Finding Sarah

by Terry Odell

  “That was years ago. He and Mom split up. She’s happily remarried. We don’t hear from Dad.” She pulled a chair out from the table to face him and laid a hand on his knee. Her eyes, looking so much like the stone in his grandmother’s brooch, haunted him. He bowed his head. He felt her move behind him, felt her soft hands massaging his neck.

  “I’m sorry about your cats,” she whispered, still kneading knots from his neck and shoulders. “Have you had them a long time?”

  Oh, God. Anger, fury, rage. Those feelings he understood. Those he could deal with. But anguish pushed itself to the surface and his eyes burned. That was the last straw. Even when his grandmother had died, he’d kept everything locked inside. He jerked away, ignoring the spinning of the room, stumbled to the living room, and threw himself onto the couch where he turned on ESPN as loud as he could stand it. Sarah stayed in the kitchen.

  He sensed her approach, raising his gaze enough to see she held a steaming mug in her hand. She extended it. “Sip it slowly. It should help.”

  When he didn’t move, she said, “I’m not going anywhere. Drink.” Her tone brooked no nonsense.

  Randy reached for the mug and took a sip of the spicy liquid. A hint of honey underscored the ginger. He raised his eyebrows and looked at her. It was surprisingly good, and he managed a weak smile.

  Sarah perched on the arm of the couch. “I’m not moving until it’s finished.”

  He took another sip. Whether it was due to her presence or the tea, the knots in his stomach loosened, the churning eased.

  “You going to tell me how you found me?” Randy asked.

  “Maybe I’m not such a bad detective myself.”

  He looked at her over his mug, waiting.

  “I called the station, asked for Colleen. Anyway, we worked a deal and she drove me over.”

  “A deal. What kind of a deal? What have you two been doing?” He hoped the heat rising in his face was from the tea.

  “Nothing. Don’t be mad at her. I told her I’d take a cab, but she insisted on driving me.”

  “She never should have given you my address.”

  “Technically she didn’t. She drove me over. And if it makes you feel better, we were talking, so I wasn’t paying attention to where we were going. Plus, I have no sense of direction. I get lost in elevators, so I don’t think I could find my way back here.” She nodded at his mug. He drank some more.

  “Please don’t blame her,” she went on. “I can be pretty insistent. And,” she continued, her voice lowered, “she told me the cats were your grandmother’s. Starsky and Hutch?”

  “Yeah. My grandmother got them as kittens. She died before they were a year old. I’ve had them ever since.”

  The phone rang and Randy went to the kitchen. The room had stopped spinning, and the up and down motion was a fraction of what it had been. Dr. Lee’s voice on the phone sent the adrenaline surging. He clutched the edge of the table.

  “I wish I had better news,” she said. “Your cats survived the night, but they’re still extremely weak. Othello is improving, but I’m still trying to identify the poison. Once I know what it is, I can begin more specific treatment. I can’t make any promises.”

  Randy nodded. “Thanks for calling.” He hung up the phone. Sarah stood behind him, her hand on his back.

  “They’re alive,” he said. “But that’s about all.”

  Sarah crossed in front of him, took both of his hands in hers and squeezed them. “They’ll make it.”

  Her compassion stretched his control to the limit. Unable to get words past the lump in his throat, he walked back into the kitchen and added the remaining ginger tea to his mug.

  Sarah followed. “Think you can eat something? I saw the crackers. Smart move.”

  “I can’t say that they’re still with me,” he admitted. “I tried some toast, but couldn’t face it.” He lifted the mug. “Thanks for the tea.”

  “Sit down and I’ll make you some more toast.”

  Randy finished three slices of toast, then called the Woodford police department. Gertie-Louise still wasn’t talking. They had three reliable eyewitnesses to tie her to the robberies in Woodford and another one in Maple Grove. Sarah would make her the prime suspect for the Pine Hills crimes as well, and he could close those cases. And something told him he’d find another link to Consolidated.

  He watched as Sarah wandered into the kitchen, found an apple, took two bites and set it down. She read a section of the paper, got up for a drink of water, then went back to the couch.

  “What’s the matter?” Randy asked. “Nervous?”

  “That’s not it. It’s … I can’t believe anyone would do this. Or why. Poison cats? Hurt innocent animals to get at me? Every time I think of it, I get furious all over again.” She tugged on her hair. “It’s got to be some sort of strange coincidence.”

  “To a cop, coincidences send up red flags.” He went to the sink and rinsed his mug, then grabbed a pen and his legal tablet and sat in a chair opposite Sarah. “We should talk.”

  She eyed the tablet and her posture stiffened. “About what? I thought all I had to do was identify Gertie for you.”

  Randy tried to ignore the new roiling in his stomach. “I think the robbery is only part of it. I think a lot of your shop problems might not have been everyday business snafus.”

  Her lips tightened. “Diana, right? She tried to make it so I’d sell the shop, but when the sabotage didn’t work, she went all legal.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “No, listen.” Sarah’s eyes went stormy blue. “Diana wanted more money. Twenty percent of a mass market shop would be more reliable than what she was getting from me. But I wouldn’t sell. If she bankrupted me, she’d be stuck with nothing. The answer was for her to convince me I couldn’t make a go of things on my own. Little things. Chip away until I gave up. Don’t you get it?” She stopped to take a breath. “You’re not writing anything. You’re not even clicking your pen.”

  “What?” Randy looked at the pen in his hand.

  “You click your pen when you’re thinking. You assume because you’re the cop, you’re right, and how could I know anything?”

  His head throbbed. “No, that’s not it. Let’s forget the earlier snafus for now. The fact that she’s gone to a lawyer put her lower on my list. Why would she damage your merchandise once she’s decided to force you to sell? It would make the shop less valuable, not more.”

  Randy could see the scenario playing out in Sarah’s head. It was a good thing she wasn’t a crook—she telegraphed every thought. She ducked her head and rubbed her temples before meeting his gaze.

  “The way you put it sounds logical, I guess. But she’s still on your list, right? You ran her through the computers like you did Chris, didn’t you?”

  He nodded. “Everyone’s on my list. I’m trying to put them in order.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Am I on your list?”

  There was nothing teasing in her tone and his stomach lurched. Because he knew she’d insist on the truth, he gave it to her. “Not anymore.”

  “You investigated me? I was the one who got robbed, remember.”

  “Standard procedure.”

  “When you came to St. Michael’s that night. Was all that standard procedure, too?”

  He fisted his hands in his hair. Studied the floor. Then met her eyes in an even stare. “I showed up early because I wanted to see you. Not a suspect. Not a victim. You.”

  She was quiet for a long moment, her eyes never leaving his. “I’m sorry. Maybe I’m more nervous than I thought. You have a job to do.”

  “Yes, I do, and I’m sorry when it hurts you.” He set the tablet on the coffee table and leaned forward. He kept his voice neutral, did his best to muster a comforting smile. “I’d like to know more about David’s accident. Did you hire one of the PIs I suggested?”

  She nodded and her eyes went from stormy to blank. “Mr. Dobrovsky. But according to him and the Highway Pa
trol, it was suicide.”

  “I was at a convention in Florida when the accident happened. Tell me about it.”

  He could see her searching to center herself. When she spoke, her voice was dull and flat. “First they thought it was an accident, but they found the note.”

  “He wrote a note?”

  “No. It was a card.”

  “Maybe you should start at the beginning.”

  She inhaled, then exhaled a slow, shaky breath. “David had an appointment with an artist—to sign a contract for exclusive handling of his work. Before he left, we had another argument about giving money to Diana.” She folded her arms across her belly. “When the cops found the card, they started thinking suicide.” She snorted, almost a laugh. “It was a Hallmark card—one of those generic ‘I’m sorry’ ones. He was apologizing for the argument, not saying that he was going to kill himself. But nobody listened.”

  “That wouldn’t have been enough for a suicide ruling.”

  “They found an insurance policy he’d taken out a few months before. I tried to explain that his best friend had died suddenly, and he realized anything could happen. Ironic, isn’t it? He was trying to protect me and instead, I’m up to my eyeballs in debt.” Her voice grew quiet. “And we were talking about starting a family.” Tears brimmed, but she wiped them away. Anger filled her voice now. “And then they found antidepressants in his blood.”

  Randy wiped his palms on his jeans. “Was he—”

  “Say it. Depressed? A mental case?” She stood, rubbing the small of her back. “I don’t know, dammit. He never said a word to me, never complained and I never saw him take pills. But they added everything up and said it was suicide. The report was full of mumbo jumbo about something jamming the accelerator, skid marks or no skid marks, tire tracks or no tire tracks.”

  Her voice had faded and he went to her. “Come here.” He gathered her into his arms. She relaxed into him for a minute, then pushed away.

  “I don’t know what’s worse. Knowing or not knowing. The private investigator said he couldn’t find enough to dispute the official findings and that it would be a waste of my money to go further. And since I didn’t have any more money, it seemed like calling it off was the best plan. But—even if it wasn’t the insurance money, everyone looks at you funny. Sometimes I get angry. At David, at everyone.”

  “Survivor’s guilt,” Randy said. “You wonder if you’d done something different, maybe he wouldn’t have died. But there was nothing you could have done.”

  She turned her eyes up to meet his. “You know.” Not a question.

  He nodded. “I was on the road, on a case, when my grandmother had a stroke. Technically, it was my day off and she’d wanted us to go to dinner, but I’d begged off. Work first, even though there was nothing that couldn’t have waited a day or two. A neighbor found her. I didn’t get back in time. I’ll always wonder if things would have been different if I’d been home. I could have had her to the hospital sooner.” Or, if he hadn’t been engrossed in a damn basketball game and checked on his cats … He cleared his throat against the constricting heat, raised his hand, palm out, to cut off Sarah’s response.

  “It’s about time to hit the road. Bathroom’s in there if you want.” He motioned to the guest bath and went in search of a clean jacket.

  * * * * *

  They drove in silence. About fifteen minutes down the road, Sarah reached for the radio buttons. “Do you mind?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Sarah punched each button in turn, listening for a moment before moving onto the next.

  “I thought it was guys and TV remotes. What are you doing? Radio surfing?” Randy asked.

  She giggled. The sound sent quivers through his body.

  “No, just trying to get more of a feel for who you are. I think you can tell a lot about a person by their taste in music.”

  “Do I pass?”

  “I expected country, and the classical surprised me, but four of them are the same ones that were in my car. When I had a car. And they’re on my stereo at home, too.”

  Randy didn’t miss the “my” instead of “our”. Had David’s memory faded a little more? “Why don’t you pick one and we can listen?”

  Sarah settled on a soft jazz station, leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.

  They were almost to the worst stretch of mountain road and he turned his concentration to his driving.

  When they arrived at the Woodford police station, Randy chatted with Ned Hodges, the officer in charge of the case. “So, she still won’t talk?” Randy asked.

  “Clams have nothing on her,” Hodges said. “If you’ll follow me, we’ve got the lineup ready.”

  Sarah chewed on her lower lip. She looked pale, but perhaps it was due to the station’s poor lighting. Randy put a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

  She stiffened beneath his touch. “Fine.”

  Hodges held the door for her. “You understand the procedure, right? We’ve got five women in there. They can’t see you. They’ll step forward one at a time and say, ‘Unlock the register. I could use some spending money.’ Then you tell us which one is the lady who held you up.”

  Randy watched as Sarah nodded, her eyes wide. She sat on a folding metal chair behind a narrow table, peering through a glass window. He positioned himself against the wall where he could watch both Sarah and the lineup. Hodges clicked a switch and plunged the room into darkness. The space on the other side of the window was awash in light. The door behind the glass opened and a line of gray-haired women paraded in. Randy waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light and studied Sarah, trying to see what she was thinking.

  She examined each woman in turn. He could feel her straining to compare their voices with the woman who had frightened her barely a week ago.

  “Do you recognize her, ma’am?” Hodges asked.

  “No,” Sarah said. Her voice quavered. “She’s not there.”

  * * * * *

  Randy helped Sarah into his F-150. After swallowing a huge helping of pride, he’d admitted his screwup to Hodges and got a booking photo of Gertie—Louise—to do what he should have done in the first place—confirm her identity with her previous Pine Hills victims, not rely solely on Sarah. Hodges had positive confirmation that the woman in custody had pulled the Woodford robberies. Randy tossed the folder behind the seat and took his place behind the wheel.

  “It wasn’t her,” Sarah said. “The height was wrong, the body type was wrong, and the voices were all wrong. I have an eye for detail.”

  “I believe you, Sarah. It was my mistake.”

  “But if it’s not her, who robbed me? What do we do now?”

  “We go home.” He rechecked his cell phone display.

  “They’ll be all right,” Sarah said. “The vet would have called if anything had happened.”

  “I’m that obvious?”

  “I know those cats mean a lot to you. And it’s all my fault. Someone is mad at me and he’s taking it out on you and Maggie. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t you dare think that. This is not your fault.”

  Sarah gave him a weak smile. “Tell me about your grandmother. She must have been nice.”

  He couldn’t. Randy saw his grandmother, the day she’d brought home the kittens. He’d been staying with her over winter break and she’d let him name them, although she’d lobbied for Patches and Midnight.

  “Look, Sarah. I know you mean well, but I don’t feel like talking. Please drop it.”

  “I understand,” she whispered. She turned those blue eyes on him and he felt like a jerk, but he couldn’t deal with it. She’d cut too close. His cats … Gram … he refused to think about them anymore.

  The weather had turned blustery and Randy fought the crosswinds and driving rain as they made their way over the winding road through the mountain. Randy concentrated on seeing the road between passes of the windshield wipers. Rain, the swish of his wipers and tires on asphalt were th
e only sounds.

  Once they’d reached the other side of the mountain, the weather cleared. They were driving through the Pine Hills business district when Sarah said, “Stop at Thriftway, please.”

  “What for? Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Just stop. Please.”

  Randy pulled into the lot behind Thriftway.

  “I’ll be right back.” She grabbed her purse and darted into the store.

  Randy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. This had been one hell of a day. What was she doing in the store? He heard the door open and Sarah climbed in, two bunches of flowers in her hands. She placed them behind the seat and said, “Drive.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where we’re going?”

  “Drive. Left out of the parking lot. Right on First.”

  Randy did as he was told. The look of earnest determination on her face left him little choice.

  “Right at the light,” she said when they reached the outskirts of town. “Pull into the parking lot.”

  “There’s nothing here but the cemetery. What—”

  “I have some unfinished business. And I think you might, too.” She waited for him to stop, then turned to him. “She’s here, isn’t she? Your grandmother. Colleen told me on the drive to your place.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “When was the last time you were here?” She gave him a blue-eyed stare that pulled the answer out of him, pain and all.

  “For the funeral.”

  Her expression said she’d known. She handed him a bouquet and took his other hand in hers. “You have to do this. It’s hard, but it’s important. Trust me.”

  They strolled along the path. It took Randy a few false turns, but he found his grandmother’s grave and knelt to place the flowers in the receptacle by the headstone. He felt Sarah’s hand on his shoulder.

  “I’ll leave you alone. I’ll be across the path by that big oak tree. But you have to say goodbye. Talk to her.” Sarah gave his shoulder a squeeze and walked away.

  Talk to her? What was Sarah thinking? Gram was gone. He didn’t converse with the dead.