Mommy Said Goodbye

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Dryness crept into her tone. “Did you.”

  “His dad’s in Montreal. Did you know he flies to Paris and Tokyo and places like that?”

  “Yes, actually I did.”

  He didn’t care what she knew. “Can I spend tomorrow night? I’m only at level three on…”

  She held up a hand. “Has he asked his father?”

  “Brett says he’ll be cool with it. We don’t have a game Saturday, remember? So can I?”

  “Let me think about it,” she prevaricated. “No, don’t argue. I just want to get home and peel these panty hose off before I make any decisions. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he said, confident that she wouldn’t be irrational.

  Or would it be rational to say no? The Lofgren house was the most notorious in Klickitat. Julie had vanished from there, as if aliens had beamed her up. Brett’s father was suspected of having chopped her up in little pieces and put her down the disposal—although the newspapers had assured readers that not even trace blood was found in the disposal. Still…

  She parked in their cluttered garage and went to her bedroom, where she kicked off her hated pumps, took off her panty hose and reached for her sweats.

  Still… How on earth could she say no? She’d encouraged Mal to revive his friendship with Brett, to invite him over, to defend him and his dad against all comers. Now how could she say, “But I don’t quite trust Brett’s dad?”

  Anyway, she did. Didn’t she?

  Trudging downstairs, Robin sighed, half her mind on what she could make for dinner and half on her dilemma. Faith was one thing—but putting her son at risk to test her faith was another.

  She wrinkled her nose. Oh, for Pete’s sake! Even if Craig had murdered his wife, he wasn’t going to hurt Mal. Why would he?

  “Yes,” she said, the minute she saw Malcolm. “You can go.”

  He let out a hoot and dashed for the phone, calling, “What’s for dinner?” as he grabbed it.

  “I have no idea,” she admitted, and opened the refrigerator.

  Faith, she told herself. Common sense.

  The fact that Craig might invite her in for coffee, might look at her again as if he wanted to kiss her—well, that hadn’t even entered her thinking.

  ROBIN WAS A LITTLE intimidated Saturday when she pulled into the driveway of a house that must have cost four or five times what her little bungalow had. The development was new, the houses all in that $350,000–$500,000 range. All huge, by her standards, dwarfing their lots. Craig’s was shingled and stained a deep brown, river rock facing below the front bay window. A few half-grown fir and cedar trees, mulched in beds with the standard rhododendrons, were circled by immaculate lawn. The house would have looked better set in the woods.

  His car sat in the driveway next to hers; a blue sedan was parked at the curb in front. His dad’s, she thought vaguely— Mr. Lofgren usually drove Julie’s red van when Robin saw him.

  A next-door neighbor was edging flower beds. Feeling his stare when she got out of her car, Robin waved and called, “Hi.”

  He gave a curt nod and turned away.

  Friendly, she thought, then remembered what Craig had said. Did the man disapprove because she was visiting at the Lofgren’s?

  On the porch, she rang the doorbell. Craig answered the door almost immediately, his face as blank of expression as she’d ever seen it. She felt tension emanating from him in waves.

  “Robin.”

  “I’m, uh, here to pick up Mal?”

  He muttered something under his breath, then squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, they were bleak. “I’m sorry. I’d forgotten…” His jaw muscles flexed. “The police are here. I’ll call Malcolm down. You’ll want to get him out of here.”

  “Get him out of here?” Robin echoed. “Before…what?”

  “They want to interview Brett and Abby again.”

  “Oh, no,” she whispered. “Why? It’s been so long!”

  “They want to shake Brett’s story, of course. What else?”

  “Oh, dear.” How inadequate! she thought, mad at herself. Mad at that woman cop who apparently didn’t care what she did to a sensitive boy.

  He shook himself. “Let me get Mal. You don’t even have to come in.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped, and darn near pushed past him. “Why don’t I stay? Maybe I can talk to Brett afterward.” She saw Craig’s face and flushed. “Unless…”

  His voice dropped a notch. “I’d be grateful. If you’re sure…?”

  “Of course I am.” She crossed the vast parquet entry to a pair of French doors that were open to a living room as big as her whole house. The two cops she’d already met were there, as she’d suspected, the man with his back to her looking out the front window, the woman sitting on a brocade sofa with her notebook open on her knees.

  “Detective Diaz.” Robin nodded. “Officer Caldwell.”

  She was glad to see that she’d startled them.

  Diaz recovered first. “Ms. McKinnon. You didn’t mention that you were friendly with…Mr. Lofgren.” The significant pause told her what he’d been going to say, or wanted her to know he was thinking: the suspect. She was friendly with the suspect.

  Conscious of Craig behind her, Robin reminded them, “Our sons are friends. That’s how I knew Julie.”

  “You used only past tense talking about Mr. Lofgren,” the woman cop said sharply.

  “Then I must have mixed up my tenses.” Robin met her stare for stare. “My son spent the night with Brett. I’m here to pick him up.”

  “Then we won’t keep you.” Her nod was dismissive.

  “Craig tells me you intend to interview Brett again. You do understand how traumatized he’s been by losing his mother and by the suspicion pointed at his father?”

  No hint of regret showed on Officer Caldwell’s face. “Nonetheless, we need to take his statement.”

  “Surely you can find a copy of the statement he’s already given.”

  Craig’s hand wrapped around her arm. “Robin…”

  Simmering, she subsided.

  Robin knew the two officers would discount anything she said from now on, after finding out she was on first-name terms with their suspect.

  “I’ll get Abby first,” Craig said, his voice dead.

  Robin waited right where she was. She turned, though, when she heard them coming down the stairs. Abby looked heartbreakingly small and scared, her face white and her eyes huge.

  Robin mustered a smile that Abby’s panicked gaze didn’t seem to register. The two passed Robin and went into the living room. Glued to her father’s side, the eight-year-old faced the pair of police officers.

  The woman cop said, “Abby, we need to ask you some questions. Will you please sit down?”

  The child lifted pleading eyes to her father. He smiled, nodded and gently pushed her forward.

  Diaz cleared his throat and in his deep, quiet voice, said, “Don’t worry, Abby.” He smiled, transforming his impassive face into a gentle one. “You know we’re trying to find out what happened to your mom.”

  She nodded.

  He rounded the couch, ignoring his partner, and crouched in front of the little girl. “Do you remember the last time you saw her?”

  Her head bobbed.

  “Can you tell me about it?”

  “She woke me up,” Abby whispered. “Just like always. She said, ‘Upsy daisy.’ So I got up and I got dressed and she made me go back upstairs ’n change, ’cause she said my favorite purple shirt didn’t go with my red pants.”

  He nodded, grinning at her as if he agreed that her mom had been silly; of course red and purple went together!

  “Then?” he prompted.

  “I had cereal. I didn’t like milk back then.” Her tone implied it was a long time ago. “So she let me put chocolate milk on my Kix. Sometimes she did, and sometimes I ate them dry.”

  Robin watched Craig, who was listening to his daughter with so much emotion on his face,
it shattered her heart.

  “After, Mom said…” Abby’s soft voice cracked. “She said…” Tears shimmered in her eyes.

  Craig jerked, as if only pure will was keeping him ten feet from his daughter.

  Abby sniffed. “’Bye, Punkin. Be good.” A tear rolled down one cheek. “That’s what she said. ’N she hugged me.”

  Craig made a sound, but stood rigid.

  Quietly, the police officer asked, “Is that what she said every morning?”

  Abby shook her head. “Usually she just said stuff like, ‘Do you have your homework? Lunch? Hurry, you’re going to miss the bus!’” She’d mimicked adult tones well enough that Robin heard herself as much as Julie.

  “Did that seem strange to you at the time? Your mom saying goodbye that way?”

  Abby shook her head.

  “Do you think now she was really saying goodbye?”

  After a brief hesitation, she nodded.

  He asked other questions, in that quiet way, eliciting from her the information that Mom hadn’t seemed “’specially different” in the days leading up to her disappearance, that she’d never said anything about going away, that she’d been grumpy “’cause Dad wasn’t there to do stuff like—” She didn’t quite remember what.

  “…like drive Brett and me places,” she finished uncertainly. “You know.”

  “Yeah.” His smile was unexpectedly charming. “I do know.”

  “’Cause you have kids,” she said with a nod.

  “That’s right,” he agreed.

  He glanced at his partner then, for the first time acknowledging her presence. “Any more questions?”

  She shook her head.

  He smiled at Craig’s daughter again. “Okay, Abby. You did great. Thank you.”

  “Can I go?”

  “You sure can.”

  She sniffed, swiped at her cheek, hopped from the couch and raced to her father. He swung her into his arms and held her tightly until she squirmed in protest.

  Setting her down, he said, “Will you tell Brett we need him?”

  She nodded and left.

  “I’m not sure Ms. McKinnon should be present,” Officer Caldwell said in her stiff voice. “Perhaps you’d wait in another room?”

  Her face tight with anger, Craig stared her down. “She stays.”

  She got to her feet. “Mr. Lofgren, you fail to understand. We set the terms of interviews, not you.”

  “No. I may have to let you ask your questions, but I control the environment you ask them in. Ms. McKinnon—Robin—is someone Brett trusts.”

  She looked mad, but when her partner laid a hand on her arm she clamped down on a rejoinder and finally gave a short nod.

  Footsteps in the entry made them all turn. Even Robin, still standing by the doorway, hadn’t heard Brett come down the stairs.

  Unlike Abby, he did meet her gaze. His eyes dark with turmoil, he looked scared but controlled.

  “It’ll be fine, Brett.” She touched his arm.

  He nodded, passed his father without a word and sat down on the couch facing the two police officers.

  Once again, Diaz took the lead, although this time he sat on the coffee table, posture relaxed, expression sympathetic.

  “Brett, you’re aware that the officer who originally investigated your mother’s disappearance died recently in a car accident.”

  The boy nodded.

  “So we need to ask you to repeat a lot of the same stuff. Sergeant Caldwell took notes, but he didn’t write down everything you said. So it helps us to hear it again.”

  Another jerky nod.

  Diaz leaned forward. “It’s very important that you tell us the truth. Sergeant Caldwell thought maybe you were trying to protect your dad. But I think he’d be the first to tell you that he doesn’t need you to do that.”

  The boy stole a scared look at his father.

  Craig nodded at his son. Robin could only guess at how much effort it took him to look calm and confident.

  “So, let’s go back to the night you said your mom told you she had to leave soon.” He lifted a brow and asked, as if offhandedly, “How long before she disappeared was that?”

  “I don’t remember exactly.” Brett’s voice squeaked and he flushed. “It was, like, a week before.”

  “Did she take you aside?”

  He shook his head. “She always came in after I was in bed. I’d leave my lamp on, and she’d say good night and turn it off.”

  “But this time she didn’t just say good night.”

  He shook his head, but he also ducked it so he didn’t have to meet anybody’s eyes. His voice just audible, he mumbled, “It was…I mean, I’m confused, because…because I think maybe I was asleep. Sometimes I think I was dreaming, but I know I wasn’t.”

  Nobody moved; the room was absolutely quiet.

  “She sat on the edge of the bed. I could feel it give, you know? And she took my hand. And she said, ‘I’m going to have to go away. You’ll have to be brave and help your sister and…’” He took a deep breath. “‘And do what your dad tells you. Remember, I love you, but…’” Brett drew a couple of shuddery breaths. “‘But I have to go.’ That’s what she said. I mean, that’s what I remember.”

  They led him through the last morning: had his mother said anything unusual? Seemed different? Had the telephone rung? Had he seen any cars he didn’t know outside? He shook his head to everything, except he said she’d hugged him goodbye, too.

  “Only the bus came, so I pulled away and ran.” His face worked. “I didn’t know…”

  “Of course you didn’t.” The big cop laid a hand on his shoulder. “How could you have?”

  “Because she did tell me. If…if I’d asked Dad about it…”

  “If your mom was leaving me,” Craig said, “she would have just denied saying anything like that to you.”

  Brett nodded, his head down so he wasn’t looking at anyone.

  “Okay, Brett,” Diaz said. “I think we’re done.”

  He stood and walked out, pausing for his father to clasp his shoulder.

  Officer Caldwell, who had been flipping through her spiral notebook with a frown on her face, said suddenly, “Wait!”

  The boy turned. Everyone stared at her.

  “Your mother didn’t drive you to school that morning?”

  He shook his head, his expression bewildered.

  “But she did sometimes.”

  “If she had to go somewhere, or had errands or something, she’d take us on her way. Like, maybe once a week.”

  “Did your mother say anything that morning about having errands?”

  He gnawed on his lip while he thought. “Uh-uh. She was still in her bathrobe.”

  “Okay. Thank you, Brett.” She still looked dissatisfied, Robin saw with interest. Brett had told her something unexpected, something that didn’t jibe with what she thought she knew.

  Nonetheless, she flipped her notebook shut and stood. “Mr. Lofgren, thank you,” she said formally.

  He nodded, then gave Robin a distracted look. “Will you show them out? I want to talk to Brett.”

  “Sure.”

  Robin accompanied them to the front door. Detective Diaz went down the front steps and started toward their car at the curb. The policewoman turned to face Robin.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing here.”

  Robin stared at her in astonishment. “What?”

  “This is a man who may have murdered his wife.”

  Anger stirred. “Only, in a year and a half, you’ve never found the slightest evidence to support that belief.”

  In a stiff, supercilious tone, Officer Caldwell said, “His wife, who was universally popular, did disappear.”

  “After apparently saying goodbye to her kids.”

  “The boy admits himself that he may have dreamed the entire scene. He’s trying to find closure for himself. Assuming,” she added, “he isn’t lying to protect his father.”

  Enraged
now, Robin snapped, “And Abby? She’s lying, too?”

  “She said nothing like this in her initial interview. Of course she wants to believe her mother at least said goodbye to her.”

  “Is it possible nobody asked her the right question back then? Or listened to what she told them? If your father—he was your father, right?—had his mind made up, as you clearly do, maybe he ignored anything that didn’t condemn Craig.”

  Temper flared on the other woman’s face. “My father was respected as one of the best. You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ms. McKinnon.”

  Robin tried to soften her voice. “Even well-meaning people jump to conclusions.”

  “Or ignore what’s right in front of them.”

  Robin’s hand tightened on the doorknob. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Either you are being very foolish, Ms. McKinnon, or you’re getting your kicks from flirting with a killer. For your own safety, please think about it.” The policewoman nodded and walked away, leaving Robin gaping after her.

  Robin felt as if she’d been dunked in the Sound. Goose bumps sprang up on her arms. She had been foolish. He was a suspect. Julie had vanished without a trace, and his only excuse was…what? She had multiple personalities?

  Without thinking, she stepped onto the porch and called, in a voice that shook, “Maybe I need to think, but you do, too. Has anyone ever seriously looked for Julie?”

  The woman cop, almost to the curb, turned. Her partner looked at Robin over the top of the car. Then, without speaking, they both got in, slammed their doors and, after a moment, drove away.

  Robin stood shaking on the porch.

  Oh God oh God, she thought. What if he killed Julie?

  If they didn’t find her or her body, Robin would never know for sure. Given the creep her ex-husband had turned out to be, she sure couldn’t trust her own judgment.

  She should take her son and go home. Now.

  But she couldn’t do that to Brett. She just couldn’t.

  Her stomach churning, her chest tight, she turned and went back into the house from which Julie had vanished, never to be seen again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  DIAZ SAID ALMOST NOTHING on the drive back to the station. Ann stared straight ahead. He didn’t have to say anything: he was thinking she hadn’t been professional, that she shouldn’t have gotten into some kind of personal spat on the front steps. He was thinking she was obsessed with this case and that maybe her father had been wrong.