by J. A. Jance
“That left Gunnar to take the fall all by himself, and, believe me, he was by himself. Lloyd and I never spoke directly to Gunnar after he was arrested, but we made it abundantly clear to Isabelle that we wouldn’t be lifting a finger to help, and that included footing any bills for defense attorneys. Isabelle ended up screaming at me on the phone, telling me what a terrible person I was and that she’d see to it that I never saw my grandchildren again because she was taking them with her and going back home to live with her parents in Indiana.
“Speakerphones were new then, but we had one,” Isadora continued. “Lloyd heard every word. When Isabelle hung up, he had me call our attorney to come make a house call and rewrite our will. Lloyd was determined that that woman would never inherit one thin dime of our money.
“Then, within days of that phone call, Gunnar died. It was dreadful. Since there was already so much ill will involved, Lloyd absolutely refused to attend the funeral. Between the time Gunnar died and the time of his funeral, the friend of a friend got back to Lloyd and told him that the authorities suspected that the woman Gunnar had been involved with was a top Russian spy and that they might have to interview Alyse in hopes of identifying her.”
“It sounds like your ‘friend of a friend’ was well connected,” Joanna commented.
Isadora nodded. “He was, very, and don’t expect me to give you his name because I won’t. Our big worry, of course, was Alyse. She was little more than a child who, because of her father’s reckless behavior, was in danger of being turned into a Cold War pawn. If the CIA thought Alyse could give them information, it was only reasonable for the opposition to do everything in their power to make sure that didn’t happen. Maybe Gunnar committed suicide, maybe he didn’t, but believe me, the people involved on both sides were utterly ruthless, and so was Isabelle.
“As I said, Lloyd refused to go to the funeral, so I went by myself. There was a reception at the house after the funeral. I went to that, too, even though I hadn’t been officially invited and knew I wasn’t welcome. I went because I wanted to see Alyse. She spent most of the day in her room, crying her eyes out. That’s to be expected. She had just lost her father. But it turned out that Isabelle blamed Alyse for it. Told her it was all her fault that Gunnar was dead since Alyse was the one who raised questions about her father being a spy. Alyse was devastated.
“Right then, I could see the writing on the wall, and I think you can, too,” Isadora added. “Think about every evil stepmother story you’ve ever heard. I knew that’s how Alyse’s future was going to play out. Once they got back to Isabelle’s hometown folks in Indiana, Alyse would have been an outcast. I had already seen that Jimmy was the favorite. He would be the perfect child and Alyse would always be the ‘other’ one, tolerated rather than loved. And young as he was, Jimmy got it. He’d do mean little things to Alyse, and Isabelle let him get away with it, usually blaming her for whatever happened.
“And he did it again at the reception. I saw it happen. Jimmy spilled someone’s glass of wine and blamed it on his sister. Isabelle went ballistic. That’s when and why I made up my mind—completely on the spur of the moment. I asked Alyse if she wanted to go to Indiana with her stepmother. She said no. I told her that there was a chance dangerous people might be looking for her. Which, it turns out, was all too true. I also told her that if she wanted to come with me right then, that very minute, her grandfather and I would do our best to protect her.”
“You took her from her father’s funeral reception?”
“Yes, I did, and I’m not sorry, either. I had her pack a suitcase and smuggle it out to the car. When it was time to leave, I had her get in the backseat and lie down on the floor, and away we went.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. My best friend from grade school was in charge of a parochial school in upstate New York, the St. Giles Preparatory School. I stowed Alyse with Sister Benedict for a few days while I went home to face the music. I thought Lloyd would be furious with me, but I was wrong. He was the exact opposite. By then he knew far more about Gunnar’s situation than I did, and Lloyd thought I’d done the right thing. In fact, he was the one who came up with the idea of changing Alyse’s identity. We had some help with that, of course.”
“Let me guess,” Joanna said. “From your friend of a friend.”
“Exactly,” Isadora said, beaming. “That was in April of that year. With his help and with Sister Benedict’s, by September Alyse Creswell had become Debra Highsmith and was enrolled at age fourteen as a freshman in Good Shepherd in Albuquerque.”
“Did anyone suspect you of being involved in Alyse’s disappearance?”
“No. Not at all. From the beginning, she was regarded as a runaway. Isabelle was all over network TV begging for Alyse’s safe return, but that was just for show. I did feel a little guilty when I knew there were police officers and volunteers out searching the parks and dragging the river, but that didn’t last long. The runaways that stay in the news are the ones who have family members out there lobbying for their return. Isabelle had her hands full. By the time the funeral was over, the bank was already foreclosing on their house. Even with the extra money Gunnar was making, Isabelle had managed to spend it faster than it came in. By the beginning of May she and Jimmy were off to Indiana—Fort Wayne, I think.”
“You didn’t stay in touch with Isabelle?”
“I tried to, at first, for Jimmy’s sake. The letters and cards and gifts I sent were all returned unopened.”
“Where’s Jimmy now?”
“I have no idea. I finally gave up, but I still had Debra. She’s gone by that name for so long now, I barely remember she was once Alyse.”
“Over the years the two of you communicated strictly by letter?”
“Always. Through Sister Benedict at first, and later through Sister Benedict’s successor. We both sent our letters to the convent, and they passed them along. It was the only way I knew to keep Debra safe.” Isadora paused a moment. “At least I thought it would keep her safe, but now we know I was wrong. Someone found out. Just because the Cold War is over doesn’t mean a thing. The people running the show may change, but a spy is still a spy. I keep wondering if Gunnar’s female friend from back then is a VIP of some kind in the new Russia. It could be that anyone who might be able to tie her back to what she did in the old days could still be considered a threat.”
“You’re saying you still believe Debra’s death to be some kind of holdover from the Cold War.”
“I do indeed.”
There was a small pause in the conversation, and Joanna knew it was time to change the subject.
“In her letters to you, did Debra ever talk about the Hirales family?”
“Of course,” Isadora said. “I was incredibly grateful to know that those kind people had taken her into their home and into their hearts. I couldn’t risk letting her come home or have me come visit her, so it meant everything to me that the Hirales family let Debra come stay with them over the holidays and during summer vacations. There was always a chance the phones were bugged or that someone had put listening devices in my house. I couldn’t even risk hearing the sound of her voice. I slept better at night knowing she had someone on this side of the country who treated her like family.”
“How much do you know about them?”
“The Hirales family? Quite a bit, I suppose,” Isadora said, then she paused and frowned. “Well, there’s Sue Ellen, of course. She was Debra’s first roommate and her best friend. Then there are Sue Ellen’s parents, Nancy and Augusto, who adopted a son, much later in life. Michael, I believe his name is. He was in Iraq or Afghanistan or one of those places for a while, but he’s back home now and going to law school. He sounds like a very bright young man.”
Yes, Joanna thought, and he’s also your great-grandson.
Joanna knew that Sue Ellen Hirales and her little “brother” would be here soon, coming to start planning Debra Highsmith’s funeral. Was it her job t
o tell Isadora Creswell the truth or was it someone else’s?
“I believe he is bright,” Joanna said softly, “but there’s something else you need to know about Michael Hirales, Ms. Creswell, something Debra may have neglected to tell you.”
“What’s that?”
“Your granddaughter got pregnant when she was a senior in high school,” Joanna said. “She had the baby out of wedlock, and Nancy and Augusto Hirales adopted him. Michael Hirales is really Debra’s child, your great-grandson.”
For a moment after the words landed in the room, nothing at all happened—like the pause between a flash of lightning and the distant rumble of thunder. Then, Isadora Creswell seemed to slip from her chair, falling onto her knees on the carpeted floor in front of Joanna’s desk.
“Praise be!” she exclaimed. “Praise be!”
After that her tears began to flow in dead earnest.
CHAPTER 21
DEB CHOSE THAT MOMENT TO MAKE A GRACEFUL EXIT TO CHECK ON Maggie Oliphant’s phone records. Eventually Isadora regained her composure. “I always blamed myself that Debra never had a chance to have a family,” she said regretfully. “I was just so concerned about getting her out of one messy situation that I didn’t realize I was inadvertently putting her into another, one that was equally difficult.”
“She did have a family,” Joanna pointed out. “She had you, and she must have treasured that relationship since she evidently saved every letter you wrote her through the years. She also had a stepmother and a half brother. Whatever happened to them?”
Isadora dried her tears and shrugged her shoulders. “As I said, after years of getting my cards, letters, and packages back marked ‘Return to Sender,’ I decided I was done. The notation on the outside of the envelopes and packages was always written in Isabelle’s handwriting. My former daughter-in-law was not a pleasant person. It seemed likely to me that she would have poisoned Jimmy against me as well. It was less painful for me to simply stop thinking about them than it was trying to stay in touch and being rejected over and over.
“I certainly hope you don’t expect me to notify Isabelle now that Debra is gone,” Isadora added. “As far as she’s concerned, Alyse is someone she didn’t care that much about to begin with. Besides, Alyse went away decades ago, and Debra Highsmith is someone Isabelle Cameron—she took back her maiden name after Gunnar’s death—never knew.”
“What about the other side of the family, Alice’s side?” Joanna asked.
“I stayed in touch with Alice’s parents for some time. Not much more than annual Christmas cards, but they’re both gone now. I’m sure it seems selfish on my part, but it was easier to live the lie when I didn’t have to keep lying to people’s faces. Does that make sense?”
Joanna nodded.
“So am I given to understand that Sue Ellen Hirales has now told Michael the truth about Debra? Does he know about me, too?”
“I believe she told him most of it last night—at least as much as she knew—and that you exist. She learned that from reading your letters, but I doubt she has any idea about the rest of what you’ve told us this morning concerning Debra’s background. I expect Sue Ellen and Michael will turn up later this afternoon. I’m sorry to say that most likely the first thing you’ll be doing with your great-grandson is planning his birth mother’s funeral.”
“I don’t blame Debra for not telling me about him, or him about me,” Isadora said. “I hope he understands that, too.”
“Why didn’t she?” Joanna asked.
“I’m sure she was afraid that the people who were after her might use him to get to her.”
Joanna had to refrain from rolling her eyes. Maybe it was time to go ask Jaime Carbajal for some of those tinfoil hats after all.
“Look,” she said reasonably. “So far our investigation has turned up nothing at all to indicate this is a situation with any kind of national intelligence overtones. It’s far more likely that Debra’s death has something to do with a disgruntled student from the high school, but let me ask you this. Does the name Maggie Oliphant ring a bell?” she asked.
Isadora shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. Why?”
“My department is investigating another murder,” Joanna explained, “one that occurred two days after Debra’s death. Maggie Oliphant is the second victim. I was wondering if there might be a connection—if Debra might have mentioned their having any dealings with each other.”
“Not that I know of. How did this Maggie die?”
“She was strangled.”
“Debra was shot. So it’s probably two different people, right? That’s how it is on TV at least. People who kill multiple times generally use the same MO. Still,” Isadora added with a frown, “with a distinctive name like Maggie Oliphant? I’m quite certain that if Debra had ever mentioned her to me, I would have remembered it, and I don’t.”
Isadora stood up abruptly and then paused for a moment, straightening her skirt and jacket. “I suppose I look a fright,” she said. “Some people can manage to look decent when they cry. I’m not one of them.”
It was true. Her carefully applied makeup had literally come to grief. As a result, Isadora’s advanced age was definitely showing.
“I managed to get a room at the Copper Queen for tonight,” Isadora said. “That’s what the people at the hotel in Tucson recommended. I called on my way through town, and they said I can have an early check-in in an hour or so. In the meantime, I’d like to see Debra’s house and her school.”
“You can’t go inside either one. They’re both still considered active crime scenes.”
“Of course. I just want to drive by. If you’ll give me the addresses, the limo driver will be able to locate them on his GPS. After that, I’ll have him drop me off at the hotel. My room should be ready by then. I think I’ll go there and have a rest and put my face back on. You said that Sue Ellen and Michael are coming over from New Mexico later today?”
Joanna nodded. “This afternoon.”
“Tell them that’s where I’ll be, then, at the hotel,” Isadora said. “Let them know that I’m looking forward to meeting them both.”
“Would you like me to show you out?” Joanna asked.
“Not necessary,” Isadora said. “I’m perfectly capable of finding my own way.”
As Isadora made her determined way out of the office, Joanna was again struck by the differences between her and Elizabeth Stevens. In the face of a terrible tragedy, Isadora was staunchly self-contained while all Elizabeth could do under far less difficult circumstances was whine and berate her daughter for no good reason. It seemed to Joanna that Abby Holder would have been a far better daughter to Isadora and Lloyd Creswell than Gunnar had been a son.
Thinking about mothers and sons and daughters made Joanna think again of her own mother and of the telephone call from Maggie that had been under way when Joanna arrived at her mother’s house the previous day. Joanna had heard her mother’s part of the conversation. Now she needed to know the rest of it. A glance at her watch told her that it was late enough in the morning that her mother and George were probably already home from church. When she dialed their house, however, George was the one who answered.
“Ellie and I came home in separate vehicles,” he said. “With Maggie gone, your mother is the one in charge, and she’s determined to keep things at the Plein Air tea from falling apart. The last I saw of her, she was on her way to the school to supervise setting up the art display for this afternoon’s closing reception and to make sure the judges are on the job. You can’t have a juried show without judges.”
Joanna considered calling her mother to say she was coming. Instead, she decided to simply show up. She was on her way there when her phone rang.
“Great news, boss,” Dave Hollicker said with unrestrained glee. “You’ll never guess what we found in Maggie Oliphant’s car.”
“I give up.”
“Her cell phone. It was shoved down between the driver’s seat and the c
enter console, completely out of sight. There was no other obvious trace evidence. Now that she’s done with the prints, Casey is going to continue searching the car. In the meantime, I’m dropping the phone off with Deb, and then I’m on my way to Tucson.”
Larger departments might be able to have CSI personnel who did only one aspect of the job. In Joanna’s, both Dave and Casey had to wear multiple hats.
“All right,” Joanna said. “I’m going up to the Plein Air reception to check out a couple of loose ends. Tell Deb I’ll be in touch later.”
In exchange for providing art education for local school children, the Bisbee Art League operated out of space rented from the school district at a price well under market value. Their main offices were in the old Horace Mann School, a former junior high school situated in the upper reaches of Old Bisbee. Joanna parked in a lot that still had faded signs reserving the spaces for TEACHERS ONLY.
The open house was due to start at two P.M. Since it was barely noon, Joanna wasn’t surprised that the doors were still locked, but a wave of her badge was enough for the silver-haired gatekeeper to allow her to enter.
Upon pushing open the door, Joanna’s nostrils were assailed by the familiar smell. Years after the last middle school child had left the building, the apparently indelible odor of overheated lunch-box bananas and apples still lingered. The wooden floor of the hallway was polished to a high gloss, and the long passage with its antique overhead fluorescent fixtures had been converted to a make-do art gallery of sorts, with paintings mounted on easels strung from one end of the hall to the other.
Eleanor Lathrop Winfield stood in the middle of a beehive of activity. Still dressed in her Sunday go-to-meeting finery, she barked a steady stream of orders to minions who jumped to do her bidding.
Leaving her mother alone for the moment, Joanna made her way down the middle of the hallway, pausing here and there to view the paintings on either side of the long, narrow room. Clearly the fluorescent fixtures didn’t show the paintings in the best possible light. Even so, a few of the pictures exhibited genuine talent.
