The Silent Treatment: Katrina Jaitley, #1

By Melanie Surani

Twenty-eight year old Katrina Jaitley is rebuilding her life after escaping an abusive boyfriend. The last thing she needs is the mystery she stumbles on during a bout of retail therapy. But she can't ignore the coil of film -- a piece of movie history -- she finds hidden inside her purchase. Unfortunately, Peter, the handsome host of the estate sale, disappears before Kat has a chance to return it to him. Curious, Kat watches the strip and is shocked to witness the brutal murder of a famous 1920's silent film star by a fellow actor. When a news article cites Kat as the film's owner, her already complicated life goes from bad to worse. Someone begins stalking her. Are they trying to silence her or what she has discovered?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melanie Surani
• Release date: Apr 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393327622

Melanie Surani

Melanie Surani is an author with a heart for international travel. She lives in Edinburgh, Scotland, where she is hard at work on her next book.

Book preview

Chapter 1

How did she find me ?

Katrina Jaitley opened her car door in the dark parking lot in front of her new apartment. Towering pine trees and streetlights between the car and the two-story residence obscured the person in the plastic patio chair on the second floor but not enough to hide her identity.

Mom.

Her demeanor and helmet of gray-blonde hair couldn't belong to anyone else. In an instant, Kat forgot everything she'd done that day. A ghost of the smile Kat had worn all night burned in her cheeks but not her lips.

The problem with Deborah Jaitley was that Kat couldn't be sure if their encounter would involve tears of joy because they hadn't seen each other in two years or yelling. Normal instances of discipline involved Deborah pronouncing how Kat's actions affected more people than just herself before doling out punishment.

This time, Kat hadn’t snuck off with a friend to have a late-night beer: she'd moved to Philadelphia, lived in sin with a guy, and returned to Memphis in defeat. Even tonight, two weeks after her return, Kat had been out with a man she'd just met. Not a date, but she was sure her mother would sense the outing and slut-shame her into coming back home with her and her dad and going to church with them on Sunday.

The subject of guys always turned out badly even though Deborah said she wanted her daughter to end up with a nice Christian man who made her happy. Whenever Kat brought someone home, regardless of age, nationality, or religion, Deborah's natural response varied on the same theme: Well. Guess I have to cook dinner, leaving Kat baffled again and again about how to make her mother happy. If Kat could somehow be a nun who could have lots of babies, her mom would probably go for that.

Kat shut the old, rusty station wagon door as quietly as she could.

Hey, she called as she climbed the stairs to her second-floor unit. How'd you find me?

The apartment complex sprawled across several blocks, wooded streets twisting between identical two-story buildings. Kat had needed a few days before accurately navigating to her own unit.

Do you know how many Katrina Jaitleys are out there? she asked. One. You.

So, White Pages? Google?

Her mom encased her in a thick hug as soon as Kat stepped onto the patio.

Jeremy called me. Middle of the night, three days ago. Haven't slept since.

Something (guilt? fear?) stabbed Kat's chest. Kat released her arms, signaling an end to the embrace, but Deborah squeezed for another few seconds, moaning.

Oh, God, the huggasm.

Kat nudged her way to the lock.

Is he here? Deborah asked, her voice dropping low as though Jeremy were listening. She followed Kat inside.

As far as Deborah knew, someone could have been on the other side of the door, waiting to continue his illicit relationship with her daughter. Jeremy was the bane of Deborah's existence.

Kat flicked on the kitchen light and dropped her purse on the counter, ignoring the question as she continued to the living room. Unpacked boxes substituted as tables around the used sofa and small TV.

This is how you're living? Deborah gaped at the space. You've got nothing!

What did he tell you? Kat asked. Jeremy wouldn't have told the truth but probably had a colorful story. Would he have kept it vague (Kat disappeared while I was at work. Have you heard from her?) or painted a picture (Someone broke into the apartment and beat us both up. If Kat shows up at your doorstep with bruises, that's why)?

She still had yellow bruises on her arms, covered now by her hoodie, but she'd be damned if she was going to show them off.

He told me he hasn't seen or heard from you in two weeks. And he waited until three days ago to tell me. Deborah stopped for dramatic effect. Still think he's husband material?

Kat sat on the sofa and her mom perched on the opposite end with her hands wedged between her thighs.

Instead of arguing again that she and Jeremy weren't married and having Mom come back with the same tired argument that living together made them emotionally espoused, Kat said, I didn't tell anyone I was leaving him. The unplugged phone cord peeked from behind a large box marked DVDs, and she remembered his name on the caller ID earlier in the day. Not only had she not picked up, she unplugged the line and left the apartment. She'd gone straight to another man.

Did you give him my number? Kat asked.

I would never do that. But I'm assuming that if I couldn't get through on your cell phone, neither can he.

Kat nodded. Of course not. Jeremy had been a gentleman around Kat's parents, but her mom bristled at the mention of him. Kat hadn’t thought before accepting a new life in Philadelphia because of the hostile environment her home had become. If Jeremy hadn't offered to take her away, Kat would have taken the next irresponsible offer.

Oddly, Kat had returned because her home life had again turned to shit.

I didn't think I'd ever see you again, her mother continued. You couldn't call me?

I wasn't ready to talk, Mom. I'm sorry.

What's there to talk about? I never wanted you to move in with that asshole—excuse me: young man.

It's okay to say asshole, Kat muttered.

You could have moved in with your dad and me if you were coming back to Memphis.

Maybe I— she stopped, collecting herself. I left and that's all you need to know.

Did he do something to you? Deborah's lips tightened. "You can tell me if something happened. If that sonofabitch, she whispered the cuss word, did something to hurt you...I will go up there...and kick his ass myself."

Kat tried to hide the grimace while imagining her mom swinging her pudgy arms at an unalarmed Jeremy. She glanced at the microwave clock through the cutout to the kitchen. 11:10 p.m. Usually, her parents went to bed at 9:30 p.m. Since Kat had been at Peter's house most of the evening, she guessed her mom had been sitting on the patio for hours.

Oh, yeah. Peter. He seemed like a lifetime ago, and they'd been talking not ten minutes earlier.

You can stay with your dad and me. Deborah reached across the middle cushion to squeeze Kat's hand.

I'm fine here. Why don't we plan for lunch on Sunday?

Deborah smiled openmouthed.

Kat averted her eyes and pulled her hand away.

I'd like that, Deborah said, and her face flushed bright red, moist around the eyes.

It's getting late, and I've been working a crazy schedule.

Where are you working?

The pest control call center with Bridget.

Deborah arched her eyebrows. You don't have to accept handouts from your friends. Your dad could have gotten you a job with him at the office. She rolled her eyes almost immediately. But that would mean you'd actually have to talk to us.

Mom—

No, I know. I'll leave you alone because you're a mature adult who knows what she's doing. Isn't that why you're back in Memphis? So you can lean on me and your dad because you can't hack it on your own?

Don't yell at her. She wants an argument, and you can't win.

Deborah sighed. All right. Promise you'll come over on Sunday. Maybe I'll invite Gram and Grampa too. They'd like to see you.

Kat nodded. A great big you-should-have-listened party.

Kat closed and locked the door behind her mom and pulled her shirt off on the way to the bedroom. Upon opening her dresser drawer for pajamas, her eyes landed on the silver, Art Nouveau jewelry box she'd bought that morning at an estate sale: the sale that led to Kat spending the day with a man she was already developing some ill-advised feelings for.

Chapter 2

H ow're you holding up? Bridget asked after a long, overnight shift. Swatches of suburban Memphis clipped past the window. Kat's only concern at that point was talking herself into believing the move back hadn't been a huge mistake.

The vampire shift sucks like you said it would, Kat said, but the pun lacked sparkle, making her bitter and tired and homesick. This isn't what I wanted.

Nobody wants to work in a call center in the middle of the goddamn night. Bridget drove through a neighborhood of nearly identical houses.

Kat closed her eyes to alleviate the fatigue headache spreading across her face.

She missed Jeremy.

I didn't love Philly, Kat said, but it had its points. Not everyone was mean. It wasn't too crowded. Everything closed at six, though. I always thought we'd move to New York. Not back here.

You promised not to talk about this when you're tired. And stop saying we. Besides, Bridget added, Memphis is a hole. My brother moved back. That chick from theater class moved back. I need to call her— She clicked her tongue. My point is you don't have to feel bad because you've moved back.

Parked cars choked both sides of the road around a corner.

Kat whistled. Someone had a pretty good party last night.

Oh, hey, here's an open spot.

Kat straightened as Bridget parallel parked.

I want to go home. I need to sleep. Don't take me to someone's finished party.

It's an estate sale, not a party. After our shitty night, we could use some affordable retail therapy. She shut off the engine. We might even find something for your sad, empty apartment.

While Kat had gotten her important small stuff out of Philadelphia, the sparse furniture at her new place had come from a quick trip to Goodwill, and from Bridget’s brother who had a couch he didn’t want anymore.

Kat moaned and rolled out of the car.

Bridget pulled her jacket tight around her chest as they crossed to the only two-story house on the street. Fallen leaves crunched underfoot from two trees in the yard. Long folding tables with metal legs and particle-board tops crowded the driveway and open garage. For so many people in the same place, the customers kept their voices low, reserving energy for the hunt.

We had a tree like that one. Bridget indicated a large oak in the center of the yard. When I was a kid, me and my sister were raking leaves and making piles. We got done with this really big one, but when I jumped in, a bee came out. For a moment, she stood on the sidewalk next to a Crye-Leike sign regarding the tree as though this were the one in her memory. The new owners cut it down.

Usually, forays into Bridget's childhood made Kat laugh, but in her weariness, she could only say, Weird story.

Maybe you should buy this house, Bridget said and handed Kat a brochure from the plastic caddy on the sign.

4 bedrooms, 2 luxurious baths, 1 fireplace, 2 car garage in the middle of Wolfchase. Plantation shutters, crown molding, carpeted floors. Estate Sale and Open house, Saturday, October 4, 2008. 7:00 A.M. - 3:00 P.M.

Like I need to be making any major life decisions right now.

Let's go in. It's chilly out here, Bridget said.

A crate of books ($1 each) held the front door wide open, exposing a poster-board sign marked in thick, handwritten letters: More Inside. Kat shoved the brochure in her bag and followed Bridget through the door.

Bargain hunters packed the living room, browsing and checking out with the man at a card table near the door. Stacks of boxes, floral patterned furniture, and framed cross-stitch samplers gave the place an antique air. Each cabinet and drawer offered their contents on every available surface.

My grandparents love these sales, Bridget whispered, matching the room's hush. The earlier you go, the better things you find. By two or three o'clock, all that's left are naked Barbies and muumuus.

Curious about the hype?

Bridget's eyebrow quirked. "Hype? This stuff has history.