“Aren’t we more important than whether I go or stay? I have qualms, but my family has to move on. No matter what Wendy says when I see her, I need to protect her daughters.”
“That’s what it’s come down to now? It’s not about proving she’s innocent?”
I shook my head. “I remember those days like they were, what, last week? Now, it’s about getting her out of our lives.”
He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he didn’t.
I moved closer and kissed him quickly. Then I bent down and hugged Bismarck. “Take good care of him. I’ll settle up what I owe you for dog rental when I get back. Just let me know.”
“Meet her in public.”
“And don’t let her follow me back to my B and B. I know. I won’t. I’m going to be careful, but she won’t hurt me. I’m her sister and her daughter.”
“And squishy good feelings saved Vítor Calvo?”
Of course, he was right. Calvo’s murder had been premeditated and his killer cold-blooded. “I guess I’ll know the answer very soon.”
“Let me know what happens.” He’d touched my hair, just the lightest stroke, then he’d turned, called Bismarck to walk beside him and together they had gone into the kennel.
And now, I was many miles away doing exactly what Teo didn’t want me to.
Besides watching for Wendy and making up stories about post office patrons, this morning I played another game. I made bets with myself. How long could I continue my stakeout? It was Friday, and if Wendy didn’t show up by tomorrow morning, then maybe I had wasted an airline ticket. If she really wanted what she thought Jonah was sending, she should have checked for it by now. She’d gone to the trouble of renting a post office box and having her mail forwarded. So where was she?
Of course, if I could think like Wendy, I wouldn’t have to wait at all.
Another hour passed. I was afraid to get more coffee, which even when freshly made was muddy and bitter. In the time it would take to grab another cup, Wendy might come and go.
Services at the Pronghorn post office ended at three on weekdays and noon on Saturday. The lobby, where the postal boxes resided, was open twenty-four hours, but the boxes were too small to accommodate anything other than regulation size envelopes. Wendy must know she had to retrieve anything larger at the counter, and no later than noon tomorrow.
Today, if she didn’t show by three, I could safely drive the miles to my B and B, make a dash for the bathroom, rest until five, and then return to town to take over my usual booth at Pizza Pleasures. For my evening’s entertainment I could spend the next two hours eating a small cheese pizza, chewing so slowly that the staff probably wondered if my jaws were wired shut.
There were three restaurants in Pronghorn, and two were closed for the month of January. Since Wendy wasn’t much of a cook, even if she didn’t pick up her mail, I hoped she might eventually show up at Pizza Pleasures. I would haunt the place all weekend and somehow try not to draw attention to myself.
At noon I ate the sandwich I’d picked up on the way into town. At twelve-thirty I walked up and down the sidewalk, keeping watch and keeping warm. Since I was clothed in a down parka past my hips, and my head was covered in a fake-fur Cossack hat—complete with earflaps—I was a walking fashion nightmare but impossible to identify.
At quarter to three, cars began pulling in and out of the lot, as if everyone in Pronghorn had just realized the time. At the last minute a pale green sedan parked in the lone spot stating Reserved Parking, with the familiar outline of a wheelchair beneath. That alone wasn’t unusual since the locals seemed to think that the reserved spot was for anyone suffering from split ends to an ingrown toenail.
The windows of my SUV were darkly tinted. That and new tires had sealed the rental deal. Now I took binoculars from the seat beside me and peered at the car, noting an Arizona license plate.
License plates meant little. My SUV had Idaho plates, even though I’d rented it in Nevada. Still, my heart beat a little faster, because supposedly Wendy had been in Arizona around the time of Calvo’s murder.
The woman who emerged was tall, like Wendy, but from what I could see she had short red hair mostly covered by a cute wool cap with a narrow brim. If her lavender ski jacket was real down, it was newer and more expensive than mine, sleek and tapered at the waist. Of course I’d bought everything I was wearing at a thrift shop in St. George. She had shopped at the other end of the winter duds spectrum, but certainly not any store my sister would normally frequent.
Although it was hard to guess accurately, I judged the woman was about Wendy’s build and weight. She carried herself like a model, walking with arms hanging freely, breasts jutting forward. Then, as I stared, she threw the post office door wide and marched in without paying attention to what or who might be behind her.
I opened my car door and started across the road.
Wendy handled doors the same way. Once when I was a teenager, a door she released nearly broke my nose. As blood trickled to my lip, I’d demanded to know if she ever looked behind her. Wendy found the question hilarious. She’d turned, hands on hips. “You think other people will watch out for you, Ryan Rosie? You’re still a little girl, aren’t you?”
Now, in the parking lot, I considered my choices. I could let the air out of the sedan tires, but not only would that take time, I might be creating trouble for a stranger. My second choice was to open the passenger door, which was probably unlocked, get in and wait for her. If the owner turned out to be someone else, I could explain that I thought the car had belonged to a friend and exit immediately.
But if the woman was Wendy, who knew where we might end up? She would literally be in the driver’s seat, which sounded as bad as letting John Quayle follow me home four years ago.
In the end I just leaned against the hood, arms folded, and waited.
The door opened. Two other people exited, got into their cars and roared away.
The third was the red-haired fashion plate.
My sister, Wendy Gracey Wainwright.
“Fancy meeting you here,” I said, when she looked up and saw me.
She had either learned to act as the high school Daisy Mae, or she really wasn’t surprised to see me.
“I thought you’d find me eventually,” she said. “How’d you do it?”
“Trade secret.”
“Well, since we’re in the parking lot of a post office, I assume it has something to do with my mail.”
“I’ll tell you what. You answer about a million questions, and then I’ll answer that one.”
She shrugged. “I’m not that interested.”
I pushed away from the hood. “Then do you want to hear about Milton Kearns? Or what he said to me when I saw him last week? Because I’m sure those details will interest you.”
“Why didn’t you just wait until I called?”
I studied her as she spoke. Wendy was still wearing the brimmed cap, which was a pretty shade of violet matching a feathery scarf. I couldn’t tell how short her hair was, although long bangs curled over her eyebrows and wisps brushed her ears. The coppery color turned her pale skin sallow, so she had applied a rosy foundation to offset it. Unfortunately, the foundation highlighted the vertical lines carved deeply from nose to lips. She looked older, almost haggard, even after a world famous cosmetic surgeon had twice worked his miracles.
“I wasn’t sure you’d call again,” I said. “You didn’t seem that anxious to straighten things out and come home.”
Tears filled her eyes. “How can you say that?”
“With no difficulty.”
“You think this is fun? You think I’m doing it as an adventure?”
“I think it’s time we talked. You can take off again, and I can spend more weeks trying to locate you. But if that happens? I’ll go to the police with everything I know, plus a description
of the way you look and where I found you. You can keep running, and you can change your hair color and fashion choices, but eventually you’ll probably be caught by somebody less interested in your welfare than I am.”
The tears had dried. “Is somebody else watching from the bushes? Are you going to record me?”
“Neither, but feel free to check.”
“I want your phone.”
I reached in my pocket and pulled out the burner. “I only have this one with me, and you’re the rightful owner.”
She took it. “I’m sure you’re angry. I asked a lot.”
I looked across the street. “I’m going to meet you at Pizza Pleasures. Nobody will hear us over the country music they’re so fond of there. You walk and I’ll park your car in front.” I held out my hand for the keys.
She almost smiled. “You don’t trust me?”
“That’s going to be the topic of conversation.” I watched her silently debate, but at last she dug in the canvas purse that was slung across her body and handed them to me.
“Meet you there.” I walked around to get in, and she started across the lot.
By the time I showed up at the restaurant with Wendy’s keys in my pocket, she was in the booth where I most liked to sit, coat and hat gone, short red bob, cut much like Mom’s, fluffed around her face. Weeks on the run had taught her to sit with her back to the wall. My usual server was bent over the table, and she and Wendy were chatting like old friends. When she saw me, the server smiled.
“Mrs. Miller tells me you’re her cousin. I hope you can cheer her up. She’s been through so much.” I watched as she smiled sympathetically at Wendy before she strode away.
I slid into the booth. “Mrs. Miller? I must be the last to know. Exactly what have you done with the Mr.?”
“Maybe Frank’s death in Afghanistan didn’t mean that much to you, Ryan, but it meant everything to me. He was the love of my life. I’m still trying to cope.”
I had to admire how expertly she’d become the widow of a man who had never existed. I was sure the story had ingratiated her with everybody she’d met here. “I’m assuming Frank was your pretend husband.”
She held up her left hand, which was adorned with the gold wedding ring that had once been part of the set Bryce had bought for her. “Fifteen years. Everyone here has been so kind while I try to put my life back together.”
“Does Bryce know about Frank? That could be confusing.”
“How is Bryce? He sounds angry in his voice mails.”
“He’s busy with his job.”
“He would be. The job means everything to him. If he has his way he’ll die in that sub and command his next one in heaven. He’s fond of the girls, but he’s not home enough to know them well. Not that there’s much to know with children.”
“I’ve actually found quite a bit.”
“Really? Maybe you’ll have your own someday. If that heart of yours keeps ticking.”
I took a moment to absorb her blow. “At the moment I’m pretty busy with your children.”
“They’re okay?”
“They’re understandably confused. Both their parents disappeared.” I searched her face to see if my answer meant anything.
If it did, she gave no sign. “I’m sure you and Mom are keeping them entertained. How’s Dad?”
“Worried about you.”
Her expression softened. “I was always his favorite, wasn’t I? The businesswoman willing to do whatever it takes to finish a deal. A chip off the old block.”
“I don’t think you’re a chip off anybody’s block. I think you’re one of a kind.”
I signaled our server, and when she came to the table, I asked for a mushroom calzone, since I no longer had to make my meal last for hours. Instead of ordering, Wendy asked the woman about her son, who had broken a leg while cross-country skiing. Wendy seemed riveted as the woman described everything the poor boy had endured. Not until she had finished did my sister finally order a house salad without dressing and a glass of red wine.
“Do you know you have to order food to get wine in this godforsaken place?” she said when we were alone again. “Give me your purse.”
“Why?”
“So I can be sure you’re not recording.”
I handed her the purse, and when she’d finished searching it, I lifted up my shirt for a quick glimpse. “No wire.”
“Coat, hat, scarf. Stand up and let me see your pockets.”
I played along until she was satisfied. “And don’t think I won’t check my car for bugs,” she said. “In case that’s why you wanted to move it for me.”
“A girl can’t be too careful.”
“So what turned you into James Bond? You say you found Milton Kearns? Want to tell me where?”
The last thing I was going to tell her was where to find Ex. She would be much happier and, in her mind, safer, if he turned up dead. “Let’s play a game. You tell me how you really know him, and I’ll tell you if you’ve scored a point.”
“You’re trying to catch me in a lie.”
“You could be honest and win the big prize.”
“I was afraid if I told you that I knew Milt, you wouldn’t believe I didn’t kill Vítor Calvo.”
I nodded patiently. “And there’s your excuse. But that’s not the same as how you knew him.”
“He was a bartender at Gracey Group’s Autumn Mountain Club. And yes, we had an affair. With Bryce gone so much, it was the only sex I got. I’m not proud of it, but that’s how it happened.”
“Poor old Frank wasn’t delivering?” I held up my hand to stave off her reply. “Sorry. He was probably in Afghanistan by then.”
“You think this is funny?”
“I’m going to laugh until I cry.”
Her expression darkened. “You’re a lot like Sean, your real father. You wouldn’t know since you never met him, but he had a great sense of humor, even if he was stupid enough to get himself killed.”
I absorbed that blow, too. “So, back to sex. You and Kearns had an affair. How did the three of you end up together at Golden Aspen? You, Calvo, Kearns. And please don’t expect me to believe you just ran into Calvo.”
“You’ve learned a few things from your podcast, haven’t you?”
I leaned forward. “Whatever you have to say, Wendy, you should realize nobody has come looking for you. You’re still off the radar. Just tell the truth and I’ll see if I can help.”
“After you leave I’m going to spread my wings and fly without a husband, without children—and that means all of you. I’ll be able to survive just fine.”
I knew exactly how she had planned to survive, but now she didn’t have the flash drive. I wondered what she planned to do next.
“How do you know I haven’t already alerted the police?” I asked.
She waved that away. “Because you need answers first. That’s who you are, never satisfied until you have the whole picture. Besides, think how badly my little indiscretions would reflect on your podcast.”
“You think that would stop me?”
“I know you, Ryan. You would never turn in your mother or your sister, whichever way you think of me. And the truth would absolutely gut Mom and Dad, plus there’s Holly and Noelle. Do you want them to go through life knowing their mother was a murderer?”
“You’d rather just leave than try to fix this?”
“It can’t be fixed unless the police have Milt’s gun. And I don’t think they do. Am I right?”
I nodded.
“Damn him.” For a moment I thought she was going to slam her fist against the table. All this time Wendy had been hoping that the police had arrived at the casita, found the gun next to Calvo’s body and the other evidence she’d left behind, and then later identified Ex’s fingerprints in their system. My job? To find
out for her, either way. Maybe hope had dwindled with time, but I thought my sister had, until this moment, continued to pin her future on this one thing.
“I know,” I said. “Imagine the nerve of the guy. He should have left it beside the body after you killed Calvo.”
She stared at me for a full minute before she spoke again. “Okay, I did kill Vítor. Not on purpose, but I pulled the trigger. And even though I know you’re not going to tell anybody, I’m not taking chances on being found.”
Wendy’s order came, although mine was still in the oven, and she turned into the sweet young widow again, beaming her thanks. Then when the server left she turned back to me. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’ve already heard one version. Why don’t you tell me yours? Start with why you went to Golden Aspen in the first place, and why you took Kearns along.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I have things you want and need.”
She assessed me. For so many years, when she’d looked at me that way, I’d thought she wanted to get closer, that she was trying to figure out how to be the best possible big sister. Now I knew she had always been plotting how best to use my obvious adoration.
She threw up her hands, as if I’d finally worn her down. “Vítor and I fell in love. Or, at least, I thought we did. After my first procedure the attraction was obvious. We spent time together whenever we could. And then, when I went to Rio for the second time, he asked me to divorce Bryce and marry him.”
I’d considered multiple possibilities, including this one. But it still packed an emotional wallop. “That’s a surprise.”
“Why? I was fed up with being the wife of a sub commander. I was fed up with Connecticut, and the mommy track, and our sweet little house.”
Their house was anything but little. Still, I nodded. “And life with Calvo would be very different.”
“That life would have been so amazing.” For a moment she looked genuinely sad. “I told him yes. I would move to Rio. He had houses in Europe, a plantation in the rain forest. I would have met so many famous people.”
A Family of Strangers Page 40
