by Midge Bubany
“Did you know she was only seventeen when this happened?”
“Dad’s not proud of it—just so you know.”
“Let me ask you this. If you had been them, would you have run, or fought to be in your child’s life?”
“Well, I’m not them but Mom and Dad both admitted it was wrong. They paid dearly for it.”
“How so?”
“They really suffered.”
Huh, they really suffered.
“I’m kind of surprised no one told you about me,” she said.
“Hell, I didn’t know Patrick was my biological father until last fall. All I knew was Patrick adopted me, then left town when my parents had a big fight because I caught Grace and Patrick in bed.”
“How awful! So you did know Mom was your real mother?”
“My biological mother, yes.”
“If you had known the truth at a young age, would you have wanted to come and live with us?”
I was still reacting to the “they really suffered” crapola. “Oh, I don’t think I would have left Hope alone.”
“I understand. You think of Hope as your mom.”
“She is my mother. She adopted me—her sister’s love child—not knowing her husband was my sperm donor.”
She seemed to let that sink in before she said, “Well, I like Aunt Hope. I can tell she’s a loving mother. And you seem so happy with Shannon and the boys. I think you make a good family.”
“Yeah, we do.”
“Like my parents were. Some people just belong together.”
Every time she made a comment like that, I could feel my muscles clench. Change the subject.
“We can turn around here,” I said, and we started walking back toward the house. “So what are you going to get your master’s in?”
“English lit. I hope to teach at a university, so I have to get my doctorate. I’ll probably teach high school for a while first, but I think college-age would be more fun. My grades are good so I shouldn’t have trouble finding a suitable program. Aunt Hope said you solved an important double murder case last fall.”
“She brags a bit too much.”
She grinned up at me. “I don’t know how I can feel love for you like I do—not ever seeing you before. I think I’ve missed my big brother my whole life.”
She stopped to throw her arms around me.
“Yeah, I love you too,” I said. It was just a reflexive response. I wasn’t sure what I felt. I did have an unexplainable fondness and protectiveness, but there was, I’m ashamed to admit, resentment in the mix.
“So, do you have a boyfriend I can run a background check on?”
She giggled. “It’s going to come in handy having a cop for a brother.”
“You seem really grounded for a kid.”
“Who’s a kid? I’m twenty-two.”
“You’re eleven years younger than I am.”
“Did you know Mom had several miscarriages before I was born?”
“No. You were wanted.”
“And do you think you weren’t?”
I nodded. “Of course not.”
“Mom says you were easy to conceive and I was difficult.”
“That’s one spin on it.”
An hour later it was getting dark and everyone was ready to cut out for the night. Hugs all around, then Shannon and I walked my mom and grandmas to the car.
“They’re all a little tipsy,” Grandma Dee whispered as she started the car.
Angel, sitting in the front passenger seat, said, “Alcohol is the anesthesia by which we endure the operation of life.” Everyone turned to look at her and she added, “George Bernard Shaw.”
“Cheers to George Bernard Shaw,” Mom crowed.
“Thanks, Cal and Shannon, I had a blast. See you soon?” Angel said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Definitely,” Shannon said.
Donna and Richard hung around just long enough to help clean up, then Shannon took a bath while I put the boys to bed. Luke chose to go to his own room, while I read Colby three books. I then stopped in Luke’s room. He was playing a computer game on his tablet. I pulled it away and sat of the edge of his bed.
“Do you like living here?”
“No, I miss my old house and neighborhood.”
“I can understand that. Let’s take a bike ride over there soon.”
“Not the same.”
“I know. How can I make things better for you?”
“You can’t.” He rolled over and faced the wall.
“I love you, buddy. Let me know if there ever is anything I can do.”
“You can buy me an iPad.”
“Not like buying stuff, Luke.”
“Then no.”
“Good night.”
Maybe my mother was right. Not bonding.
Shannon was in already bed when I came back, and instead of bringing up any of the many things that had happened this evening, I volunteered to give her a massage. Before I got to the good parts, she was snoring.
Chapter 24
August 22
When Bullet and I left for a run at five thirty it was still dark. As my feet hit the trail in rhythm, my mind was busy worrying about Luke’s adjustment to the marriage, and now we were bringing an infant into the mix. Maybe it would be good for the boys to have a new brother or sister. But then, I wasn’t adjusting terribly well to family changes myself. Angel was blasting her way into my life, ready or not. We grew up so differently. Oh, and the bit about how Patrick and Grace suffered so? Give me a break. Why do I even care what they thought or felt?
I forced my thoughts to the case . . . like that jackass, Sawyer Gage. I wanted him to be the guilty one. But the reality was, there wasn’t any evidence against him. And the one new piece of evidence related to the case, the flowers, was shaky at best. Sawyer wasn’t in town a month ago to buy them. Had Tamika and Crosby even started checking on them?
When we got back, I showered and dressed for work. Shannon seemed less nauseous this morning. I kissed her as she rolled out of bed. “I’d forgotten how tired you get in early pregnancy,” she said.
“Too much entertaining. My mom noticed you weren’t drinking wine. Asked if you were ‘preggers.’”
“What did you say?”
“That it was wishful thinking.”
“After I’ve been to see the doctor, we may as well tell our families.”
“Whatever you want.”
“Last night went well,” Shannon said. “It’s clear everyone is proud of you.”
“My mother’s a little flappy in the lips when she drinks.”
“I know, but she means well. Angel is sweet. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah, she seems like a nice kid. I better get a move on.”
“I’m right behind you.”
Brittany was in the kitchen whipping up French toast for breakfast. I made myself a cup of Keurig coffee.
“How many slices, Cal?
“None for me, thanks, and the boys are still sleeping. So you can relax.”
“How did the meeting with your sister go?”
“Strange but nice.”
“A lot of family things are.”
“True. Brittany, you don’t have to disappear when we have family dinners or guests. You’re always welcome to join us.”
“I know. I just think it’s important to give you family time.”
“And you’re off the clock then too, right?”
“That’s not it, I love being around you all. I never had any of this as a kid.”
I gave Lucky Holmgren a call to find out anything about the arson investigation and the kid who bought the fabric. My call went to messaging.
About nin
e o’clock Adriana phoned—yet again. She wanted to tell me her phone had sent her images of someone trying to gain entrance to her place.
“Who?”
“I can’t tell. It’s someone dressed in black wearing a hat. I’m going out there to see if anything else was done.”
“Are you at work?”
“Yes.”
I found myself saying, “Well, you can’t go alone. I’ll drive you.”
It took about ten minutes to drive the five miles to Adriana’s. Once on the road with her I asked, “So what was so important last night?”
“Why the fricking attitude? I was told you were investigating my case now because Troy can’t. So tell me, who am I suppose to contact?”
I hesitated a couple seconds, then said, “Me.”
She shot her hands out in frustration, a familiar gesture. “Okay then. I called to tell you Maddie remembered she’d told some women in her yoga class about Tino being in a kennel all day.”
“Who were these women?”
She took a note out of her purse and read the names: “Beth O’Conner, Sadie Jones, and Trish Norris. Why?”
“She doesn’t know Victoria, does she?”
“No. Why would she?”
“I don’t know . . . just seems like all this is something Victoria would enjoy doing.”
“Oh, God.”
“Did you call Victoria’s aunt?”
“Not yet.”
“What’s stopping you?”
She gave me a dirty look and shoved the note back in her purse. I put my hand out and she roughly placed the note in my hand.
There were no cars in the driveway. Before I got out of the Explorer, I pulled my firearm, a Smith & Wesson M & P .40-caliber. I told Adriana to wait in the car. She, of course, ignored me and followed directly behind me as I searched the perimeter of the house. She’d put a padlock on the kennel gate and it was secure. The kennel roof was still tight. Tino was doing his job guarding because his bark seemed to follow us around as we walked the exterior of the house. Nothing looked awry. I instructed Adriana to open the garage door with her remote. We’d enter through the garage door to preserve fingerprints elsewhere.
I instructed Adriana to punch in the security code and to stay behind me as we slowly made our way through the house. After making sure the house was secure, she showed me the images she received on her phone. At 9:03 a.m., a slim figure wearing a large-brimmed black hat and black clothing walked into the camera view. He or she disappeared around the house, most likely to the kennel, and later came into view of the camera outside the lower level. The individual made a circle around the house, tried the front door, then left.
I measured the height of the lamp shown in the photo to gauge the height of the individual near it—about five-foot-nine—a tall woman or a shorter man. That eliminated Maddie Mitchell, as she was about five-foot-four, but not Victoria Lewis, who was exactly that tall. I had Adriana check the other cameras while I tried unsuccessfully to lift fingerprints from the doorknob.
Adriana forwarded the images to my email. Then I drove back into town, dropped off Adriana, and went to the department. Patrice was unavailable so I asked Georgia to have her call me when free.
If Victoria was in the area, she was either staying at a hotel or with her former boss, the editor of the Birch County Register. I thought the latter was unlikely, but I had to check it out. I drove over the Register building and asked to see Robert Webber. He made me wait fifteen minutes.
“Deputy,” Webber said as he extended his hand. “Come on back to my office.”
He was average height with a paunch, thinning dark wavy hair, a small chin, and an abundance of moles. His small office was crammed with file folders, books, and newspapers. How can anyone function in here? He picked up a few files off an olive green, vinyl armchair, stacked them on top of a pile on his desk, motioned for me to have a seat, then took the chair behind his desk. Dust particles danced in the streak of sunshine coming through the window. I sneezed.
“Bless you,” he said.
“Thanks. I thought you guys were all electronic now.”
“Oh, we still use many resources.”
Webber rocked back in his chair. I proceeded to sneeze six or seven times in a row. He handed me a wad of tissues and I thanked him.
“So what can I do for you, Deputy?”
“Have you seen Victoria Lewis recently?”
He lifted his brow in surprise. “No, why? Is she in town?”
“Could be.”
“What makes you think so?”
“I can’t give you the particulars.”
He nodded. “The recent incidents on Adriana Valero’s property?”
“What do you think?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I haven’t seen Ms. Lewis since last fall, but if I do, I bet you’d like me to give you a jingle.”
“I’d appreciate it. Here’s my card.” I set it on the one clean spot at the back of the desk.
“Worst hire I ever made,” he said. “She’s a pretty woman, but one f-ing nut case.”
I chuckled. “She was, by far, the worst choice I ever made in women.”
I thanked him and shook his hand. As I walked out the door, I glanced back to see if he’d covered my card with a stack of file folders. He was holding it in his hand. Victoria had deceived her boss, along with a great many other people, but she was the daughter of the man who owned the newspaper. Would he be loyal to the integrity of the newspaper or to his boss?
On my way back, I called Shannon to check in. “How ya feeling?” I asked.
“Icky, but tea and toast for breakfast helps.”
“Good. What say we go out for dinner tonight?”
“I saw you with Adriana a little while ago.”
“Huh? Oh . . . her new camera on her house picked up someone trying to gain entry. So we went out to check it out. The person didn’t get in or do anything.”
“I need to say something.”
“Okay.”
“I’m having a little trouble with this Adriana thing. When I saw you riding together I was taken aback . . . I thought you were . . . like . . . with her.”
“You know me better than that. I love you and would never cheat on you.”
“I know. I know. It’s just that she’s so beautiful with great legs and—”
“Stop it. You’re the most beautiful, sexy woman in the world. And I love your strong, athletic body.”
My call waiting was beeping. “Hon, please hold. I have to take this call.”
“If it’s Adriana, tell her to fuck off.”
“You got it, babe.”
It was Lucky Holmgren.
“Sorry, this is the first I could get back to you,” he told me. “I had a run of prescriptions to fill.”
“I just wanted to ask if you had any information about the boy who purchased the fabric.”
“Didn’t Patrice give you my report?”
“No. Give me a summary.”
“Believe it or not, the clerk identified the kid from a yearbook. Guess who.”
“Don’t make me guess.”
“Sorry. It’s Phillip Warner’s fourteen-year-old son, Jesse.”
“Really?”
“Says a woman stopped him outside Sports Rack, which is next door to the fabric shop, and asked him to make a purchase for her. Said she was blonde.”
“Blonde?”
“She told him she had a personal conflict with the sales clerk and wanted to avoid her. She gave him cash and a note with exactly what she wanted him to buy, which he did with help.”
“Did he see her vehicle?”
“I didn’t ask. Look, I’ve got a line here and the old man’s giving me ‘the look.’”
<
br /> “Okay, thanks.”
When I hung up, I remembered I’d asked Shannon to hold. She hadn’t. I texted her to tell her what was going on. She said she’d figured so.
A text came in from Adriana: “Victoria’s been staying with Adam’s sister in Paris, but left two weeks ago to travel Europe.”
Right.
I wanted to read the arson report, so I called Patrice and got her secretary, Georgia. Patrice was in and free for the next fifteen minutes until her next meeting. She has more meetings than any sheriff I’d been under.
Patrice’s door was closed. Georgia said, “No one gets in without her approval.”
We exchanged sympathetic looks.
As I entered, Patrice looked above a pair of readers.
“New glasses?” I asked.
“Yes, my ophthalmologist said most people my age start to need reading glasses. People my age? That really hurt. Anyway, you wanted to talk to me?”
“Yes, two things. First, Adriana’s camera paid for itself. Someone unsuccessfully tried to gain entry to her house. I copied the stills and sent ’em to your email.”
“I haven’t had a chance to check. Who is it?” She punched keys and scrolled until she located and opened my email. “Well, what good is this? The hat blocks the face.”
“Suspect’s tall, slight, maybe female, maybe Victoria Lewis. Talked to her former boss at the paper, Robert Webber. He contends he hasn’t seen her. Her location is unknown.”
“Then you have nothing.”
“Correct. Anyway, Lucky Holmgren says he gave you a report?”
“Oh, yes. I’m sorry I haven’t read it. Other things more pressing.”
“Than Adriana’s nuisance case?”
“Cal, your main focus should be the Dawson case. The press is on my ass.”
“You do understand when Adriana calls, I’m the only one able to respond. If my main focus should be on the Dawson case, then someone else needs to handle Ms. Valero.”
“Troy just called. He’s doing so well his doctor signed the return to work order, giving him the okay to work half days.”
