He rattled off the answers as fast as any computer, his instant memory retrieval coming in handy. The only question that stumped him was Del’s weight.
“Do you have a picture of your mom?”
He scrolled through a long line of photos on his phone, found the one he wanted, and handed it over.
Seeing Del in that picture stopped me cold. It all came rushing back. The hopes I’d had for a sister who’d be a genuine friend and confidante. The loneliness of accepting the far crueler reality. The pain of growing up as the girl who could do nothing right in my parents’ eyes with the kid sister at my heels who could do nothing wrong. With Del in the family, I was always the one who didn’t fit in.
She looked older in the photograph than my memory of her, and her dark hair was longer and tinted with blonde highlights. But it was a classic Del snapshot, identical in spirit to dozens I’d seen in the distant past. Photo-ready make-up. Shoulder-length earrings. A short look-at-me dress with tall high-heeled shoes. She was holding a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The last fourteen years of that sort of party-heavy life had taken its toll. New lines around her eyes showed through her makeup, her shoulders slumped forward as if exhaustion was the norm, and her skin looked drawn and pasty.
She was looking off to one side, and there must have been some man there, because she wore a smile that said it all—a seductive smile full of promises. It was a smile I’d seen often, a smile that lured unsuspecting victims closer before she devoured them whole.
“Is that one okay?” Josh asked.
I shook myself back into action. “This is fine.” She hadn’t gained an ounce. I penciled in five foot seven and a guess of a hundred and twenty pounds.
The front-desk person glanced through my completed form, got up, and took it to the officer in back. I watched from across the room, the hard bench more uncomfortable by the second. He read the form and spent some time on his computer. My confidence plummeted as the minutes ticked by, but at last he called us back. The chairs in front of his desk were no more comfortable than the bench, not designed to encourage anyone to linger.
“I’m Officer Steven Poole.” A direct gaze and no handshake. A deep resonant voice that was oddly musical. He was in his late thirties, with blue eyes, thinning hair, and a thickening middle. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place where I might have seen him before. He reached into his desk and pulled out a pack of Juicy Fruit, and a memory clicked. He’d gone through half a pack of that chewing gum the day I met him.
“I’m Bryn Collins, and this is my nephew, Josh Whitman. I met you a few years back. You came out to my farm when there was a robbery down the road from my place.” It had been Landon’s house that had been ransacked—his computer, his TV, and everything else electronic, gone. The real value lay in his woodworking shop, but the thieves were only interested in things they could pawn in a hurry.
The officer gave me a closer inspection, his eyes puzzled, his brow creased. Then his face cleared. “I remember you. The kayak lady. You gave me some good tips about the local rivers. My son is getting good at all that stuff. Keeps bugging me about getting a better boat.” A whiff of fake fruit smell wafted my way as he chewed on his gum.
It was the faintest possible connection, but his crisp official demeanor disappeared, and my pessimism backed off a bit.
“I’m sorry about your sister.” He gestured toward his computer screen. “I’ve just been checking the files. Tell me what you know, and I’ll do the same.”
I walked him through the basics—my complete lack of knowledge, Josh’s reasons for concern. He spent ten minutes talking to Josh, but there was nothing to be learned beyond the bare facts on the form. He had Josh message the photo to him, and he added it to the computer file.
He then gave me a pointed glance and turned to Josh. “Son, there’s a snack machine in the back breakroom. Why don’t you go get yourself something to eat and hang out there for a while?” Not a suggestion. A firm command.
Josh shook his head, obviously unhappy about leaving, but I pulled a few dollars from my wallet. “Go on. Let me finish with Officer Poole here, and then I’ll come get you.”
He frowned but got to his feet. “Yeah. Okay.” He walked toward the breakroom with slow steps, turning two or three times to look back in our direction.
I waited until the door closed behind him. “What’s up?”
“I’m sorry about this.”
I braced myself for the worst. News about Del was never benign.
Steven gestured toward his computer. “Your sister has quite a few entries here. Noise complaints. Public intoxication. A bar fight. She got a suspended sentence for forging several OxyContin prescriptions and was on parole for two years. Finished that up three years ago.”
The string of drinking complaints was no surprise, just business as usual, but the opiates were new and disturbing. In the distant past, she’d confined herself to pot and amphetamines, and Mom claimed she’d sworn off both when she got pregnant. Maybe Sawyer’s death had undone whatever good that relationship had provided.
How much did Josh know about any of this? He’d been pretty careful in what he said, and there were several times when I got the idea he was hiding something. I couldn’t expect him to rat out his own mother, but he might know things that could help.
“All of that information is public record.” Steven paused as if he was debating whether he should go on, but the kayaking connection must have paid off, because he didn’t hold back. “What’s not out in public is that there was also an investigation involving a possible theft at First National Bank in Memphis. It happened more than ten years ago.”
“A possible theft?” Very weird. And it didn’t sound like Del. Careless and impulsive, yes. A drug addict? Quite possible. But a participant in an organized theft? It didn’t feel right. I knew Sawyer had pulled strings to get her some sort of clerical job at the bank branch where he was manager, but that put her in a file room, not a bank vault.
“The entry here is a bit strange. A safe deposit box was opened by a man who inherited it after his brother’s death, but it was empty—totally cleaned out. He pitched a fit, claimed he’d been robbed, accused the bank employees of theft. They called it in, but the man stormed out before police arrived. Turned out the box had been rented under a false name, and the supposed brother used fake documents to claim it. Neither was ever identified. The bank requested an investigation anyway, and suspicion fell on the bank manager, who had been killed in an accident a few weeks before the theft was discovered. They looked into your sister, since the manager was her husband.”
I slumped back into my chair. Sawyer. He was saying Sawyer was a thief.
It was hard to believe Sawyer would steal. Of course, I’d also believed he loved me. I’d believed he would never in a million years sleep with my sister. Maybe I was wrong about him from start to finish. Maybe I was just a fool to have trusted him about anything.
“So, is there still a search ongoing for whatever was in that box?”
Steven gave an emphatic head shake. “There’s nothing to go on. No owner, no description of the contents. No case.”
“I don’t know what to think. I knew Del’s …” I couldn’t force myself to say Del’s husband. Even after all this time, my throat shrank to the size of a toothpick and blocked those particular words from spilling out. I coughed to hide my stumble. “I knew the man who was bank manager back then. Emptying a safe deposit box doesn’t sound like him. But I’ve been out of the picture for a long time.”
Steven nodded and made a note on the computer. “The final note says your sister was dismissed from her job several months after the investigation was halted.”
“That wouldn’t be unusual.” Maybe the bank was convinced she was involved in the theft, but it was equally likely it was just one more trip on Del’s unemployment merry-go-round. Without Sawyer there to watch her back, dismissal would have been inevitable.
“At any rate, none
of that helps with her current disappearance. I’ll file the missing person’s report and put out a bulletin for her car. I’ll check for credit card transactions and watch for any Jane Doe reports. I’ll ping her phone periodically, but with it turned off like it is now, that avenue’s blocked. She left voluntarily, and she made arrangements for her son. Without any information about where she was headed, it’s hard for us to do much more.”
I wasn’t sure what I had expected. Maybe some secret satellite system that could print out a map with a magical here-is-your-sister, X-marks-the-spot. Reality was far more disappointing. Josh and I couldn’t do much more on the phone, and it sounded like sitting around waiting could be a long, worthless process. With Carl threatening action in seven days, we didn’t have time to play around.
“One more thing.” I launched into the story about Carl, which didn’t take all that long to tell. In theory, Del’s situation should have been intensely personal—my sister no matter what, right? —but talking about Carl proved far more distressing. This was the problem that hit closer to home, the one I needed solved. But I could tell by the look on Steven’s face there wasn’t much likelihood he could do anything concrete.
“Tell me again what he said about the fire. His exact words.”
That was no problem. They were etched into my brain.
But Steven shook his head after I’d told him. “I know you felt threatened, but if you write those words down on paper, you’ll see he can argue he was just expressing concern for your safety, not making an actual threat.”
He looked Carl up on his computer. “There’s a sealed juvenile file here, and then as an adult, he’s got a long string of arrests but no convictions—assault, property destruction, one case of arson. I’d advise you to be careful. We can keep an eye on your place as part of routine patrols. And you can consider getting a restraining order, but the lack of convictions here makes me wonder if he gets other people to do his dirty work.”
His tone was sympathetic, but it was sorry-to-let-you-down sympathy. “I know losing your chicken is distressing, but legally it’s considered low-dollar property damage, and you didn’t actually see him do anything. If he comes back, makes more direct threats … does something else …” His voice tapered away into silence.
I hadn’t expected much action about Annabelle’s death, but I’d hoped for at least some minimal help. Carl meant business, and a restraining order wouldn’t slow him in the least.
Steven had ignored three incoming calls on his desk phone while we talked, and he’d been more than generous with his time. I got to my feet. “I really appreciate all this. And thank you for sharing the details of Del’s history.” Shitty details, but I’d rather know than not.
“If you learn anything else, please let me know. I’ll do the same.” He gave me a genuine smile. “Maybe my son and I will see you and your nephew on the lake some weekend.”
“Absolutely.” I headed for the breakroom. Absolutely? Not too likely. He was assuming Josh would be a long-term resident, but that was nowhere in the plan. Josh was going back home to his mother as soon as I could manage it.
The breakroom door had a clear glass panel on top, and I paused with my hand on the doorknob, the metal cold to the touch. Josh sat at a small Formica-topped table inside, an empty chips packet and a candy bar wrapper in front of him. His phone was on the table too, but for once he didn’t have his face buried in a game. His shoulders were hunched, and his eyes were focused on nothing.
I hated seeing him so sad, lonely, and depressed. I wanted to wave a wand and fix everything for him. None of that was in my power.
I pulled on a lying smile, opened the door, and leaned in. “Hey. There’s a café down the street that’s supposed to have good burgers. Still hungry?”
He leaped to his feet, his chair rocking back so far it threatened to flip. “Yeah. Yes. Please.”
Hunger, I could fix. But his mom had left him, and the glimpses I was getting of her toxic life weren’t promising. Once we found Del and got her back, what sort of life would I be sending him home to?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Josh
We left the cops, and Bryn took me to a tiny restaurant on Main Street for lunch, the smell of actual meat on the grill making my stomach growl as soon as we opened the door. By the time I finished my second hamburger and Coke, I was no longer starving, and there was a big plate of cheese fries waiting.
Bryn ordered a portobello sandwich, which turned out to be a giant mushroom. No wonder she was so skinny. I just wished this place was closer to her cabin so I could come back for more real food.
She hadn’t said anything about the police station, but I could tell by the way she kept staring out the window that the news wasn’t good. I waited until she finished her food. “So, what did the cop say?”
She didn’t look straight at me, a sure sign I wasn’t going to get the full story. “They’re going to do what they can. They’ll put her description out, and they’ll look for her car. They’ll keep pinging her phone to see if it turns on again.”
None of that ever worked on cop shows. “We need to go back to Memphis.”
I’d been thinking about this when they kicked me out. Carl might also go back to the city, which sucked, but I’d still feel safer in my own apartment instead of out here. While Bryn talked to that officer, I’d been busy making sure her farm would be safe. She should take me home.
The mention of Memphis got her attention, so at least it was a start. “How would going there help anything?”
Well, for one thing, it would put me back in a house where there was pepperoni pizza in the freezer, but I didn’t think that was the right way to start my argument. “Mom’s computer is there. We can check her calendar. Look up her credit cards.”
“The police are checking her credit cards.”
I thought fast. “Yeah, but I bet they’re checking to see where she is now. We could look at what she did before she left. See if anything looks different or gives a clue where she went. The cops won’t know what’s unusual. I will.”
She gave a snorting laugh. “Nice try. We can do all that from my computer. I’m betting you know all your mom’s passwords.”
Ouch. One point for Bryn. I didn’t even need Bryn’s computer. I could do it all on my phone. I was the one who set up all Mom’s online accounts. I was the one who kept an eye on the bank balance, watched out for bills, made the electronic transfers. When we had money.
Before I started taking care of things, we used to get nasty phone calls, and once the power even got turned off mid-winter. After that, I took over the bills. I couldn’t imagine how Mom was managing somewhere out there without me.
Bryn thought for a minute. “How much do you know about your mother’s legal problems?”
Oh. So that’s what the cop wanted to talk about after he’d gotten rid of me. I sorted through possible answers. How much should I admit? “She had to check in with a parole officer for a couple of years, but that’s done now.”
She didn’t act surprised. She looked me in the eye, one of those see-right-into-you looks that made me nervous. “Before she left, was she still doing drugs?”
And there it was. I studied the table for a minute. Ate another fry, but now it tasted cold and greasy.
Doing drugs. Saying it like that made it sound so evil. Davey’s mom, upstairs from us, sometimes stayed in bed for days at a time, but Mom wasn’t usually that bad. Michael’s dad had been in rehab twice. Mom, never. So, okay, she always had a bottle of something in her pocket. She’d take cash out of the ATM, and the stash she kept in the freezer would get bigger. She’d get jumpy, and that meant the supply had gotten too low.
But she wasn’t a bad person. She said the laws were messed up. Some people just didn’t understand how she really needed medicine sometimes. I suspected my aunt was one of some people.
I glanced up at Bryn, who hadn’t looked away since she asked her question. “If we went to Memphis, we could see.”
>
It wasn’t a real answer, and I waited for Bryn to get pissed at me, but she just scrunched her mouth tight and shook her head like she knew I was dodging. “Well, at least you’re consistent. But you may be right. I’ll think about it. There are probably things we can learn there that we can’t figure out from here.”
She handed her credit card over to the waitress and then checked a bunch of e-mails on her phone. I poked at the fries with my fork. On that long drive across the state to get to Bryn’s farm, I had thought a lot about what she might be like. I decided she would probably be a lot like Mom. Boy, was I ever wrong.
She noticed things. Stuff like those raccoon tracks by the river. Mom would never have seen those tracks in the mud, and if she did, she wouldn’t have cared. And Bryn had delivered those baby goats. She’d saved them. By herself. Mom took it for granted that other people should back her up. Bryn was the sort who tried to do everything on her own. She was definitely not Mom.
Now that I’d been around her more, she didn’t even look like my mom any longer.
We went out to the truck and started back to the farm, and it was nice not to be hungry for once. I thought our little chat was over and I’d gotten off okay, but at a stoplight Bryn turned in her seat and gave me a careful once-over. “Do you know my mother? I mean, Del’s and my mother? Your grandmother?”
Another trick question. I’d listened in on Mom’s end of the arguments when she called Grandma for money sometimes, but I guessed that wasn’t what Bryn was after. “She sends me birthday cards. Two Christmases ago, we drove to her house for lunch.”
Three hours to get there, one hour to eat—just tuna salad sandwiches, not even a turkey or a pie—then three hours back. Grandma’s tiny white poodle sat in its own chair at the table beside her and ate people food off a regular plate. Grandma gave me a jigsaw puzzle that was labeled for five-year-olds, and she gave Mom a check that Mom said wouldn’t even pay for gas.
Over the Falls Page 6
