Unveiling the Past

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “Oh, yeah?” Sean rested his elbow on the bar and waved smoke away with his free hand.

  “Yeah. You ever been to Riverside Park?”

  Sean shook his head.

  “I have.” The bartender swapped Farber’s empty glass for a full one. Farber dropped the half-eaten wing in the basket and picked up the glass. “Let’s go to the park tomorrow, snoop around the spot where the twins were found. I’ll tell you my theory then.” He took a long draw of the soda, set down the glass, and reached for the wing. “The dirt in their lungs tells me they didn’t die from somebody holding their heads under water. The coroner took one look at their damp hair and clean faces and chose the lazy way out.”

  “You could be right about that.”

  “What a job…doing an autopsy on babies. Enough to drive a man to drink.” Farber put his focus on his glass of Coke, and Sean caught sight of the detective’s hand on the soda glass. During their time in Barney’s, Farber’s tremors had finally stopped. Maybe he’d only been hungry and his blood sugar had gotten too low. Could Farber be diabetic and not treating it? That might explain Cap’s concern. A physical ailment could explain the man’s extreme testiness, too.

  “You feeling better now?” Sean hadn’t meant to ask, but the question found its way out of his mouth anyway.

  Farber aimed a confused look at him. “I feel fine. Why?”

  Sean forced a chuckle. “Earlier, before we ate, you were pretty shaky. I was worried about you.” He swallowed, hoping he wasn’t stepping onto thin ice. “I think Cap was, too.”

  Farber stood so quickly his stool scooted across the planked floor. He leaned in and pointed at Sean’s nose. “If you don’t want my fist here, keep that thing out of my business.” He stormed out.

  Sean stared after him, then looked at their wing baskets and glasses. He’d been stuck with the bill. “Thanks a lot, Farber.”

  The bartender wandered over and started cleaning up their mess. He lobbed a grin at Sean. “Never seen you here before. You a friend of Tom’s?”

  Not exactly a friend, but Sean didn’t want to explain. “Yeah.” He dug in his pocket for his wallet.

  “Glad he’s got somebody to hang out with. He’s been bummed since his old lady moved out.”

  Sean paused and frowned at the man. “His wife left him?”

  “Took the kids and headed for parts unknown.” He swished a rag over the bar’s surface, sending crumbs dancing. “Said she wouldn’t live with a lush anymore.” He laughed. “As if every man who likes his beer is a lush. Oh, well. Probably better off without her. Sounded like a real shrew.” He tossed the rag over his shoulder and held out his palm. “Seven bucks each for the baskets, buck fifty for your drink, and three bucks for each of his, tax rolled in, so twenty-one fifty.”

  Sean counted out the bills and added a tip. “How come his soda costs more than mine?”

  “ ’Cause yours didn’t have bourbon in it.” He rolled the bills and tucked them in his shirt pocket. “Thanks. Come again.”

  Sean doubted he’d come again. He might never wear these clothes again. Would the smoke smell come out of the fabric? But at least now he understood Farber’s surliness and trembling. The man was trying to detox from alcohol. And he’d sat right next to him and watched him fall off the wagon. Some help he’d turned out to be.

  Twenty-Four

  Fort Smith, Arkansas

  Meghan

  “I know we’d planned to go home for the weekend, but…”

  Meghan set her paper cup of coffee down and gave Greg her full attention. Sheila paused midchew and looked at him, too.

  “I think we need to stay. Make ourselves known around town.” He stirred his instant oatmeal with his plastic spoon. “If we keep interviewing people, requesting records, and generally snooping, our thief will get plenty nervous. If we’re lucky, he might break and lead us to the money as well as”—his gaze flicked to Sheila, then settled on Meghan—“any other evidence.”

  Meghan had been looking forward to going home and having the weekend with Sean, but she agreed with Greg’s reasoning. She could stay if need be, but she wasn’t without concern for Sheila. “Can you do that, Sheila? Take more time off work?”

  The younger woman chewed, swallowed, and then gave Meghan a sheepish look. “Probably. I’ve never taken a vacation from the time I started at the retirement home. Not like I could go anywhere, with Mom and the boys needing me, and I kinda needed the structure of my job, with so much unpredictability at home.”

  Meghan couldn’t resist giving the younger woman’s wrist a squeeze. Sheila was definitely unselfish.

  “So I’ve got a whole month stored up. I’d have to ask my supervisor, but yeah, I could probably stay.”

  Greg nodded. “Call your supervisor. If she’s good with it, then we’ll plan on using your presence to make the thief squirm. If it means losing your job, though, Meghan and I will pitch in for a bus ticket and send you back to Little Rock.”

  Tears swam in Sheila’s blue eyes. “You’ve both been really nice to me. Thank you. I know I can be hard to live with. My brothers tell me that all the time. I guess when you’re always worried, it makes you…ugly.”

  Meghan leaned over and gave Sheila an awkward sideways hug. “You could never be ugly, Sheila. You’ve been through a lot, losing your dad when you were young, then watching your mother fade away and not being able to do anything to fix it. That’s bound to make anybody stressed. Stress exhibits itself in lots of ways. Anger is one. But we understand, and we want the end result of this investigation to take some of the stress off you. Knowing the truth will help, right?”

  “Yeah. And being able to get Daddy’s life insurance money will help, too. If he’s really dead.” She dropped the half-eaten pastry onto her Styrofoam plate and sighed. “I don’t know what I want there. Part of me really wants him to be alive somewhere instead of maybe murdered by somebody he trusted, and part of me needs this done and buried and with enough money to pay for Brandon’s college.”

  Meghan understood mixed emotions. She wanted to get to know her father but at the same time was scared of what she’d discover. She peeled back the aluminum cover on a cup of blueberry yogurt. “What career field is Brandon pursuing?”

  Pride glowed on Sheila’s face. “He wants to be a rheumatologist. So he can help people who have diseases like Mom had.”

  Greg whistled through his teeth. “That’s a big ambition. Good for him.”

  Sheila nodded. “He’s the smartest of all three of us. He should do something really big. Me and Wayne, we’re content with our jobs. Wayne is an equipment operator for a private excavation company. It’s owned by a guy from our church, and he treats Wayne real good. As for me, I like working with elderly people, trying to make them feel better or happier. My job’s not glamorous, and sometimes it really hurts, like when a favorite patient dies, but I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

  Meghan again marveled at Sheila’s compassionate heart. She’d been raised right, even if her childhood had been difficult. Or maybe it was the difficulties that built her heart of compassion.

  “Well, if we’re all in agreement about sticking around, I’ll give Captain Ratzlaff a call and let him know our intentions to stay over. I better also extend our reservation with the hotel.” Greg pushed away from the table and grabbed his empty coffee cup. “You two make your calls while I set us up for another week. Then I need another cup of coffee. Stuff’s so weak it takes four cups to get enough caffeine in my system to do any good.”

  Sheila laughed as Greg strode off. “I didn’t like him at all at first. I thought he was grumpy. But he’s growing on me.” Her smile faded, and her lips quivered. “His kids are lucky, I think. Being around him has kind of reminded me what it’s like to have a dad, you know?”

  Meghan didn’t know, but she nodded anyway.

  “
Daddy wasn’t ever grumpy that I remember, unless one of us did something really wrong. Then I wouldn’t say he got grumpy, just stern.” Sheila tipped her head and peered at Meghan. “What about your dad? Was he kinda crusty, like Greg, or gentle, like my dad?”

  Meghan scooped a spoonful of yogurt and ate it. She spoke to the yogurt cup. “I don’t have one.” She took another bite.

  Sheila leaned close, bringing her sympathetic face into Meghan’s line of vision. “I’m sorry. Did he die?”

  Meghan set the yogurt aside. “No, he’s alive. He actually lives here in Fort Smith. But I’ve never met him. He left my mom before I was born.” She could have added that he and her mother had recently spent time together, but she still wasn’t sure how she felt about it, and she wasn’t ready to discuss it with anyone except Sean.

  “Wow, that’s sad.”

  Meghan took a sip of her tepid coffee and shrugged. “I’ve gotten along okay with just a mom. It’s really fine.”

  Sheila’s sorrowful face brightened. “Maybe you could look for him while we’re here. We’re already searching for my dad. Would it be that hard to look for yours, too?”

  She should have known by now that Sheila was persistent. “There’s no need. I know where he is, but I’ve gone more than thirty years without him in my life. I’m not sure I want to switch that up. Especially since I don’t know if he’s like your dad, or like Greg, or even like Frankenstein’s monster.” She laughed, and to her relief, Sheila did, too. She patted Sheila’s hand. “It’s kind of you to be concerned, but you know what? I’ve always had a dad, and so have you.”

  Sheila’s forehead puckered. “We have?”

  “Mm-hmm. Our heavenly Father. My grandmother says the name Abba actually translates to ‘Daddy,’ like I’ve heard you call your dad.” Jealousy tried to sneak in, but she pushed it aside. Envy had no place in this conversation. “That’s pretty intimate, isn’t it? You don’t call a father ‘Daddy’ when you don’t have a close, loving relationship. But that’s what we can call God because we’re His children and He loves us so unconditionally.”

  Amazement bloomed on Sheila’s face. “I’d never thought of that, but you’re right. After Daddy disappeared, Mom started taking us kids to church. My Sunday school teacher taught us to pray, ‘Our Father, who art in heaven…’ That’s talking about God.”

  “More than that, it’s talking to God. And being the loving Father He is, He always listens.” Grandma’s voice whispered in Meghan’s memory, and she rephrased her words for Sheila. “He never leaves us. He never lets us down.” Meghan’s nose stung, tears looking for escape. But who was she crying for—herself or Sheila?

  Sheila beamed the brightest smile Meghan had seen on the young woman’s face. “Thanks, Meghan. That really helps.”

  “What helps?” Greg stood at the edge of their table, a steaming cup in his broad hand.

  Sheila jumped to her feet. “Oops. I haven’t called work yet. I’ll go do that now.” She darted off.

  Meghan pulled out her cell phone. “I haven’t called Sean, either.”

  Greg rolled his eyes. “Leave women unattended and all they do is yak.” He waved his hand at her. “Go. Call. Then let’s get this show on the road.”

  Meghan grinned at him, then headed outside to the spot behind a cluster of potted plants where she’d found some semblance of privacy for previous calls. The morning air was crisp and cool, and the wind carried the smell of exhaust from the busy traffic, but her nose detected the fresh scent of burgeoning plants. New life. She allowed the aroma to clear her tumbled emotions.

  Sean’s phone went straight to voice mail, which she’d expected, given the hour of the day—he never answered his phone when he was driving. She explained their intention to stay through the weekend, then said, “Sean, as much as I miss you, I’m so glad I’m here. I’ve learned some things, and Greg and Sheila are the teachers. I’ll talk to you more about it later. Have a good day, honey. I love you.”

  She disconnected the call and stepped from her hiding place. Greg and Sheila were waiting on the sidewalk. Greg raised one brow. “Good to go?”

  Meghan nodded. “Lead the way.”

  Little Rock, Arkansas

  Sean

  Sean listened to Meghan’s voice mail while he walked from the parking garage to the unit’s building. Disappointment fell like a wall of bricks. He’d looked forward to having her home, to sharing his worry about Farber—who would’ve thought he’d be so concerned about a man who gloried in antagonizing him?—and bouncing case theories with her. He wanted to be glad she was gaining new insights, but jealousy that he wasn’t part of the process left him more unsettled than grateful.

  Roach and Johnson were already at their desks when Sean entered the unit, but Farber’s desk was vacant. A prickle of unease worked its way up Sean’s spine. He pointed to the empty chair. “Did Farber call in sick?”

  Roach glanced at Johnson, and Johnson shrugged. “Cap didn’t say anything.”

  Sean changed course and went to the captain’s office. He tapped on the doorframe, and his boss gestured him in. “Hey, Cap, sorry to bother you, but Farber’s not here. Pretty unusual for him. Wondered if he’d called in sick.”

  “Close the door, huh?”

  Sean did so, then sank onto the edge of the sofa, where he’d sat for so many other meetings in Cap’s office. Why did this one feel ominous?

  “Farber’s at Riverside Park, waiting for you.”

  Sean searched his memory. Had they made plans to meet and he’d forgotten?

  “He went straight to the park this morning because after he talks to you there, he’s taking a leave of absence.”

  Sean fell against the cushions. Farber? The one who wanted to sit in the captain’s chair? “Why?”

  Cap angled his head and pasted on a “Really?” look. “C’mon, Eagle. Use your deductive skills. What’s going on with him?”

  Sean scratched his temple. “He drinks too much. I’ve always known that. But last night I found out it destroyed his relationship with his wife.”

  The captain’s jaw dropped. “He told you that?”

  “No, the bartender at Barney’s did.”

  “That’s it in a nutshell. So now you know he’s lonely, he’s detoxing, and on top of that, I’m pretty sure he’s battling depression.” Cap leaned heavily on his desk and sighed. “I’ve been trying for the past six months to get him into AA. He finally joined. Has even gone to a couple of meetings with me as his sponsor.”

  Sean jolted. The captain was a recovering alcoholic?

  Cap nodded, as if reading Sean’s thoughts. “I’ve been sober a little over twenty years. I know how hard it is to fight your way out of the hole and then keep from falling back in. I hoped he’d listen to me, trust me, given how long we’ve worked together. But mostly he’s thrown rage in my direction. That’s not doing our work relationship any good, so I’ll have to set him up with a different sponsor.”

  Sean cringed. “Yeah—and quick. Because he kept his word about not drinking beer with his wings, but he did have a couple of Cokes with bourbon.”

  The captain leaned back, raised his face to the ceiling, and shook his head. “That explains him taking time off. When you trip and fall, the guilt gets you.” He looked at Sean again. “I gave him sick leave for today, but he put in for a two-week leave. I’ll do my best to see that it’s approved. Of course, this means you’re on your own with the Dunsbrook case.”

  Sean stood. “Actually, I’m okay with that. Farber says he has a theory to explore. I’ll meet with him, hear him out, then chase that rabbit.”

  “I guess you know Dane and Meghan are staying over in Fort Smith.”

  Sean gritted his teeth and nodded.

  “All right, then. Thanks for trying to help with Farber. Might want to”—he glanced at the door, as if ascertaining they
were alone—“keep him in your prayers. It’s a mighty monster he’s fighting.”

  In his years on the cold-case unit, the captain had never mentioned anything remotely related to religion. For him to do so now told Sean how deeply the captain cared about his detectives. He gave the man a thumbs-up. “Will do. You can count on it.”

  Cap nodded and turned to his computer.

  Sean opened the door but then shot a grin over his shoulder. “By the way, you were smart to go home and eat roast last night. I’ve still got heartburn from the wings, and my Bronco smells like cigarette smoke, thanks to me leaving the windows rolled up for my drive home.”

  Cap released a short chuckle. “Yeah, the smoke and the wings’ll kill ya.”

  Like Stony Dunsbrook might’ve killed his cousins? Sean touched his forehead in a casual salute and headed for the elevator. The drive to Riverside Park took twenty minutes, and he left the windows down the entire time. Maybe the humid air would wash the cigarette-smoke smell from his upholstery. He could hope.

  He pulled in through the park’s main entrance and spotted Farber sitting on a bench near a half circle–shaped gravel parking area. Leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands loosely linked and dangling, he looked dejected. Despite everything, sympathy struck. Sean angled his vehicle next to Farber’s little sports car and left the engine idling, uncertainty holding him in his seat.

  How should he greet the man? Should he pretend he didn’t know anything about Farber’s crumbling marriage and alcohol addiction? Or was it better to acknowledge it, let Farber know he was concerned? Because he was.

  Farber pushed off from the bench and ambled to the passenger side of Sean’s SUV. He propped his arms on the window’s sill and scowled in at Sean. “Took you long enough to get here.”

  His drawling, sarcastic tone chased away Sean’s sympathy. He was about to tell Farber he’d have been here sooner if he’d been given advance notice, but the prayers he’d sent up for patience paid off. “Sorry. Wanna hop in? We can drive closer to where the Dunsbrooks camped the weekend the twins died.”