgiving Day, said R. Joseph Bogardus, whose shiny white Nike running shoes only made his casual outfit stand out more. Bogardus was extremely agitated when Karl Backer called him at his country home, ordering him to leave his Thanksgiving dinner immediately and meet Karl a mile from the house so they could get to this abruptly-called meeting.

Karl made no comment. Thanksgiving was an American holiday, after all; to him it was just another work day. A large Asian man in a gray security uniform opened one of the heavy oak double doors, revealing an enormous conference room. The oversized, painstakingly polished oak conference table, surrounded by high-backed cushioned arm chairs, stretched nearly the entire length of the 40-foot oak paneled room. Three men sat at one end of the table facing away from Karl and Bogardus as they followed the guard into the room. A solitary lamp near the three men dimly lit the area. Karl’s eyes were slow to adjust to the darkness as the security guard escorted the pair to within a few feet of the three men.

Phase II of the project is complete, Karl reported, handing a large, thick envelope to the guard who, in turn, laid it between the three men.

Fine. Any problems? the man seated in the middle asked without turning around.

Not on my end, Karl responded.

Mr. Bogardus, I don’t believe you can report the same, the man in the middle continued.

Everything is under control. There doesn’t appear to be a security leak, and, if there is, it is minimal and will be handled, Bogardus said assuredly.

’Doesn’t appear to be’ and ‘minimal’ are responses that make me uncomfortable, stated the man in the middle without turning around.

I said, it’s being handled, Bogardus retorted.

Karl, you handle the problem. Bogardus, your services are no longer required, said the man in the middle, still facing away from Bogardus.

Listen, you pompous bastard, I’m part of this project. I’m the only one who can control our man. You need me! Bogardus shouted as he stepped past the guard toward the three men.

I think not, the man in the middle calmly responded, flicking his wrist and hand as if he were shooing a fly away.

The guard silently pulled a metal billy club from his belt and, with no wasted motion, struck Bogardus across the lower front neck and upper chest. Bogardus, his whole attention focused on the man in the middle, did not see the back-handed blow coming. The club crashed into his windpipe just as he began to speak. No sound came from his open mouth. The only sound was a crushing crack of the metal club against his skin and bone. Bogardus grabbed at his throat.

Karl watched as Bogardus tried to recover from the blow. Bogardus’ eyes froze in disbelief as he gasped for air, but his crushed windpipe was no longer capable of delivering oxygen to his lungs. The loss of color in Bogardus’ face was visible even in this dark room. Bogardus stumbled to his knees, his hands still struggling with his throat as if he were trying to open it to the surrounding air. Bogardus’ battle finally ended as the loss of oxygen to his brain brought down the shade of unconsciousness. Death followed quickly.

Karl had utilized this same killing blow in the past but still admired the guard’s effective use of the metal billy club. He made a mental note not to allow the guard an opening if he ever fell out of favor.

No more loose ends! the middle man ordered as he handed the guard a new envelope, even thicker than the first. The guard took two steps back and handed the envelope to Karl.

Inside you will find Phase III objectives with detailed directions. Use whatever you need to successfully complete this phase during the next six months. Failure on any of the objectives is unacceptable. Are we clear on that?

Perfectly, Karl responded as he took the envelope from the guard. Karl leaned forward slightly in an attempt to see the faces of the three men, but the lighting made it impossible to discern any of their facial characteristics.

You may leave now. Take the body with you. Dump him near his home. Make it look like a hit and run accident.

The Asian guard helped Karl remove the lifeless Bogardus from the room, as the three men began reviewing the contents of the envelope left by Karl.

New Year’s Eve

Indianapolis, Indiana

The cold wind caused the misty fog to film the high-rise window as Paul Miller surveyed the Indianapolis skyline. The new year was only a few minutes away, and the party had been as boring as he anticipated. The guests started to congregate around the large screen television from which the sounds of New York’s Times Square screeched and bellowed. He remained at the window not interested in sharing the celebration.

He was thinking about his terse phone call to his wife Lora earlier in the evening. She and their two kids were in Arizona, visiting Lora’s parents. Paul stayed home to mind the political battlefields, standing in for his boss, Senator McClain, who was off on another press junket. Even though it was two years before the Senator would be up for reelection, Paul’s work still required his constant personal attention, and the upcoming Presidential primaries continued to place extra demands on his time. But Paul felt relieved to be working and away from the scolding eyes of his wife. These days, he was unable to do anything right in her eyes.

He had just turned 40, married for the last 18 years, and was beginning to dread the mounting boredom of his home life. Paul loved Lora and his kids, would do anything for them, but nowadays he felt more useful to the Senator. And Paul liked feeling useful. A sweet whiff of perfume brought him out of his trance, and he turned towards the scent. A beautiful blonde, in an off-the-shoulder black evening gown, was standing next to him. He smiled.

Cold and lonely out there, she said slowly, looking at the city below.

Paul turned back toward the window-encased night and said, Yes.

You don’t seem to be enjoying the party?

I’m sorry. I’m not really in a socializing mood. My mind is elsewhere. Paul couldn’t help taking in more of the woman’s body, which was long and lean, her arms athletically muscled.

Thinking about your wife? There was a lilt in her voice.

That’s a pretty good guess.

Not really, she smiled, glancing at his wedding ring.

Paul suddenly felt stiff in his tuxedo and considered what he must look like. An aging tennis playertype with sandy blond hair that was fading to gray. My wife and kids are in Arizona with her parents. She avoids political parties whenever she can. Where’s your better half? Paul asked, realizing his mistake as he took a quick glance at her hand; she wasn’t wearing a ring.

She smiled. You’re looking at it, she said as she ever so slightly stepped back and posed for him. But if you’re asking me if I’m here alone, the answer is yes. My soon-to-be ex-husband is in Nassau or Cancun at some bimbo bar, she snorted.

So you’re here by yourself?

Well, not exactly. I’m the third wheel with my friend and her date. The woman was pointing in the direction of the crowd gathered around the giant television. And you?

Political stand-in for my boss, Paul answered.

So neither of us has much to celebrate this New Year’s Eve, huh? She held his eyes a bit longer than necessary.

... 8, 7, 6 ... Paul could hear the countdown in the background, ... 3, 2, 1...HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Paul was caught off guard as his mouth was suddenly covered with her soft, warm lips. He didn’t resist and instead held on to the kiss.

She broke away and said, By the way, I’m Angela.

Uh, I’m Paul, Paul-

She cut him off. We don’t have to get into last names, now, do we? Again that smile.

No. That’s fine. Paul said, trying to sound composed as long forgotten emotions stirred within him.

Is it just me or is this party a real drag? Angela said. Paul hesitated, then said, How would you feel about getting out of here?

Great idea, Angela said quickly as she grabbed his arm to be escorted from the room.

January 1

Maple County, Indiana

(1:05 a.m.)

For the past twenty minutes Paul had been driving his black Town Car carefully down the interstate. He and his new friend had just left the out skirts of Indianapolis and entered some suburban county unfamiliar to Paul. Angela sat facing him, her back to the door. She reached for his right hand and started to massage his palm. Paul had heard all about her roving husband, his unreliability and his inability to be monogamous, and with that Paul had convinced himself that what they were about to do was the choice of consensual adults, no strings attached. After all, he had been faithful for 18 years, and as little affection as he had received from Lora these past few years, he deserved this attention. Affection and intimacy, that’s what had been missing. Well, this was his chance for some passionate sex, not sex by the numbers or let me know when you’re done sex. He needed this.

Shall we go to my place? Angela suggested, pointing to the next intersection exit as she continued rubbing his palm.

You live here?

No, I live in Chicago. I mean my hotel.

Sure. Paul had not checked into his downtown hotel because he had come directly to the party from an afternoon charity auction in Chicago. His packed suitcase was in the trunk. He was mobile."This is it-

Imagination Suites." Angela was smiling again. Paul didn’t want to imagine what kinds of people actually stayed at a place like this as he pulled into the motel parking lot. He was beyond caring at this point. He let himself be led by Angela.

When Paul followed Angela into the room, he was hit by a life-sized, hand-painted, professionally carved replica of a horse pulling a beautiful brass-trimmed carriage. Is this a bed?

Angela laughed. Yes. They call this the Cinderella Suite.

Paul thought, How in the hell did I get here? Who is this woman? But before he could draw any conclusions, Angela was behind him, pressing her long body into him, and handing him a drink.

Champagne? Angela purred into his ear.

Paul turned around to face her. I’ve never been to one of these places before.

There’s a first time for everything, don’t you think. I mean we only live once. Angela had slipped out of her floor length fur coat, which she had casually thrown onto a chair. Her arms were around his waist.

Paul pulled away and said, Give me a minute. I need to ... Angela pointed toward the bathroom.

The bathroom was canvassed in smoky mirrors and contained a large whirlpool bathtub in the shape of Cinderella’s glass slipper. Paul tried to empty his bladder, but he was much too distracted. He wiped cool water on his face and brushed his hands through his hair. He looked at himself in the mirror. Standing before him was a slightly overweight, middle-aged, very

ordinary man. Why would Angela be attracted to him?

Paul walked back into the room and saw that Angela was already lying on the bed. Well, he thought, she knows what she wants. He began to undress a bit self-consciously, hoping his black socks and boxer shorts weren’t an embarrassment to him. He approached her, and she handed him two red silk ropes.

I like to be conquered, Angela said. She looked like a lingerie model for Fredrick’s of Hollywood. Paul didn’t know what he wanted to touch first.

She began to take off her bustier, and Paul put his hand on her wrist. Let me, he said. As he took off the last of her clothing, she put a full champagne flute to his lips, and he sipped until the glass was empty.

He was on his knees, surveying her toned, tanned body, running his hands up and down her torso, her legs, her full breasts. Her head was back and she was moaning.

At a certain point, he wanted to laugh, imagining himself in the Cinderella carriage in a sleazy hotel room. Who did he think he was? But then he pulled back to the reality of Angela, so naked before him.

He began to feel a little dizzy. He didn’t think he drank that much, so it must be his excitement. But as he lay on top of Angela, she began to blur into the interior mirror of the carriage. What’s happening? he slurred, and everything went black.

___________________

(6:00 a.m.)

The pounding, pounding, stop the pounding, Paul thought, as he concentrated on pulling open his eyelids. His headache was so bad he didn’t want to lift his head for fear it would break. His mouth was dry; his throat sore. As he squinted through his half-shut lids, he noticed a gray light in the room. Morning. Then he caught the sight of red fringe.

.thump thump ... open. open ..., door. ... police., he heard from far off in the distance.

Whatever his face was lying on, it was cold and hard. After a few minutes, his eyes began to focus, his mind and body finally started to work together, and he slowly lifted his heavy head. Then he saw her face. The frightened, frozen stare in her eyes, the twisted openness of her mouth, the gaping gash in her throat. The dried blood was splattered on her upper chest and had evidently run between her breasts, pooling at her waist where his head had been resting. Her wrists were tied by the red silk ropes to the interior of the carriage, forming a cross.

Suddenly the motel room door flew open, and uniformed men rushed in, surrounding the carriage bed with guns drawn.

Drop the knife and climb out of there slowly!

Still trying to get his bearings, Paul moved slightly in an attempt to sit up and respond to the officer.

I said drop the knife, the officer repeated, moving closer and pointing his revolver at Paul’s head.

What are you talking about? Then Paul saw and felt the wooden-handled steak knife in his right hand. He pulled his hand away from the knife as if it were a hot skillet. At the same time, he caught his reflection in the mirror and saw the dried brown blood caked in his hair and eyebrows. He looked like a ghoul.

Maple County

(10:00 a.m.)

Jack Caplin was a lone jogger out on this frigid New Year’s Day. He worked his way down a country road flanked on one side by a new housing development and on the other by flat Indiana cornfields, which now showed their winter stubble. Despite the below freezing temperature, perspiration was beginning to show through Jack’s sweat-shirt. The moisture had already worked its way through two inner layers of thermal clothing.

Jack checked his watch for his mileage time.

Not bad for a 41-year old man. He smiled and looked out toward the suburban neighborhood where his two young daughters slept soundly in their beds. Safe and sound.

It was the second anniversary of Jane’s death and for that reason, today’s run was extra long. Jack thought of awakening in a hospital bed, his left leg in traction, both arms broken and in casts, to be told by a doctor he’d never seen before that his beloved wife had died in the car accident the night before. The doctor said that she died instantly. Instantly. That word had haunted Jack ever since.

But as soon as his body convalesced, Jack started to run.

And he ran almost every day, unless the weather made road-travel impossible. There was something about the monotonous rhythm, the pounding against the earth that stilled the wells of feeling beneath.

As he left the rural outskirts and re-entered the tree-lined suburban streets, Jack quickened his pace. Then when he reached his street, he slowed to a walk and cooled down as he approached his white brick home.

Jack was surprised to find his older daughter Courtneigh in the kitchen making waffles. He thought Lindsay, his younger daughter, must still be in bed. Courtneigh’s friend Kate was slumped in the breakfast nook, clearly not yet fully awake from their New Year’s Eve slumber party. Morning, Dad, Courtneigh finally said.

Well, this is a surprise. Why are you up so early?

Well, I thought I would make breakfast. But, really, some senator called for you, said it was an emergency. Courtneigh’s blond hair, matted from sleep partially covered the side of her face.

A senator called for me? Where’s the message? He read his 15-year-old daughter’s scrawl. Does this say Senator O’Shea?

Yeah. Courtneigh yawned as she went about pouring the batter on the waffle iron.

What exactly did this Senator O’Shea say? The number is long distance.

He just said it was important and for you to please call him when you got home. She sounded a bit agitated.

Jack decided to ignore his daughter’s tone as he keyed the unfamiliar area code into his receiver. He thought of what Jane had said about being patient, she’s a teenager, and no one understands teenagers, including themselves.

Hello?

This is Jack Caplin; I received a message from a— He was interrupted.

I’m Thomas O’Shea. I called you. Thank you for returning my call so quickly. I need the services of a good criminal attorney to help a friend.

Who is this friend and how did you get my name?

I got your name from some people in your county.

Like who? It finally clicked. U.S. Senator Thomas O’Shea from the State of Illinois, but why was O’Shea calling him?

I don’t have the names in front of me. But they all said you were an excellent attorney with high integrity.

Jack didn’t know yet how to read this voice. Were these empty strokes? Who was this guy and who was this client?

My friend needs a good attorney now. I believe he is about to be charged with murder by your local prosecutor.

Who’s your friend?

Paul Miller. He works for Senator Joshua McClain. O’Shea paused, letting the information settle. Jack knew of Senator McClain’s reputation for law and order which would make this a very high profile case. It probably wouldn’t look good for the senator to hire a big time lawyer to showboat technical defenses and scream sloppy police work. Jack had the law and order background, 15 years with the prosecutor’s office. He was local, he had the ties and the skills needed. Still he wondered, why me?

Do you realize that I’ve only tried murder cases as a prosecutor? Jack finally asked.

You resigned as chief deputy prosecutor about 18 months ago. You tried eight murder cases as a prosecutor and have eight convictions. You’ve won all your trials against the prosecutor’s office since leaving them. Senator McClain wants to retain your services to help Paul Miller.

Regardless, trying a murder trial from the defense table is a whole new ball game. Jack was impressed by O’Shea’s homework. He wondered if O’Shea also knew the reasons for his resignation.

Why are you calling for Senator McClain? Jack asked.

I guess it does seem a little strange for a senator from Illinois to be calling on behalf of a senator from Wisconsin.

Jack didn’t respond to the obvious.

Senator McClain is en route home from the West Coast. His staff thought it might be better for me to call rather than one of them. You see, yesterday Paul was with me at a political charity function here in Chicago. In short, I’m calling on behalf of a friend and colleague.

Why was Mr. Miller in Maple County?

I’m not sure. The party he was attending for the Senator was in downtown Indianapolis. He must have driven from there to this ‘Imagination Suites’ hotel.

Imagination Suites, Jack thought. He had driven past it hundreds of times, when getting on or off the interstate. He had heard friends talk about the novelty rooms in this hotel that sat inside suburban Maple County adjacent to the outskirts of Indianapolis.

Jack was silent for a minute, I’ll meet with your friend, then I’ll let you know if I want to represent him. Now, just give me what you know so far.

Jack wrote down the information, and the two men hung up.

(1:15 p.m.)

There was very little traffic on the road as Jack drove down to the county jail. He still wondered why he was chosen by the senator. Did he really want to be involved in this high profile case? It was every trial lawyer’s dream to defend such a case. But as a prosecutor he had seen such dreams quickly become nightmares.

He arrived at the square limestone building shortly after lunch and was surprised to see so much activity. Even Sheriff Johnston was back in his office.

After being buzzed through and signing the daily log, Jack sat down in a hard-edged plastic chair and waited for the jailer to escort Paul Miller to the small eight-foot cubicle.

I’m Jack Caplin, and I’m an attorney. Thomas O’Shea contacted me to possibly assist in your case. Jack studied the man before him. Paul Miller’s hair was disheveled, and a blonde stubble of beard growth covered his chin and cheeks. The orange jailhouse suit made him look even more clownish.

Help? Why bother? Paul mumbled dejectedly.

You mean you killed the woman?

No, no, at least I don’t remember doing anything to her. The last thing I remember is that god-awful red carriage. But what about my wife and kids? What will I say to them? Paul was now crying into his hands.

Why don’t you start by telling me the whole story—from the beginning, Jack said patiently. For the next twenty minutes Paul Miller described the events of the night before.

So the last thing you remember is feeling dizzy?

Yes. I mean I remember being on top of her.

I got that part the first time. What about drugs? Were you doing any drugs?

No drugs. Just the champagne and not much of it either.

You said you never met her friends at the party? You don’t know who she came with?

No.

And you were at the party because you were covering for your boss?

Yes. Senator Joshua McClain from Wisconsin.

The ‘Law and Order Senator’? Jack whistled under his breath. He wondered if the public’s perception of the senator’s honesty and integrity was accurate or well-orchestrated political propaganda. Jack’s dealings with local politics and the national media’s Congressional bashing had made him quite cynical of most politicians—probably a common feeling among most thinking individuals.

Paul nodded. I’m his campaign and finance manager. I was standing in for him at this New Year Eve’s party since several big time party contributors who need constant stroking were going to be there. That was last night, where I met Angela.

Is McClain up for re-election?

No. The new campaign begins the day your man is elected and continues until the ballots are counted in the next election. There’s no stopping.

Who was at the party? Where could we get a list of those invited? And you’re sure you’ve never met Angela before?

The hosts were... Paul attempted to answer as he searched his foggy memory.

Jack stopped him in mid-sentence. It was clear that Paul could barely keep his eyes open, never mind his head up. If Jack were to make a quick and, he knew, premature judgment, he’d say that Paul Miller was not capable of murder. But you never knew. Some of the most gruesome murders had been committed by the most ordinary people.

I can’t commit to your case yet, but I’ll let you know directly when I decide. Jack gently put his hand on Paul’s shoulder as he rose to leave.

___________________

Jack decided to track down one of the detectives on the case.

Sorry, Jack, you know the sheriff’s policy. There’s not much I can tell you now. We’re still checking out your client’s story and other details. The detective shrugged his shoulders. Jack pressed him. Isn’t there any detail that might help?

You were always a good friend as a prosecutor. You helped me out more than once. The detective glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention to them. Okay, there is one thing. The victim’s name wasn’t Angela, it was Meredith Baker. But that’s all I know and you didn’t hear it from me.

January 2

Chicago

(3:00 p.m.)

The Chicago wind chilled through Sandy Roberts’ wool coat as she watched the cab driver remove her luggage from the airport taxi. The past two weeks in southern Florida with her parents had lowered her tolerance to the cold. She wondered if she would have to use taxis for the next few days since she evidently lost her driver’s license in Florida.

Five dollars extra on your tip if you help me with the luggage, she said to the foreign cabby. His speech was barely comprehensible, but he understood five dollars. He wrestled the luggage to the front door of her condo, and she made good on her promise.

When she opened the door, she was greeted by her familiar furnishings and decorations, but nothing else. It looked inviting. The warm, cozy feel of the room belied its emptiness. But before she started feeling lonely, she reminded herself that she was the one who decided to end her off-again-on-again relationship with Mike after four years; this time for good. Her two weeks in Florida had given her time to cull through the fragments of their relationship, and she had come to the realization that what they had shared was merely an affair of convenience with problems that far outweighed the companionship. After her Christmas vacation, Sandy was ready for a fresh start. Two weeks at her parents’ had been pleasant, but two weeks of pleasant was enough. Time to be home, time to be free from her parents’ frequent reminders that she wasn’t getting any younger and still wasn’t married. After all, they were married at 21 and had two children before they were 30, an age she was quickly approaching. Finally, peace and quiet—she hoped it wouldn’t drive her crazy.

Sandy took off her navy blue coat and kicked off her shoes. She went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and found nothing but some old wheat thins. The pile of mail on her table caught her eye; her neighbor must have placed it there, neatly sorting out the junk mail. Near the stack, a red number 5 flashed from her answering machine. She punched the button to hear the messages, and started listening while she flipped through the mail. The machine beeped, and Mike’s voice filled her kitchen.

Merry Christmas, hon. I miss you. I knew you wouldn’t take my call at your folks, so I thought I’d leave you a little Christmas greeting to come home to, then his voice broke out into song.

"Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?

In the lane, snow is glistening."

Just like Mike—pretend nothing happened.

Oh, hell, Mike interrupted his own serenade. I hate these machines. I’ll just talk to you when you get back. Love ya.

The date and time of the computerized voice indicated he had called in the afternoon of Christmas Day.

The next message again started with a beep. Hi, Sandy, it’s Meredith. Sandy smiled recognizing the next voice—Meredith Baker, her sorority sister and roommate from eight years ago. I hoped to catch you before you left. I’ll try again later, but if I don’t get hold of you, I just wanted to let you know to watch for something in the mail. I need for you to hold it until I get back. See ya’ later.

December 28th, 11:47 a.m. Beep.

She immediately started going through the personal mail pile as she listened to two more messages from Mike, each ending with Love ya and a promise to call her later. She found not one, but two envelopes from Meredith, both lumpy. The last message began to play as she opened the first envelope. Sandy, this is Mere again. I’m sending you another. letter. Please keep the contents for me until I get back. It’s very important that you not let anyone else have them. I know I sound a little crazy, but I have no one else I can trust. Remember our college days, when things were simple and fun? Bye, Sandy.

December 31st, 4:18 p.m. Beep.

Sandy thought Meredith’s voice sounded odd. She removed a small key and a note from the first envelope. The second envelope also contained a key and note from Meredith although the second key was slightly different in shape and size.

Sandy shook her head. Her friend had such a flair for drama. Sandy remembered when Meredith quit college just months before graduation to travel around the world with some Italian aristocrat. Then she had surfaced a few years later in Chicago. Sandy was shopping at the Water Tower in Chicago, and who walks up to her but Meredith, bedecked in fur and diamonds. They renewed their friendship over lunch; Meredith told Sandy all about the cosmetics company she had just launched. Sandy had seen the line of products in some of Chicago’s best stores.

Meredith kept in contact with Sandy for a few years, but then just disappeared again about the time Sandy was becoming involved with Mike. Sandy was too involved in her own love life at the time to try and track down her wandering friend.

Then just two months ago, Meredith suddenly resurfaced in Sandy’s life when she just walked up to Sandy’s desk at work and started talking to her as if they had just seen each other, instead of four years ago. They had lunch again and Meredith told Sandy of other plans in the works—always the eternal