by Lisa Jackson
“Huh.” Marlena’s eyes thinned as she looked from Ravinia to Rex and back again as if she suspected a little hanky-panky might be going on.
Ravinia soothed over the moment. “Mr. Kingston has been so helpful in helping me try to put my family back together. I can’t really complain.”
“Well, I can’t tell you much more than I did the last time,” Marlena told her.
“You said Elizabeth was an odd child,” Rex prompted when Marlena seemed to have shut down.
“You woulda thought so, too, if you’d heard her go on about that bridge.” She shook her head.
“Mr. Kingston told me about that,” Ravinia said, sounding concerned. “I don’t understand how she could have known that it collapsed . . . before it did.”
Marlena pursed her lips. “Who’s to say she really did. She was screechin’ about a bridge and then one goes down and everybody thinks she can see into the future or somethin’. She was different. That’s all. But her daddy sure thought she was a gold mine. Got the two of them squabblin’, he and his wife, but then they were always at it. When she took off, though, Lendel got kinda quiet then.”
Rex’s head snapped up at the name. Lendel? Weren’t we talking about Ralph Gaines?
He was just about to ask when Ravinia did it for him. “Lendel?” she queried.
“Isn’t that why you’re here?” Marlena asked, annoyed. “Lendel Gaines?”
Rex was about to step in again, when Ravinia looked thoughtful. “Well, um, Mom always called Elizabeth’s father Ralph. . . .”
“Don’t recall anyone calling him Ralph around here,” Marlena said tartly as if pleased they’d gotten it wrong.
“But his daughter was Elizabeth and his wife was Joy?” Rex asked.
“That’s what I said.”
“Maybe he changed his name,” Ravinia suggested. “It just sounds like I’m on the right track to reconnecting with my family.”
Marlena frowned and glanced at the chocolates. “Y’know, I did see R. Lendel on something once, I think. The man was always puttin’ on airs, tryin’ to convince everyone he was somebody when he wasn’t. Him usin’ an initial like that? Seemed like the kinda thing he’d do. Tryin’ to always get one up on everyone. Claimin’ the best parkin’ space, or that he had a right to more of the common area than the rest of us.” She threw up a hand in disgust.
“I can’t say I wasn’t glad to see his backside, but I don’t know where he went. I did feel sorry for the kid, though. Wasn’t her fault those parents of hers didn’t stick together and raise her right.” Marlena placed her hand on the Bible. “Shoulda spent more time in church and payin’ attention to the family instead of out runnin’ around. That’s what I think.”
Ravinia tried to come at Marlena a couple different ways, hoping for more information, but apart from twisting her faded lips into a mask of disapproval, the older woman couldn’t give them any further information. Rex sensed they’d definitely tapped her out, and he was glad to see that Ravinia, on his wavelength for once, thanked her and got to her feet.
Marlena slid a hungry glance at the box of candy, but made the effort to walk them to the door, her walker thumping along.
They stepped outside and immediately heard the familiar click of the dead bolt sliding into place.
They didn’t speak as they headed back to the car, but as soon as the door was shut, Ravinia threw him a proud glance. “I did good,” she said as he slid the Nissan into gear and drove to the edge of the lot.
“You did.” He nodded as he melded into traffic.
“The candy was a good idea.”
“Brilliant,” he agreed, which put a smile on her face as she leaned back in the seat.
“So now you’re going to find this Lendel Gaines?”
“Yep. I’m going to search on my laptop rather than my phone. And my iPad’s dead.” He hooked a thumb toward the back where the little-used device was tucked in the pocket behind the seat. He still preferred his laptop keyboard. “Charger’s at the house.”
“But that’s where your laptop is, too.”
“Well, that’s why we gotta go back.”
“What about Van Buren High?”
He checked the time. “A little early yet. You want to catch that teacher at lunch or after classes.”
“It’s almost lunch. Let’s go to Van Buren, then back to your house.”
“I thought you wanted to attack this with all speed,” he reminded her.
Ravinia frowned, thinking hard, and he saw that she thought he might forgo stopping at the high school. “I want to meet this Mrs. Kampfe and find out what she knows about Elizabeth.”
“All right, then.”
Ravinia relaxed a little and looked out the window. “That Mrs. Holcomb at the grade school kind of reminded me of Aunt Catherine, only older. She wore her hair in the same kind of bun.”
“Hmmm,” Rex said, and they lapsed into silence.
He wondered briefly about the mystical mother figure of Ravinia’s aunt. He still hadn’t figured out just how much of Ravinia’s story was true. He’d done a little research on her when her back was turned, mainly through the Internet, then from a call he’d placed to a friend who lived in Quarry, an Oregon town about halfway to the coast from Portland. His friend often went fishing near Deception Bay and had heard not only of Siren Song but of the women who lived there in isolation. And yes, the friend had thought they’d worn century-old–styled dresses.
“Kinda like the Amish out here in Oregon, except there’s a little woo-woo that goes on with those gals,” he’d said, at least sort of confirming Ravinia’s bizarre tale. “And they’re all female, leastwise that’s what I’ve heard.”
At the next light, Rex saw that his passenger was staring at him and he realized he’d missed a question. “What?”
“You told me earlier to act like a normal American kid when I meet up with Bernice Kampfe.”
“So?”
A teenager plugged into his iPhone while riding a skateboard flew by in a blur of tattoos, piercings, and baggy shorts, and Ravinia’s eyes followed him. “Does that qualify?” she asked as the light changed.
“It’s definitely in the spectrum,” Rex said.
“What does that mean?”
“Yes. He’s normal, and you look the part, too.”
“Even if I’m not,” she said with a slight smile.
“Even if you’re not.”
“I’m sure I saw a listing for a house that might be just perfect,” Marg Sorenson was saying.
“Hmmm,” Elizabeth said, though she was having trouble keeping her mind on the conversation. She was at her desk, cell phone pressed to her ear, but she couldn’t think past last night—first the car flying through the restaurant window, then confessing everything to Detective Thronson and challenging the detective to arrest her, and Chloe saying she’d seen the elderly man’s death....
Elizabeth tried to focus as Marg rattled on. “I was just looking on Zillow and bingo! There it was. I can’t believe you missed it. Four bedrooms, a pool, completely remodeled, and in our price range. I’ve convinced Buddy to see it, so maybe this afternoon . . . if you have time?”
Elizabeth glanced at her calendar. The afternoon was clear, but she didn’t know if she was up for another round with Marg and Buddy. But then again, could she afford to lose them as clients? If she didn’t step up, Connie Berker would be all over them like a bad smell. “Sure,” she agreed, forcing herself to concentrate. “How about after lunch, maybe around two? Meet here at the office?”
Marg agreed and gave her the necessary information.
“I’ll double-check with the listing agent and if there’s a problem, I’ll call you back.” Elizabeth hung up, then rested her head on her arms on her desk. If she was lucky, the showing would go quickly, leaving plenty of time to pick up Chloe early from school again. All she wanted was to be with her daughter.
She’d planned to keep Chloe home, spend the day with her, and shut out the world,
but Chloe, as capricious as ever, had insisted she wanted to go to school, no matter what. She’d argued with Elizabeth over a bowl of cereal, then had marched into her room, dressed herself, and announced, “I’m ready!” in that belligerent way she had that meant she wasn’t going to listen to any ideas to the contrary.
Rather than upset her further, Elizabeth had acquiesced and once Chloe was dropped off and she was back home, she’d found she didn’t want to be at the house without her. The vision, the crash, the aftermath, and Detective Thronson’s probing questions kept circling her mind and circling yet again.
At work, she’d heard from all her friends. Tara told her that the media was asking about the woman who’d saved the little boy and his family and then walked away. She also told Deirdre and Jade about what had transpired, and Jade, of course, had asked probing questions that, once again, Elizabeth had to fob off. Vivian called, and Nadia, because they knew Elizabeth and Tara had planned to be at Lots Of Beef around the time of the accident.
It had almost been too much. Elizabeth had been a bit short with Vivian and even worse with Nadia. Short enough that she’d called them back and apologized, though the messages had gone to the women’s respective voice mails.
Closing her eyes for a second, she took in a deep breath, told herself to stay calm, find some kind of inner peace. Serenity was elusive, however; guilt, anger, and fear kept right on clawing at her brain.
When her cell phone rang again, she lifted her head and reluctantly reached for it. Marg, again. She let it go to voice mail. From the corner of her eye, she saw Pat strolling past her cubicle, smiling as if at a private joke. She continued on toward the front of the office and Elizabeth felt anger bubbling up. Nosy old bitch, she fumed, then shut that thought down toute suite. So Pat was grinning like a devil, so what? She couldn’t afford to think ill of her.
You’re jumping at shadows. Getting paranoid and you can’t afford to. Chloe needs you.
Throat thick, Elizabeth picked up a small framed picture of her daughter at age three. In the shot, Chloe’s blond curls had been tamed into pigtails and her face was turned up to the camera. Apple cheeks, wide eyes, and a smile filled with pure mirth showing her baby teeth.
How long had it been since she’d seen such joy on her child’s face?
He’s sending me messages, but I think they’re for you.
“Who, Chloe?” she whispered.
Deep in thought, she didn’t hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway until they paused on the other side of her cubicle. She looked up just as a male voice asked, “Elizabeth?”
Gil Dyne.
Elizabeth felt herself tense and forced a smile to her lips as she greeted him. “Well, hi.”
“I hope this isn’t a bad time,” he said as she righted the picture and set it back in its spot on her desk. “I was in the area and I’d thought, well, I’d hoped, maybe you’d gotten my message and were up for lunch?”
Not a chance. “I-I don’t know. I’m—”
“Don’t say no,” he said, smiling charmingly.
Again, she caught a glimpse of Pat at the end of the hall, craning her neck to watch the exchange. Elizabeth wanted to throw something at her, but once again curbed the impulse.
“Lunch sounds great,” she said, deciding she wanted nothing more than to get out of the office, away from the ringing phones, away from Connie’s avaricious interest in her listings, away from Pat’s sharp ears and sidelong glances.
Gil was pleasantly surprised by her reaction as she pushed her chair back. “Well, that was easy. I was sure you were going to say no.”
“It’s got to be quick. I’ve got clients coming in.”
“Ahh, I knew there was bound to be a catch.”
“How about Sombrero’s? It’s just down the street about quarter of a mile. Er, I mean unless you had another place in mind?” She still needed to call the listing agent on the house Marg had found on Zillow. “And I just need a sec to finish up something.”
“Sounds great,” Gil said. “I love Mexican.”
He waited while she made the call, left a message, and then listened to Marg’s voice mail—just a confirmation of the two o’clock.
Elizabeth gathered her purse and together she and Gil walked past the reception desk to the outside where the weak rays of a winter sun were piercing the high clouds. Hallelujah, the rain seemed to be staying inside the clouds, for the moment. As she slid a pair of sunglasses onto her nose and into the passenger seat of Gil’s Lexus, she saw Pat still watching her through the glass doors, not even bothering to hide her stare.
Her nosiness knew no bounds.
“I’m glad you could come,” Gil said as they drove out of the lot and she directed him to take a left.
“Me too,” Elizabeth lied. But she couldn’t stand being alone with her own thoughts. Pat’s watchfulness and Connie’s greed only exacerbated the problem.
“Your cousin, you say?” the school clerk asked from behind a glass partition near the front door of Van Buren High School.
“Yes.” Ravinia offered up her most innocent smile. “We’ve lost contact with Elizabeth and her family and I need to get in touch with her. Family crisis.”
“I’m sorry, but we don’t give out information about students.” The woman, gray-haired and stern, eyed her through huge glasses that gave her an owlish appearance. Her name plate read MRS. LOREEN DIXON.
A younger woman seated at a computer screen looked up in interest.
“You must help people, if . . . if it’s a situation of life or death,” Ravinia said to the clerk.
“Is that what this is?” Clearly, the woman didn’t think so.
“It’s a serious situation, believe me,” Ravinia said soberly.
Mrs. Dixon’s gaze scraped Ravinia up and down and in that moment she realized the clerk had seen it all, every scam that a kid had used, trying to get out of school. Ravinia took a second look into the woman’s heart and saw that she was a lonely woman, dedicated and honest, but jaded. She wouldn’t give an inch.
As if she felt some unfamiliar sensation race through her, perhaps an intrusion into her soul, the clerk’s eyes widened more. Her lips parted and she stared at Ravinia, placing a fluttering hand over her chest at the same moment.
Before Ravinia could ask about Bernice Kampfe, a door opened behind the clerk and a woman in her sixties strode into the office. Dressed in a long skirt and boots, gray hair clipped at her nape, she said to the girl at the computer, “I need to schedule time off. Next week, can you get me a sub for Thursday? From noon on. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment and it can’t be pushed back until after school.”
Loreen Dixon’s attention strayed. “Look on schedule B,” she said a little distractedly to the younger woman, wiggling her finger at the computer monitor.
“Got it. No problem, Mrs. Kampfe. You’re in”—she checked a computer screen—“room 226, right?”
Ravinia’s attention zeroed in on the woman, the person she needed to talk to.
“Wait, no, not Thursday. I’m in the computer lab.” Bernice Kampfe pulled a face as she mentioned that particular duty and slipped a pair of glasses onto her nose that had been resting in the neckline of her shirt. “Thirty years at this school and I still get assigned to the lab on my prep. Thanks very much, budget cuts.”
The girl laughed a little nervously, her fingers flying over her keyboard as she made a note while Bernice Kampfe looked over her shoulder at the screen, presumably confirming her mission had been accomplished. Satisfied, she walked out the way she’d come in.
“I can’t help you,” the clerk was saying, eyeing Ravinia as if she were some exotic reptile. “I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
The girl at the computer stared, her mouth dropping open at Dixon’s rudeness, but Ravinia took it in stride. Occasionally, when she looked into a person’s heart, she got this reaction, and besides she’d fallen into the information she needed.
Turning from the clerk to the girl
at the computer with a Can you believe this? expression, she left through the glass doors by which she’d entered.
As soon as she was down the outside steps, she made as if she was leaving the campus, walking across the street to disappear around the block, then doubling back to skirt the high school campus where she spied a huge building with a domed ceiling, probably the gymnasium. Attached to the gym was a wide staircase walled in glass. A bell sounded and soon students filled the stairwell, a clamorous horde talking, laughing, and shoving as they poured through the doors on ground level in a heavy stream. Once outside, most of the older teens headed to a parking lot where their cars were parked.
Lunch.
Perfect.
Ravinia didn’t hesitate. She slipped inside through the open doors and like a salmon swimming upstream, fought the current of kids flowing ever downward. On the second floor, she quickly assessed, taking a hallway that connected from the gym area to the classrooms. The locker-lined hallways had emptied, only a few straggling students slamming their locker doors. Eyeing the room numbers, she passed by a set of restrooms and a water fountain as she made her way to room 226.
At the open doorway, she peeked inside and spied the same teacher she’d seen in the office less than fifteen minutes earlier. “Mrs. Kampfe?”
“Yes?” Head bent over a stack of papers, Bernice glanced upward over the top of her reading glasses. Her graying eyebrows lifted and she stared at Ravinia as if she were trying to place her. “Can I help you?”
Ravinia stepped into the room and gently closed the door to the hallway. “I hope so. I need to ask you about my cousin, Elizabeth Gaines. She used to be a student here. I’m trying to locate her.”
“Elizabeth Gaines.” Mrs. Kampfe set down her pen slowly. “You’re her cousin, you say?”
Ravinia nodded and Bernice seemed to search her features as if trying to find a resemblance. Whatever she saw seemed to satisfy her enough to say, “She kept in touch with me for a while after she left school. How did you know to ask for me?”
