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05 | dead end street

"Hello?"

It was a woman's voice.

I took a deep breath before beginning.

"Hello. I believe you know Ms Amélie Beaumont?"

"May I ask who's speaking?" English accent.

I'd been in enough sticky situations in the past to know how to conjure a lie on the spot. "I'm Ms Beaumont's therapist, Dr Edwards. I found your number in her notebook and wanted to speak to you about her."

The woman paused for a moment before asking, "What did you want to speak about?"

"Before I begin, may I know your name?"

"You found my number in her notebook, yet you don't know my name?" Her voice was skeptical.

I realised she was a sharp woman. I'd have to step up my game.

"Your number was one of a few contacts written down in her notebook. None of them has any name next to it. I found it strange, but it is what it is. I hope you have some time to spare?"

She took a deep breath. "Yes. I'm Isabella Hill.  And yes, Amélie is a friend of mine. Why do you need to speak to me about her?"

"Because she's missing."

I heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end. "She's what?"

"Yes, Ms Hill, your friend has been missing for a few days now, and I spoke to her just a few days before she disappeared. Naturally, I'm very worried, and so I'm trying to contact her friends and acquaintances to see if they know anything. Which is why I called you, Ms Hill. I've been her therapist for quite some time now and she had become more of a friend than a client. So I'm really concerned about her and trying to find out as much as I can on my own."

"She never mentioned she had a therapist."

"Yes, actually she would always come to me in secret. She didn't want her visits publicised, as that could potentially lead to negative press."

"Fair enough. But I can't believe this, Dr Edwards. I talked to her on the phone just a week back. She seemed perfectly alright."

"Do you have any idea about where she could be gone? Did she tell you anything over the phone?"

Isabella Hill paused for a second to think. "Not that I remember. We were just talking about her most recent collection. After that we caught up on each other's personal lives for a bit, and then she was getting another call from someone, so she hung up."

"Did she mention who she was getting a call from?"

"She just said it was for work, nothing else."

"Oh, alright. May I ask how you both know each other?"

"I actually met Amélie through a common friend. I have a friend who works in her PR team, and he invited me to one of Amélie's shows. I met her backstage and we hit it off right away. Since then we've kept in touch. She's not my best friend, but we're quite close."

I nodded. "I see. Well, Ms Hill, thank you so much for cooperating. If you remember anything else from your conversation with Ms Beaumont, don't hesitate to call me on this number."

She agreed, and after that I hung up.

Strange. Why would Amélie Beaumont go so far as to stitch this number into her trench coat if it just led to nowhere but a clueless friend?

There had to be more to this than met the eye. Was the number a code? But it did end up being an actual phone number which belonged to her friend, so that was too much of a coincidence.

I rubbed my temple. This was giving me a headache. I hadn't eaten anything in a long while and it was way past lunchtime. I was starving.

I decided I'd eat something fast and then get back to brainstorming.

On turning the corner, I bumped headfirst into Soler and almost knocked over the plate he was carrying in his hands.

"Whoa, watch where you're going," he snapped.

I glared his way and tried to sidetrack him to get to the kitchen, when I felt his hand wrap around my arm.

Instinctively, I spun around and twisted his arm behind his body, causing him to wince.

"Goddamnit, Winter! Here I was, actually trying to be nice and getting you something to eat, and this is what you do?"

My eyes flew to the plate he was currently balancing on one hand, his other hand twisted behind his body.

Realising he was still in my hold, I released him in a flash and took the plate from his hands.

He'd got a couple of cheese sandwiches and some salad.

I looked up at him in disbelief. "You made all this? For me?"

"I didn't make it all," he grumbled, "Miranda made the salad and I made the sandwiches. And not just for you, don't flatter yourself. I made them for all three of us."

I almost grinned at him. Almost.

"Well, thanks anyway. And uh, sorry for twisting your arm like that. You should know better than to creep up on me from behind."

He shot a glare at me. "What kind of a half-assed apology was that?"

I walked past him over to the kitchen, calling over my shoulder, "That's all you're getting from me, Soler!"

°

I recounted the phone call to Soler and Miranda over our meal. They were both as puzzled as me about why Beaumont would stitch the phone number of someone who had no idea about her possible whereabouts.

"Maybe this Isabella Hill knows more than she's letting on. I mean, you did say she seemed smart. Maybe she didn't tell you everything she knows," Miranda quipped.

I nodded. "Yeah, I've thought of that possibility. We'll have to do some background check on Ms Hill before we proceed further. I'll notify the TIA HQ and ask them to give me a report on her background asap."

"Are you sure telling Isabella Hill about Amélie's disappearance was the right thing to do? I mean, it's all very hush-hush, even the media doesn't know about it," Miranda said.

I couldn't lie and say I hadn't thought about that. "I told her because even if she decides to tell the press, no one will believe her. Because she doesn't have substantial evidence. The person who told her, Dr Edwards, doesn't exist in real life. And even if she tries to trace our call, it'll be impossible 'cause all our TIA-authorised phones are untraceable. So she won't have any credibility."

After that, I went to the study again, this time to call TIA and ask them to do the background check. After giving Director Vonnegut all the details and a status update on the mission, she said TIA would give me the report within an hour.

I sat at the desk, rapping my fingers on the rich mahogany tabletop, waiting for the hour to pass by fast.

Wonder what I'll get to know about Ms Isabella Hill by then.

a/n: things are heating up! why do you think amélie beaumont stitched isabella's number into the coat?