Mommy Said Goodbye

by Janice Kay Johnson

  He pretended not to know what she was talking about, but mumbled and flushed and finally, sulkily, sat down at his desk and went to work. Robin only hoped she hadn’t made things worse for Brett.

  On her way to pick up Malcolm at school that afternoon, she realized she felt a faint thrum of excitement, just because she might see Craig Lofgren. In fact, she was already dreading the end of soccer season in early November. The boys had gotten to be good friends, but at best they weren’t likely to get together more than once a week.

  Maybe, she admitted to herself, when she pulled up to the curb and watched her son separate himself from a cluster of other boys, it would be just as well if she didn’t see Craig so often.

  Even if she was absolutely, positively certain he’d had nothing to do with Julie’s disappearance—and she was almost sure—but even if she was, she had to respect his decision not to let their friendship grow.

  Or had it been an excuse? Had he guessed she was attracted to him and he didn’t feel the same?

  At this point in her brooding, Malcolm hopped into the car, tossing his book bag in the back seat. “Hey.”

  “How was your day?” She put on her turn signal and waited until a school bus passed.

  He shrugged. “Okay.”

  “Is this a no-news-is-good-news report?”

  He grinned. “Something like that.”

  “Better get changed,” she advised.

  His eyes widened. “Oh, no! I forgot my shin guards! Remember? You washed them?”

  “And they’re still hanging up to dry. Darn.” She pulled out. “Well, we go home first then. If we’re late, we’re late.”

  He changed as she drove, then ran into the house to grab the shin guards while she waited in the car. They made it to the sports field in the nick of time.

  She deliberately didn’t look to see whether Craig’s car was in the parking lot. Only a couple of parents hung around the sideline today. She had brought her walking shoes, determined to take advantage of the huge field and the paths to the river. She’d felt like a slug lately; she should use this time to get some exercise herself.

  Robin laced her shoes, locked the car and pocketed her keys. Deciding on the trail for the river, she stepped over the concrete curb, lifted her head—and saw that she wasn’t alone.

  Craig stood a few feet away, his hands in the kangaroo pocket of a gray sweatshirt. “You look purposeful.”

  Her heart gave an uncomfortable bump. “I was aiming to get in at least three miles before practice ends.”

  “Mind company?”

  “Not at all.” She strode away, arms swinging, as if she didn’t care one way or another whether he came. “Although I seem to recall that you intended to avoid me like the plague.”

  Keeping pace without visible effort, he glanced down at her, expression embarrassed. “I’m sure I didn’t put it that strongly. I promise, you don’t make me think bubonic plague.”

  “Oh, good. My ego is rebounding a little bit.”

  His mouth quirked at her dry tone. “I don’t think the woman who marched up to my car last week to demand an explanation of why I was avoiding her is suffering from a deflated ego.”

  Hiding a smile, Robin sniffed. “I think I could take offense at that.”

  In a deep, lazy voice, he said, “But you won’t.”

  The trail was just wide enough for the two of them to walk abreast. It curved through a dense stand of trees and emerged to follow the river bank for half a mile.

  “I’m actually a coward, you know,” she confessed. “I’ll do anything to avoid confrontation, unless it’s with an eleven-year-old. And that’s because I can always win with them.”

  He laughed. “Bully those sixth-graders, do you?”

  “Has your son been complaining?”

  His voice became serious. “You know he worships you.”

  Startled, she glanced at him. “Brett?”

  His gray eyes met hers. “You are the coolest.”

  “Wow. I’m flattered. That’s funny, because I was just thinking this weekend that I shouldn’t have favorites in a class, but I always do. This year, Brett is hands-down the kid I most enjoy and want to see succeed.”

  “I don’t suppose I can tell him that.”

  “Don’t you dare!” She stopped. “Oh! Look!”

  Bald eagles were a common sight soaring above the river; farther upstream were nesting trees. But she rarely saw one this close. White-crested, with cold eyes, a full-grown eagle sat on a lower limb of an old maple not fifteen feet from the trail. In one taloned foot, he held a half-eaten fish.

  “I wish Brett could see him,” Craig murmured.

  She nodded.

  The eagle contemplated them with those unsettlingly emotionless eyes, then apparently decided they were inconsequential and tore a piece off the fish. Craig and Robin stood rapt for a good five minutes before she whispered, “Do you think he’ll mind if we slip by?”

  “He looks as if he’s decided we’re beneath notice.”

  She gave a muffled laugh. “Well then, let’s just saunter on, shall we?”

  The eagle raised his head and watched as they walked by, then returned to his feast.

  When a bend of the trail took them out of sight, Robin exclaimed, “That was incredible!”

  “It was.”

  Craig’s grin was open, youthful, making her realize how much strain she’d become used to seeing on his face. He’d aged more than he should this past year and a half. Sidelong, she noticed a few gray hairs threading his dark head.

  They got back to the soccer fields just as practice ended. The coach sent the boys off to run a lap and called, “Parents, can I talk to you?”

  Glances were exchanged, and they gathered around, Craig hovering on the outskirts.

  “I haven’t mentioned this to the boys, because I didn’t want to get their hopes up. You know this weekend was to be another bye.”

  Nods.

  “I got a call last night inviting us to participate in a tournament this weekend in eastern Washington. Most of the teams are select—we’re really lucky to be asked. It’s last-minute because there was a drop out. Now.” He held up a hand to silence the tide of questions and babble. “I know this is short notice. Talk it over tonight. Call me. Majority rules.”

  “Where is the tournament?” one father asked.

  “Walla Walla. It’s a four- to five-hour drive.”

  “Will hotels be available?”

  “They’re holding the block of rooms reserved for the other team at the Best Western.”

  “It actually might be fun,” Josh’s mother ventured. “Unless the boys get annihilated.”

  “You know, they’re good. I think they can hold their own.”

  This time he let voices rise and interweave like a dozen rivulets. The first game, he said, was eight o’clock Saturday morning. “We’d need to go over Friday night. Remember, we can carpool. Not every boy’s parents have to go.”

  Robin asked Craig in a low voice, “Are you out of town? I could take Brett.”

  “Actually, I’m flying out tomorrow morning and will be back Thursday evening. I can go.”

  She nodded. “It does sound like fun, doesn’t it?”

  Looking at the other parents breaking into small clusters to chatter, he said, “Maybe.”

  Robin felt a pang, realizing she’d forgotten for a moment that he wouldn’t be a welcome part of the group. He could never forget.

  The boys were coming around the back of the goal, those in the lead sprinting. Malcolm, triumphant, threw his arms in the air when he beat Josh and Brett by a stride or two.

  “Yes!”

  He’d no sooner collected his ball and water bottle and joined his mother than he said, “What did Coach want?”

  “Want?”

  He gave her his almost-teenage look. “We’re not stupid. He talked to you guys about something.”

  She told him about the tournament and restrained his enthusiasm. “It’s
okay by me, but the whole idea may get voted down.”

  “That’s not fair! Just because parents don’t want to go…”

  “You know, it will be an expensive weekend,” Robin reminded him. “Two nights in a hotel, lots of meals out, a couple of tanks of gas. I can swing it, but barely. Some families might not feel they can.”

  That silenced him, although he listened intently when she phoned the coach later that evening.

  “You know,” he said, “I think your vote puts us over the top. Looks like we’re going to Walla Walla.”

  She grinned at her son and gave a thumbs-up. He let out a whoop.

  “Are any of the boys not going to be able to come?”

  “So far, Tanner has a conflict. Dylan is going to ride over with Josh and his family.”

  “Great! We’ll look forward to it,” she told him.

  She’d barely hung up than Malcolm was snatching the phone. “Can I call Brett?”

  “Yes, you may.”

  “This’ll be radical!” he declared, and disappeared.

  Robin assumed Craig would let his son go. But she found herself secretly—okay, not so secretly!—hoping he would make the trip, too.

  ANN WAITED with scant patience while the dark-haired young man in the brown uniform flipped through pages and pages of delivery records.

  “April ninth?” he asked, for what seemed the fifth time.

  She was losing hope that he would have any memory of a day so long ago. She was surprised he had the IQ to find addresses so that he could deliver packages.

  As it was, she’d had to wait until he returned from his honeymoon on Kauai to interview him. Heck, maybe two weeks of surfing and sex had befuddled him.

  Striving for an encouraging tone, she repeated the date. “That’s right.”

  “Wait!” He frowned at the columns. “Yeah. This is it. See? 5914 North Tillicum.”

  She bent forward, as if she could decipher upside-down the multiple abbreviations and notes. “Can you tell what time of day you would have delivered to that address?”

  “Yeah. Let’s see.” He frowned in deep concentration, his square face earnest. “It was my fifth delivery. So, let’s see…like, ten-thirty.”

  She scribbled down the time, then asked the undoubtedly hopeless question. “Do you remember that delivery, by any chance?”

  His pleasure faded and he gaped at her. “Remember?”

  “I know it’s asking a lot. That was a long time ago. But there must be days that stick in your mind for some reason.”

  “Stick in my mind.”

  Or not, she thought uncharitably.

  “Say, an oddball item you’re delivering.” She smiled at him as if to say that of course this would happen. “Or a woman invites you in for…a cup of coffee.”

  “Yeah.” He gave her a smile he probably imagined to be rakish. “Yeah, things like that happen.”

  Ann nodded at the records in front of him. “Is there anything there that triggers a memory of that day?”

  “Triggers a memory.”

  If he repeated what she said one more time, she was going to scream. After a moment, she released her jaw to say, “That’s right.”

  “Oh. I get ya.” Frowning again, he read with excrutiating slowness.

  She saw no flicker of memory or for that matter, evidence any other kind of brain activity. His lips actually moved when he read a few names. Her minimal store of hope shrank.

  “Wait,” he said.

  She hadn’t actually started to go anywhere, but she leaned forward again.

  “Wait.” His finger was stabbing—she could read that much upside down—the address on North Tillicum. Half a block from the Lofgren house. Could she get this lucky? “That woman yelled at me. She was, like, a real…” He turned red. “Um, you know.”

  “What was she mad about?”

  “The box was dented. I mean, it was. But I didn’t do it. I finally told her I’d have my supervisor call her. Because I don’t have time to talk. I have to run to get everywhere.”

  Ann nodded. The UPS carrier who came to her house always tore into the driveway, grabbed her package and half ran to her door. He was always cheerful and always brisk.

  On the other hand, weren’t boxes dented often and customers irked?

  “I take it this woman was more than just irritated.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what was in the package, but she got so mad I thought she might have a stroke or something.”

  “Any of the neighbors around to hear her?” Ann asked.

  “I don’t know if he was a neighbor, but there was this Volkswagen bus parked—I don’t know—a couple of houses down. Just at the curb. This guy was leaning against it, like he was waiting for someone. He laughed and asked if I needed a joint. To decompress. Or something like that.”

  Ann hid her excitement. “Which direction was this Volkswagen bus parked from the house where you made the delivery?”

  “Uh…” He closed his eyes, as though visualizing. “It was off to my right when I was coming down the driveway, so it would have been north.” He opened his eyes and grinned. “Yeah! Like 5924, 26. Something like that.”

  He was placing that Volkswagen bus right in front of the Lofgren house. Maintaining a calm voice took an effort.

  “Tell me about this bus. What color was it?”

  Blue, he thought, but really faded. Maybe dented. And it had something painted on the side. “You know, like this guy was a hippie or something.”

  “Did he look like a hippie? How old would you say he was?”

  “I don’t really remember his clothes or anything. But he seemed like an aging hippie. You know? I mean, he had to be, like, forty. Or maybe older. But he still had long hair and a goatee.” He fingered his own chin.

  If he didn’t remember the clothes, they presumably hadn’t been striking.

  When she asked about the license plate, he ruminated, but finally shook his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have any reason to notice it.”

  “I know you didn’t. One more question. Did you see anyone else? Did anybody come out of any of the houses while you were there?”

  He shook his head with certainty. “I was surprised the woman was home where I took the package. That neighborhood, people usually aren’t. You know? They’re all at work.”

  He went on to explain that the long-haired man was still leaning against his Volkswagen bus, looking as if he had all the time in the world, when the young UPS driver turned the corner and lost sight of the street.

  “I did wonder.” He looked apologetic. “I mean, whether I should call the cops or something. Because…he didn’t fit.”

  “You’ve been invaluable,” Ann said, rising. She almost hated to admit it. “If you remember anything else, here’s my card.”

  “Yeah.” He jumped to his feet. “I will!”

  Ann went out to her unmarked squad car, but didn’t start the engine immediately. A witness not interviewed at the time had now placed a vehicle and an individual who “didn’t fit” at the curb in front of the Lofgren house, right about the time Julie Lofgren disappeared.

  The direction of this investigation had just changed. But pursuing this lead was going to mean admitting to Diaz and to her lieutenant that Michael Caldwell had screwed up. Had worn blinders, because he didn’t like the husband.

  Ann had kept her own doubts about the way her father had conducted this investigation to herself. Her habit and instinct was to protect him. Even his memory.

  But this time…she couldn’t. After a moment, she reached for the key in the ignition. If she was going to figure out what happened to Julie Lofgren that April morning, Ann couldn’t hide her father’s mistakes.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she murmured, and started her car.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  OH, HE WAS BEING STRONG, Craig mocked himself. One minute he was too noble to taint Robin by association with him. The next thing he knew, he’d seen her set off for a wa
lk and leaped out of his car to join her. Never a hesitation. Not until he saw her face when she was watching the eagle did he think, Oops, shouldn’t be here.

  Because, damn it, she was beautiful when her face went soft with wonder. Would she look like that after a first kiss? He’d pictured her lashes fluttering up, her lips parted, her cheeks rosy.

  Forbidden territory.

  And now he was about to be an idiot again. He’d dialed half her number, stopped, started again, stopped.

  If he was going to this tournament, how could he cruise across the state in his air-conditioned Lexus, wondering whether her old car had broken down somewhere out beyond Ellensburg, where the country got dry and bleak?

  Either he shouldn’t go, or he should offer her and Malcolm a ride. Even with Abby along, they could drive the van and have plenty of room.

  Craig groaned and started dialing again. Maybe he’d get lucky and find out Robin and Malcolm were already riding with someone else.

  “Hello?” She sounded curious. It was after nine, probably too late for most people to call. Craig had waited deliberately until the kids had gone to bed.

  “Robin, this is Craig Lofgren.”

  There was a momentary silence. “Craig,” she said finally, in a tone he couldn’t interpret.

  He cleared his throat. “I got to thinking. Unless you’ve already hitched a ride for you and Malcolm, I wondered if you’d like to come with us to Walla Walla.”

  “I’d intended to drive.”

  “How many miles did you say your car has on it?”

  Sounding defensive, she said immediately, “It’s been reliable.” When he just waited, Robin sighed. “About 216,000.”

  “I don’t like the idea of you breaking down out there somewhere.”

  “It is a major route, you know. Other motorists would be passing constantly.”

  Okay, he was hearing a loud “Thanks but no thanks” here.

  Trying to tell himself he wasn’t disappointed, that it would be just as well if she wasn’t right next to him for the ten hour round trip, he said, “If you’d rather drive, can we at least caravan? For my peace of mind?”