Written In Blood

by Lowe, Shelia

  “Yeah, sure, anything. What do you want me to write?”

  She asked for his e-mail address and promised to send him a form and instructions when she returned to her office.

  He wrote his address on the back of one of her business cards. Claudia stared at the block printing, which she realized she had seen before. “Cruz, did you happen to write a note card a few weeks ago and sign it Besos, besos, besos?”

  Now it was his turn to stare. “How’d you know about that?”

  “Annabelle had it. I don’t suppose you gave it to her?”

  “You’re kidding me, right? It was with some flowers I brought Paige.”

  She had been correct in assuming that Annabelle had snagged the card from Paige’s office.

  Claudia’s cell phone vibrated on her belt. Jovanic.

  Cruz rose from his chair and went to the bathroom while she took the call. Jovanic was running to catch a plane. Developments in his Bay Area case. He didn’t have anything new to report on Annabelle or Paige. They said good-bye.

  As Claudia heard the toilet flush and the bathroom door open her cell phone buzzed a second time. The display read Sorensen Academy.

  “Claudia,” Bert Falkenberg said. “What are you doing over there? I can see your car from my office.”

  “Actually, I came in hopes of seeing you, but the guard wouldn’t let me through. Cruz happened to show up at the right moment and got me in.”

  “Goddamn it, they have no right!” He sounded harried and angry. “I need a word with you before you leave.”

  Her heart was in her throat. “Has there been some news?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. When can you be here?”

  “Five minutes,” she said, clicking off. To Cruz, she said, “Bert wants to see me.”

  Cruz’ lips twisted into a sneer, distorting his scar. “You’d better watch out for ol’ Bert. Did you know he used to work for Sorensen Construction?”

  “Yes, Paige told me what happened. She hired him after her husband died. He lost his job because he didn’t like Dane’s plans for the school.”

  Cruz gave a snort of derision. “If you buy that, I got some oceanfront property in the Mojave to sell you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Bert’s nuts about Paige. I think Dane planted him over here to spy on her.”

  “Are you saying Dane Sorensen and Bert have something to do with Paige’s disappearance?”

  “Hey, what do I know? I’m just a boy from the Bronx. Forget I mentioned it.”

  “Do you have any evidence?”

  “Right now, I just want the cops looking at anyone but me.”

  Claudia collected her purse and went to the door. “Since you brought it up—you were the last one to see her. You probably ought to get yourself a good lawyer.”

  After the obsessive neatness of Cruz’ guest cottage, entering Bert Falkenberg’s office for the first time was akin to walking into a giant rat’s nest—assuming rats made a habit of surrounding themselves with piles of paper.

  Claudia glanced around, looking for a space to sit, not finding one. Had there been an earthquake she hadn’t heard about? Stacks of file folders and financial statements littered the desk, the credenza behind it, the guest chairs. Tax codes and a heap of Wall Street Journals plunked next to trade magazines targeting private school administrators and CFOs. The current copy of Gaming News sat atop one stack, looking out of place.

  Bert caught her eye on that one. “Can’t help it. I love to gamble. My big vice.”

  Claudia smiled. “When it comes to vices, I prefer chocolate.”

  “To each his own.” Bert gathered up a bundle of file folders from one of the chairs and dumped it onto the floor, clearing a place for her. He edged around behind his desk and sat in the oversize executive chair. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Paige?”

  “Why would I?”

  He smoothed a hand over his thick mass of hair, but wiry strays stayed sticking up. His beard seemed to have gone grayer since the last time Claudia had seen him.

  “Paige always seemed to have a tough time making friends with other gals, but she liked you right from the get-go. So I thought maybe, wherever she is—”

  “You think she’s gone somewhere of her own volition? Somewhere she could call me?”

  “Lord Almighty, I have to hope so.” His eyes turned toward the ceiling and he seemed to be calling on the Deity. “It’s just so strange, the two of them going off like that and leaving no word.”

  “They have to be together somewhere.”

  “Exactly, and I’d like to know where.”

  “How’s her dog?”

  “Mikki? He’s moping around, missing her.”

  “I don’t believe she’d leave him with no food, do you? It seems pretty obvious they didn’t leave of their own free will, so what happened to them?” Claudia thought about Cruz’ insinuation that Dane and Bert had conspired together to spy on Paige. Could he have been serious, or was he just trying to divert suspicion from himself?

  Bert spread his hands. “I wish I knew.”

  Claudia said, “Cruz was with the police all night. Have they talked to you yet?”

  “Of course they have, but I was in Vegas over the holiday. I have nothing to contribute. They can get a lot more out of Cruz than me.” Bitterness crept into his voice. “Maybe if she’d come with me, instead of him . . .” He let the rest of the sentence hang.

  “How is Annabelle’s father taking it?”

  “Mr. Giordano insists on keeping this whole mess as low profile as possible. Which, as a matter of fact, is the reason I wanted to see you.” He steepled his fingertips on the desk and brought them to his lips. When he spoke, he spoke slowly, as if searching for the right words.

  “Uh, Mr. Giordano is, shall we say, mindful of all the truly dreadful possibilities presented by the current situation. Of course, Annabelle’s prior history is, er, shall we say, less than satisfactory? Mr. Giordano feels that excessive media attention would not be in the girl’s best interest.”

  “How is he going to manage that? It’s already all over the media.”

  Bert nodded agreement. “True, some of it got leaked. If I hadn’t been out of town at the time I would have made sure that didn’t happen. But the barn door’s closed now, and I want to make sure it stays that way.”

  “Who do you suppose leaked it?”

  His expression darkened. “The Sorensens have a spy on the staff. I’m sure of it. Neil would be too obvious, and he’s loyal to Paige, anyway. Maybe Brenda Rodriguez, the receptionist, but I don’t have any proof. At least, not yet.”

  Claudia thought about it. She wasn’t so sure Bert was correct about Brenda, but after Diana’s behavior, it was easy to believe that Torg Sorensen’s daughter would turn the situation to her advantage.

  She was also considering the possibility that the Sorensen twins had somehow engineered the disappearances. She would have to let the police know about the threatening letter Diana had sent Paige.

  Then the other part of what Bert had said struck her. “Wait a minute. Are you saying that Annabelle’s father believes she’s involved, not a victim? That she somehow kidnapped Paige?” Cruz had suggested the same.

  “You can’t think a fourteen-year-old girl—a small girl at that—could have subdued an adult, an authority figure, and kept her hidden for what . . . three days now? A kid kidnapper?”

  “She may be small, but our Miss Annabelle is not so innocent,” Bert insisted. “You probably know she’s spent time in juvenile detention, and you can bet she learned plenty of bad habits there. Of course, she’d have had to have had accomplices.”

  “But what would her motive be to do something so extreme?” Even as she asked the question, Claudia thought about what she had learned from Monica—Annabelle was jealous and angry about Paige’s liaison with Cruz. Bert didn’t know about that conversation and Claudia didn’t tell him. Nonetheless, he came up with the right answer.


  “Revenge,” he said. “Annabelle’s always trying to get Cruz to notice her. She’s almighty pissed because he only has eyes for Paige.”

  Whether she wanted to believe it or not, Claudia had to recognize the possibilities in what Bert was saying. Looking at it objectively left her depressed.

  “You don’t really think she would hurt Paige, do you?”

  Leaning back in his chair, Bert put his boot up on the edge of the desk. “We don’t know what that girl’s capable of, now, do we?”

  “You’ve got your mind made up about this, haven’t you?” Claudia said.

  “What are the alternatives?” Bert gave her a slick smile. “Don’t look so down, Claudia. Even if it’s true, nothing much will happen to her. She’ll end up at some high-priced boot camp.” He picked up a pen from the desk and began doodling dollar signs on a note pad. “I would like us to be clear on one thing—if you hear anything from either of them, you’re to let me know first. In the meantime, I need your assurance that you aren’t going to discuss the situation with anyone. We’ve gotta keep that barn door shut.”

  Claudia opened her mouth to respond, but Bert’s office door was suddenly flung open and there was Dane Sorensen, filling the doorway with his bulk, glowering at them both. She knew then who was giving the orders to the guard at the front gate.

  “What the hell is she doing here?” he demanded of Bert, refusing to look at Claudia.

  “She’s here at my invitation.” Bert stood up as he spoke, and moved around the desk. Claudia stood, too. “This is still my office,” Bert said.

  Dane threw him an unpleasant little smile. “Not for long. I’m having papers drawn up right now to have your sorry ass thrown out of here.”

  “Why? Don’t you expect Paige to come back?” Claudia heard the words fly out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  Dane took a half step toward her. Bert, who didn’t appear to be intimidated by his former employer’s combative manner, made a protective move in front of her.

  “She’s got no business on this property,” Dane said, his jaw tight. “This is my family’s property and her presence is unwelcome.”

  Bert gave him a cool stare. “Correction. This is Paige’s property, and until there’s some word from or about her, I’m in charge in her absence. So don’t go throwing your weight around just yet, Dane.”

  Dane’s upper lip curled into a sneer. “I might say the same thing to you, you double-dealing prick. You figured to get the girl and the money. Well, things don’t always work out the way they’re planned, bucko.” He strode away, leaving his presence bristling in the air as intensely as if he continued to fill the doorframe.

  Claudia felt a sudden strong urge to put distance between herself and the school and its atmosphere of menace. She took a step toward the door. “Bert, I’m outta here.”

  Bert reached out to put a restraining hand on her arm. “You will let me know if you hear from either of them, won’t you?”

  She looked down at his hand and made a movement that took her far enough away that he would have had to use force to maintain the contact. “I hope the same of you.”

  Bert’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever game little Miss Annabelle is playing, it can’t last much longer. If you try to protect her, you’ll end up wishing you’d stayed out of it.”

  Chapter 18

  That evening, Claudia hiked down to Cowboys, the neighborhood bar and grill at the bottom of the hill by her house, walking off the bad taste left by Bert’s implied threat.

  She had arranged to meet Kelly and Zebediah there. Kelly was a family law attorney and despite her zany attitude, she often had good insights to offer on difficult cases. Zebediah added his expertise and experience as a forensic psychologist.

  The women ordered the house special: a burger smothered in green peppers, grilled onions, and Swiss cheese that the menu named after the cowboy William S. Hart and a batch of home fries big enough to feed a family of four. Zebediah, who was a vegetarian, ordered pasta primavera.

  “You two are couple of barbarians,” he said, showing an expression of mock distaste. “How can you sleep after eating all that artery-clogging grease?”

  Claudia took a swig from her bottle of Bud Light. “Joel’s gone back up north, so I’m sleeping alone. It doesn’t matter what I eat.”

  Kelly leaned forward, deliberately resting her breasts on the table. She’d had them augmented a few years earlier, and they were full and perky. “You and your evil vegetarian ways,” she said to Zebediah. “You know you’re secretly salivating for a piece of meat.”

  He took the bait as she knew he would. “Oh yeah, baby.” He gave her an exaggerated leer. “I’m Kellyvating. Carne caliente, yum yum.”

  Claudia looked at them both and rolled her eyes. After spending the day worrying about Paige and Annabelle, being able to relax and listen to her two closest friends’ silly bantering made her feel almost normal.

  Kelly put on a saintly face and folded her hands demurely. “Okay, Miz Priss, I’ll make Zebby behave, I promise.”

  “Who’s going to make you behave?” Claudia asked. “Could we talk about Paige and Annabelle’s handwritings? I want to see if either of you pick up on anything I might have missed.”

  Zebediah grinned. “What about ol’ buddy Bert’s confidentiality admonition?”

  “Screw Bert Falkenberg and the horse he rode in on.” Claudia picked up the manila envelope she had placed on the empty chair next to her. She removed the handwriting samples from the envelope and turned Paige’s sample so they both could see it. “Paige is my client, not Bert. I’ll do anything I can to help her, and if that means discussing it with you two, he ought to be glad he’s getting three good heads for the price of none.”

  The handwriting sample was one that Paige had written specifically for analysis, prepared according to a set of instructions Claudia had given her: Write a letter in ink on a full-size sheet of unlined paper. Write a whole page. Don’t copy it from somewhere else and don’t write poetry or lyrics. Include a signature.

  Kelly took it and looked it over. The carefully written script was filled with small, tasteful flourishes of Paige’s own invention. “Oh my, she’s a good girl all the way, isn’t she?”

  Kelly had sat in on classes that Claudia taught. She was referring to the school-model writing style, which often indicated someone who had a bottomless craving for affection, attention, and approval from men.

  “Good girls need a daddy to please,” Zebediah added. “You can bet your sweet ass she didn’t have an adequate father, which means she’d look for fathering in relationships as an adult. From what you’ve told us, Paige found a daddy in Torg. Unfortunately, those kinds of parental replacements tend not to work out so well.”

  “You’re right about that,” Claudia agreed. “She told me Torg was very possessive after they got married.” She drank her beer and listened to her friends confirm her opinions about Paige’s handwriting. Her analysis had covered all the bases.

  A sharp gust of wind blew through the open patio doors and wrapped around her ankles, making her shiver. Or maybe it was her fear for Annabelle’s and Paige’s safety that raised the gooseflesh on her arms.

  Kelly wanted to know if Paige had given Torg anything to be jealous about.

  Claudia shrugged. “According to her, she was a straight arrow. But . . . Torg’s younger son, Neil, is in love with her. And Cruz, well, I don’t know whether that’s love or plain old lust. Then there’s Bert—he’s still an unknown in the equation, though there’s definitely some kind of tension between them. I told you she gave him the job at the Sorensen Academy after her husband died, didn’t I?”

  Zebediah arced a shaggy brow. “From construction company to ritzy girls’ school. Interesting career segue.”

  “I don’t know whether she was telling the truth about being faithful to Torg,” Claudia said. “She’s a big flirt, but it’s not a crime to be attractive to men.”

  “You bet you
r bootie it’s not,” Kelly agreed emphatically. “But the rub, if you’ll pardon the pun, is when she meets someone who’s unwilling to be seduced by her flirting—someone who demands more realistic interaction.”

  “Annabelle evidently decided not to be seduced.” Claudia removed the girl’s handwriting sample from the envelope, along with the pictures she had drawn. “She tolerated Paige until she saw her in bed with Cruz.”

  Pointing at the handwriting she said, “The pressure is too light. She keeps her emotions inside until she’s ready to blow.”

  “And blow she did,” Zebediah added. “According to what Monica told you.”

  Kelly took Annabelle’s drawing from his hands and pointed to the figure of the man pushing the car over a cliff. “My God, look at this! Is this what she thinks happened?”

  Claudia chewed on her lower lip. “All I know for sure is, she’s really angry with her father. What do you think, Zeb?”

  But before he could offer an opinion, Claudia’s cell phone rang with the music from La Traviata. “That’s Pete’s ring.”

  She answered the call, her eyes widening as she listened. “Oh, shit . . . uh-huh . . . uh-huh . . . I know, I’m sorry . . . I said I’m sorry . . . Have you called the cops yet?”

  She moved the phone away from her ear and Pete’s angry voice could be heard, yelling profanities. Then there was silence. Claudia closed the phone looking troubled. “He hung up on me.”

  Kelly, who had known Pete for most of her life, gave a low whistle. “Wow, he’s really pissed. What happened?”

  “Monica got a phone call from Annabelle.”

  “So she’s okay, thank God. Where is she?”

  “Monica couldn’t understand her, said she was hysterical.”

  “What about Paige?” Zebediah asked.

  “I don’t know,” Claudia said slowly. “When Pete realized who it was, he grabbed the phone from Monica, but Annabelle hung up.”

  Claudia stared at her food without seeing it. She had conjured an image of Annabelle trying to make contact with her only friend—Monica—desperately seeking help with whatever mess she was in. Something pretty bad, she speculated, to cause the normally stoic girl to become hysterical. She pushed away her plate, her appetite evaporating.