Snapshot

by Lis Wiehl

  “And you are … ?”

  “Oh yes, I’m Rosalyn,” the woman said as if Lisa should recognize her. “Your dad will be right back. He was checking to see which carousel your luggage would arrive at.”

  Lisa tried not to stare at the woman. The night before, she’d left her father a message saying not to pick her up at the airport. When she’d first called to say she was coming, he didn’t sound pleased. Then his hesitancy turned to acceptance and planning. He’d pick her up and have her stay with him. Confused by the conversation, it took until after hanging up to realize what she’d agreed to.

  In a voice message she had politely stated her change of plans. She’d rent a car and settle into her own hotel before going to the old house.

  She hadn’t been back “home” since Mom had moved out fifteen years earlier. When she tried to imagine what Dad had done with the place, or most likely, not done, it only brought dread.

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” Rosalyn said. She looked to be in her late forties, if that old. She wore lime green horn-rimmed glasses, tall faux leather boots, and a poncho. “Oh, here comes your father.”

  Lisa spotted him moving through a crowd, scanning the room until he saw Rosalyn waving at him. He wore his usual slacks, polo shirt, and sports coat, but he walked with the gait of an older man, not quite a shuffle, but his confident steps were gone.

  “Dad.”

  “You look healthy,” he said. It was a compliment for her father, but Lisa couldn’t say the same about him. The lines in his face had deepened, and he had thick bags under his eyes.

  They briefly embraced, and he seemed smaller or shorter to her.

  “Did you have a good flight?” he asked. He took the satchel from Lisa’s shoulder as if she couldn’t carry it. “You two already met. Good. I can bring the car up, it’s way out in a parking garage.” He grumbled at the last part.

  “Yes. But I’m supposed to pick up my rental car. Didn’t you get my message?”

  “What message?” He pulled an antiquated cell phone from his shirt pocket.

  Rosalyn set her hand on her hip. “Jimmy, I told you that you have to check that thing every day. See, right there, it shows you have new messages.”

  “What did it say?” Dad asked Lisa.

  “I made reservations for a car and hotel.”

  “Oh, okay,” said Dad, again seeming confused.

  “We can still drive you into town. I’m sure the rental agency can bring a car to your hotel.” Rosalyn stood between them as if to mediate the situation.

  “Sure, all right. Let me get my suitcase.” Lisa glanced between Dad and Rosalyn. Was she a sort of caregiver or companion? Dad was obviously capable of living on his own and taking care of himself. She couldn’t picture Rosalyn as one of Dad’s friends. Her father had buddies, not friends—old men from the Bureau, guys who played poker and went fishing, smoked cigars, talked about the “old days.” Maybe Dad had gone through AA and Rosalyn was his sponsor, though Mom had never mentioned that he had a drinking problem.

  The luggage was already dumping onto the carousel when they arrived. Rosalyn filled in the awkwardness with constant talking, but Lisa also noticed how her father kept casing out the airport as if looking for someone.

  “Your father wanted to leave the car running at the curb. He thinks his retired FBI status should hold sway over Homeland Security.”

  “It should. I worked for this country for over thirty years. I’m not going to bring a car bomb to the airport.”

  Rosalyn grabbed Dad’s arm. “Don’t say that word in here. You know they are listening.”

  They? The look on her face made Lisa imagine this woman with conspiracy theory publications under her bed and a healthy belief in aliens, maybe even an abduction story in her past by the look of her. What if her dad wasn’t as healthy as he seemed and this woman was taking advantage of him?

  “Your dad always brags about you,” Rosalyn said, sidling up to her.

  “Really?” Lisa said, not a bit convinced that this was true. If Rosalyn thought she could be flattered into trusting her, the woman didn’t know whom she was dealing with. Lisa had met every kind of person during her years as a federal prosecutor—every kind of liar, con man, charismatic swindler, exaggerator, and thief.

  “He clipped every news story about the Radcliffe case. Was really proud of you.”

  Lisa glanced at Dad to see his reaction, but he just walked toward the churning carousel as if he didn’t hear Rosalyn, which was impossible with her loud, chatterbox tone. Her father talked so little, especially compared to this woman, that she wondered how Rosalyn knew anything about him.

  “I bought him a scrapbook last year, but he’s not great about pasting things in there properly. Maybe I’ll do that for him sometime.”

  “I’ll get the car while your luggage arrives,” Dad muttered and hurried off before Lisa could protest being left with Rosalyn.

  “He can’t stand girl talk,” Rosalyn said with a nudge of her elbow.

  Lisa watched her father totter off. Again he perused the surroundings, stopping to look back at where she and Rosalyn stood before hurrying toward the exit. She didn’t like the way Rosalyn acted as if she knew Dad better than Lisa, even if that were true. Everything she knew about Dad was through a childhood lens or from the disappointed view of a woman whose father never showed up when she needed him. He’d attended her husband’s funeral but left as soon as it was over. He might show up here and there to perform the expected duties—walking her down the aisle, visiting when John was first born, a holiday here and there. But he left as soon as the duty was done. There was never emotional support, fatherly advice, career guidance, or a shoulder to cry on.

  Who was her father? Lisa didn’t know.

  Rosalyn seemed to have all the answers as she chatted away. Lisa watched the luggage plummet from the conveyor belt, hoping to see her bag.

  “Your dad will be upset that I told you about the newspaper clips, but you need to know these things. He’d rather just head to the nearest buffet for dinner and then get straight on to the case. But this is a perfect opportunity for the two of you to get close again, like when you were little.”

  Lisa could feel her heart race as she interrupted the woman. “I’m sorry if this sounds rude, but … who are you?”

  Rosalyn stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing.

  “Ah yes, of course. You wouldn’t know who I am, since your father doesn’t talk about anything without it being pulled from him like a bad tooth. We are old friends, I guess you might say. Your dad started out as a consultant for me. I have a small private investigating firm. Cheating spouses, custody cases, missing persons, stuff like that mostly. Here and there I get a case that needs a little expert advice, so I found your father. It started there.”

  Lisa wanted to ask where “it” had gone from there, but she spotted her suitcase rising up the conveyor belt. As she moved to retrieve it, Rosalyn’s laughter returned.

  “You probably thought I was some crazy woman. Of course he didn’t tell you about me. And there I am with my sign and jabbering to you. That’s funny!”

  Lisa tossed back a wan smile and grabbed her suitcase. As they headed toward the exit, Rosalyn moved to walk closer and spoke in a low tone.

  “Listen, your dad didn’t want me to tell you this. But you need to know everything that’s going on.”

  Lisa glanced around, wondering why Rosalyn was suddenly talking so softly. Maybe she was worried that they were listening again.

  “What is it?”

  “This case, digging up the past. There’s some danger involved.”

  “What kind of danger?” Lisa said without drama.

  “Someone has been following your father.”

  “Dad knows this?”

  “Yes, of course. And it’s true. I’m kind of an expert in these things.”

  Lisa wanted to laugh. In her line of work, she encountered many such wannabe detectives who set up shop in
small local areas, usually former cops who had been fired or never made it beyond traffic duty.

  “I’ve kept a log. It started just about a week after Jimmy received that letter from Leonard Dubois. A car was parked down the street. It would follow your dad when he’d leave, but not in any obvious way.”

  Lisa nodded as she considered this. Rosalyn wasn’t convincing, and the motive didn’t make sense. Why would someone put in the time to follow Dad—a retired agent who was practically harmless at this point in life? Why would anyone care that Dad had received a letter from Dubois, and how would anyone other than those in Dad’s life know he had received it? The prison surely censored outgoing and incoming mail, but the letter wouldn’t flag anything suspicious. It was simply the plea of a death row inmate trying a last-ditch effort to save his own life.

  If Dad was being followed, she doubted that it was related to Leonard Dubois. Maybe it had more to do with one of Rosalyn’s little cases—maybe an agitated husband who just happened to leave when Dad left. Rosalyn seemed the type to jump to a lot of conclusions.

  “Your father won’t want to worry you. He still thinks he should protect you, but you’re a big-time lawyer, you can handle this.”

  “So you think we’re all in danger?” Lisa said, trying not to sound as condescending as she felt.

  “I’m more concerned about your father’s health. Ever since he started this Leonard Dubois case, he’s not sleeping, he’s having heart palpitations—and you know the doctor already warned him about that.”

  Lisa couldn’t bring herself to admit that she didn’t know anything about a doctor’s warning.

  “That’s the real danger. In our line of work there are always risks, but that won’t stop us, right?” Rosalyn said with a laugh, leaning sideways to touch her shoulder to Lisa’s as they stood on the curb.

  Lisa stared at the cars, wishing to jump back on a plane for Boston. If Drew were there, she just might punch him in the arm. This was his fault.

  Lisa had a sudden insatiable yearning for warm sand and a tropical sunset.

  She’d give it four days.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lisa studied the black-and-white photograph of Benjamin Gray’s body sprawled out on the city street. He wore an expensive suit and shirt with cuff links, and his necktie appeared neat and tight even though splattered with blood.

  His body had collapsed in an awkward position, indicating that Gray was dead before hitting the ground. The pool of blood surrounding his body was smeared with footprints, handprints, and dozens of streaks, most likely from people trying to help the man.

  “The detectives would’ve had a hard time working this crime scene,” Lisa said.

  She sat back in the dining room chair where she’d had hundreds of meals with her mother, and sometimes her father. Dad usually came home after they’d gone to sleep, and ate from the plate Mom had covered in butcher paper and set in the refrigerator for him.

  “Yes, that’s a textbook example of a compromised crime scene,” Rosalyn said, scooting her chair closer to Lisa. “I can’t believe I found the pics on the Internet.”

  “Who posted it?” Lisa asked.

  “It’s a site for official crime scene photos. It was listed as anonymous.”

  “We should contact the site for more information. Not many people would have this picture other than the Fort Worth police.”

  “I already e-mailed them, but we’ll see. It might help to have some credentials to encourage their cooperation.” Rosalyn smiled at Lisa.

  Lisa studied the picture again, wondering why Rosalyn was still here. Half the point of Lisa coming to Dallas was to spend time with her father, not with some strange woman who acted as if she were part of the family. Lisa glanced at Rosalyn’s left hand—no ring. So she probably didn’t have anyone waiting at home for her.

  Dad sat across from them with his hands on the table and appeared lost in his thoughts. His face had gained wrinkles in the years since she last saw him. There was still a gruff strength about him like an aging cowboy, and Lisa wondered about how this case might harm his health.

  Lisa’s arrival in Dallas had continued in a downward spiral after leaving the airport. The Texas dry heat shocked her. Boston was in full spring, but the sunbaked fields and farmland between the airport and Dallas filled the air with a sense of late summer. Perhaps she had subconsciously hoped she and Dad would have a sudden connection and finally grow close as they put together a case that might free a man before his execution.

  Instead, there was the Rosalyn surprise, and then a detached father who insisted on fathering her in his odd way. At Lisa’s hotel, Dad and Rosalyn waited for her to check in. Lisa hadn’t decided on the number of days she was staying, so she tossed out a number to the woman in guest services.

  Lisa noticed Rosalyn’s surprise and overheard her less-than-quiet whisper to Dad. “Just four days? What are we going to accomplish in four days?”

  Dad made no response, but he insisted on carrying Lisa’s luggage to her room instead of using the valet. He wanted to save Lisa the money for a tip, all the while gazing around the hotel as if she’d spent her retirement on the stay.

  Rosalyn made the situation worse by gushing over the hotel’s marble floors, the shops, and every inch of decor.

  “I’ve only stayed in a place this nice when my aunt married a wealthy guy in Phoenix. I felt like a queen.”

  “You don’t have to rent a car. You can drive the wagon,” Dad said, interrupting Rosalyn as they rode the elevator.

  “You still have the wagon?” Lisa asked.

  “There’s no reason to sell it.”

  “She probably likes having a dependable car,” Rosalyn said. She raised her eyebrows with a short shake of her head in warning toward Lisa.

  “The wagon is dependable.” Dad sounded offended.

  “Well, I …” Lisa tried to come up with a response Dad couldn’t counter. “You know, I don’t remember how to drive a stick shift very well. I’m pretty comfortable with the newer vehicles.”

  Dad seemed to consider that. “The clutch can be a little tricky.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Rosalyn said in a satisfied tone as they reached Lisa’s room.

  Lisa wanted to groan when Rosalyn raced inside with oohs and aahs. “Can I have one of these soaps?” she called from the bathroom.

  “Sure,” Lisa said.

  “Would you like to rest after your flight and start fresh in the morning?” Dad asked and parked her suitcase on the luggage rack in the closet.

  “I’d like to get started today if you don’t mind,” Lisa said, not wanting to stretch out these days in Dallas. The allure of the beach only grew by the moment.

  “Then it’s off to the Bat Cave,” Rosalyn said with a wink, holding up a leaf-shaped bar of soap.

  Dad and Rosalyn left Lisa to go ahead to the house, which allowed her time to clear her head. After picking up a rental car near her hotel, Lisa drove to the older suburban neighborhood and then into the driveway of her old house. She stared at the three-bedroom, two-bath home as if gazing into a memory.

  The trees in the front yard had grown wider and taller with the front lawn manicured as Dad always had it. The house had been repainted from blue and white to neutral beige with white trim, but otherwise it looked the same.

  Rosalyn raced outside to greet her, flapping the photograph of Benjamin Gray’s corpse as if it were an invitation to a birthday party.

  “I’ve been doing some digging on the Internet every day, and look what I came up with,” she said, pushing the photograph toward her as Lisa grabbed her satchel from the car. Before Lisa could even look around the house, she was ushered to a seat at the table to study it.

  But what gain could be found from the old image? Lisa wondered. She glanced at her father, who stared out the front window.

  “If this were today, we’d have DNA evidence, fingerprints, footprint casts, security camera footage from various angles. Seems we don’t have much mo
re than old photographs and conflicting witness reports,” Lisa said.

  “If it were today, we’d have dozens of cell phone photos and videos from bystanders,” Rosalyn interjected, moving close until her shoulder rested against Lisa’s arm. Lisa fought the urge to push the woman away, but moved carefully a few inches over.

  “What are you thinking?” Lisa asked Dad.

  Dad pushed away from the table. “Why don’t we go out to the workshop?”

  Lisa followed Dad’s lead, but Rosalyn scooped up her purse and turned toward the front door.

  “You two enjoy the afternoon in the Bat Cave. I need to run down to my office,” she said. Before they barely said good-bye, the woman was gone.

  Lisa followed her father through the house, taking everything in. The carpet throughout the living room and hallway was a worn brown, possibly the same carpeting from her childhood. The kitchen looked like a faded, out-of-date version of the house she remembered, with the counters a sixties mustard yellow. It hadn’t seemed old-fashioned when she lived here.

  Dad held the back door for her as she stepped out. She took in the small fenced yard of her childhood with the detached garage and workshop to the side. Her old swing set had disappeared, but the fort in the huge oak tree remained—though several rungs and boards were missing.

  “I haven’t had a chance to mow back here lately,” Dad said as if in apology.

  Lisa wondered about the overgrown lawn dotted with brown spots. During her childhood, Dad had been diligent about tending the yard and keeping his cars clean. His days off were punctuated with the sound of the lawn mower or the hose spraying the walkways and cars.

  “Rosalyn was a surprise,” Lisa said.

  Dad paused and glanced back at her. “I should have told you about her before you came.”

  “You’re her … consultant?” Lisa asked pointedly.

  “Is that what she said?” Dad gave her a sideways glance.

  “That isn’t true?”

  “It is. But I guess it’s more than that now.”

  “More?”

  Dad shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it might seem as if she’s my girlfriend. We get along.”