Chapter Nine

Nine

"She did it," Sky said. We were one floor down from the corporate offices, in Gonzo's security suite. The head of security was an older guy named Maurice Dupree. He was a former Boston cop, and when Sky had introduced us, he'd recognized me—not from the Globe article, but as "Phil Randall's little girl"—which made me like him instantly.

At Sky's request, Maurice had taken us to a room full of CCTV monitors and called up footage from three weeks ago. What we were looking at had been recorded at ten a.m. in the hallway between Sky's and Dylan's offices—a thin, short-haired woman in a hoodie and jeans, raging.

"She's the one who texted Dylan," Sky said. "I know it."

The footage was recorded without audio, but as she kicked the walls, pushed over a large abstract sculpture, and fell to her knees, I felt as though I could hear her shrieking. She was facing a terrified-looking Sky, who stood in the doorway of her office, her hands raised, her fingers spread. Calm, calm… Sky moved toward the woman. She seemed as though she wanted to put her arms around her, but she barely made it two steps when the woman sprung to her feet and lunged at her, yelling something, her teeth bared. Sky jumped back quickly, the way you would from a biting dog. The woman collapsed again, face buried in her hands. The whole time, Dylan's door stayed shut.

"Who is she?" I asked.

"Rhonda Lewis," Maurice said, his gaze pinned to the screen as he and another guard moved into the frame, lifting Rhonda to her feet. He pushed a button on the console. The screen froze. I looked at the image. That frail woman, flanked by two big guards, her mouth wrenched open in a silent scream. "She's been in the corporate offices a few times, yelling at people. Defacing property," he said. "Sky didn't want to do much about it because she felt sorry for her."

"I still do," Sky said.

"I feel for her, too," Maurice said, "but I gotta confess I'd have called the cops after that particular incident."

"We did increase security," Sky said. "That metal detector is new."

Maurice let out an exasperated sigh. For a moment, they both seemed to forget I was in the room.

"What happened today was not good," Sky said. "But Rhonda did leave peacefully."

"After breaking a neon sign," Maurice said.

"I know, I know."

"And scaring Elspeth half to death. I understand how you feel, Sky. Really I do. But what the hell does Elspeth have to do with what happened to Rhonda's daughter?"

"Nothing, but—"

"Come on, man. Elspeth's just a kid. And that sign was freakin' expens—"

I cleared my throat very loudly. They both turned to me.

"What are you guys talking about?" I said.

Maurice looked at Sky. "You want to take this?"

Sky's back straightened. "Rhonda Lewis experienced a tragic event and, as a result, has exhibited behavior that's made us concerned for the safety of our employees," she said.

I looked at Maurice, then at Sky. "Excuse me?" Neither one of them said a word.

"If you want me to help you find your friend, Sky," I said, "you're going to need to be a little clearer."

Sky winced. "Sorry. I don't like phrasing things that way, either. But I have to."

I wanted to ask Sky why working at a company that observed Bottle Poppin' Fridays would necessitate talking like a member of the State Department. But I decided to save that for later. "What was the tragic event?" I said.

"Rhonda's daughter passed," Maurice said.

"How old was she?"

"Seventeen," Sky said.

"That's terrible," I said. "When did it happen?"

"About a year ago," Maurice said. "But Rhonda's only been coming around here since she lost the lawsuit."

I kept my voice calm. "Her daughter died from drinking Gonzo?"

A silence followed—so thick it made it hard to breathe.

"She died of cardiac arrest," Sky said finally.

"She was seventeen," I said.

"She had a heart condition," Sky said. "She drank three Gonzos in a row, mixed with alcohol."

I didn't say anything.

"We have very clear warning labels on our product," Sky said. "It's even part of our advertising—more caffeine than any energy drink on the market."

"I've got A-fib, and I wouldn't touch the stuff if you paid me a million bucks," Maurice said.

"It's why we weren't found liable," Sky said. "But I understand how Rhonda feels. Something like that happens to your child, you have to blame somebody."

I looked at Sky. It was hard to get past the change in her tone—as though she had a team of lawyers whispering in her ear. "She's done, then?" I said. "I mean, as far as the courts go?"

"No," Sky said. "She's filed an appeal."

I turned back to the screen, the frozen blurred image—Rhonda Lewis's face, her features twisted in agony, like a figure from a Goya painting.

"Does she have a husband?" I asked. "Any other family you know of?"

"She's a single mother," Sky said. "Daisy was an only child."

"Like I said, I feel for her," Maurice said.

Another silence crept into the room. I glanced at Maurice, twisting his wedding band.

"Sky?" I said.

"Yes?"

"Rhonda was yelling at you in this video. What was she saying?"

"Same thing she always says when she comes in here. She told me I have blood on my hands. And she called me a murderer."

"Like the texts that were sent to Dylan."

"Yeah," she said. "Exactly."

"Has Rhonda gotten into it with Dylan?" I said to Maurice. "He's the face of the company, after all. The CEO. I'd think she'd go after him harder than Sky."

"Nothing's happened between them in person."

"Why not?"

"Because he always hides from her."

"Wow," I said.

"Yep," Maurice said.

"That would really, really piss me off," I said.

"Me too," Sky said. "I'm sure that's why she sent Dylan those texts."

"Are you sure she stopped with texts?"

"What are you saying?"

I just looked at her.

Sky shook her head vigorously, like a kid who's just been told that Santa Claus isn't real. "Rhonda isn't a violent person," she said. "She's hurting, but she would never physically harm anyone."

"I understand what you're saying," I said. And I did. But like I mentioned earlier, we humans are complicated creatures. And even if we weren't, this woman had plenty of uncomplicated reasons to break her peaceable streak with Dylan Welch. "I think I'll talk to Rhonda all the same."