by Dana Mentink
“Alone,” Angela added, sitting on the sofa and fishing out an old-fashioned glazed doughnut that she offered to Donna. “Don’t forget that she was all alone.”
Donna sighed and took the sweet. “Okay. It wasn’t smart.”
“Dad would have said you were shooting high and right,” Angela said.
The old marine term struck at her. A reminder of the military life they shared with their father but she did not. “Don’t speak for Dad. He’s not here, remember?” She was shocked at her own outburst.
Angela’s mouth tightened. “We both remember, just as well as you.”
“I’m sorry,” Donna said, sinking onto the old cane-backed rocker across from Angela. “I don’t know where that came from.”
Angela leaned forward. “You’re grieving. It’s okay. We are, too.”
But she wanted to say, You didn’t break Dad’s heart, did you? Angela, the proud navy chaplain; Candace, married to a marine whom Bruce had adored and mother to Tracy, who’d lit up Bruce’s life like no one else. Sarah, the spunky, determined surgical nurse. And then there was Donna, who’d gone off the deep end two years ago and nearly thrown her life away for a manipulating jerk. Past history. Not important, she told herself, but her guilt whispered otherwise.
She put the doughnut on the coffee table, appetite gone. “I’m not acting out of grief. Dad was murdered and I want to find out who is responsible.”
She’d meant the words to shock and they had. Candace gathered her mass of curly hair and shoved it behind her ears. “If that’s the case,” she said slowly, “then the police will do their jobs. It’s not a good idea for you to get mixed up in their business.”
“There’s a problem with the police. Dad’s case is linked to Pauline’s and the cop who’s in charge now that Officer Huffington’s been called away hates Brent Mitchell. I’m not sure he’s going to give the case his best.”
Angela lifted an eyebrow. “Brent? The guy who was in the office when you were attacked?”
She nodded.
“If the police are hostile to Brent, and he was on the list in Dad’s file...” Angela said.
“Then you need to stay away from him,” Candace finished.
“Because you think I’m going to get involved with the wrong guy again, just like I did with Nate?”
“No, Donna,” Angela said. “That was a mistake. You’ve paid for it, you’ve been forgiven for it. The only person who doesn’t believe that is you.”
“It’s always been so easy for you to accept things.”
Angela’s green eyes caught hers. “If you only knew,” she said quietly.
Shame licked at Donna’s insides as she searched her sister’s face, grown so thin, so tired, since her return stateside. They suspected Angela was suffering from PTSD, but she refused to discuss it. Donna knew that for all her reluctance to talk, Angela had not left the horrors of war behind. She caught her sister’s fingers. “I’m sorry. It seems like I just apologize over and over now.”
Angela clasped her hand tight. “It’s a tough time for the Gallaghers. We need to support each other.”
“That means you shouldn’t go off on some sort of detective mission by yourself,” Candace put in. She tucked her small frame onto a chair, cross-legged. “You’ve got a veterinary practice to run—stick to that.”
Candace was always the direct one; tactless, some might say, but since she’d lost Rick in Afghanistan five years before, she’d been softened and tempered. It shone on her face, through the bossiness. Inside, she was tender, fragile as spun glass. Still, they did their share of battling.
“I’ve closed my practice for a week.”
Candace frowned. “Maybe too much free time isn’t a good idea right now.”
“Don’t tell me how to deal with this, Candace.”
Her eyes flashed. “I’ve had some experience with loss that you haven’t.”
“I understand that.” She resented her sister for telling her how she should grieve. “How’s Sarah?” she said to change the subject. “I didn’t get a text yet this morning. Any progress?”
“Stable, but they’re keeping her in the coma for another few days until the brain swelling goes down,” Angela said.
“How’s the blood pressure?”
“Meds are holding it to an appropriate level.” Angela sighed. “Ironic.”
It was ironic because Sarah, a surgical nurse, would not even take an aspirin unless she was in dire straits.
There’s poison in every pill, she’d say.
And their father’s death was the bitterest pill of all.
“Don’t stray from the point,” Candace said before finishing her doughnut. “Please tell us that you’re done with the sleuthing. My nerves can’t take much more.”
“I am going to visit Open Vistas today. That’s where Pauline Mitchell worked.”
Candace stood and began to pace. “What do you hope to find out there?”
“I don’t know.” Brent’s haggard face surfaced in her mind. Was she looking for a reason to see him? She could not be that ridiculous. “But I’ve got to do it.”
“Can’t you wait until Marco’s back? If he heard about this...” Candace started.
“Don’t tell him. The man needs to grieve. It isn’t fair to have him worrying about things back home.”
“Agreed,” Angela said. “But you’ve got to promise that it ends after your visit to Open Vistas.”
Candace gaped at Angela. “Don’t tell me you think it’s a good idea for her to get involved in this?”
“It’s not, but I also don’t think she can get into too much trouble at an assisted living facility.” She offered a rueful glance over the top of her coffee cup as she sipped. “Besides, I think that when she arrives, the police are going to tell her to get lost in no uncertain terms.”
“And she’s going to listen to them better than she does to us?”
Angela shrugged. “They’ve got badges and guns. We’ve got doughnuts and coffee.”
Donna laughed, grateful that God had blessed her with these nosy, maddening sisters. “I promise I’m going to stay out of trouble.”
“Uh-huh.” Candace remained unconvinced. “When are you going? I’ll come along.”
“Today. Soon as I can.”
“Oh, man. I’ve got to get Tracy to school. Mom’s with her right now before she goes to the hospital.”
Donna felt secretly relieved.
“And I’m visiting a soldier’s family today.” A shadow darkened Angela’s face and Donna marveled again at her sister’s strength. How much sorrow had she taken on her slim shoulders, offering God’s comfort to families in their darkest hour when they’d learned their soldiers were not coming home? And how could she comfort when her own soul was torn in two?
“I thought you were on leave for a while.”
Angela shrugged. “They asked for me.”
“No problem,” Donna said. “Let’s meet up this afternoon at the hospital and try to get Mom to eat something.”
“Okay.” Candace fixed her with a mom look of her own. “But remember that you promised to stay out of trouble. Leave the investigating to the cops.”
Donna nodded meekly and accepted hugs and kisses from her sisters.
When the door closed behind them, she watched the two make their way to Candace’s beloved Volvo.
Leave the investigating to the cops. You’re grieving. We are, too.
You need to stay away from him.
Good reasons, sound logic, common sense.
And in spite of all of it, she grabbed her car keys and headed out.
* * *
Brent arrived at Open Vistas feeling thoroughly ashamed that he’d never visited Pauline’s place of work before. He’d heard her spe
ak of the clients, her little band of special-needs adults whom she escorted on various excursions. She loved them, especially one by the name of Harvey.
The driveway led to a tidy whitewashed building with neatly tended hibiscus shrubs flanking the path. Meandering walkways cut through the property, leading to three modern structures that appeared to be two-story apartment buildings. In his mind, he’d pictured a dormitory-style place crowded with residents. This was anything but.
He let himself into the office and met a tall man with a lush mustache and a shining bald scalp. The space was decorated with pine garlands. Elvis crooned about being home for Christmas.
Brent felt an emotional punch to the gut. Christmastime. He’d lost Carrie on December 23. Would he add his sister to the season of loss? He drove away the thought and accepted the manager’s handshake.
“Welcome. I’m Kevin Carpenter. How can I help you?”
“My name’s Brent Mitchell. My sister works here.”
He gasped. “You’re Pauline’s brother?”
He nodded.
The man beamed. “Great to meet you. She’s the most wonderful recreation specialist we’ve ever had. The residents can’t wait until she returns.” He shifted. “Actually, her message on the machine was unclear. Do you happen to know when she’ll be back?”
“No.” His stomach tightened. “When did she leave a message?”
His look grew suddenly wary. “Oh. I figured she might have shared that with you. Actually, I’m not sure I should talk about Pauline’s private business. I told the other man who asked. We try to keep everything professional around here.”
“What other man?”
“Private detective, name of Bruce Gallagher. I told him she was on vacation and he could talk to her when she returned. Figured he was mixed up, looking for another person maybe.”
No, and now Brent knew he was also on the right trail. “I’m worried about my sister. I haven’t heard from her in three weeks. The police are likely going to come and ask you the same questions I am.”
His eyebrows shot up in alarm. “Police? I’m sure she’s just extended her trip. It was supposed to be a few weeks. She promised she’d be back to lead the Christmas excursion to the Del.”
A few more weeks of vacation and she’d show up? Brent couldn’t bring himself to believe it, as much as he wanted to. And if it had been her in the basement, how could she stay on the run for that long? And why?
“Something is wrong, Mr. Carpenter. Please tell me what you know. When did she call?”
He pulled at his mustache. “It was a weekend, around Thanksgiving. She left a phone message that she was planning a trip. It seemed abrupt. Her voice was stuffy, like she had a bad cold. I was surprised she didn’t talk to me face-to-face, but she had plenty of vacation time coming. She promised she’d be back by the Christmas excursion, but I kind of expected her to show up anytime. She’s never been one to stay away from Open Vistas. Always brimming with energy, that girl, and she honestly loves her work here, I’m sure of it. She and Radar are permanent fixtures even when she’s not on duty.”
Brent heard the throb of an approaching car. A squad car pulled onto the main road. Brent had no desire to run into Ridley again.
“Here’s my number,” he said, sliding a card across the counter. “Call me if you think of anything that might help find her, okay?”
“Sure. We all love Pauline. I’m going to pray that nothing has happened to her.”
Wasted effort, Brent thought. Prayers were easily ignored, in his experience. He nodded. “Okay if I look around?”
Kevin handed him a name badge. “Sure, but don’t bother any of our residents. This is their home.”
Brent let himself out and took the nearest path under the spreading pine canopy. Fortunately, Ridley had stopped to answer his phone before going inside the office, so Brent was spared that encounter.
A group of people ranging in age from early twenties to much older sat at a picnic table. A staff member wearing the white Open Vistas T-shirt led them in some sort of book discussion. He walked on to the farthest building in the rear. Wreaths hung on most doors and some had twinkle lights outlining them.
A man with thinning hair and wire-rimmed glasses sat on the porch, examining a calendar. He traced the numbers with a felt tipped pen over and over.
Brent did not want to startle the man, who looked up abruptly from his work. “It’s Thursday, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yes,” Brent said. “It’s Thursday.”
The man traced the numbers on his calendar. “Almost Christmas.”
“Oh, yes. That’s right. Are you looking forward to Christmas?”
“I’m going to the Hotel Del.” He blinked, eyes magnified by the thick lenses. “Miss Pauline is taking me. We get hot cocoa and watch the fireworks.”
Brent’s heart sped up. “I’m Miss Pauline’s brother.”
He squinted at Brent, took off his glasses and polished them with a handkerchief from his pocket and put them on again. “I’m Harvey.”
Harvey, the resident his sister spoke of so often. “Harvey, I’ve been looking for Pauline.”
“She’s on a trip,” Harvey said.
“Did she tell you where she was going?”
“No. That’s what Mr. Carpenter said.”
Dead end.
“She’ll come back. For Christmas. So we can go to the Del.”
“I hope so, Harvey.”
“She will. She left her—” He broke off suddenly, mouth closed tight, tracing the numbers with precision.
“She left what?” Brent asked.
“Nothing.”
He kept his tone patient, soothing. “Harvey, did Pauline leave something with you? A note, maybe, or a phone number?”
He shook his head.
“Are you sure? It’s real important that I find her.”
The head shake was more agitated this time, so Brent backed off. “Okay. Thanks for talking to me, Harvey.”
Harvey remained on the porch, tracing over the numbers on his calendar. Brent gritted his teeth. What had he learned? Not one single thing except that Pauline had promised this gentleman she would be there to take him to the Coronado Holiday Festival. She would never break that promise.
Unless it was not in her power to keep it.
He decided to go back to the office and face the music with the police and see if they had learned anything. Before he made it back to the main road, he got a glimpse of Donna jogging over the grass.
His blood pounded, probably just from the purposefulness in her movement. When she caught sight of him, she skidded on the wet turf, sliding to a stop at his feet.
“I’ll keep my witty comments to myself,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“Come on,” she said, grabbing his wrist. “You’re not going to believe this.”
SIX
Brent allowed himself to be towed along. Her hands were soft and smooth and he found he didn’t mind the coercion.
“Where are we going?”
“To talk to Harvey.”
“I just did. He isn’t in a chatty mood.”
“Well, he’s got something to explain, that’s for sure.”
“Your father was here, checking on Pauline’s whereabouts.”
She bit her lip. “So we were right that he was worried about her.”
Brent wanted to discuss it more, but he didn’t figure Donna was about to stop. They arrived back at the porch.
“Hello, Harvey. I went to look at the shed where I saw you earlier. Can you tell me about it?”
He looked at the ground. “No.”
She sat down next to him on the porch swing. “I know you feel worried, but you’re not in trouble. I just need you to give m
e the key, okay?”
He shook his head, shoulders slumped.
Donna put her hand gently on his forearm. “You were just trying to help. No one will be mad at you. Please give me the key so I can help, too.”
Anxiety pinched Harvey’s mouth, and he rocked on the porch swing.
“You’re a good friend to Pauline, aren’t you?” Donna murmured.
Brent could hardly keep still. What was she getting at? Forcing his hands in his pockets, he clamped his jaw shut.
“Pauline is my friend,” Harvey said. “We’re going to the Christmas festival at the Del on Christmas Eve. We’re going to see the parade and have hot cocoa and watch the ice-skaters, but I don’t skate. I just watch, because I don’t like to fall down.”
“That will be fun. My dad...” She swallowed. “My family goes every year.”
The glimmer of sadness made Brent want to wrap Donna in an embrace. He remembered Christmas in the days after Carrie died. The gift she’d never unwrapped. The memories they would never make. The darkness in his heart that would rise up again every holiday season.
“There are fireworks,” Harvey said. “Very loud.”
“I like that part, too,” she said, “but sometimes I put my fingers in my ears.”
Harvey blinked and flashed a crooked smile. “Yes, me, too. I made her a present. Do you...do you want to see it?”
“We would love to, Harvey.”
Harvey scooted into his apartment, leaving the door open.
“Tell me what is going on here, Donna,” Brent said.
She put a finger to her lips as Harvey returned, clutching a handcrafted wooden box painted blue with tiny black paw prints. “It’s a box for Radar’s treats.”
Brent’s chest went tight.
Donna beamed him a breathtaking smile. “I can tell you worked really hard on it. Pauline is going to love that.”
Harvey nodded. Slowly, he pulled a chain necklace looped through a key from under his shirt and let it dangle from his fingers, not looking at Donna. “Here.”
Donna patted Harvey on the back. “That is the right thing to do, Harvey. I’ll be back in a second, okay?”
