Peggy shut the door. A cold hand had a choking grip on her throat. Was Byer on her side or not?
Though it was only mid-morning, Peggy was drained. The mention of Irma had jostled her nerves and had brought the whole unhappy episode flooding back—Will’s infatuation with the girl, his lies, his absences.
Then all of a sudden, he seemed to have stopped seeing her or whatever he’d been doing, and Peggy didn’t know why. He would come home right after the art class and it was business as usual. No explanation, no remorse.
It was as if Irma had disappeared, at least for several months.
One day, a make-believe hobgoblin waved a mischievous and contrary wand at Will, because the late hours started again, so did the evasiveness and white lies.
Peggy knew she should have left him then, but she was a coward. She wasn’t going to start from scratch to accommodate his conniving sweetie, so she decided to stay, to endure and wear down the opposition.
That night, Peggy tossed and turned in bed, rolling the sheets into a bundle fused with perspiration. She’d doze a little and then wake up in a cold sweat. The sound of a twig scratching against the windowpane or the scurry of dry leaves on the dirt driveway sounded like a battalion of dwarves shuffling ever nearer, filling her with dread.
She thought she’d been rid of Irma all these years, but Irma was haunting her like a wraith again.
The stark memory of the last time she saw the woman seared into her mind yet again. There she stood at the front door when Peggy had gone to open it to clear way some brushwood at the entrance. She had arrived without ceremony or warning holding a canvas wrapped in cloth.
“Will told me to bring this for the gallery.” She spoke haltingly with an accent, but she exuded a mystery that surely was attractive to men.
Peggy took the painting and set it against the wall, feeling gauche and clueless, and clumsy besides. “My husband is not home. Should he call you?” Will was off on one of his urgent projects, in the next town, for all Peggy knew.
“No need,” Irma replied.
There had been no pleasantries between them. Irma had been businesslike despite the searching manner in which she spoke.
Having accomplished her task, Irma turned to leave by the dirt path skirting the ravine above the quarry. She must have parked at the foot of it; it was a risky walk.
Will would usually park his car at the end of the long dirt road that led up to the house. It was cheaper not to fret about amenities, he’d said. No wear and tear on the car driving up. Anyway there wasn’t any garage to drive into so why bring the vehicle all the way up? Healthier to walk up the hill, too, since neither of them was into working out at the gym.
Peggy had waited a few minutes, then followed Irma until she caught up with the younger woman, still keeping a few feet behind noiselessly.
A slip of the foot. Hope flickered…
* * *
The front doorbell rang as Peggy let herself into the kitchen through the side door. She laid the bag of groceries on the kitchen table with a thud and went to answer it.
It was Detective Byer. “I need to ask you a few more questions,” he said, standing there with his thumbs on his suspenders.
“Alright. Please come in,” Peggy said as politely as she could. This was going to continue until Will showed up or they found him.
“Was Ms. Vasquez married?” Byer asked as soon as he seated himself.
“I didn’t think so,” Peggy replied, moving toward the sofa. “Does it matter?”
“It does. We’ve located a doctor who attended her when she gave birth to a baby girl eighteen years ago. That took place in Littleton. Not here,” he explained.
More revelations. “So what are you saying, Detective?” She held her breath even though she didn’t care to hear the answer. Strangely, part of her did.
“It’s possible that Ms. Vasquez and your husband were having an affair and she went to Littleton to have the baby.”
Irma had vanished from sight for a time, as best as Peggy could gather from Will’s behavior all those years ago. “I don’t know what to say except now you know ours wasn’t the perfect marriage.” Peggy leaned back on the sofa, and put a hand to her head, which had started to pound like a tom-tom drum.
“Mrs. Maynard, are you feeling okay?” Byer’s voice had a disembodied aura to it. “You look pale. Can I get you a glass of water?”
Peggy forced herself to reel back to the present and get a grip on herself. “No. I’ll get it. Thanks for asking.” She swayed a little as she stood up. “Can I get you a can of soda?”
“No. I’m good,” Byer replied.
Peggy got herself a tall glass of cold water and returned to her seat on the sofa. She took several sips of it. “That’s better,” she said. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“You need to take better care of yourself. We know this is all very hard for you,” the detective said.
“The police report of Ms. Vasquez’s death stated it was an accident,” Byer said, obviously determined to grill her again. “When did you hear of the accident?”
“When Will came home that evening,” Peggy said. “We got a call form the police. Some hikers found her at the foot of the cliff.” Talking about it made all her misery come flooding back.
“Did your husband ever talk about Irma or the baby?”
Peggy shook her head. “No. Why would he?”
“The baby must not have been more than a few months old when her mother had the accident. She was put up for adoption as soon as she was born.”
“Detective, I had no idea of all this,” Peggy said. So Will was the father. Irony of ironies. She had longed for a child of her own all these years, to no avail.
“We’re, that is, my assistant and I, are in contact with a resource in Queretaro, Mexico, where Ms. Vasquez is originally from. We think that Irma’s daughter has gone there to live with her grandmother,” Byer said. “That might provide some clues as to your husband’s whereabouts.”
“Do you think he’s dead?”
“We don’t know that yet.”
A surge of longing ambushed Peggy. She wanted to see Will again badly, if only to ask him myriad questions. Had she been such a poor wife that he had to look elsewhere for companionship or whatever it was he sought from his women friends? Hadn’t she created a comfortable home environment, brought in an income, allowing him to continue painting during his lean years?
She glanced at Byer, wondering if he could read her mind.
“So what do we do now?” she asked finally.
“Well, we could contact the Mexican Police Department and have them establish contact with the girl and her grandmother,” Byer said.
“How would they know where to look? It would be like…”
“I know the ol’ needle in a haystack routine. But we could find out the grandmother’s address through the girl’s adoptive parents.” Byer got up. “I have to go. Hang in there, Mrs. Maynard. We’ll find your husband, one way or the other—sorry I shouldn’t have put it quite like that,” Byer said, looking sheepish.
“That’s okay.” Peggy didn’t know which was worse—finding Will dead or finding Will.
When the detective left, Peggy Googled Queretaro and found that it boasted of historic events such as the execution of Emperor Maximillian. His dear consort, Empress Carlotta, had gone mad—from loving him too much? She too had been unable to bear children, and so the Emperor had adopted a small boy, his son by his mistress.
The belated history lesson with its parallels to her own life made Peggy sick to her stomach again. She wanted it all to end, whether Will was alive or not. She’d get on with her life—move to another house, immerse herself in charity work when time permitted, and concentrate on her job.
A few days later, Peggy was awakened by an early morning phone call.
She sat up, jerked by the shrill tone of the cordless phone on the nightstand.
It was Detective Byer. “Brace yourself, Mrs. Maynard.
Your husband is alive and well in Queretaro, Mexico.”
Will was alive and he hadn’t contacted her. A dull ache palpitated in her chest and it almost left her breathless.
“The Mexican police located him at the home of the girl’s grandmother. He and the girl are both there.”
A long silence ensued as she absorbed the news.
“Are you still there, Mrs. Maynard?” Concern laced Byer’s tone and Peggy was grateful for that.
“I hardly know what to say,” Peggy mumbled. Reeling from the news. She jerked herself back to their phone conversation. “Detective, I’d like to talk to my husband. I mean face to face. Go to Quetretaro.”
Silence. “I don’t know about that. This is still and investigation as to why he disappeared without a word, only to resurface in Mexico,” he said.
“Oh.” Disappointment bit Peggy. What did she expect? “It would provide closure. I hardly think he’s coming back,” she persisted.
“I’ll find out what the Mexican authorities say and let you know,” Byer said and hung up.
* * *
The beauty of Queretaro took Peggy’s breath away. How could such beauty be the symbol of such unhappiness for her?
The weather was mild and the outdoor cafés on cobblestoned pavements beckoned her. She’d found a small room with a balcony near the Plaza de los Perros and the wide andadores or walkways led from the Plaza to the main streets of downtown Queretaro.
Peggy took a taxi to the comisaria. The taxi weaved its way willy nilly through oncoming traffic. Where had she read that a Mexican stock car racer had perfected his skill by driving in Mexico’s haphazard traffic? Peggy could well believe it as she clung to her seat for dear life.
A warm breeze from the open windows blew in the aroma of corn tortillas and savory sauce from the stalls they whizzed by.
The taxi came to a screeching, jolting halt in front of a small, whitewashed building with orange bougainvillea snaking over the entrance on a trellis.
“Comisaria, Senora,” the driver said while claiming his fare.
Inside the dark lobby, Peggy turned into the main office, a small, crowded affair filled with noisy conversation in Spanish.
A short, stocky, uniformed man with a handlebar mustache approached her. “Senora Maynard?” he said with a heavy accent. “I’m Inspector Munoz.”
Apparently Detective Byer had done the honors of informing Munoz of her arrival in Queretaro.
“This way, Senora.” He led her into a small cubicle and pointed to a rickety chair. “Please take your seat.”
He stood near the entrance to the cubicle. “I can arrange for you to meet your husband.”
“Thank you. How is he?”
“He is well. He lives with his daughter’s grandmother,” Munoz said.
“You have seen him?” Peggy asked. The break between her and Will was now complete. “I’d like to talk to him.”
Munoz wrote something on a piece of paper. “Here is the telephone number. You can phone him and meet him anywhere you choose.”
Peggy took the number. She could use her cell phone to call.
She got up. She didn’t want to share any of her feelings of loss with a total stranger, even if he was a police inspector. “Thank you for your help.”
“One of my men can take you back to your hotel.”
Peggy thanked him.
She called Will as soon as she reached the hotel room. As the phone rang, her heart raced. What did one say to somebody who had left them?
“Hello?” It was Will’s voice. The same low droning tone.
“Will?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Peggy.”
Static filled the pause at the other end. “Munoz said you were going to call,” he said finally.
“How are you?”
“I’m well. And you?”
Sick with worry and revulsion, was what she wanted to say, but that wouldn’t help matters. “Okay. Will, why did you leave without a word? That wasn’t kind.” The words came rushing out and she didn’t care how hopeless she sounded.
“It’s no use saying I’m sorry but I am. I was convinced you wouldn’t understand about Irma and Fawn.”
“Fawn?”
“My daughter whose grandmother I’m staying with.”
“We need to talk. I want an end to something that’s been going on for years, Will.” Peggy could barely get the words out through the white anger that gripped her. He could at least have dealt with the whole thing like a gentleman. But then she was to blame too. She hadn’t wanted to lose him, what she had of him.
“How about tomorrow morning at this café.” He gave her the name. It was a small outdoor café near the hotel.
When she reached the café next morning, he was sitting at the far end under the awning that lifted softly in the breeze. The beauty of the flowers in earthen vases and the warm sunshine pouring over them like a benediction took her breath away.
Will stood up when he saw her. He took her hands and gave her a kiss on the cheek. It was more than he had ever done in all their life together.
He pulled out a chair for her and waited for her to be seated, then ordered coffee for both of them.
“You look good,” he said.
His hair was peppered with gray and he looked healthy. “Mexico seems to agree with you,” Peggy said. “Do you plan to stay on here?”
“Yes. This is what I want. Fawn is all grown up and I want to be with her now. I’ve met her adoptive parents back in the States and they are very nice people.”
The waitress set two mugs of coffee in front of them and Peggy took a sip of hers.
“Why did you suddenly leave, Will?”
“I had to do something about Fawn. Provide for her in some way. I didn’t expect you to understand or care.”
“You didn’t ask me, did you? You just assumed.”
“The portrait sold to a local art collector for a very good sum of money and I settled the proceeds on Fawn,” he said.
The fact that he cared so much for his daughter stunned Peggy. That was to his credit.
“So it was Irma all along, wasn’t it?” Peggy said. She wanted to get it over with and leave.
Will was silent for a moment. “I never meant to hurt you. But she was special. And when she died, something died inside of me.”
“You never mentioned her after that.” Did he think that she, Peggy, was somehow responsible for Irma’s accident?
Will didn’t reply.
Peggy finished her coffee and stood up. “What about your things? Are you coming to get them? Or do you want me to send them on to you?”
“If you wouldn’t mind sending them, I’d prefer that.”
Good. She wouldn’t have to see him again.
“Goodbye, Will.”
“Goodbye, and take care of yourself.”
As she walked, away, she felt his eyes watching her. She was certain he thought she had something to do with Irma’s death. Which wasn’t fair. After all, it had been ruled an accident.
Innocent until proven guilty…
The Girl in the Portrait Page 2
