Killing Me Softly (#Wattys2016)

FORTY-TWO

FORTY-TWO

Sondra was walking down Michigan Avenue on her way to Channel Four, a cigarette already clamped between her fingers.

It was early evening in Chicago, and Sondra was struck by how much she liked the city. New York was home, no doubt, but if she had to live somewhere else in America, this would probably be it. Or maybe Boston. It was a hot and sticky summer evening, though the breezes coming off Lake Michigan helped a little. Rush hour traffic whooshed down the Magnificent Mile and throngs of people crowded the sidewalks on their way to dinner or one of Chicago's many tourist-friendly destinations. Sondra took a final drag and dropped the cigarette on the sidewalk in front of her, the orange embers glowing briefly before she stubbed them with the toe of her flip-flop. She breezed through the revolving glass door of Channel Four and right to the front desk.

"Sondra Ellis to see Cicely Anderson."

"Sign in, please," the guard said as he motioned to the guest book and called Cicely. Moments later, Cicely came bounding through the gray doors and waved her hand for Sondra to follow her to the back.

"Hey, how was the police station?" Cicely asked.

"I saw the autopsy pictures."

"Oh, God, that must have been awful. I'm so sorry."

Sondra shook her head. "No, no. I mean it was awful, yes, but that's not it. It wasn't Tracy."

Cicely blinked. "Come again?"

"It wasn't Tracy in those photos. It was another woman."

"Are you sure? I mean, people look different in death..."

"Jesus, now you sound like the detective," she muttered, annoyed. "No, I'm telling you, if you saw them, you'd say the same thing."

Cicely shook her head, not sure what to make of this information. "But Phillip IDed the body."

"Right. And he also had the body cremated." Sondra raked her fingers through her hair. "And that's not all. I went to Tracy's house. Turns out, Phillip left a box of things there and the lady who lives there now gave it to me. I know what was going on with her, why Jack said she was 'unhappy'."

"Why, what?"

"Tracy's diary was in there. Apparently, Phillip had turned into some psycho freak, totally possessive, jealous, said he didn't want kids after he had told her he did, all kinds of craziness. That's why she was getting a divorce. She wasn't having an affair, he wasn't having an affair-he was just a crazy fucking psycho."

"Whoa."

"I just... the pieces still don't fit." Sondra's frustration continued to gnaw at her. "Did he find out she was leaving him and then he killed her? And if so, where the hell is the body? And who was that other woman? Did she and Tracy know each other?"

"You're starting to sound like this is some sort of conspiracy or something."

"I don't know. All I know is that none of this makes any sense. Does it make any sense to you?"

"Well, no, but everything you're saying sounds so crazy-"

"Listen, Cicely, with all due respect, don't patronize me."

"Sondra, you know that's not what I was doing."

Sondra took a few deep breaths. "Something happened to Tracy and I have to know what it is." Sondra softened her voice. "Cicely, this is my baby sister I'm talking about. You have to understand that."

Cicely folded her arms across her body and looked down at her shoes for several moments. Finally, she brought her eyes up to Sondra's. "Okay. I told you I would help you any way that I could, and I meant that. But, Sondra, honey, you have got to get a grip."