Page 75 of The Business Trip

“Glenn… Trent… Drake… my mother… my brother and sister… the Fun Bunch… all of them, they’re winning. And you, you too,” she said, staring daggers at me.

“What thehelldid Ieverdo to you?” I pressed again, my agitation growing. “I was nice to you on the plane. I listened to your stories, I answered your questions.”

“OK, I think that’s about enough,” Officer Healy said, trying to cool the tension.

“You had the perfect life,” Jasmine said. “That was enough. You just had to be Little Miss Perfect, didn’t you?”

“That is just not true. You don’t know a thing about me. And by the way, the bastards you talked about. Guess what? They didn’t kill anyone,” I fired at her. “And you did.”

She was silent for a few moments, but then a sob escaped her throat and she whispered, “I guess my mom was right.”

“About what?” I couldn’t help but ask. Officer Healy shot me a warning glance, and I knew he would cut us off again soon. Jasmine paused before speaking softly one more time.

“Iamtoo much like my dad. My mom said I never should have been born. The world would have been better off without me.”

I said nothing. I couldn’t really argue that point, and I didn’t have one ounce of a desire to comfort her.

“Where’s the body?” Officer Rodriguez jumped in. “Where’s Diana?”

Jasmine just shook her head.

“We’ll find her,” Officer Healy said. “You obviously got that wheelchair lift for a reason. Video from Walmart shows you buying a giant suitcase and hair dye. We know you took her somewhere. It’s only a matter of time, and we’ll bring her back for a proper funeral. She deserves that.”

“Trent killed her. You’ll see. His key card and handkerchief are there,” she said.

“Where?” asked Officer Healy, but she only shook her head again.

“Time for the handcuffs, Jasmine,” Officer Rodriguez said.

“Nooo…” she moaned again, but we all ignored her.

Jasmine looked toward the beach shack one more time. She sniffled as the first cuff went on her left wrist. When the second one clicked on her right wrist, I heard her whisper:

“Goodbye, sweet cottage.”

Then she shut her eyes.

What Jasmine didn’t know was that I had said my own goodbye recently. After lying about my whereabouts, I had resignedfrom Channel 3 before Dave had a chance to decide whether to fire me. I knew it was a tough decision he was wrestling with, as he cared about me, but I made his choice easy: I needed to preserve what little dignity I had. There was no way I could return to the newsroom given that everyone knew I was a liar and a sneak. Bruce was named the interim news director while they searched for my replacement.

Turning to look at the ocean, I thought about my future, so unknown now. I had no idea what I would do for a job, none. Only one thing was for sure: I planned to start an acting scholarship in Diana’s name with some savings I had. It was the least I could do. Jasmine had stolen a lot of my money, but she didn’t know about my money market accounts or retirement savings.

Gazing at the darkness of the ocean, I whispered:

“I’m so, so sorry, Diana. I would do anything to rewind time.”

EPILOGUEStephanie

Five Months Later

How does one go about writing a press release announcing flavored milk? That was my dilemma. The Midwest Dairy Association had a new flavor—mint caramel—that was being unveiled at the Wisconsin State Fair, and I had been assigned to write the release. It was still odd to me to be on the other side of the public relations machine. Instead of receiving hundreds of press releases each day, I was sending them, hoping to catch the eye of a news manager who would assign a reporter or a photojournalist to do a story about whatever it was we were pushing.

Sighing, I tried to think of a punchy way to sell the milk story to local TV stations. “Moooo-ving on Up: New Milk Coming to the State Fair!” was my current headline, but I wasn’t convinced it was the winner. Leaning back in my chair, I was looking at the ceiling to think when my desk phone rang.

“Stephanie? There’s a Mr. McCarthy here to see you,” Julia, the receptionist, said.

Mr. McCarthy? Who was that? My mind tried to flip to various people I had been meeting with recently on differentprojects. Our little PR firm could be hired by just about anyone to help spread their word. Maybe Mr. McCarthy was with the Wienermobile, another account we had just secured. The giant hot-dog-shaped vehicle would drive around the state during summer months, encouraging people to buy Oscar Mayer products. Sighing, I stood up, thinking of ways I might need to market a hot dog on wheels as well as flavored milk.

This was the only job I could find after leaving Channel 3. I was the woman who had lied to her station, and I was still blackballed in news circles. Even our local community college wouldn’t hire me to teach writing, citing their ethics code. So I’d landed here, in a strip mall between a Taco Bell and a party supply store. Our building looked more like a tax-prep place than a PR firm; we had cubicles, not offices. But it paid the bills and kept me close to Robert and within a four-hour drive of Evan. My reunion with friends and family had been incredible, but I was still trying to make amends with the people I loved.

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