“Eva was fun,” Ralph continued. “But she couldn’t follow the simplest direction. Screwed up everything. She’d make meatloaf and forget the catsup. Or she’d show up an hour late for a date because she wrote the time down wrong.”
Somehow I couldn’t see Cindy making meatloaf at all. And I’d never known Maureen to be late for anything.
“When did you last talk to her?” Hannah asked.
“The day we broke up. She moved not long after that. Couldn’t take the painful memories, I guess.” Ralph flashed a smug grin.
“When was it you broke up?”
“About three years ago. Just after Christmas. Why are you asking? Is she in some kind of trouble?”
Hannah ignored the question. “What about Eric Vance? Do you know him?”
Nash grimaced. “That low-life friend of hers from when she was growing up? I’ve met him.” He snapped his fingers. “I get it. She’s involved in something with Vance. Doesn’t surprise me that he’s in trouble. He’s an ex-con, you know.”
“What kind of lowlife?”
“Scams, forgery, gambling. She never actually said, but I could read between the lines. So what is it this time?”
“Murder,” Hannah said. “They’re both dead.”
When we returned to the car, Hannah turned the air-conditioning to high and leaned into the draft like a dog panting for fresh air. “How can people live in this climate?”
“I guess you get used to it.”
She closed her eyes. “Not a particularly useful day, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t. I didn’t even ask you to come along.”
She turned to me and smiled. “You do the warm, fuzzy stuff so well.”
“You think Nash was telling the truth about not having seen Eva since they broke up?”
“I don’t think he killed her or Eric Vance, if that’s what you mean. Not with a broken leg and restricted mobility. Besides, he didn’t come across like a vindictive ex-boyfriend.”
“He came across like a jerk.”
The corners of her mouth twitched. “No argument there.” She sat back in her seat and adjusted the air vents. “You aren’t seriously thinking about doing this again in Las Vegas, are you?”
“It sounds like Eric Vance is the key to this. I want to know why my wife was meeting him there.”
“You’re not going to find out by knocking on people’s doors.”
“I’m not going to hear it from Phipps either.”
She started to say something then seemed to think better of it. She nodded instead. “You’re probably right about that.”
CHAPTER 46
By the time I got home from Phoenix that evening, Molly was already in bed. I stopped in to kiss her good night, and she opened her eyes.
“Go back to sleep, honey. I just came to check on you.”
“Did you find out anything?”
“Not really.” I’d given her a bare-bones account of wanting to meet with Maureen’s friends and had told her that Maureen’s real name was Eva. We’d looked at the locket together, confirming that what Molly had first read as ELF was really the initials E.L.F. I’d explained that her murderer might be someone from her past. But I’d stepped gingerly around the many questions for which I didn’t have answers.
Molly was not easily put off, even half-asleep. “You didn’t even learn why she changed her name?”
“No. But she was using the name Eva when she lived there.”
“Did you talk to her friends?”
“A couple of them. How was school today?”
Molly pulled the covers under her chin. “It was okay. Mary Louise got suspended for throwing paint at Ida.”
“I should think so. Why did Mary Louise throw paint?”
“Because Ida told everyone about Mary Louise’s mother.”
“Told what about her?”
“That she’s sleeping with Mr. Brand.”
“The principal?” I knew that some parental wisdom was probably called for at this juncture—I was shocked that sleeping with was even part of Molly’s vocabulary—but I could think of none to impart right then. Mostly I was relieved to hear that my daughter’s classmates were focused on something other than my supposed guilt.
“Good night, Daddy.”
“’Night, Sweetpea. Sleep tight.”
Chase had left work early to pick Molly up from school and stay with her while I was gone. He was in the living room watching some sitcom on the television.
“There’s leftover pizza in the fridge,” he said. “And Coke. The real stuff, not that diet crap you’re so fond of.”
“Thanks. Everything go okay with Molly?”
“Just fine. Dad stopped by for dinner before he took off for his bridge game.” Chase picked up the remote and turned down the volume. “How was your trip? Productive?”
“We talked to a woman who worked with Eva, and to an ex-boyfriend. I have a better feel for what was going on in her life, but I can’t say we learned anything specific.”
“We?”
I opened a can of Coke. “Big surprise. Monte Vista’s finest decided to go to Phoenix today too.”
He made a face. “Dallas?”
“Not as bad as that. Hannah Montgomery.”
“Bummer. So you had a cop on your tail the whole time?”
I had, but it hadn’t felt like that. “It worked out okay, actually. Being a cop is a good way to get people to talk.”
“Don’t go falling for the old ‘good cop’ trick, Sam. They’re trying to pin your wife’s murder on you.”
I knew Chase was right, but I wanted to believe differently. I remembered the kindness in Hannah’s eyes the night of the ransom drop when I’d run into her at the bar. The empathy I’d felt today over lunch. If she was playing a role, she was damn good at it.
“Nothing we learned gave her more ammunition,” I assured him. “You want another slice of pizza?”
“Sure, thanks.”
I got napkins and carried the pizza box into the living room, where I set it between us on the coffee table.
“I’m glad to be seeing bits of Eva’s life,” I told him. “But it’s weird to have been married to someone and only now be figuring out things you should have known all along.”
“Must be.”
Chase had never warmed to Maureen, although he’d generally been polite. I wondered if he now felt somewhat vindicated. “Remember when we used to watch home movies of Mom and Dad before we were born?” I asked him. “We thought it was like eavesdropping on family secrets.”
Chase laughed. “Even though they were the ones showing us the movies. I still remember the one Aunt Marge took of Dad kissing Mom by the Christmas tree. You’d have thought we were watching a bedroom scene the way we squirmed.”
“That’s what it feels like learning about Maureen’s ... Eva’s past. I’m seeing her in a whole new light, and I feel something like a Peeping Tom. Why did she have to pretend to be someone different?”
“Maybe she was afraid you’d find out about Eric.”
Unless she was actively involved in something criminal though, I didn’t understand why she’d hesitate to tell me about him or share her true identity. Could Maureen have been on the wrong side of the law? I’d mourned my wife’s death, and now I was beginning to mourn the loss of her memory as well.
“So it’s Las Vegas tomorrow?” Chase asked.
“You still up for staying with Molly?”
“Yeah, we have a good time. And I’m always happy to have an excuse to take time off from work.”
I’d given Chase a hard time in the past about what I saw as a lackadaisical attitude about his job. Now I was sheepishly grateful. I vowed to be more supportive in the future.
Chase turned up the volume on the television. I tuned out the program and let my mind drift back over the events of the day. I tried to picture Eva with Ralph and couldn’t. I reminded myself that, in the end, she hadn’t been able to either, and she’d left. On the
other hand, I could easily see how she and Cathy would have gotten along. I felt a little envy, in fact, that the sparkle I’d seen in her expression in the photo was not something I’d seen much of in person.
And then suddenly it hit me why the photo had appeared off balance.
I choked on the pizza in my mouth and had to spit it out into a napkin.
“What is it?” Chase asked.
“Maureen was right-handed.”
He gave me a funny look. “So?”
“Cathy, the woman who owns the bookstore where Eva worked, she had a photo of the two of them eating cake.”
“And?”
“And Eva was eating with her left hand.”
“When it comes to cake, some people aren’t particular.”
“No, you don’t get it. She was holding a fork in her left hand. Maybe you’d pick up a slice of pizza with either hand, but when you eat with a fork, you use your right hand, don’t you?”
Chase pantomimed eating. “Yeah, I guess I do. Holding a fork in my left hand would feel really strange.”
I felt a sweat break out on my forehead. I thought maybe I was going to be sick.
Suddenly Chase understood what I was getting at. “You’re saying Eva wasn’t Maureen? I mean, that the woman who was your wife wasn’t Eva Flynn after all?”
That’s what I was saying, but it seemed impossible. Everyone I’d asked had seen the photo I’d shown them and agreed it looked like Eva.
I went to the phone and called Cathy. I didn’t expect her to be there still, but she was. “I was just catching up,” she explained. “My son and his dad have T-ball this evening.”
“I’ve got what’s going to sound like a dumb question.”
“There are no—”
I didn’t even let her finish. “Do you recall, was Eva left-handed or right-handed?”
“Left-handed,” she said. “She had this thing about sitting on the left so we wouldn’t always be bumping arms.”
There were lots of things about a person that might change over time, but which hand was dominant wasn’t one of them. My wife wasn’t Maureen Brown, but she hadn’t been Eva Flynn either.
CHAPTER 47
It was way past midnight in the East. Much too late to call, especially someone I barely knew. But I did it anyway. Mrs. Flynn answered after several rings. It was clear I’d woken her.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I told her.
“Do you know what time it is?” I had a vision of the partially paralyzed woman, her tight curls flattened by sleep, clutching the bedside phone in her frail hands.
“I do know, and I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important. It’s about Eva.”
“I already know.” Her voice sounded thin and vaguely accusing. “There was a detective who called me this morning. He told me.”
“Told you? What did he say?”
“Well, he asked me a lot of questions, then he said ...” She took a breath. “He said Eva had been murdered.” Mrs. Flynn started crying softly. “You didn’t tell me she was dead. You only said she was missing.”
“Was your daughter left-handed?” I asked.
She was clearly perplexed by the question. “Yes, of course.”
“I don’t want to get your hopes up, Mrs. Flynn, but it may be that your daughter isn’t dead after all. I thought my wife and Eva were one and the same, but my wife was right-handed.”
“But the photo you showed me ...”
“I know. And I saw her yearbook picture as well. The similarity is striking.”
The silence on the other end of the phone stretched long and heavy. I thought maybe she’d hung up. “Mrs. Flynn?”
“The detective said she was using the name Maureen Brown.”
“Right.”
“Maureen was a friend of Eva’s from high school. Your wife has to have been my daughter.” Mrs. Flynn’s voice was insistent and oddly hollow. “She ... she has to have been.”
My chest felt as though it were wrapped in wire. “Was Eva your only child?”
“Yes, just her.” The same flat tone that made Mrs. Flynn sound as though she were talking through a wall of fog.
“How about cousins? Any of them girls about her age?”
Mrs. Flynn hesitated again. “I ... We ...” She sounded like she was having trouble breathing.
“Mrs. Flynn?”
“Eva was adopted,” she said, her voice breaking. “We adopted her as a baby. Raised her as our own. That was the last big fight we had before she left home. She found out and got angry at us for keeping it from her.”
Adopted. I could hear my pulse pounding in my ears. “What about her birth parents. Do you know who they are?”
“I wanted to know as little as possible.”
“But surely you—”
“You’ve no idea what it’s like not to be able to have a child of your own. All my friends were having babies, and there I was with nothing. Nothing. It was so unfair. Then we got Eva. She was only ten days’ old. We moved here to Rochester, and I tried to forget she wasn’t really mine.”
“You must know something about the birth parents.”
She hesitated. “Only that the mother wasn’t married. There was no father listed, so I suspect she got herself pregnant on some one-night stand. The name on the birth certificate was Wycoff. We had it changed, of course.”
“Which agency handled the adoption? Was it through the state?”
“It was private, through an attorney who was a friend of my husband’s.”
My heart was pounding, my throat dry. “What’s his name?”
“Why is any of this important? It’s frankly none of your business.”
I took a breath. Slow down, I told myself. Don’t antagonize her. I wished we’d had this conversation earlier, when I could have pled my case face-to-face.
“I’m not trying to pry, Mrs. Flynn. Or to create problems.” I tried not to let my impatience show. “It’s possible the woman who was murdered was not your daughter but someone related to her. Don’t you want to know if your daughter is dead or alive?”
There was a long silence, and again I thought I’d lost her. Finally, she said, “Dunbar. Robert Dunbar. That’s the name of the attorney.”
“Do you know where I can reach him?”
“He was in Atlanta. I don’t know if he’s still there, or even if he’s still in practice.”
I took a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“You’ll let me know what you learn?”
“I will. Right away.”
CHAPTER 48
Hannah was exhausted. For reasons she didn’t understand, flying did that to her. Even a short, easy trip like today’s left her feeling drained. And the Phoenix heat hadn’t helped. She was a wimp about the cold, but Hannah hated really hot weather just as much. As Malcolm had pointed out to her on more than one occasion, she was not easy to please.
She stepped out of her sticky clothes and into the shower, letting the warm, pulsating spray dissolve the tension in her neck and shoulders along with the day’s grime. She wasn’t convinced the trip had been a good use of her time. Except, of course, that she’d enjoyed being with Sam, something she’d never admit out loud. She’d gone along to keep an eye on him and learn what she could about Eva Flynn, not for her own gratification.
Hannah couldn’t help thinking though how pleasant it would have been if the circumstances had been different. She was reminded of the Sunday mornings early in her marriage when she and Malcolm would get into the car and take off for the day. Sometimes they’d drive up or down the coast, and other times they’d head into the mountains. It wasn’t the destination so much as the journey itself. She loved that it was just the two of them alone in the car—her whole world in a bubble.
Was it that memory that had prompted her to tell Sam about Malcolm and Claire? She hadn’t meant to and now regretted it. There were very few people with whom she’d shared that humiliation.
Hannah stepped out of the shower, dr
ied herself with an oversized terry towel, and slipped into jeans and a T-shirt. She grabbed a beer and a wedge of cheese from the fridge. The tiny bag of peanuts she’d eaten on the plane hardly constituted a meal, but she didn’t have the energy to prepare something more.
She checked her phone messages—her mother and Dallas. The earmarks of a pathetic social life.
Her mother didn’t like to be called after seven in the evening. Thankfully, Hannah could put that task off until tomorrow. She punched in Dallas’s number. He must have been clutching the phone, because he answered right away.
“How was Phoenix?”
“Hot as Hades.”
“I can get a weather report off the Internet, Hannah. Was Sam nervous having you tag along?”
She knew Dallas was hoping that was the case. Killers weren’t comfortable with police scrutiny, and their uneasiness sometimes led them to make mistakes.
“He wasn’t happy about it at first,” Hannah said, “but it worked out.” Far better than she’d expected. “I can’t say that he was really upset though.”
“You’re set for Las Vegas in the morning?”
“Seven-thirty flight. Phipps isn’t going to be happy if he finds out we’re messing in ‘his’ case.”
“Screw him. He’s messing in ours.”
A point on which Hannah and Dallas agreed.
“What did you learn today?” he asked.
“Not much, I’m afraid. We found the bookstore where Eva worked. She was using her real name at the time. The owner says Eva left town a couple of years ago after breaking up with her control-freak boyfriend.”
“Left for where?” Dallas asked.
“Somewhere in Mexico. She didn’t remember the town. We paid a visit to the boyfriend. He’s happily engaged to someone else now and seems to be well over losing Eva. He’s also been in a cast and on crutches for the last couple of months, so it’s unlikely he has anything to do with her murder.”
“And Vance?”
“The bookstore owner met him. Says he was a bit ‘weird,’ but she couldn’t be more specific. The boyfriend called Vance a lowlife, which sort of fits with what Phipps has told us. But neither one said anything that would explain why Eva went to see him a week before she was killed, or why she was using an alias when she married Sam.”
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