“Sometimes Law & Order gets it right. It’s protocol to check out everyone the child interacts with. More times than not, child kidnappings are custody-related. And we think, based on the fact that Emily didn’t call out when she was abducted, that she knew the person who took her.”
“If you’re thinking that person was her mother, I can assure you you’re on the wrong path. Christine got to the luncheon around 12:30 and she left when I did at 2:45p.m.”
“That’s pretty exact,” he said.
“The dining room had a big clock over the doorway. I noticed it as we were leaving.”
He wrote down the times and circled 2:45. That gave either of them plenty of opportunity to grab Emily at 3:15. But he’d already searched the Michaelson house. Where could Christine have taken her and been back home preparing a picnic when Brandy arrived around 3:45?
“How often do you see your granddaughter?”
“Emily is an unruly child. And my daughter, who is little more than a child herself, has no idea how to control her.”
The room fell silent. Something was missing inside this woman. Radhauser’s own mother died years ago, but Gracie’s mom loved being around Lizzie. And Lizzie believed her nana painted the constellations and pasted all the planets in the sky.
“How about her grandfather? Does he have a relationship with Emily?”
She shook her head. “I managed to walk my daughter down the aisle when she married Daniel, but I had to drink half a bottle of wine before I could make my feet move.”
Radhauser took that as a no. “Why were you so opposed to their marriage?”
She laughed. “Isn’t it obvious? Marrying a man old enough to be her father. Textbook behavior for a girl who grows up without one. My daughter’s a spoiled and beautiful fool, Detective Radhauser.” She looked at him, her eyes darkening. “I suppose you, like most people, think that’s my fault.”
“I don’t know. Is it?”
“Maybe. I wanted the best for her. Wanted her to have every opportunity I didn’t. But I sure as hell didn’t expect her to fall in love with her freshman literature professor. She actually told me she knew she loved him after he showed her his wedding album to his first wife. Can you imagine?” She paused and looked at him, as if expecting him to respond.
He said nothing.
“Christine believed she’d have all the magic Daniel had the first time around.” She shook her head and gave him a sad smile. “Like that happens more than once in a lifetime. If that’s what she needed, Christine had a better chance with Glenard. Not that he’s any prize.”
“What do you know about the Dewar family?”
“Glenard Senior made his money in computers, down in the Bay Area. They retired to Oregon around the time their son entered high school, but moved to Michigan after he graduated. Why are you asking all this? You can’t think they had anything to do with Emily’s disappearance.”
“I check out everyone with even a remote connection to Emily.”
Her gaze shot over to him, then moved swiftly away. “Christine claimed she and Glen had broken up, long before she got pregnant.”
“Claimed?”
She shrugged, but Radhauser saw the answer in her eyes before she said it. “Christine is a lot like her father.”
“In what way?”
She smiled. “Let’s just say fidelity isn’t either of their strong suits.”
Radhauser was taken aback, but tried not to show it. “I imagine you were pretty unhappy your daughter dropped out of school to have Emily.”
“I won’t lie to you. And maybe this will make me sound heartless.”
Radhauser smiled to himself.
“But I wanted her to have an abortion. You may be one of those pro-lifers, but I had dreams for my daughter, Detective Radhauser. And it didn’t include being a teenage mother. I wanted her to finish college and maybe even go on for a master’s degree. Rest assured, I never dreamed of her married to a man more than twice her age. But that doesn’t mean I had anything to do with Emily’s kidnapping. What in the world would I do with that child?”
The only answer Radhauser could come up with was she’d dispose of that child, maybe get her wish for her daughter after all. “Where did you go after the luncheon?”
She touched her fingertips to her temples, then flicked them outwards as if this whole conversation scrambled her brain. “Like I’ve already told you, the last thing I’d ever want is custody of that child.”
Radhauser repeated his question, fighting the urge to grab her by the shoulders and slap that I-can’t-be-bothered-with-a-grandchild attitude off her face.
“I came directly home and have been here ever since. Check with the doorman. I walk right by him to get to the parking garage.”
“I will,” Radhauser said.
She stood, a clear signal she wanted him to leave.
“Do you mind if I look around?”
“Suit yourself, but you won’t find anything.”
She followed him as he checked the hallway bathroom—opened the shower door and linen closet, then moved onto the master bedroom and checked under the bed, the bath and closets as well. He found no trace of Emily, not even a toy she might have left behind. Again, he thought about Gracie’s mom, the way she kept a box of Lizzie’s favorites in her family room, an assortment of children’s books on her bookcase and coffee table.
When he tried to open the door to the second bedroom, it was locked.
“There’s nothing of interest in that room,” Irene said. “Just some furniture I’m saving.”
“I need you to open the door.”
A frown creased her forehead as if she’d lost her place in the script. Then she recovered, took a deep breath and said, “Do you have a warrant?”
“No, but I can get one.”
She studied him, as if to determine whether or not he was serious, then took a small Allen wrench from above the doorframe and stuck it into the lock.
The door opened.
The room was painted sage green and furnished like a princess bedroom. A pink canopy twin bed was angled into the corner. The bed sported a big fluffy comforter and five sage green throw pillows with pink letters spelling out Emily. A small rocking chair held one of those expensive German teddy bears, a perfect sage bow tied around its neck. The room was large enough to hold a matching dresser, mirror, and small desk. A bookcase with books that looked as if they’d never been opened, toys that had never been touched by a child’s hand. And on the desk, an eight-by-ten glossy photograph of an infant he assumed was Emily. It took a moment for it to sink in. Maybe Irene had dreamed things would be different.
“When did you decorate this room?”
“Before Emily was born.”
“Why would you do that if you didn’t want a grandchild?” Radhauser quietly shut the door and turned to face Irene.
She looked as if she’d aged five years in the last few minutes, her eyes and cheeks sunken. She quickly turned away from him, but not before he saw the tears. “Emily’s not coming home, is she?”
Maybe it wasn’t so much that there was something missing inside Irene, but that she’d buried it too deep to find.
Don’t go soft in the head, he told himself. Suspects lie all the time. And maybe she lied about the room. If she’d decorated it before Emily was born, why didn’t it have a crib or a cradle? This room was designed for a three-year-old, not an infant. Maybe Emily was stashed away somewhere with a friend, or Irene’s sister or brother. Maybe Irene planned to retrieve her after the investigation died down.
“It’s too soon to think the worst,” he said. “But rest assured, I won’t quit until I find her.” He’d assign an officer to watch Irene McCabe, see if she made any house calls or purchased anything a three-year-old might need.
He took his Stetson from the coffee table. “I have a couple more questions before I leave. Do you have any siblings?”
“No.”
“Do you own any other property in Ore
gon?”
“What are you getting at?”
“Answer the question, please.”
“No. I own no other property in Oregon or anywhere else.”
“Are your parents still alive?”
“My father died of a heart attack when I was in high school. My mother’s in an assisted care facility in Medford. She has dementia, wears diapers, and uses a walker. I think she’d attract attention if she tried to kidnap her great-granddaughter.”
“How about your ex-husband? Where does Mr. McCabe live?”
“In Medford. He and his new wife own McCabe’s Furniture Warehouse. Don’t waste your time with him. He didn’t even want his own kid.”
“Men change,” he said. “Maybe he wanted to see his granddaughter.”
She walked him to the door and opened it. “That would sure shoot your theory that Emily knew her abductor, wouldn’t it?”
Chapter Fifteen
Brandy closed her bedroom door and paced. She didn’t care what her father said; she had to go back to the park and search one more time. She pulled on a hooded sweatshirt and was tying her shoes when she heard the knock. Her dad stepped into the room and looked at her, his brow furrowing. “Where do you think you’re going?”
The lie crept up her throat. “Nowhere.”
He studied her for another moment. “Just because you helped Radhauser with an interview doesn’t make you a member of the police department. Let the detectives do their job.”
Brandy said nothing.
He took a step closer. “It’s after ten o’clock. Don’t make us add you to our list of worries.” He told her he needed the Ashland maps she’d printed. He and Christine planned to divide up the streets for the volunteers to canvas.
Brandy took the stack from her dresser and handed them to him. “I made fifty. I can print more if you need them.”
Her dad looked as if he carried rocks on both shoulders. “I unplugged the phones, except for the kitchen. Officer Corbin will be here all night. I’ll let you know if we hear anything.” He started to leave.
“Dad.”
He turned around.
“Do you…I wondered if…” She couldn’t find the courage or words to tell him she needed reassurance—needed to be sure he still loved her.
“You wondered what?”
She swallowed. “Do you want me to help highlight the streets?”
He looked at the stack of maps, smiled sadly, then shook his head. “Christine and I have it under control. Get some rest.” He handed her a pink and white capsule. “The doctor prescribed these for Christine. It will help you sleep.”
“That’s not what I need,” she whispered.
He set the pill on her nightstand. And though he turned and walked away, the pain in his face wavered in front of her like a mirage.
She heard the door close and then nothing, just hollowness as deep and empty as the long night ahead of them. Absently, she picked up the fake Oscar she’d won for her role as the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz.
Standing in front of her dresser, she considered the face in the mirror as if it belonged to someone else. She ran her hand over the uneven surface of her cheek. The scars were pale and shiny. Without pores or fine hairs, they had no character—revealed nothing. For an actress a face matters, but she’d been vain and stupid to think it mattered so much.
She backed away from the mirror until her shoulders hit the wall on the opposite side of the room. If they didn’t find Emily, nothing would matter. The scars. Her songwriting. The trophies. The stupid dream of being an actress. She hurled the ridiculous trophy much harder than she’d intended. It hit the mirror—the sound as loud as lightning splitting a nearby tree. Glass shattered and flew.
Her father thrust the door open. A horrified, then frightened look passed over his face. His shoulders seemed even more sunken. He said nothing.
Brandy stood in the exact spot where she’d thrown the trophy and stared at the shattered glass. She couldn’t stop shaking. She tried to steady herself.
“Listen to me, Brandy—”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean—”
He held up his hand, as if he had to say it now or he’d never be able to say it. “This isn’t the time for craziness. In the end, life scars every one of us. It gets us again and again.” His voice grew thin, like a rope unraveling. “Now clean this mess up before Emily—” He looked at her as if unable to believe what he’d just said, then covered his face with his hands and left the room.
Brandy listened to the sounds of his footsteps in the tiled hallway as he walked away. Above her dresser, jagged pieces of glass still hung from the wicker frame. She picked up the big shards and put them into her trashcan, then grabbed the vacuum from the hall closet. When she finished, she closed her door and turned off the light.
Moonlight filtered through her mini blinds in thin silver bars across the wall. She sat on the edge of her bed, formulating a plan.
She tucked her pillows under her comforter to look like a sleeping body, hooked her backpack over her shoulder, and climbed out her window. Nothing would ever be right again until she found her sister.
On the road in front of their house, a patrol car inched toward their driveway. Its headlights spread out in two yellow bands over the black asphalt. The driver wore a Stetson. Radhauser.
She pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt and ducked behind a tree until the car passed, hoping he hadn’t seen her, then she took off running toward the park. Though late, several houses on Pine and Granite still had lights burning inside. And she was glad there were people awake, people who might see and hear a small child call out in the night. One of the houses belonged to Mrs. Wyatt.
Brandy raced up the steps and rang the doorbell.
No one answered.
She knocked hard. “Mrs. Wyatt,” she yelled. “It’s me, Brandy. You talked to me earlier about my little sister.”
When she heard nothing, she stepped over to the window. The curtains were parted ever so slightly, and she saw Mrs. Wyatt sitting on the sofa in a yellow-flowered nightgown.
Brandy returned to the door and pounded. Again and again, she banged on the door, jiggled the doorknob. Her hands throbbed. Her left index fingernail tore away. Her insides knotted like a fist. “Please, Mrs. Wyatt. It’s really, really important.” Brandy bit off the remainder of her nail, then stuck her injured finger in her mouth, sucked on it and tasted blood.
The porch light came on before the door opened. Mrs. Wyatt stood in front of the storm door. Her massive body blocked any view into the living room. She panted to catch her breath, then spoke to Brandy through the storm door. “I trusted you. You’re nothing but a snitch. You sent that awful police detective here.” Her dark eyes narrowed.
“I begged him not to bother you, but I had to tell him what you’d seen in the parking lot.”
“Maybe I didn’t see anything. Maybe I was wrong.”
“No,” Brandy said. “You were right.”
“What are you doing out this late?”
“I have to talk to you again. May I come inside?”
“Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”
“No,” Brandy said. “My sister could be dead by tomorrow.” The fist clutching her insides tightened its grip.
Mrs. Wyatt looked down at her flowered nightgown. “I’m not dressed for company.”
“Just keep talking to me through the door, then. Please.”
Brandy asked about the person in the bear costume Mrs. Wyatt had seen loading a little girl into a car seat. “Are you sure it was a Winnie the Pooh costume?”
“I don’t know. It could have been.”
“Think, please. This is really important. Was the costume a butterscotch color? Did it include a T-shirt?”
Mrs. Wyatt remained quiet.
“A little boy claimed he saw my sister in the park. He knows Emily and they often play together. He said a big Pooh bear was carrying her.”
Mrs. Wyatt shook her head, but
remained silent.
A lump grew in Brandy’s throat. She tried to clear it. “Don’t you see? His story matches what you told me. You might be the one who saves my sister’s life. Please, close your eyes. It helped you to remember before.”
The woman clamped her eyes shut and her long dark lashes curled up over the lids. Brandy took deep breaths while she waited.
Mrs. Wyatt opened her eyes. “I definitely saw red. The little girl’s shirt or jacket. The bear. I don’t know. I can’t be sure. I saw the costume again, when the man tried to get into the front seat without taking the bear head off. Wait a minute.” She squinted her eyes as if thinking. “Maybe a T-shirt. Yes. And I’m pretty sure it was yellow.”
That’s it, Brandy thought. Someone wore a costume that matched the bear in the toy store window. Emily’s bear. “Thank you. Thank you.” Brandy headed down the porch steps, then turned back and threw Mrs. Wyatt a kiss. “I love you,” she said, and then hurried for the payphone near the park entrance to call Detective Radhauser. On the way, she practiced what she’d say, how she’d make him believe Mrs. Wyatt was telling the truth this time.
There was a full moon and a peppering of stars lit the sky. Her flashlight cut a narrow beam on the spongy path through the Japanese Garden. She slowed down. There were three sets of luminous eyes peering from behind a conifer tree. She stopped. Deer.
Ashland Creek tumbled over its boulders. Brandy breathed in the smell of pond algae and wet earth. Heard the soft rustlings of a swan’s wing. The park sounds were all amplified by the quiet, but as intimate and safe as her own room. At least she’d thought so. Until today. She took off running and didn’t stop again until she stood in front of the payphone.
It had been a little over nine hours since she’d called the police station to report Emily’s absence. Please, God. Make Radhauser believe me.
Brandy dialed. A female answered. “May I please speak to Detective Radhauser?”
“Detective Radhauser isn’t here right now, but I can get a message to him.”
He must have been headed home when Brandy spotted him. She needed to talk with him herself. She had to convince him that Mrs. Wyatt told the truth. “Can you give me his home number?” she asked, explaining that she was Emily’s sister and it was really important.
When Time Is a River Page 15
