Brenda rubbed her eyelid with her fingertips and sighed. “I was hoping the gym would revitalize me. I just feel so tired lately.”
“This whole thing with the Dunn woman must be wearing for both of you,” Grace said softly. “I mean your husband must feel responsible in some way.”
Brenda’s fork paused midair. “What do you mean?”
Grace squeezed her eyes shut and let out an exasperated sigh. “That came out wrong. I just meant if he’s anything like my husband, he agonizes over every little thing that goes wrong at school, no matter who caused the problem. And being the good wives we are, when we see them taking the weight of the world on their shoulders, we try to fix it. Right? I know what that’s like.”
Brenda averted her eyes.
“I suppose you’ve been following the story of the body they found in Wisconsin.”
Brenda dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin and slowly nodded.
“Do you think it’s her?”
She looked thoughtful. “If it is, at least it distances her a bit from Bradford. That’s some small compensation.”
“Yeah. I heard they’ve been talking to someone in Wisconsin—a handyman, I think they said.” Grace refilled their water glasses from the pitcher. “But I don’t think he did it.”
“No?”
“Nope. I’m a firm believer in the theory that you shouldn’t be looking for outlaws when it’s almost always the in-laws, the husband or the boyfriend, usually. Wasn’t she dating a grad student at Bradford?”
Brenda nodded. “Tom Hill. Or maybe it was Todd. I met him not too long ago at a faculty social. Melissa bringing him was a rather daring choice, and I’m afraid some of the faculty wives let their disapproval be known.”
Grace leaned forward. “Really! Because of his age?”
“Actually he’s not much younger than she, but it was the whole faculty-student thing, and, oh, I know I sound hopelessly outdated, but I just can’t get used to ponytails and earrings on men.”
“That describes one of my sons,” Grace said with a sigh. “Fred bugs him about it, but I defend his right to look any way he wants, just as long as his attitude is good.”
Brenda traced a water circle on the tablecloth with a short red fingernail.
“Besides the ponytail, what’s he like?”
Brenda frowned as though weighing her answer. “It’s not really fair, based on one meeting.”
Grace waited.
“It struck me as peculiar the way he watched people, as if he was mentally recording everything they said. I found it unnerving. So did some of my friends. In fact, I heard he hangs out at the coffee shops in Dinkytown all day long and eavesdrops on people’s conversations,” Brenda said, referring to the small city within a city that had grown up around the University of Minnesota’s East Bank campus.
“That’s odd.”
“I should clarify. He’s there only when he’s not in class.”
“What’s he studying?”
“Psychology.”
“Maybe it’s research for his thesis.”
“Maybe. You know, I don’t like to repeat gossip, but under the circumstances, it seems foreboding that several of us thought he was overly possessive of Miss Dunn.” She gave a little shudder.
“Do you think he killed her?”
Brenda pursed her lips. “It makes sense in one way, maybe as a crime of passion, perhaps if she told him she was breaking up with him or something like that. Sometimes even a gentle person can just snap.”
“True,” Grace said, thinking about a couple she’d worked for as a nanny the summer before her senior year in college. Long after Grace had lost touch with them, they’d shown up in the news when he was arrested for murder. After admitting to stalking and killing his wife’s lover, he’d turned the gun on himself. Everyone who’d known him was shocked. They remembered him, as Grace did, as a quiet, kind soul, always smiling, always deferring to his wife’s more powerful personality.
Brenda’s eyes were unfocussed as her fingers slid up and down the stem of her water glass. “Somehow the idea of him committing cold-blooded murder seems unlikely.”
Late the following morning, Robin got a call from Melissa’s mother, thanking her for the beautiful note. “When someone offers to pray for my daughter, I take it seriously,” Mrs. Dunn said. “Do you know I can actually feel it?”
“I know what you mean. I really do.”
“I think I’ve heard from every psychic in Minnesota,” she said, her voice tight. “She’s alive, some tell me, other say she’s … not … that she’s trying to contact me from the other side. The police warned me that the newspaper article would bring all the crackpots out, but there are good people too. I’m overwhelmed with all the cards we’ve gotten, all the prayers …” Her voice faded. Then, as if waking from sleep, she said, “You’ve been there. You know. I was hoping to take you up on your offer to meet with me, but you’d have to come to my house. I don’t want to leave, you know, in case—”
“Of course.”
Robin drove slowly down the fourteen hundred block of Pinecrest Place and pulled to the curb in front of an unremarkable white two-story with blue-gray shutters. Everything looked so benign on this tree-lined boulevard. Taking a deep breath, she got out of the car and rang the doorbell.
“Mrs. Dunn?”
Framed by glasses, the petite woman’s bloodshot eyes looked huge. “You must be Robin Bentley. Come in,” she said warmly. “Bless you for coming. And please call me Carol.”
As Robin followed her to the living room, she noticed how loose fitting the woman’s slacks were, as if she’d lost quite a bit of weight. Both the couch on which Robin sat, and Carol’s adjacent chair were upholstered in blue velour with a tiny floral pattern in cream and yellow.
“It’s been hard on us, me and my husband.” When she spoke of him, she tilted her head toward the empty recliner. “We had her later in life, in fact we’d come to accept that we’d never have children …” Her voiced drifted off. “And now—”
Robin clenched her jaws and managed to hold her tears back. “It must be terrible not knowing. Years ago my mother worried about me too.”
Carol Dunn clutched her hand. “That’s what you said in your card. Tell me.”
Robin took a deep breath and told her story. “It was when I was ten. My parents were going through a divorce, and my father decided to get custody … his own way. He picked me up from school one day and said we were going on a trip, just the two of us. He said it was okay with Mom and promised me we’d call her. Of course it was a lie. I didn’t see her or talk to her for almost a year.” Her voice cracked. No matter how many times she spoke about her abduction, she could never tell when the emotions of long ago would blindside her.
Carol’s hand gravitated to the filigreed cross she wore around her neck. “Dear Lord. A year!” she wailed. “How horrible! Why did it—?”
“Take so long?” Robin sighed heavily. “For starters, I was young and I loved my father, so when he told me people were trying to take me away from him, I was terrified. Then there were all these bad people that we had to elude. We made a game of it. He cut my hair short, and every time we moved I got to pick out my new name.”
Mrs. Dunn simply stared, tears leaking out with each blink.
Robin looked around the room. Lace curtains framed the windows. Built-in shelves held hardcover books, figurines and a framed photo of a dark haired girl, laughing into the camera.
Carol followed her gaze. “That’s our Missy.”
“She’s beautiful.”
She beamed. “Just as beautiful on the inside, too.” She smiled at the photograph as if having a telepathic conversation with it. Suddenly, the smile collapsed and her eyes got watery again. “I know what some people are saying, but Missy would never go off without telling me. She always called me, at least a couple times a week, even when she was on one of those fundraising trips for the college.” She pressed a wad of Kleenex to her puff
y eyes. “The police told us they found a body in Wisconsin.” She squared her jaw and stated, “It’s not her.”
Robin’s hope welled up, but it was fleeting.
“It can’t be her. She has to be alive. I keep praying to God to bring her home.” The sob sounded like a hiccup. “God would never let that happen.”
“I have two daughters myself,” Robin answered softly. Unable to look her in the eyes, she stared at the porcelain Madonna figurine on the coffee table while she wondered how to respond. She could not, in all conscience, encourage false hope, and she was sickeningly certain that the body they’d found was this woman’s daughter. But she didn’t have to say a word, because Melissa’s mother suddenly shifted gears.
With a hopeful smile that broke Robin’s heart, Carol Dunn set the picture back on the shelf. “Would you like some tea, dear? I put the water on the minute you said you were coming.”
“That would be nice.”
A few minutes later Carol reappeared carrying a flowered china tea set on a tray.
Robin let the hot liquid soothe away the lump in her throat.
“Would you like to see some other photos of Missy?”
“I’d love to.”
Picking up the faux leather album from the coffee table, Carol opened it, angling it on her knees for Robin to see. “These were taken at a family reunion. My brother Bill had just gotten one of those new digital cameras. Too fancy for me. I’ll just keep using my point-and-shoot.”
Most of the photos were posed group shots that included a smiling Melissa. Robin turned the page to a candid close-up. Melissa’s chin rested on her loosely fisted hand, her smile as enigmatic as the Mona Lisa. “Looks like her mind was a million miles away in this one,” she commented.
“Yes, she did seem to do a lot of daydreaming lately.”
Robin leaned closer. “What an unusual bracelet,” she said.
Carol lookedand nodded. “I think she wore it every day since her birthday. Her boyfriend gave it to her.”
“Oh? Who was her boyfriend?”
“Todd’s the only boyfriend I ever knew about.”
“Todd?”
“Yes, Todd Hill.”
They sat in silence as Robin turned a few more pages.
Carol leaned back, closed her eyes. “I can’t imagine your poor mother going a whole year never knowing if you were alive.” The anxiety was back in her voice.
“But that was a long time ago, before Amber Alerts and the Missing Children’s Network and the Internet.”
“My husband wants me to put her picture on the Internet. He says the more people see it, the better chance we have of getting Missy back.”
Robin said, “I volunteer with a group for missing children. They might know a web site for missing adults. Would you like their e-mail?”
“We don’t even own a computer.” She sighed heavily and stared at her lap.
“If I find a group that will get her picture out there, I’d be happy to set it up for you,” Robin offered.
Carol brightened. “Oh, you’ll need some pictures, then.” She pointed to the album. “These are the most recent.” Her hands fluttered over the pages. Carefully removing two photographs, including the Mona Lisa, she handed them to Robin, saying, “Please be careful. Until we get Missy back, this is all that we have.”
Robin took them by the edges. “I’ll do what I can. I’ll bring them back to you as soon as I’ve made copies.”
At the front door, they hugged. Carol Dunn said in a near whisper, “Thank you. You have renewed my hope.”
As she hurried down the steps to her car, Robin remembered why she had, for her own sanity, cut back on volunteering to talk to families of missing children.
But once in her car, she was already rehearsing what she would tell Sheriff Harley about the bracelet.
15
He sat, just as Brenda had described him, three tables away with his back to the window, a diamond stud glistening in his ear, his dark hair pulled into a ponytail. He scratched notes on a legal pad, listing to his left side to get a better view of the three coeds talking animatedly at a nearby table. When they left, he turned his attention to a geriatric hippie in a black beret, flipped a page, and wrote, sipped his tea and wrote some more. He had yet to turn his beautiful blue eyes, exactly the color of his denim shirt, in Grace’s direction.
Typical, she thought. Good old Grace—nice, dependable, maternal. Invisible.
Just then, he looked at her—a quick but thorough look that almost convinced her he’d read her mind. When he looked up again, they smiled at each other, though something in his quick glance had unnerved her. All right, this is it, she said to herself. Grace the Boring has left the building. Grace the Sleuth is now in charge. She stood, refilled her coffee cup and water glass at the counter and approached his table.
“If you’re hitting on me,” she said, setting her beverages on the table and lowering herself into the chair opposite him, “I just thought you should know I have sons your age.”
“Oh.” He averted his eyes. “Oh, no. I, uh, I wasn’t, I mean,” he stammered.
“I’m kidding.” She stuck out her hand and said, “I’m Grace.”
Taking her hand, he said, “Todd. That’s a big T and a little odd.”
She laughed a bit too loudly and covered her mouth. “That’s a great line. Sounds like you’ve used it before.”
He broke into a modest grin and shrugged. “I guess I call it the way others see it.”
Grace took a sip of water before asking, “You think others make that judgment about you?”
“You must admit, you found it a little odd the way I was watching people, didn’t you?”
“Well—”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. It’s for a study I’m conducting—just field notes of my observations.” He shook his head. “I’m always worried someone’s going to think I’m stalking them or something.”
“Oh, I’m interrupting your work. I’m so sorry.” She braced her hands as if to push her chair back, but he stopped her, just as she’d hoped.
“No, stay, please. My concentration just isn’t there today. I’d welcome the company.”
She settled back. Being matronly had its advantages, and she was determined to make it work for her. “You must get girls all the time who think you’re making a pass at them.”
His smile faded and he fingered the pages of his notebook. “Yeah, it can be awkward.”
She chuckled. “A great gimmick to meet girls, though. Stare all you want and then tell them it’s just research. I wish I’d thought of it when I was in college.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, it’s not like that.” He stared at his hand on the table.
“Ah, you already have a girlfriend, right?”
His jaw muscles tensed, and he began drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “Okay, which is it, reporter or detective?” he asked in a flat tone.
“What?”
He flushed. “Which are you, news reporter or detective?”
“Neither. Why do you think that?”
“It’s not like everyone isn’t looking at me—wondering, you know.”
Grace shook her head. She made her face blank. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“Because of my girlfriend.”
She produced a befuddled look and he continued.
“Melissa Dunn, the missing woman from Bradford. You must have heard about her. It’s been on the news every night.”
Grace paused a few beats, let understanding seep into her expression. “She was your girlfriend?”
His shoulders sagged. “I’m not ready to say ‘was.’ We weren’t exclusive, but I’d say it was fairly serious, at least on my—why am I telling you all this?”
She placed a motherly hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “How awful for you. I had no idea.”
His eyes welled with tears. “Oh, God, this thing is turning me totally paranoid.”
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“I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
“Hell,” he said simply, “I’m going through hell. No matter who I talk to, I feel like I have to weigh every word. The psych major becomes subject of the study. The Watcher watched.”
“It must be very difficult.” Even though she was playing a role, she didn’t have to fake her sympathy. Obviously this young man, with the dark smears of sleepless nights under his eyes, was suffering.
By the time Grace left, she’d found out where Todd Hill lived, how he and Melissa had met in this very coffee shop, and about his growing suspicions that Melissa had been suffering from depression, as evidenced by detachment, evasiveness, and a certain caginess.
What went unanswered was her own growing suspicion about Todd Hill. Her pulse raced, not with fear, but with—she had to call it what it was—Excitement.
Grace needed to tell someone what had transpired. She decided to swing by Robin’s house on the chance she was home.
Robin, wearing khaki shorts and a white tank top, stood on tiptoe watering the purple petunias, yellow pansies, and white bacopia cascading from her window boxes. She saw Grace’s car and broke into a wide smile. “Good timing,” she called out as Grace stepped onto the pavement. “I just made a pitcher of lemonade.”
“Great.” Suddenly aware of all the ice water and coffee she’d consumed, Grace added, “But I need to use your bathroom first.”
A few minutes later, Grace and Robin were comfortably settled on the porch chairs. “I just have to tell you. You’re not going to believe this,” Grace began. “I just—well, let me begin at the beginning.”
The weather was glorious, the afternoon sun was warm and the wind wafted the sweet scent of lilacs through the screen. Robin stretched out her bare legs and settled back for a long story.
Grace was particularly animated as she related her encounter with Todd. “He was taking notes on everyone in the coffee shop, everyone but me.” She shook her head. “Really! Sometimes I’m unthreatening to the point of invisibility.”
Robin pulled her mouth to one side in thought. “Invisibility’s good. Like Harry Potter’s cloak.”
Murder at Spirit Falls Page 11
