by Sharon Potts
“So you’re dropping them as suspects?”
“We’re not dropping anyone.” Her voice was a bit impatient, and Aubrey wondered whether she’d crossed a line by suggesting the police weren’t doing their job. “And I’m sure the Simmers will let us know if we missed anything,” Gonzalez added.
“What do you mean?” Aubrey asked.
“Their investigators are all over the Coles, despite their alibis.”
“They are?”
“Why does that surprise you?”
Aubrey glanced across the room at the Simmers’ investigators. They looked purposeful as they conversed with each other and pointed at their computer screens. “I would have expected the Simmers to find a reason to blame my mother, not her enemies.”
Gonzalez frowned, her thick eyebrows almost merging. Aubrey wondered whether the detective was able to read her thoughts. That the Simmers were leading the charge against the Coles, because they were hoping to deflect suspicion from themselves. But the possibility that the Simmers were behind Ethan’s kidnapping continued to baffle her, especially after seeing their genuine grief during the press conference.
“Whatever agenda the Simmers have,” Gonzalez said, “they’d better keep their people from interfering with the police investigation.” The detective seemed to stiffen. Aubrey followed her gaze. Prudence and Ernest had come in and were heading toward the back of the room. No Kevin or Kim.
The Simmers looked as tired and wilted as they had on TV the day before. Nothing like people who had kidnapped their own grandchild, but rather like devastated grandparents. Aubrey had seen them a handful of times since Kevin and Kim’s wedding, usually at one of Ethan’s birthday celebrations. Prudence had always been cool toward Aubrey, though never quite rude.
Rudeness was unbecoming to a Baer.
Ernest stopped to talk to one of the dark-suited men while Prudence took a seat at a long table and pulled a laptop from her tote bag.
“Excuse me,” Aubrey said to the detective. “I need to speak with them.”
She approached the Simmers, standing back a few feet so as not to appear to be eavesdropping. The man Ernest was talking to had his hand on his hip, revealing an ID of some sort. The familiar logo of BBM caught her by surprise. She’d thought these people were with a private security firm.
It occurred to her that the reward money and investigation wasn’t being financed by the Simmers’ personal funds, as she had assumed, but by Baer Business Machines. That was odd. Unless the Simmers believed the kidnappers were targeting BBM for some reason. She thought about the documentary she’d watched the night before and wondered whether there could be a connection between BBM and the brownstone explosion.
She stepped up to the Simmers’ table, hoping she’d be more effective getting information from Prudence than she had been with Smolleck.
Prudence frowned, as though trying to place her.
“Hello, Mrs. Simmer.” She had never been able to call her by her first name.
“Audrey,” Prudence said, accepting her hand. “How awful that we have to see each other again under such circumstances.”
“Yes, it is awful,” Aubrey said, deciding not to correct her name.
Prudence clung to Aubrey. The woman’s hand felt bony and cold. The red polish on her nails was partially chewed away.
“I wanted to tell you how much my mother and I appreciate your providing the reward money and private investigators.”
Prudence got a faraway look. An amoeba-shaped splotch of coffee stained her beige-silk blouse. “We’d give far more if we believed it would help us get Ethan back, but thank you.”
“It’s great that you have the resources of Baer Business Machines at your disposal.”
Prudence pulled her hand away from Aubrey’s. “We’re using all our resources to find Ethan.” Her voice was clipped.
“Yes, of course.” This was clearly not the best way to get information from Prudence. She needed to try something else. “Have your investigators found anything suspicious on the Coles?”
“Not yet,” Prudence said.
“The police say they have an alibi.”
“Alibis are easy to manufacture, dear.” Something across the room caught Prudence’s attention. “This is unacceptable,” she mumbled.
Aubrey turned to see her brother staggering across the room. His white-cotton shirt was wrinkled and untucked from his slacks. Kevin stopped and rubbed an unshaven cheek, seemingly mystified by the people busy trying to find his son.
Her heart ached for him. Her big brother. A memory surfaced. Kevin holding on to her pink bicycle as he ran alongside her, then how he shouted with delight when he let go and she pedaled down the street by herself. She’d been six. The same age Ethan was now.
She started toward him, then hesitated. Given the stress he was under, he might make a public display and take all this out on her—his grief, his ineffectualness, his anger toward their mother. So let him, she decided, and continued walking. Let him use her as his whipping post if that was what he needed. His child was missing.
“Hey, Kev.”
He blinked, as though trying to figure out what she was doing there. “Oh. Hey.”
It was not even ten, but she could smell alcohol on his breath. She wasn’t going to judge him if that was what he needed to cope with his son’s disappearance.
He glanced toward his disapproving mother-in-law.
“Do you want to go outside?” Aubrey asked.
“Sure.”
She led him to a terraced area near the pool, where they sat on a couple of square wicker chairs beneath a palm tree. A gardener was trimming the hedges and plants, but there were no hotel guests around.
“Is Kim back in your room?” she asked.
“Yeah. Prudence has her doped up on something. Doctor’s orders, or so she says.” He reached into his pants pocket and took out a miniature bottle of scotch he’d probably gotten out of the minibar. He opened it, then gave her a dare-you look. “Got a problem with this?”
She shook her head and he took a swig.
“I called and texted you a few times,” she said.
He shrugged. “One of Prudence and Ernie’s people has our phones. They’re handling stuff. Works for me.” He took another drink.
It didn’t work for Aubrey. She wished her brother were stronger and could take charge of himself and Kim. “Where’s Bilbo Baggins?” she asked softly.
“I’m no Bilbo Baggins. Never was.”
She took his hand. If he couldn’t be strong, at least she wanted him to know he wasn’t alone.
The gardener clipped off several stray vines of fuchsia bougainvillea, and they dropped to the keystone tiles. One strand fell into the pool and floated on the blue-green water.
“Remember the time you almost drowned?” Kevin asked, pulling his hand away from hers.
“I almost drowned?”
He nodded. “We were at a birthday party for that kid who lived down the street. Matt. Dad took us because Mom was working. It was a pool party with a clown. I guess Dad figured it would be okay to leave us. Maybe he thought the clown was a lifeguard.”
“I don’t remember any of this.”
“You were five, I guess. I remember I was in third grade. We both knew how to swim. There was a slide going into the pool. I went down headfirst. Got a mouthful of water.” He took another slug from the bottle. “Maybe I was embarrassed. I don’t know. You were watching me cough, so I dared you to do it.”
She tried to bring up the memory, but it wasn’t there.
“You went up the slide and lay down headfirst, like I’d done. Except you had one of those plastic swimming rings around your waist.”
“What happened?”
“You slid down and landed upside down in the water, feet kicking up in the air. I realized you were stuck, that you couldn’t right yourself. The swimming ring was too tight for you to slip out of, and it was keeping your head under.”
Something was com
ing back to her. A sensation of being beneath the water, but she didn’t remember being scared.
“What did you do?” she asked.
He took another drink and stared at the pool. “I watched your feet kicking. I remember thinking what little feet you had.” He rubbed his cheek. His eyes were completely bloodshot.
“Did you jump in after me?”
“I should have, right? I was eight years old. I was a good swimmer. I could have saved you with no problem.”
“But you didn’t.”
He studied the small scotch bottle. “Nope.”
She felt sad for him, not angry. “Do you know why you didn’t?”
“It was like I was paralyzed,” he said. “I kept watching your little feet kick in the air, until somehow you righted yourself.”
“Did Mom and Dad ever find out?”
“Someone told them. I remember Mom yelling at Dad for leaving us unsupervised at the party. I’d never seen her so angry.” He thought for a moment. “That’s when it started with Mom.”
“What started?”
“I wasn’t her little prince after that.”
He rolled the bottle between his fingers. Above his gold watch, his wrist was knobby and red, just like when he was a teenager.
“Mama’s always loved you,” she said.
“Nope.” Kevin took another swig. “She blamed me for everything that went wrong and has been punishing me ever since.”
“But Kev—”
“No. Listen to me. Remember that big fight Mom and Dad had when we were kids? The one that seemed to last forever?”
“You mean when Jimmy Ryce went missing?”
He cocked his head, as though confused. “The kid who was kidnapped, then found dead?” His face sagged.
She never should have mentioned Jimmy Ryce. It would only make Kevin more fearful of what might happen to Ethan.
Kevin let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah. It was right around that time. I was eleven when the War of the Lynds got going.”
War of the Lynds. Aubrey had always thought of those weeks as the nightmarish time between “before” and “after.”
“The war was my fault,” Kevin said. “They were fighting because of me.”
“They were upset about Jimmy Ryce, Kev. Worried that something like that might happen to you and me.” At least, that was how she had classified that memory in her mind.
“No.” He gave his head an emphatic shake. “It was my fault. They hated my friend Jeff. They said he was a bad influence, but I disobeyed them and kept hanging out with him.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I heard them arguing,” Kevin said. “I remember Mom saying, ‘Jeff’s going to be the end of us.’ But Dad was on my side. He told her to stop concerning herself about Jeff.”
He stared into the pool. The bougainvillea branch had sunk to the bottom. “But Mom was right. Jeff was the end of them,” Kevin said. “After that fight, they started hating each other.” He put the empty bottle to his lips, then shook it with frustration when nothing came out. “Mom never forgave me,” he said, his body starting to shake. “I screwed up their marriage. I screwed up our family.”
“That’s not so, Kev.”
“You don’t know, Aubrey.” His voice was like a shard of glass. “She blamed me for almost letting you drown and for that big fight with Dad. My whole life, she’s been punishing me. First, she misses my graduation, then my wedding. And now . . .” His voice broke. “Now she loses my son.”
She opened her mouth to defend their mother, then closed it. Kevin was hurting, and arguing with him wasn’t going to help. She gently took the bottle out of his clenched hand, then put her arms around him and held his trembling body close. “We’re going to find him, Kev. Ethan will be home soon, happy and safe.”
He jerked his head back. His eyes were filled with pain. “Do you promise?”
Her heart clenched. Who was she to promise such a thing?
“Yes,” she said. “I promise.”
CHAPTER 23
Diana wondered whether Jonathan had already arrived at Frazier’s. It had taken her over a half hour from the time she’d called and asked him to meet her to shower, dress in a white blouse and jeans, and then get to downtown Coconut Grove.
She had walked slowly, her mind in turmoil.
Jonathan couldn’t possibly have known Jeffrey Schwartz. There had been hundreds of students in the law school. But if he had, then Jonathan likely knew more than he had let on about Stormdrain and April Fool. He might even be involved with Ethan’s kidnapping.
But this was the man who made her tea when he sensed she was down. The man she was engaged to marry. It wasn’t possible he had some secret past or agenda. The problem was in her mind. She was anxious and stressed, and lack of sleep was making her imagine villains where none existed.
She turned off onto a side street, almost an alley, where a red-and-white-striped awning protruded from the white brick front of a small building. The sight of it calmed her. Frazier’s Ice Cream and News. The combination newsstand, ice-cream parlor, and luncheonette was one of the oldest establishments in the Grove and had been considered quaint even when Diana and Larry had moved here thirty years ago.
The window was covered with local postings of “Apartments for Rent,” “Loving Dog Walkers Available,” and “Today’s Specials—Chili, Tuna salad, Pistachio ice cream.” They were the same specials they’d had for the last thirty years.
She used to come here with Aubrey and Kevin and buy them ice-cream cones. Kevin always got vanilla, but Aubrey would order pistachio. Diana had been planning to bring Ethan here as a treat. She stood straighter.
She would bring Ethan here!
The bell on the front door chimed as she stepped inside, just as it used to. The place was empty except for Jonathan, who was sitting at a rickety table for two. He stood when he saw her—his pale, freckled face in a worried frown. He wore a faded, short-sleeved madras shirt tucked into a pair of khaki slacks.
A wave of guilt swept over her. He was still Jonathan. How could she doubt him?
He came toward her and gave her a light hug, not the usual bear-squeeze. She wondered whether he was responding to her remoteness or if he had some secret of his own.
“You got here quickly,” she said.
“As quickly as I could. You sounded very distressed.”
“Sorry if I worried you.”
He glanced around at the newsstand and magazines, then at the counter. “Well, this is a charming place. Shall we get something to eat?”
“Their chili has always been great.” She said it lightly, trying to hide the darkness that was threatening to reveal itself.
Jonathan signaled to the young man behind the counter. “Two chilis, please.” He looked back at her. “Coffee?”
“Just water, thanks.”
Jonathan ordered a couple of waters, then sat down across from her at the small table. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “When you called, I was just finishing up with the man heading up the FBI investigation.”
“Tom Smolleck?” She tensed. “He came to your apartment?”
“That’s right. He wanted to ask me a few questions.” Jonathan scratched his bald spot. “It was a bit awkward for me after what you told me last night about the note.”
“You spoke with him?”
“Well, yes. Of course. How could I not?”
If Jonathan had mentioned the note to the FBI, then Ethan was likely lost to them. “What did you talk about?” she asked.
“Nothing about the note.” He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.
She nodded, relieved.
“He asked about people who might use Ethan as a political pawn in my nomination, or anyone I may have angered in the past. Since I’d already given that quite a bit of thought, I gave him a few names.”
“Anything else?” she asked.
He stared at the dulled marble tabletop. “Well, he asked about you and Larry, a
nd about your relationship with your son and the Simmers. Whether I knew of any threats by the Coles.”
“Anything else?” She could hear the strain in her voice and realized she probably sounded unhinged, repeating her question.
He met her eyes. “You seem anxious about my interview with him. I told you, Diana. I said nothing about the note.”
She looked away. The newspapers and magazines were neatly stacked in the racks, everything in its proper place. So unlike the rest of the world.
“Diana,” he said softly, “I don’t want to make this about me, because I understand how frightened and upset you are, but . . .” He cleared his throat. “I feel you’re withdrawing from me. Almost like you’re afraid to confide in me.”
The young man put the chili on the table, along with their water and silverware.
“Talk to me, Diana,” Jonathan said when the man left. “Why did you want to meet me here?”
She took a bite of chili, then another, not sure how to ask him what she needed to ask him. Not sure what she would do if his answers showed him to be a villain in all this.
“Is it about April Fool?” he asked.
Her heart skipped a beat. So he did know something.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Why are you looking at me like that? You told me last night you thought April Fool might have something to do with the kidnapping and the note.”
She took a long sip of water. She had been the one to bring up April Fool last night. His question could have been perfectly innocent. She needed to get herself under control. “You’re right,” she said. “I am worried about that.”
He pulled in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I understand you want to leave no stone unturned,” he said, “but isn’t looking for a connection to something that happened over forty-five years ago a bit far-fetched?”
Far-fetched. She bristled. Was he trying to divert her from discovering the truth about him?
“Nothing is too far-fetched,” she said, holding his eyes.
He blinked and turned away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. You should be pursuing every possibility. What can I do to help?”
