A Family of Strangers

by Emilie Richards

  “Maybe he took the doctor’s phone when he went into the room. I entered my number in Vítor’s phone while I was sitting with him in the lounge, so of course my fingerprints must have been on it. I hope it is gone. Kerns told me that when he saw Vítor’s body, he stepped inside to see if he was still alive. When he realized he wasn’t, he left. He was afraid he might become a suspect. But maybe when he was in the room he grabbed Vítor’s phone. I mean, if the doctor had called him or put an appointment on his schedule, or had Kerns in his contacts for some reason...”

  “Or maybe he killed him.”

  “I know.”

  “Did you try to call Kerns later? Anytime since?”

  “Of course I did. But whenever I try, I get a message saying he’s not accepting calls. He probably ditched his phone.”

  “Maybe he told you to leave because he didn’t want the police to know he was with the doctor that night, too.”

  “I thought of that. But surely somebody saw all of us together. Wouldn’t they report we were together in the lounge?”

  “But you weren’t registered. Maybe he wasn’t, either. And if nobody had your names or knew who either of you were...”

  “Can you see why I need you to find Kerns for me?”

  “So you can turn him in?”

  “If I go to the authorities, I want to be able to tell them where to find him. He and Vítor have some kind of history. They seemed to know each other. And me? I was just some woman Vítor met in the bar. If they have Kerns, it’s doubtful they’ll be interested in me.”

  My head was whirling, and I wanted to shout at her and tell her everything she was doing was wrong. But my sister always believed she knew best, and if I said everything I wanted to, she would simply hang up. I struggled to keep my tone as even as possible.

  “Wendy, go to them now. Tell them what you told me. You had drinks and dinner before Calvo was murdered. So what? That doesn’t prove a thing. And the authorities will be able to track Kerns a lot easier than I will.”

  “I wish I felt as sure of that as you do. But I’m going to wait a little longer.”

  “A little? You have daughters who need you here. And Mom and Dad aren’t stupid. They know something’s going on. Then there’s your husband.”

  “How are Noelle and Holly?”

  “Christmas is coming.”

  She moved on, as if that was of no consequence. “You sound doubtful? I’m sorry, but you have to trust me.”

  Too many things she’d said just barely held together. Did I owe her my trust? Did the lifetime bond of sisterhood mean I had to take everything at face value?

  “I trust you, Wendy,” I said at last. “But I’m realizing I don’t know you very well. In some ways we’re strangers, aren’t we? I’ve been looking through your old scrapbooks. I wasn’t here yet to share those memories with you. And the only person I can talk to about you is Mom. I’m just trying to put all this together.”

  “Really? You think the past will help you do that?”

  She didn’t sound angry. She sounded surprised but also pleased, as if she thought a closer look at her childhood and adolescence might cure me of doubts.

  “Talk to my old friends,” she said. “I think one of them is assistant principal at Seabank High now. Her name’s Claire. I don’t know her married name. She and I were in drama club together. Maybe others are around, too. I’ve been too busy to reach out. But if you don’t trust your own memories of me, ask them for theirs.”

  My mother had mentioned the assistant principal, too. Whatever I decided, I was sure I needed more information. I concentrated on that, shelving the larger questions. “How were Kerns and the doctor connected? You really can’t remember?”

  “I was mentally weighing whether it might be worth coming back to the resort as an official representative of Gracey Group. I guess I missed a lot of the conversation from that point on.”

  “If you think of something, you’ll let me know. Because I’m at a dead end here.”

  “How’s Dad?”

  She won a point for asking. “He’s progressing about the way you’d expect.”

  “Take care of all of them.” Three beeps and the call was over.

  I put the phone back in my pocket before I looked at Sophie. “What do you think?”

  “I think your sister’s story has as many holes as a wool sweater in a trunk filled with moths.”

  I admired the simile while wondering if she was right. “Like?”

  “Nothing she said, not one bit of it, would be worth pulling a disappearing act. The police might question her about dinner with the doctor, but why would they suspect her of murder? Did anybody see her going into his room? Were her fingerprints there? On the gun? Is there any record she and Calvo might have known each other to help establish a motive? And did you notice she never named the so-called employee who invited her to visit and then conveniently didn’t show up? She didn’t even say what the woman did there.”

  I hadn’t noticed. Everything I’d heard had been filtered through my own concern and, yes, anger that Wendy was putting her family in such a strange position.

  “But the story does explain why she wasn’t listed as a guest.”

  Sophie still looked skeptical. “So on the subject of the unnamed employee? If anybody paid attention to the table where the doctor and Wendy were sitting like, you know, the server? They would have described her to the police by now. This mysterious woman is probably back. And since we’re told she works there, she’s probably heard the description of the woman who had dinner with Calvo and another man. And she’s probably wondering if that woman is Wendy. And by now she’s probably told the sheriff your sister’s name.”

  “If she has, nobody’s interested. Nobody’s called here looking for her.”

  “How would anybody who doesn’t have my skills or resources get Wendy’s home number?”

  “Through Gracey Group. The woman knew who she was. Maybe even her cell.”

  “The cell that’s permanently disabled.”

  I imagined calling Gracey Group in a little while and talking to whoever had taken Ella Cramer’s place. What would I ask? Oh, by the way, has the sheriff called looking for my sister?

  “Did you ever try to get into her voice mail?” Sophie asked.

  In the week that had passed, I had tried birthdays and anniversaries as passwords. “No luck. The phone still does that beepy thing when I lift the receiver.”

  “Somebody in a uniform may have called from New Mexico. Next stop? Your front door.”

  “I need to check further, don’t I?” I got up and she followed me inside. I lifted the receiver. “Thoughts?”

  “You are pretty hopeless.”

  “Ask me anything you want about a cell phone, but I don’t own a landline. And remember, no phone bills, so I don’t know who the provider is.”

  “So dial the home number for starters. Area code first.”

  I knew that much and punched it in, nodding to Sophie. So far so good. I listened to the menu and punched the required 7 and waited. I listened again and shook my head. “Now I need Wendy’s code to get the messages.”

  “Does it tell you how many digits?”

  “Six. I’ve tried every combination I can think of.”

  “The address here?”

  I winced. The address was six numbers. “Well, not that one.” I tried it but voice mail hung up on me.

  I replaced the receiver. “Even robots don’t like me.”

  Sophie looked at her watch. “Call Glenn. If anybody can help you retrieve her messages, it’s our spy guy.”

  Glenn Peters ran a shop in Boynton Beach named I Spy, which specialized, as the name implied, in surveillance equipment and other spy gear. He had consulted with us numerous times as we considered ways to get the information we’d needed for Out in the Co
ld. I was never sure exactly how legal his suggestions were, but in a world where Russian interference in elections was daily news, I figured that whatever Glenn suggested might, at most, earn us a slap on the wrist.

  I walked her to the door and gave her another hug. “Have a good time at the barbecue. Ike’s family and friends will love you.”

  “If this goes well, I’ll bring him to meet you.”

  When she was gone, I called Glenn.

  He never answers his phone, so I left my number and explained what I needed to know. While I waited, I got out the ingredients for chicken chili and prepared it for the slow cooker, which I recognized from my childhood as another hand-me-down from my mother.

  The phone rang, and I answered as I dumped a can of corn into the cooker.

  “What’s up, Ryan?”

  Glenn has a great voice, deep, mysterious and sexy. We’d featured him in one of our episodes last season, and afterward I got multiple requests for his photo. In real life Glenn looks more like Georgie Porgie than George Clooney, but the voice makes up for a lot.

  We chatted, and then I got down to business and explained what I needed, minus the part about Wendy running from the law.

  He told me to wait and went to his computer. “Okay, you say you can get all the way to the security code when you punch in the number?”

  “Right.”

  “Is your sister very techy?”

  I hadn’t thought so until the burner phone had arrived via a remailing service. “I really don’t know.”

  “Does she mostly use her cell?”

  “It went missing.”

  He made a noise low in his throat to show he didn’t believe me. “The easiest thing to try? Some companies use 111111 as their default voice mail code. She’s supposed to change it once she logs in the first time. But not everybody bothers. Try that first.”

  I listened as he followed that advice with a list of other possible numbers to try—123456. Password—too many letters, but I was to try the first six and then try it backward. Significant family dates, names of pet—a no go in this case. The list went on.

  He told me to call back if nothing worked. Before we hung up I reminded him I was still interested in producing a podcast on spy technology with him as host. Every time I called him I plugged the idea, but it would never happen. Glenn wasn’t interested in sharing his secrets.

  I don’t take luck for granted, so when 111111 immediately unlocked Wendy’s voice mail, I lifted my eyes to heaven in thanks.

  I punched in the number to retrieve new messages and listened carefully. There were two. One was a perky young woman who asked me if I knew how easy it would be to upgrade all my credit cards. I deleted Miss Perky before she finished. The second was the younger Mrs. English asking Wendy to schedule a conference. Her impatience with my sister rang in her voice. I could relate.

  I hung up, disappointed. Since both calls had come in within the past twenty-four hours, I wondered if Wendy was accessing her voice mail from afar and deleting it. As I added chicken breasts to the slow cooker, that raised an entirely new set of questions. Uppermost in my mind? I might not have the number of my sister’s burner phone, but if she was calling regularly to access her voice mail, could I leave her a message by calling the home number here and telling her to call me?

  Except did I want her to know I’d realized she was accessing her voice mail from afar? Or by bringing up voice mail at all, set her to wondering if I had somehow found a way to listen to hers?

  I was sprinkling herbs, when I remembered that a year or so ago I had needed to hear a message I had mistakenly deleted on my cell phone. I’d been able to get to it by paging back through the menu. While it seemed unlikely this older phone would have the ability to retrieve deleted messages, I scrolled through the menu anyway. And luck was my friend for the second time that day.

  I went through the steps needed, but I was only able to retrieve one message. The lone call was from a man named Craig, who wanted to know why Kim hadn’t been seen at Against the Wind in a couple of weeks.

  Funny thing, but now I wanted to know exactly the same thing.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I was learning so much about children. For instance, never let persons who are shorter than you believe they’re in control if you take them shopping.

  As promised, yesterday after school we had gone to buy Christmas lights. Almost immediately, the one string of lights I had envisioned had morphed into multiple strings to wrap around each tree, roots to top. There were extension cords and needle-like branches involved, and when I’d suggested we backtrack and save all decorations for our indoor tree, I’d been met with such despair that, not only did we now own six strings of outdoor lights, we also owned an inflatable sculpture featuring Santa in a holly-sprinkled bathing suit with a reindeer under a palm tree.

  Once we inflated Santa, the sculpture would top my height by almost two feet.

  There was good news, though. Now I was Holly and Noelle’s favorite aunt, as well as their only one.

  I’d decided to get a head start on the lights, since another thing I’d learned was that children have big ideas and little patience. I’d watched a how-to video on YouTube, measured the distance from the outdoor outlet to the closest tree and, since I couldn’t count on Mystery Intruder, I’d carefully stretched my extension cord where it would do the least amount of damage. I’d wrapped it around the base of the first tree and was now—I hoped—ready to go. According to YouTube, my next job was to assess the tree to decide what branches should be lighted. Less than a moment passed before I began to wrap. The whole point was just to have something blinking uncontrollably at night when the girls were outside watching.

  I was on the ground between trees, butt in the air, when Bismarck, who was keeping me company, began to bark. I pushed out and up just in time to see my dog buddy ecstatically greeting his best friend.

  “Darn dog. I had such a great view.” Teo did something with his hands and Bismarck immediately sat adoringly at his feet.

  “You have to teach me that hand thing.” I wiped off my shorts as best I could, but I was pretty sure I was covered in sap and dirt. “And since this is exactly where I was attacked, I’m glad it’s you who Biz is greeting.”

  “I had no idea you were so domestic.”

  “Yeah, me either. And this is nothing. I had to wrestle my nieces to stop them from buying icicle lights to put along the roof.” For some reason I forgot to tell him about the inflatable vacation scene.

  “You’re kind of getting into this kid thing. So your sister won’t be home by Christmas?”

  I wanted to tell Teo the truth, but he had been a cop, and a popular one. He was probably still connected every which way except a paycheck to the sheriff’s department.

  “That’s still up in the air.” I smiled, as if that was perfectly normal. “So did you just come by to stare at my butt? Or is there a better reason?”

  “Better?” He shook his head. “Different. Just checking on my dog.”

  “You can see how unhappy he is here. By the way, he’s a big fan of tea parties.”

  “Don’t tell my students. They think he’s a killer.”

  This was new. “Students?”

  “I teach criminal justice at the local community college. Two afternoons a week.”

  “I bet you’re terrific.” I felt better somehow. Teo was still using his considerable skills.

  “Any new bad guys trying to break in?”

  “No, and between Biz and neighbors moving back in for the winter, I doubt there will be. Although since I’m kind of the new kid on the block, I can’t tell who’s supposed to be here and who’s not.” We stared at each other, and finally I laughed a little. “I guess uncomfortable silences are to be expected.”

  “I’m not uncomfortable. I’m just wondering how to invite myself to lunch.”<
br />
  I felt a not-surprising rush of pleasure. “Any way you want to. I have a cupboard full of peanut butter and a fridge full of American cheese. It’s not gourmet, but you’ll be very welcome.”

  “I actually brought lunch. Call me optimistic.”

  More pleasure. “Or smart. I never turn down a meal. You remembered.”

  “I guess I did. But I guess I wasn’t wholly optimistic. I left it in the car.”

  “I’ll wash up. You may have noticed I need to?”

  “I like the sap on your nose. At least I hope it’s sap.” He went to his car, and I went inside to wash. Biz went with Teo.

  He was peering into the refrigerator by the time I’d scrubbed and dusted myself back to respectability. “No beer.”

  “We’re an apple juice kind of place. But I can make tea. It’ll just take a minute.”

  “I’ll watch.” He pulled out one of the stools and sat, leaning against the peninsula.

  “Well, it’s complex, but I’ll outline the steps. What are we eating?”

  “Grouper po’boys.”

  For a moment I was paralyzed. Years had passed, but Teo hadn’t forgotten my favorite. “That’s awfully nice of you. Could they possibly be from the Shark Shack?”

  “Have you been back since you got here?”

  The Shark Shack had been our favorite place to eat, and, of course, I had purposely avoided it since coming home. The bar and grill was a local hole-in-the-wall. The owner, Jack, was a retired marine biologist who never missed a chance to promote the importance of sharks in the ocean ecology. I was a convert, although I was careful not to frolic in the water at sunset.

  “I haven’t been,” I admitted. “We had good times there.”

  “And that’s why you didn’t go back?”

  “I had visions of running into you.” I paused. “Buying a grouper po’boy for some other lucky woman.”

  “Jack sold the place, but the new owner honors all his traditions and recipes. And I don’t think I’ve ever bought another woman one of their po’boys.”