by K T Brodland
“Oh, of course. Do you need directions…?”
“No, I’m pretty good at finding addresses. And if all else fails, I have GPS in the car. Now, what I want from you by Thursday is as detailed an account of how, where, and when your daughter disappeared.”
She heard a shaky sigh on the other end of the line. “I’ll do the best I can. Thank you, Ms. Harris. I appreciate you being willing to help me find my daughter.”
“You’re welcome. Good day, Ms. Lundgren. See you on Thursday around eleven.”
Cat ended the call and leaned back in her chair. She remained motionless for long minutes, not really seeing anything except the image of Olivia’s oval face, with its dusting of freckles, framed by a mass of white hair. It had to be mistaken identity. It just had to be.
She tried to recall the last time she had actually spoken to Olivia and came up empty. She hadn’t even been able to speak to her the day of Rhodes being found guilty. And how many times since then had she reached for her cell phone, intending to send a text message. Every time she did, she could see the purpling face of Peter Smith as he struggled against an unseen hand gripping his throat or writhed in agony on the ground as that same unseen hand twisted his genitals. Even now, a cold sick feeling twisted her own gut at the memory. And to make it worse, she had just stood there, frozen, unable to move to stop Olivia. Maybe that was the real reason why she couldn’t reach out to the woman she’d once considered a friend. She was too ashamed to do so.
She studied the photo Elsa Lundgren had sent her a moment longer, then slipped it back into the envelope and locked it in a drawer in her desk.
During the hour-long drive to Logan’s Landing, Cat couldn’t help thinking about the resemblance between Olivia and the woman in the photo she had age enhanced. It’s said everyone has a double somewhere, but the likeness was too strong to be a coincidence. Even if Olivia should prove to be the missing daughter, she was still an adult and could make up her own mind if she wanted to be reunited with her family.
Just before eleven, she pulled into the driveway of the Sunset Seniors Village and parked in a space marked for visitors. She retrieved her briefcase from the passenger seat then exited the car. Unit #10 turned out to be one of five small cottages laid out in a row. She cast a cursory glance at the small patch of garden set to one side of the walkway that led to a green painted front door. She knocked, listened to the sound of slow footsteps before the door was opened. A thin elderly woman, supporting herself with a footed cane, peered up at her. Cat had to repress her shock at the family resemblance. Unless she was badly mistaken, this woman was indeed Olivia’s mother.
“Yes?”
“Elsa Lundgren?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Cat Harris. We spoke on the phone the other day.”
“Oh, yes, do come in, Ms. Harris.”
Cat followed the woman inside, taking in the tiny interior of what was clearly a studio cottage. A small couch occupied one corner of the room, with a narrow bed taking up the remaining space. A drop-sided table was set in front of the window that overlooked the garden. Two leatherette chairs provided the only other seating.
Ms. Lundgren hovered in the entrance to a galley kitchen just to the left of the door. “Can I offer you tea, coffee?”
“Thanks, but no. I’m fine.”
The woman almost looked relieved that she would not have to struggle to prepare refreshments for her guest. Cat did a quick assessment, came up with stroke victim based on the slight droop to the left side of the woman’s face and the way she held her left arm close to her side.
She took a proffered chair, pulled out a notepad from the briefcase she set beside her feet.
“Now,” she began as Mrs. Lundgren settled in the other chair. “I asked for a detailed account of what took place when your daughter went missing. Were the authorities notified? Also, any personal details, such as identifying marks and so on.”
Mrs. Lundgren fiddled with a linen hanky before replying. “Please, call me Elsa. As for your questions. We were living in Hixton at the time. It’s a little town just west of Edmonton. And yes, we did call the police and they promised to do what they could to locate Molly. They never did, of course. It was as though she had vanished into thin air. As for identifying marks, she didn’t have any. At least none that I can recall now.”
“And what is your daughter’s full name?”
“Molly Elsa Lundgren.”
“Do you recall the date when this took place?”
“It was in September, 1983, not long after Labor Day. I remember that because Molly and her younger brother, Jamie, had just gone back to school a few days earlier. It was on a Friday. It would have been Molly’s last year in high school.”
“Is there any chance that your daughter may have kept in touch with her brother? Were they close?”
“If she did contact him, he never let on. He…died two years after she disappeared.”
“I see. You mentioned an unfortunate incident that caused your daughter to leave home. May I ask what that was?”
Mrs. Lundgren twisted the hanky even tighter. Cat half expected to hear the sound of tearing cloth any moment. “I’d rather not say. The memory is still quite painful. If you find Molly, there is a letter inside the one I sent you that is for her eyes only. I explain a lot of things to her in the letter, things that might help her forgive me.” She dabbed at her eyes with a shaking hand. “I wasn’t the mother to her that I should have been. I have wished again and again since that dreadful night, that I could turn back the clock and change the way things were. But I hope, just maybe, that enough time has gone by that she might be able to forgive me. I’m…I’m not the woman I was back then.”
She drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful. Did…did the photo I sent you help at all?”
“It gave me an idea of what your daughter might look like now. Especially the part about the white hair. Not many women in their early fifties have hair that color. It does make her a little easier to spot. Other than that, I’m afraid I don’t have any positive answers for you at this point. Once I get back to Kelowna, I’ll start making inquiries. Just don’t get your hopes up too high based on a glimpse of a woman who bears a slight resemblance to your daughter. People can change a lot in thirty years.”
Mrs. Lundgren nodded slowly. “Thank you for taking the time to come and see me anyway. I know it’s a long shot, but if you can locate Molly, I would be ever so grateful. If not, at least I can go to my grave knowing I tried to find her and ask her to forgive me.”
Cat flipped her notepad shut and put it back inside her briefcase. She stood and gently shook the bony little hand Mrs. Lundgren offered. “You have a good day, Elsa. I’ll keep in touch.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”
Back in the Mustang, Cat remained motionless, struggling to sort out her feelings after meeting Elsa Lundgren. Nothing short of a DNA test would conclusively prove that she was Olivia’s biological mother. But her gut told her she didn’t really need one. Big question now was— What in hell was she going to do with this information? Confront Olivia with it? She shook her head. She needed time to think this through. Something told her Olivia was not going to be thrilled to learn the woman who gave birth to her lived just fifty miles away and wanted to find her.
She was still struggling with the question of what to do with what she had learned by the time she arrived back in Kelowna. To give herself a little more space and time to gain perspective, she took the twisting road up to the summit of Knox Mountain. She parked near the lookout and just sat there, staring out at the spectacular view of the mountains that edged the east side of Okanagan Lake. She couldn’t see the lake from where she was sitting but she could picture traffic whizzing back and forth across the W.R. Bennet Bridge, and the little boats leaving a rooster tail plume behind them as they cruised up and down the lake. She closed her eyes, listened for birdsong, the breeze whispering in the branches of the pines
that grew up on the mountain. After a while she shook her head and told herself she was getting nowhere fast. She had work to do, and she wouldn’t get it done sitting up here, admiring the scenery. She had formulated a plan of action, though. One she would implement as soon as she could get to the office. She did a mental run-through of her schedule, frowned as she realized how much time she actually spent in the office these days instead of out dealing with clients who helped pay the bills. She really did need to hire a new receptionist.
After a few more minutes, she stirred and headed back down the mountain. She paused by the office, put her standard out of the office message on the phone. That done, she retrieved Elsa Lundgren’s letter from her desk and headed home.
After three days of digging through every file she could find on the Lundgren family, even tracking down a retired RCMP superintendent who was only too willing to help out a former officer, she finally hit pay dirt. So much so that by the time she shut her computer down for the night, she was wishing she had never heard of Elsa Lundgren
Chapter Thirty-Three
C at waited until the following weekend before biting the bullet and calling Olivia.
She knew she was risking the chance of there never being a friendship again between them once she revealed what she had learned of the so-called unfortunate incident Elsa Lundgren had referred to. At the same time, she felt Olivia had a right to know her birth mother was looking for her.
Olivia sounded cool and aloof when she answered the phone.
Cat drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Is there any chance I could come by later today? There’s something I need to discuss with you.”
A long silence followed.
“Is there any reason why you can’t discuss it with me on the phone?” Olivia said finally.
Yeah, every reason in the world.
“Yes, it’s too complicated. I need to see you.”
“I see.” Another prolonged silence. “All right. Come by around seven.”
Cat was about to reply but the call ended icon flashed red. She slowly shook her head. This should be interesting. At least Olivia won’t be able to hang up on me if I’m sitting in her kitchen. No, she could just throw me out the door. Heaven only knows she is quite capable of doing it.
By the time Cat pulled up in front of the farmhouse, she had played out in her mind several versions of how the evening might go. None of them were particularly inspiring. And almost all of them ended up with her being no closer to resolving their differences. Olivia’s chilly reception when she entered the kitchen didn’t help any either.
She waited until Olivia moved away from the dishwasher as far as the kitchen table and poured a glass of wine. Cat exhaled slowly as she fished the large manila envelope out of her briefcase. She set the envelope on the table in front of Olivia’s place mat. “There’s something I need to discuss with you.”
“Should I finish off this bottle of wine first?” Olivia quipped.
Cat shook her head. “You might want to keep the wine for later, after you’ve heard what I have to say.”
“Oh. Now I really am worried.”
“All right. I’ll cut to the chase. First off, does the name Elsa Lundgren mean anything to you?”
Olivia froze in the middle of reaching for the half-empty bottle of wine. “Should it?”
Cat took note of the way Olivia’s body went rigid. This was not going to go well.
She forged ahead anyway. She tapped the envelope. “This came in the mail a little more than a week ago. Inside were several items, a hand-written letter, a black and white photo of a teenage girl, and a sealed business sized envelope addressed to My Daughter. After I read the letter, I contacted the woman who had written to me and then set up an appointment to see her Thursday at her home in Logan’s Landing.”
Cat braced for the coming storm as Olivia’s nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed.
“So,” Olivia ground out. “You’ve been sitting on this for more than a week?”
“Yes. I didn’t want to say anything until I had gone through cold files for 1983 confirm the accuracy of what Elsa Lundgren told me had happened in September of that year. I’ve included my findings, based on the police reports, as well as statements from child protective services and a Mrs. Hamilton who taught grade ten in the Hixton High School. She had observed bruises on the daughter’s arms and legs on several occasions. When questioned, the girl’s parents dismissed the concerns. ‘Oh well, you know what teenagers are like, all arms and legs, always tripping over themselves,’ they said. Hospital records show that the daughter was treated for broken bones and cracked ribs at least twice in the previous year. I’m going to leave these documents with you. You can do as you please with them. It’s entirely up to you.”
The temperature in the kitchen dropped so rapidly Cat half expected to see frost forming on the kitchen table at any moment. Olivia’s eyes were glittering when she spat out the words. “And did this Elsa Lundgren say why her daughter disappeared, never to be seen again?”
“Her exact words were ‘she left after an unfortunate incident took place.’”
“She called it an unfortunate incident?” Shrill laughter erupted from Olivia’s throat. “Oh, that’s an understatement if I ever heard one. My father came after me with a baseball bat, fully intending to beat the shit out of me. He would have killed me if I hadn’t snapped and killed him first. So, yeah, definitely an unfortunate incident.”
Cat was taken off guard when Olivia turned, her eyes the color of a fast approaching thunderstorm, and snarled at her. “Get out. Get out of here, right now.”
When Cat didn’t move to get up, Olivia’s voice rose several notches until she was shouting. “GET OUT! GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!”
Cat hesitated, then decided that discretion was the better part of valor for the time being. “All right. I’m leaving. Call me when you feel able to talk to me.”
The kitchen door slammed behind her. By the time she reached her car, she could clearly hear the sound of breaking china. She got behind the wheel and closed the door and tried to shut out the anguished cries coming from inside the house. She was only too familiar with the sounds of grief and regardless of Olivia’s orders there was no way she was going to leave her alone at a time like this. She just hoped Olivia was too distraught to notice that she was still out in the driveway.
She waited for about half an hour before getting out of her car and easing the door shut as quietly as possible. She crossed the driveway and stood at the foot of the porch steps. For the moment all was quiet inside the house. She decided to risk going up the steps without making a sound. She managed to do so and then moved as quietly as possible to the nearest chair. She glanced through the kitchen window and was relieved to see Olivia seated at the kitchen table with her back to the window. The envelope she had given Olivia was still on the table where she had left it. A fresh bottle of wine stood open at her elbow.
Cat eased sideways until the back of her knees hit against the edge of a chair and then she lowered down. Her head was below the edge of the window, so she was out of sight. Fortunately, the weather was warm enough that it wouldn’t be too much of a hardship for her to sit there all night if necessary.
All was quiet inside the house until just before midnight when Cat heard a sharp cry of pain, followed by a muffled curse. She was on her feet in an instant and threw open the kitchen door. Olivia was leaning against the kitchen table, clutching her left hand, blood streaming down her arm. Broken china littered the floor. Cat grabbed the nearest tea towels and was about to wrap them around Olivia’s hand, when she was abruptly slammed against the kitchen wall ten feet away. She blinked, then slowly slid down to the kitchen floor. She was dimly aware of Olivia calling out to her. “Cat, are you okay? Please tell me you aren’t hurt.”
Cat caught her breath and managed to get to her feet, wincing as bruised back muscles protested. “I’m fine, nothing damaged other than my dignity.” She took as deep a breath as
she could, then cautiously made her way to where Olivia was standing. “Was that what happened the night your father died?”
“Yeah. Not to mention what happened to Peter Smith. And it’s not the only time, either.”
“We can discuss that later. Right now we need to do something about that cut on your hand.”
Olivia sank onto the nearest chair and waved her uninjured hand in the direction of the pantry. “There’s a first aid kit on the middle shelf on the left. I think there are some old clean towels as well as a basin. If you could get them for me, I’ll see what I can do to fix this.”
“I don’t think you’re in any condition to fix anything at the moment. So just relax and let me take control.”
Cat moved to the pantry and found the items Olivia had requested, then brought them to the table. She laid out a clean towel and had Olivia rest her arm on it once the bloodied towels were discarded in the garbage. When the wound was cleaned, she found that it really wasn’t as bad as she had feared. Olivia remained motionless while Cat examined the three-inch long cut that was still oozing a few drops of blood. She patted it dry with a wad of gauze first then applied a dressing to the wound and wrapped gauze around Olivia’s hand to keep the pad in place.
“Okay,” she said, as she tidied up and returned the unused bandages to the first aid kit. “Now, I suggest you stay put while I clean up down here.” She picked up the half-empty bottle of Pinot Grigio and pursed her lips. “That’s a fine way to treat a perfectly good wine.”
“Yeah, how thoughtless of me to not lay in a stock of cheap plunk for the times when I want to drink myself into a drunken stupor.”
Cat studied Olivia’s red-rimmed puffy eyes, the blotchy color of her face and nodded. “Well, I think you had a long way to go before you reached that stage.”
