A Distant Memory

by Traci DePree

  Kate met Judy’s eyes. “So why would she call Willy Bergen by that name?” she asked. “Especially since Ronnie’s been dead so long.”

  “I honestly don’t know,” Judy said. “That’s what really scares me. If she thought Willy was Ronnie, what other delusions was she suffering?”

  KATE MADE HERSELF A SMALL LUNCH at home, then laid the three enlarged photographs she’d taken in the woods out on the countertop as she baked cookies. Often she found that when she baked, her mind was free to roam across clues and put them together in a whole new way.

  Evidence that Sonja was suffering from Alzheimer’s seemed stronger with the Ronnie Gilbert connection. Kate could think of no way that Willy Bergen would have known that name unless his story was true, or at least that part of his story. Did that mean there had been no foul play after all? Or that perhaps Sonja had told Brad about Ronnie, and he might be lying? Or that Brad could have told Willy the name if the two had conspired? All were still possibilities she needed to keep in mind in the search for Sonja.

  Kate had gotten out all the ingredients—flour, soda, salt, white and brown sugar, butter, eggs, vanilla, and chocolate chips—and had preset the oven to 350 degrees. She measured the first three ingredients into one bowl, then set it aside while she beat the butter and sugars in her stand mixer. Next she added eggs and vanilla to the ingredients in the mixer and turned it back on. While she waited, she leaned over the counter to study the enlarged photos. The car she’d identified in one print had been silver with the license plate obscured, save for the letters KYV.

  She spooned the flour mixture into the dough a little at a time until it was all mixed in, then she added a cup of chocolate chips and let that mix for a minute or two before turning off the mixer and lifting the arm to scrape the beater. The dough tasted delicious, and Kate scolded herself for eating it raw. But it was so good, she couldn’t resist.

  Once she had the first two sheets of cookies baking, Kate dialed the number for the Department of Motor Vehicles. It rang and rang before a haggard-sounding woman picked up the line and identified herself as Pat. Her voice reminded Kate of Eeyore from the Winnie-the-Pooh cartoon—the same whiny defeat in the tone.

  “Hello,” Kate replied, trying to counterbalance the woman’s dour mood with perkiness. “I’m hoping you can help me locate a car. I only have part of the license-plate number.”

  “Help you locate a car?” Pat repeated. “What do you think we are, some kind of information free-for-all?” She laughed at her own statement.

  “It’s connected to a missing-person’s case,” Kate offered, hoping for some kind of olive branch.

  “Sorry, but that information isn’t available to the public.” The woman was growing impatient, so Kate said farewell and hung up. She would call the sheriff, but she knew he’d already looked into the photo and come up dry. How did she think she could do more? It was discouraging.

  The timer went off, so she bent to pull her cookies from the hot oven. She put the final batch in to bake, then washed up her dishes. When the cookies were done, she decided to head back to the library to see if she could find out something about what kind of car was in the picture.

  “What brings you here again today?” Livvy asked when Kate entered the historic building and approached the front counter where the librarian was standing.

  “What else? Research,” Kate said with a smile. “Still looking for the man in purple...somehow.”

  “How do you propose to do that?” Livvy asked.

  “Didn’t you know?” Kate kidded. “I specialize in finding needles in haystacks!”

  Livvy chuckled.

  Kate tugged out the photograph she’d brought of the mystery man and the car. The details in question were shrouded by foliage and dappled sunlight.

  “If I can match this,” Kate said, “to a particular model, maybe I can find its owner.”

  Livvy leaned over to study the photo she’d seen before, then disappeared into her office for a moment before returning with a magnifying glass with a light built into its frame.

  “This might help,” she said, handing Kate the glass.

  “I’ll take any little bit of assistance I can get. Are any of the computers free upstairs?”

  “They’re yours for the taking,” Livvy said, grinning, then stood as a patron came to the front counter.

  Kate reached for the magnifying glass along with her handbag, then she climbed the stairs to the second floor.

  After she logged on to the computer, she began her search. First she typed in “mid-sized cars,” since she could see the line of a trunk and a rear car door. Then she typed in “sedan.” There were more than 651,000 results, so she clicked on “images,” which brought up a mere 38,000 results.

  She bent over to look at the sedan in the photo again. It didn’t look like an older car with a rounded taillight, but something newer, more sleek in design. So she typed in “taillight.” There were only 20,700 images listed under that heading.

  Kate looked through page after page. After a while, her eyes began to hurt. So many of the cars looked the same, at least to her nonmechanical eye. But after a good three hours of clicking from page to page and examining each image, she had managed to narrow the field to three potential models: the Volkswagen Jetta, the Audi A6, and the Volkswagen Passat. The three were so similar in styling that she finally decided the best thing to do would be to talk to an expert. So she gathered her belongings and headed to Bernie’s to speak with the mechanic there.

  The fickle April day had turned warm, with a blue sky and wispy clouds that floated past carelessly.

  The auto shop was housed in an old building with a scruffy exterior and a tiny parking lot. Kate parked and climbed out of her car. A bluetick hound slept in front of the door marked Office. Kate moved past the dog and pushed the door open. There wasn’t a person in sight. The office was dingy, and what little sunlight did manage to sneak under the awning was filtered through filthy plate-glass windows. The smell of grease and gasoline permeated the air, and a metal desk overflowed with piles of old invoices and paperwork.

  “Hello?” Kate called, directing her voice toward the interior door that led to the mechanic’s bay. She could hear the sound of metal on metal.

  “Hello!” she called louder, aware that Bernie might not hear her voice from inside the garage.

  Finally Bernie emerged. His face was smudged with grime, and he wore dark blue tattered coveralls with a name patch on the right side of his chest. He wiped his filthy hands on a rag that looked no less grungy.

  “Kate, sorry I didn’t hear ya,” he said as he entered the office. He had a beak for a nose, and age spots covered his cheeks and neck. He wore a cap that read “Anderson Seeds.”

  “I haven’t been waiting long,” Kate assured him.

  “You got a car that needs fixin’?” His gaze moved out the plate-glass window to the parking lot.

  “No,” Kate said. “Actually, I was hoping you could help me figure something out.”

  He lifted the cap and gave his head a scratch as Kate pulled the photo from her handbag. “Can you tell me what kind of car this taillight would belong to? I’m thinking it’s from a Jetta, an Audi A6, or a Passat.”

  She laid the picture on top of the desk, with its piles of paperwork, and Bernie leaned over to study it. He pursed his lips and scratched his stubbled chin.

  “That’s an odd picture,” he said. “This some kind of scavenger-hunt game or something?”

  “No,” Kate said with a laugh. “It’s a little something I’m researching,” she added, not wanting to go into detail.

  He placed his hands on his hips and returned his gaze to the photo, studying it for a long while. “It’s from a Volkswagen Passat,” he finally said. “Though you’re right; it’s similar to the Jetta and the Audi A6. That tall trunk line and the distinctive taillight give it away.”

  “You’re sure?” Kate said.

  Bernie placed his dirty hands on his coverall hips
. “Could be an aftermarket taillight, I suppose. I don’t get a lot of those foreign cars in here; a bit uppity for most Copper Mill folks,” he added. “But if it’s original, I’m about as positive as I can be.”

  “Any idea what year it would be?”

  Bernie scratched his chin again. “Probably no more than two years old, I’d say. The manufacturer changed this line slightly from the way it used to be.” He pointed to a body line on the car.

  Kate thanked him, and he said, “That’s it? Just wanted me to look at a picture?”

  “That’s all,” Kate said with a smile.

  He waved good-bye and headed back into the shop. Kate went outside. There was only one Volkswagen dealership in the area: Village Volkswagen in Chattanooga. Kate dialed information to get the number as soon as she climbed into her car, then she called the dealership.

  A perky, young-sounding voice answered, “Village Volkswagen.”

  “Good afternoon,” Kate began. “I’m hoping you can help me. I’m looking for the owner of a car who might have some information to help find a woman who’s gone missing.”

  “Oh my,” the girl said. “That’s really sad! Is it that woman I read about in the paper?”

  “Might be,” Kate said. The Chattanooga paper had run a story about Sonja’s disappearance when it had first happened, just a sidebar on a page that focused on a tax levy in the city of Chattanooga.

  “So, what can I do?” The girl sounded like she was chewing gum; there was a snapping sound on the end of some of her words.

  Encouraged that she might actually get the help she needed, Kate went on. “The person who might’ve seen the woman last might have bought a car at your dealership in the last two years.” She didn’t know if that was true exactly, but it was her best guess. “I’m hoping you might have a record of those kinds of transactions so I could talk to the owner, maybe find out if they know where she went.”

  “Of course we do,” she said. Kate could hear clicking that sounded as if the girl was typing on a computer keyboard.

  Kate’s heart rate accelerated in excitement. “It’s a silver Volkswagen Passat,” she supplied, “and, like I said, either from this year or the year before.”

  “’Kay,” the girl replied, then Kate heard the sound of more typing. Finally she came back on the line. “We sold three silver Passats in the last two years. Do you want me to read them off to you?”

  “You can do that?” Kate said surprised at her willingness to share the information.

  “Well, this is for a missing person, right?” the girl asked.

  “Yes . . . I mean that would be wonderful,” Kate said, reaching for a notepad and pen from her handbag and writing down the names and addresses of the car owners: the first Passat was sold to a Karen Carpenter, the second to a Wilbur Ringold, and the third to a car dealership outside of Pine Ridge named A-Z Auto.

  “Thank you,” Kate said when she had all the information.

  “I hope you find that woman,” the girl said. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose someone that way.”

  “I can’t either,” Kate agreed.

  KATE WENT IMMEDIATELY to the Weavers’ home from Bernie’s. She knew that Brad was still out of town, but she wanted to see if the kids recognized any of the car owners’ names. She rang the doorbell and waited. Wind rustled the leaves of the tall black walnut trees.

  No one answered. When she turned to leave, the sound of the front door opening turned her back around.

  Brian stood there, a plaid flannel bathrobe tied around his tall, thin frame and his hair a bed-head mess.

  “Are you sick?” Kate asked.

  The teenager swiped at his nose with a tissue and sniffled at the same time. “Kinda, but I still went to school. I’m just watching TV and eating some soup.”

  “I was hoping you and your sister could take a look at some names I got of possible car owners from those pictures I took by the creek.”

  “Becky isn’t here, but I can take a look,” Brian said, sounding almost disbelieving, yet excited.

  He opened the door for Kate to follow as he led the way to the family room, where blankets were spread on one of the couches for the ill teen. Tissues lay on the floor all around like land mines. Alongside a tray of medicines, 7UP and a thermometer testified to his state.

  “Mom usually takes care of me when I’m home sick,” Brian said. His expression told Kate he was missing her.

  “Your dad’s on a business trip?” Kate said, recalling her conversation with Brad earlier that day.

  “I guess. He didn’t tell me much about it.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  Brian shook his head. “Not sure.”

  “Did your dad not tell you where he was going, or did you just forget?” Kate asked, not wanting to sound accusatory but wondering if the man was intentionally keeping secrets.

  Brian gave her a blank look, then shrugged. “I guess he didn’t tell me.” Becky must not have shared the information about the life-insurance policy with her elder brother, or his reaction surely wouldn’t have been so nonchalant.

  Kate moved next to him and picked up the empty soda bottles and tissues to toss in the trash. Then she straightened his blanket and offered him the thermometer to check his temperature. It came back 99.8.

  “Low-grade fever,” she said. “Are you hungry?”

  Brian shook his head. “Becky said something about her and Judy bringing home pizza.”

  “Well at least let me get you another 7UP.” She went to the refrigerator, pulled out a twenty-ounce bottle, and poured the soda into a clean glass along with some ice.

  “Thanks,” he mouthed, looking more like a grateful four-year-old than a mostly grown man when she handed it to him.

  “Don’t mention it.” She smiled at the boy. He might be eighteen, but everyone wanted to be pampered when they were sick. The phone rang, and Brian picked up the cordless to answer it. He didn’t say anything, simply listened for a minute, then hit the End button to hang up.

  “Dumb telemarketer,” he explained. “Same guy calls every day at the same time. Must be when he goes on duty.”

  He shrugged and took a long drink of his 7UP. He set the beverage back on the coffee table and leaned against his pile of pillows.

  “Are you up to looking at a few names?” Kate asked.

  “Sure,” he said.

  Kate pulled out the notepad that had the names and handed it to Brian, then she took a seat on the chair adjacent to his couch.

  “What are these again?” he said.

  “Possible owners of the car in the one picture. I need you to tell me if any of them look familiar,” she said.

  Brian studied it, his eyes scanning each line slowly. After a minute, he handed it back to Kate. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t recognize any of them.”

  Hmm, Kate thought. There was one dead end. “Do you have a copier so I can leave one here for Becky and your dad?”

  “Sure. In Dad’s office. He leaves it on, so you can just go push the Copy button.”

  Kate went into the masculine study that was lined with bookcases of hardcover books and an oak desk with a rich-looking leather office chair behind it. Kate saw the copier and quickly made a second copy, which she left on the coffee table for Brad and Becky, with a note that read, “Let me know if any of these ring a bell.”

  “I’ll make sure they see it,” Brian promised.

  But as Kate made her way back to the car, one thought pulled at her. Where was Brad, and why hadn’t he told his son where he was going?

  When Kate got home, she popped a casserole into the oven for supper, then pulled out her list of possible car owners. The idea that Brad had conspired to get life-insurance money by causing his wife’s disappearance had grown until she couldn’t deny it was a possibility. Of course, the insurance company would look into the matter before paying out, especially since the circumstances were suspicious, but with the sheriff’s conclusion that there had been no
foul play the odds were higher Brad would get his settlement. Added to the fact that the couple had fought that morning, as they’d fought many mornings, and his lack of interest in pursuing the man in purple, it seemed more than enough to go on. The person with the silver Passat, whoever it was, had to have been somehow connected, didn’t he—or she?

  It was all circumstantial evidence. And yet it was incriminating. Perhaps there was a logical explanation, or it was simply coincidence that Sonja had disappeared shortly after Brad had taken out the policy. She hoped so. The look of grief and pain she’d seen in Brad since Sonja’s disappearance seemed to deny that he’d had any part in it, and yet he seemed to bounce back awfully quickly. Was he merely an Oscar-worthy actor?

  Kate wanted to believe that Brad had nothing to do with Sonja’s disappearance, for the sake of his children as much as for him and Sonja. And Willy Bergen’s testimony about Sonja’s state of mind that day didn’t bolster the theory that Brad had done something sinister.

  Unless the man in purple was someone Brad knew—perhaps someone Brad had hired to do his bidding so he would have an alibi.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kate felt troubled by all she’d learned that day, especially by Judy’s story about Sonja and Ronnie Gilbert. Becky called the next day to tell Kate that she didn’t recognize any of the names from her list of Passat owners, and that when she’d asked her father after he returned home, he hadn’t recognized any of them either. Kate didn’t like doubting Brad. She had come to care for him and his family, and she knew that the evidence against him was circumstantial. She had to let the truth lead the way. Innuendo pointed every which way.