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“Alrighty Shaun, what’s next on the checklist?” Shaun and I were working on our first yearly state audit of Fenmore’s.
I waited as Shaun shifted through the folders scattered in front of him. “Let’s see . . . Here we go . . . Insurance claims. We have two claims to assess. One here for Martin Martinez and . . .” He pulled out another sheet of paper. “The second claim is for a Mrs. Katie Morgan-Reynolds.”
“Okay, let’s deal with Martinez first.” When Shaun handed me the file, I started to quickly scan everything that was there: He slipped and fell on the icy walk back in December . . . No broken bones . . . No fractures . . . No lawsuits . . . Fenmore’s is taking care of all of his medical bills . . .
I signed my name on the dotted line as Shaun handed me the next file. I looked at my watch before taking the folder from him. I need this audit business to be over with as quickly as possible so that I could get home to Erik.
“This is for that chick that passed out in VIP last summer.”
I took the file from Shaun and laid it down in front of me before browsing through it. I thought I’m not in the mood for this today. I pinched the bridge of my nose before I looked at the name gawking back at me: Katie Morgan-Reynolds.
“Shaun . . .” I sat up closer to the table.
“What is it, Courtney?”
“Katie Morgan-Reynolds . . . what happened to her again?” I remembered verbatim what Shaun just said, but for some reason, I can’t place when the actual incident happened. “You said she was here last summer?”
“Yeah, like late summer. She passed out upstairs and was rushed to Mercy Medical Center.” Still didn’t reregister with me until Shaun said, “You worked with her sister at Citizens.”
Epiphany! Okay, now I got it. I remember Epiphany being frantic by the time I made it over to them. Soon after, her sister was on a stretcher being rushed out. That’s the last I heard of it until now.
I start to glance through the file the same as I did the one previous. Nothing caught my eye, so I was all set to sign on the dotted line until I looked at the address on the form: 4882 Montgomery Road, Elkridge, Maryland 21075.
Who knew Epiphany’s sister and I are practically neighbors? That’s funny; Erik and my address is 5769 Landing Road, Elkridge Maryland 21075, which is the next street over.
As I swallowed the lump in my throat, I gazed at her last name: Morgan-Reynolds. I then dropped the Morgan and focused only on the Reynolds part. Then my attention flew to her first name: Katie.
“Courtney, are you done with that file? We still have to audit all the invoices for the service equipment.”
I didn’t respond to Shaun; I felt as if I was in a stupor unable to. Who was this, Katie Reynolds that made her way to Fenmore’s that just so happens to live directly behind my husband and me?
“So, with switching out the countertops and cutting boards, it looks like we’re twenty thousand dollars over budget from the first quarter.” Shaun was into the audit, but I wasn’t. I wanted to know more about this, Katie Reynolds.
“Shaun, what did she look like?”
“Huh?”
“Katie Morgan-Reynolds . . . What did she look like? By the time I got to where she was, the paramedics were already taking her out.”
Shaun smacked his teeth together. “I don’t know . . . bleach blonde, slim, big boobs. She looks like she could’ve had some work done in the past, definitely a tit job. She and Epiphany favor a lot; she’s just skinny and a little taller.” When Shaun noticed the gravity creeping through my face, he asked, “Byrd, what’s wrong?” I couldn’t answer him. I was lost inside myself.
“Byrd?”
Katie? . . . Katie, are you there? . . . Katie!
Erik was screaming Katie into his phone the day he dragged me home and strangled me nearly to death. Then there was the night he introduced me to his assistant: “Courtney, this is Katie.”
“Courtney?”
“I’m fine. I’m fine.”
No, I’m not fine. I’m anything but fine. Every time . . . every single time my husband mentioned Katie started coming into my psyche.
“What are you doing? You cannot be serious. We are absolutely not naming our daughter Katie!”
“Courtney, please. Katie was my grandmother’s name.”
“Shaun, I’ll be back.” I jumped up from the table.
“Excuse you, where are you going?”
“I can’t do this right now.”
“Courtney, the state examiner will be here in the morning.”
“Shaun, do what you can while you’re here. I’ll take care of the rest when I get back.”
The next thing I knew, I was creeping up Montgomery Road with my park lights beaming in the dimming afternoon sun. I had slipped the top half of Katie Morgan-Reynolds’ insurance claim information out of Fenmore’s with me. I left an incapable events planner to not only man my tapas bar, but also finish our first audit. He had no idea what he was doing there, just like I had no idea what I was doing here, but I couldn’t worry about any of that right now—I’m on a mission.
I could see the colonial brick modern style home in the distance. I pulled over before I reached my destination. I didn’t have to double-check the address on the claim form for Mrs. Katie Morgan-Reynolds; the identical Range Rover parked in the driveway was all the confirmation I needed.
I put my Range Rover in park, turned off the engine, and headed to the front door.
When I rang the doorbell, there was no answer. I pushed the small lit button again, still without a reply. I thought about trying a third time, but I decided against it. Katie Morgan-Reynolds obviously wasn’t home. Why was I here, anyway? What did I want to ask her? What did I come here to see? This was all just one big coincidence. Same last name, same neighborhood, same vehicle. Same license plates.
Hers: KRROVER1.
Mine: CRROVER1.
I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything though . . . It’s just a coincidence . . .
My heart soared to my toes when I heard the front door I was walking away from unlocking. When I went back to the door, I held my breath as this blonde, tanned, blue-eyed, thin white female came into view. I thought this must be her.
She asked, “May I help you?” standing in the doorway.
“Uh . . . I . . . uh . . .”
What do I say?
“Sir, may I help you?”
I said WHAT DO I SAY Y’ALL? HELP ME!
“Sir, what can I do for you?”
Quick Courtney, pull it together! “I’m sorry, I’m Courtney Rey . . . Uh-I’m Courtney Byrd. I own Fenmore’s down on Canterbury Road.” She folded her arms across her perky chest and shot me a look. What was that for?
“Yes, Mr. Byrd, what can I do for you?”
“I never got an opportunity to extend my apologies to you for your last visit to my establishment. My assistant and I were auditing the year’s previous insurance claims when I noticed—”
“It was just a panic attack. You don’t owe me any apologies.”
Did she really just cut me off? She did, but I didn’t sweat it. I held it together and smiled as I eyed the wedding ring she wore that looked a lot like the one I was wearing on my left ring finger. I didn’t sweat that either . . . just another coincidence, right? Please, God, let that be all this is.
“Mr. Byrd, if you’ll excuse me.”
She was ready to dismiss me. She already had her hand wrapped around the doorknob ready to push the dark oak door closed. She was done with me, but I wasn’t done with her. I needed to make sure she wasn’t . . . isn’t . . . I don’t know what I’m making sure of exactly, but I had to be sure.
“Katie . . . Um, Mrs. Reynolds, are you related to Epiphany Morgan?”
“She’s my sister.”
“I know her very well. She and I used to work together at Citizens Bank.”
“Oh yeah, I remember her mentioning you once or . . . Well, once.”
She didn’t seem enthused.
“Do you mind if I come in?” I slid the balled-up claim form out of my pocket. “I have an insurance document for you to sign.”
I lied.
“Fine.”
I’m in!
I said, “You have a lovely home,” as I walked through the foyer. I was so relieved that nothing in this house matched mine. What was I looking for anyway?
When she cleared her throat, I took that as my cue not to go any farther than where I was standing. I guess I wasn’t allowed to travel any deeper into her home. I’d seen all I wanted to see anyway, which was nothing.
“You said you had some forms for me to sign?”
I wanted to say, “Damn bitch, lighten up!” but I kept my mouth shut.
“Here you are.” I handed her the wrinkled form and my pen.
She handed the form back to me after signing it. She then turned on her heels and headed back toward the door. “If we’re all finished here . . .”
I guess that was another cue for me, and I was happy to oblige. I didn’t want to be in her presence any longer than I had to.
Goodbye, Mrs. Katie Morgan-Reynolds. Make that bye, bitch!
Right before I crossed the threshold to get back to the outside, I looked at the form in my hand. I learned Katie Morgan-Reynolds is Mrs. Dr. Eric Reynolds.