She squinted down at the photo. Two teenagers stared back at her. The girl had long blond hair, pulled back at the top and fastened with a barrette or a clip. She was so happy that her smile gave her face a certain beauty it might not have otherwise had. The boy, Roger Hart, had a mop of red curls falling over his forehead and collar, curls a much brighter red than Will’s mother’s hair. He was a true redhead with freckled skin and a prominent nose.
He looked nothing like Will.
Will had been peering over her shoulder. She offered him the photo, but he didn’t seem to notice. He kept staring.
“Quite a redhead,” she said, when she finally handed it back. “What a beautiful couple. What a loss.”
“I try not to imagine what their children would have looked like. Lucy has two now, ten and thirteen. Boys. They’re dark-haired, like their father. She would never have had dark-haired children with Roger. Mother Nature wouldn’t have let that happen.” He slipped the photo back into his wallet.
“We’ll go now,” Will said, before Savannah could speak. “I know you’ll want some time alone. Thank you for talking to us.”
“Do you have everything you need for your paper?”
“More than enough,” Savannah said. “We appreciate your time.”
They left Peter Drake at the graveside and started toward the road. They didn’t speak until they were far enough away that he couldn’t overhear what they said.
“Was he right?” Savannah asked. “Wouldn’t it be possible to have a dark-haired child if the father had red hair like Roger Hart?”
Will was silent so long she wasn’t sure he was going to answer, but when he did, his voice was choked with emotion. “We just finished a long unit on genetics in biology. I can tell you for certain, two parents with red hair could never have had a son who looks like me.”
Savannah had studied enough genetics at Pfeiffer Grant not to question him. “So what does this mean?” she asked, putting her hand on his arm, but not looking at him when she did. “What do you think?”
“I think this whole weekend has been a wild-goose chase. Roger Hart is not my father.”
“Then why did Amber tell you he was?”
He stopped and she was forced to stop, too.
“She probably picked him out on the internet, a man who died right after she got pregnant. She chose Roger Hart so I could have a hero for a father. That seems obvious, doesn’t it? She wanted me to be proud, and she hoped I wouldn’t look into her story. She asked me not to. Now I know why.”
“But why would she do that?”
“Why do you think?”
She was afraid to say it, so finally, he did. “Because my real father is not a hero.”
“We don’t know that. Maybe she did it because—” She stopped just in time.
“Go ahead.”
She shook her head.
Again he was the one to finish. “Maybe she did it because my real dad’s out there somewhere looking for me, and she knows it. Or maybe...she’s not much of a hero, either.”
She felt so bad she wanted to throw her arms around him for a hug. But she knew that wouldn’t be welcome. “You don’t know any of that, Will. You have to confront her and tell her you know her story was a lie and you want the real one.”
They stood that way for a long time, and finally he shook his head. “Or I can do what I’ve always done. I can assume that my mother knows what to tell me and what not to. I forced her into the whole Roger Hart thing, and this is the result. Maybe instead of confronting her, I should just keep my mouth shut.”
“I don’t—”
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Not your decision.” He turned and started back to the car.
“I’m sorry,” she called after him. “About everything.”
Will kept walking.
30
BY FRIDAY AFTERNOON, as much as she didn’t want to be, Cassie was hard at work at the dining table on the fifth box of financial documents from the garage. She was afraid there were at least a dozen more to go.
On Thursday her search had begun with the packet she had gotten from Fletcher with details about Mark’s departure from Church Street. She was no expert, but to her it looked as if Mark had gotten a fair shake. Just to be sure, she’d sent everything to her attorney. She was waiting for him to respond.
The first four boxes had been filled with neatly organized records and receipts that stretched further back than the three years the IRS recommended. Seven years of records were necessary if certain losses were claimed, but even if that were the case, she doubted old records would help her understand why their nest egg had disappeared. Unfortunately, since she couldn’t be sure, she was painstakingly working her way toward the present.
Mark had believed that hoarding receipts, bills and bank statements was a positive trait. Since she was a graduate of the “you-can-get-a-copy-if-you-need-it” school of thought, she had probably driven him crazy. She wondered in what other ways she and her husband had been miles apart.
By the time Amber arrived home, she’d been working for two hours. Amber was carrying a shopping bag and her dress on a hanger. She wore a man’s flannel shirt over athletic shorts that fell almost to her knees. The shorts had an elastic waist, but she’d tied the shirt tight around it, probably to keep them from making a quick exit. She was barefoot.
“A very striking outfit,” Cassie said. “You look good in anything.”
“No comment.”
Cassie couldn’t help a grin. “I won’t ask if you had fun. Do you like his house?”
“If I was going to design a house, it would look like that one.” Amber disappeared, and when she returned about half an hour later she was wearing jeans and a knit shirt. She plunked down beside Cassie and picked up the closest paper.
“Have you been working on this since I left?”
Cassie hadn’t shared what she was doing with Amber. Rox knew a little about her situation, but only Nick knew all the basics, and he had been kind enough to check in with her twice in the previous weeks. She told him about her phone call with Sim, and he encouraged her to hire professional help to go through her files, but she still wasn’t ready to expose her problems to a stranger.
“I’ll be working on these for weeks,” Cassie said.
“It must be important.”
Cassie wasn’t sure how to answer. “Unfortunately, yes. In a nutshell, I should have a lot more money than I do.”
“Shouldn’t we all.” Amber smiled to encourage her. “Except I sense you mean something has happened to yours? Or don’t you want to talk about it? Because I’m good at not talking about things.”
That was an understatement. “It’s a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
Amber sat back and folded her arms. “Try me.”
Cassie launched in, starting with the day Mark died and the fight they’d had. She ended with her telephone call with Sim.
“In a nutshell Mark lied to everyone, including our financial advisor, about where and how his retirement funds disappeared. He used Sim Barcroft as a scapegoat, most likely because he’s living in Hong Kong, and Mark figured he was too far away to blow his cover.”
“And you sank most of what was left into this house?”
“That’s nobody’s fault but mine.”
“Um, doesn’t your husband get a lot of it?”
“I can’t do anything about Mark, but I should have been absolutely sure his retirement fund was still healthy before I spent so much money. I was a new widow, and I’d been kept so far away from our finances, I was out of the habit of asking questions.”
“I bet that won’t happen again.”
Cassie gave a tired smile. “Not about anything. But you can see why I’m wondering if Yiayia needs a permanent hostess. You and I would work well together.”
> “You’d be on your feet for hours at a time for very little money. You can do better.” Amber drummed her fingers on the table. “Have you found anything in the records?”
“I started with the earliest ones. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I don’t think it was there. Back then, our financial situation was the way I remember it. Healthy.”
“It sounds to me like you need some help.”
“I’ve been talking to an old friend, Nick Andino. He’s on the police force here. He thought I ought to get some professional help, too, but I hate turning this over to strangers.”
“I know Nick. Remember, he stops by a couple of evenings every week after we close and takes the receipts from our safe to the bank for deposit. Yiayia invites him into the kitchen after we close on Saturday nights for our weekly feast, but it’s obvious he’s doing the run because he’s fond of her.”
In theory the Kouzina closed at nine o’clock on Saturdays, but Yiayia made a point of never asking anyone who was already seated to leave. Sometimes it was ten or later by the time the dining room was empty, and the staff was finished. Then they partied.
Saturday night kitchen feasts were a tradition and a bonus. Food that wouldn’t keep was brought out to heat and serve, wine was poured. Sometimes Roxanne, Buck or even Yiayia herself created new specialties for staff to sample while they laughed and gradually wound down after the long week. The parties often ran until midnight. Cassie stopped in occasionally, but she’d never seen Nick there.
“It’s hard not to be fond of Yiayia,” she said.
“And any man kind enough to help out just because he can.” Amber was quiet a long moment. “Did I ever tell you at one point I planned to become a certified bookkeeper? I took classes for a while and earned credits then...” She shrugged.
Cassie was too interested to let the conversation lapse. She heard an offer being explored. “What happened?”
“We had to move before I was able to finish. But by then I realized I could make more money waiting tables than reconciling bank accounts or preparing payroll with just an associate’s degree. When we settled somewhere else, I looked into finishing coursework, but much of what I’d done wouldn’t transfer.”
By now Cassie was good at guessing the things Amber didn’t say. Her friend had probably been afraid another move was on the horizon anyway. Since one always seemed to be.
“How far did you get?” Cassie asked.
“I’m not a forensics accountant or any kind of accountant. But between the classes I took, a few workshops and job experience, I think I could spot discrepancies if I came across them. Better than somebody without my background, but not as good as somebody you would pay two hundred dollars an hour.”
“Will you let me pay you?”
“Of course not.”
“Sorry then. You can’t have the job.”
Amber rested her fingers on Cassie’s arm. “You’ve done more than enough to make up for Savannah’s mistake. From this point on, if you won’t just accept my offer as one friend helping another, you can put the hours I spend toward rent.”
Cassie wanted to say no. After stupidly turning their finances over to Mark for years, she was reluctant to let go of anything financial again.
“It will go faster with both of us working on this,” Amber said. “And the sooner you find out what happened, the better your chances of being able to do something about it.”
“I think I gave up hope on that score. At this point I just want to know.”
“I wouldn’t assume you’re powerless. If a crime has been committed...” Amber sat back.
In her recitation, Cassie hadn’t reported the letters she’d received. She debated now, but Amber already suspected something more than fiscal irresponsibility. She made a decision and told her about them.
Amber listened carefully until she was done. “And Nick says there’s nothing you can do to track down the sender?” She followed with a cynical laugh. “Of course there’s not. What was I thinking?”
“He says since nothing’s been asked, the police can’t treat it as extortion.”
“And even if they could, it wouldn’t be a priority.”
“You don’t like authorities, do you?”
“I don’t see them as particularly helpful. I’ve had very little personal experience, but what I’ve had tells me some people wearing a uniform should be wearing an orange jumpsuit instead.”
Cassie digested that.
“You think it over. I’m going to make us tea.” Amber got up and started toward the kitchen. “Travis and I went to a funny little sandwich shop on the way home. Savannah’s friend Helia was there with a couple of younger girls. It was fun to see her with them. She was very maternal, not the image she projects. And her hair’s growing in.”
“Savannah told me Helia’s foster parents want to adopt her.” Cassie thought about her daughter, who so rarely shared anything about herself or her friends. She’d seen this revelation as a step in the right direction.
“Maybe the girls were her foster sisters.”
Cassie sat up straighter. “Wait a minute. Savannah and Helia are tent mates on the field trip this weekend. They aren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow.”
“Maybe she got sick and couldn’t go. Or she was grounded. Why? Is that a problem?”
Cassie hated to hope that either of those things were the reason Helia was home. But she knew she couldn’t assume anything about Savannah these days. Things were better, but Savannah was still a law unto herself.
“It is and it isn’t, depending on what I find out. Do we know where Helia lives?” Cassie tried to remember if she still had the girl’s address. She’d taken Savannah there and brought her home a couple of times. She remembered the general area.
“Did you use your GPS?”
Amber was right. She had it plugged in. She got to her feet. “Hold my tea. I’m going for a little ride.”
“Will is on the trip with Savannah, you know.”
Cassie thought that over. “No, yesterday morning she and Will went to the school together to wait for the buses. I dropped them off, but I knew they didn’t want me to stick around. They’re teenagers. So we don’t know what happened after that or who got on the bus.”
“Want me to come along?”
Cassie hesitated. “No. Why don’t you start looking through the box on the table. Maybe you can figure a better way to make heads or tails of what’s in there.”
“Will do.”
Out in the car Cassie scrolled backward through the GPS record of previous destinations and recognized Helia’s address when she got to it. She followed the instructions, and after a few minutes she parked in front of a ramshackle two-story house with a wide front porch and almost no front yard. The sides and back were surrounded by chain-link fencing, and a swing set and aboveground swimming pool were visible in the back.
On the front porch, she knocked. The day was warm enough that only a screen door stood between her and the hall by the front stairs.
A girl of about ten with multiple rows of braids adorned by colorful barrettes came to the door, but she didn’t open it. “Can I help you?”
Cassie introduced herself. “Helia is a friend of my daughter, Savannah. I was hoping I could talk to her for a minute.”
“I’ll get her.”
Cassie heard adult voices coming from the back of the house or possibly from the yard, followed by the laughter of children. She was relieved the girl wasn’t alone.
She waited so long she wasn’t sure Helia was going to join her, but finally she came down the stairs. Cassie knew, from her expression, that this was not where she wanted to be.
“Shall we talk out here?” Cassie asked. When Helia didn’t respond, she added another suggestion. “Or would it be better to go around back and have this conversation with your fo
ster parents?”
Helia flipped a lock and came out, closing the screen door behind her. Her expression was as shuttered as a summer cottage in February. “Is there something I can do for you, Ms. Costas?”
“Want to tell me why you’re not on the field trip with Savannah and Will? Because she told me you’d planned this whole weekend together. Yet here you are.”
“I decided not to go.”
It was a reasonable answer, and very possibly true. Except that Helia was shifting from foot to foot. Oddly enough, Cassie liked the girl better because she wasn’t a good liar. Despite the way they’d been introduced, the purse and the party, Cassie thought that in the long run, Helia was a better person than she wanted anyone to believe. Which was at least part of the reason Cassie had given Savannah permission for the field trip.
“Please tell me the truth, Helia. Because it’s going to come out sooner or later. When did you decide not to go?”
Helia didn’t answer.
“Okay. I guess Savannah decided that if I thought you were going to be there, it made sense she would want to go, too.”
“I wanted to go, but I couldn’t. We were going to SeaWorld, only one of the kids got sick, so we didn’t.”
“Where is Savannah?”
“For all I know, she’s on the field trip. She didn’t tell me anything different, and I don’t keep track of her.” She looked right at Cassie. “That’s the truth. She just told me that you thought I was going to be there, too.”
“That didn’t seem odd to you, Helia?”
She didn’t answer. Clearly it had.
“Did she tell you if she planned to come back?”
Now she looked surprised. “Do you think she ran away?”
“I don’t know what to think, but I know how worried I am all of a sudden.”
“Well, yeah, I’m sure she’s coming back. We made plans for next weekend, and she said this was no big deal, okay? That she just really wanted to go and you might not let her if you thought going seemed strange. She said everything would be fine.”
The House Guests Page 29
