by Vella Day
“You could say that.” Her mouth skewed to one side. “Where are my manners? Please, sit down.” She cut a glance at Lara. “You look pale.”
Lara took the offered seat. “Thank you.” She tried to find the right words. “Were you always...” Her gaze titled toward the tire spokes wondering if perhaps Bernie’s anger had put her in a wheelchair.
“In this?” She tapped the arms of her chair.
“Yes.”
“I lost the use of my legs in a skiing accident in Colorado when I was twelve. I met Bernie at Brahman University where we were taking Organic Chemistry together. He was kind and helped me get around. He treated me as a person and not someone to be pitied. It was something I needed at the time.”
“I understand.” Lara refused to glance at Trevor for his reaction.
He leaned forward. “After you two divorced, were you aware Bernie attempted suicide?”
Nancy’s body sagged. “Yes. Again, I take full responsibility. I knew his ego was fragile. His mother had been unstable and his father was never around, so suicide was always on his mind. Our divorce devastated him, but I had no choice. I couldn’t trust him in the house. I figured his severe family issues were what had driven him to gamble. He had other bad traits too.”
“Such as?”
She patted her perfect hair. “He hung out with an unsavory group of individuals he’d picked up at the casino. Most of them gambled, drank, and cared little for the law. I think he felt important around these men. After all, he had a master’s degree in biology, worked at a prestigious lab, and drove a nice car. Most of them were either migrant workers or from the Reservation, though how the migrant workers could afford to gamble is anyone’s guess. Eventually, he began to make bad decisions.”
Trevor took down the information. “How so?” His voice held no judgment that Lara could tell, and her respect for him grew.
“He stopped showering daily and basically stopped caring how he dressed.” She rubbed the arm of her chair. “He was no longer solicitous toward me. Bitter was more like it.”
“That must have been very difficult to see a man you loved self destruct,” Lara said.
A small smile lifted her lips. “It was.”
Trevor bounced his pen off the paper, shoved the writing utensil in his pocket and pulled out a pencil. “Do you know the names of the men he hung out with?”
She shook her head. “Toward the end of our marriage we weren’t communicating. I didn’t want to know names. I’m sorry.” Nancy’s eyes watered.
“Your ex-husband is accused of killing one woman and possibly kidnapping a second. During the investigation, my brother was shot and kidnapped. If Mr. Laxman is guilty, would you have any idea where he’d hold someone captive?”
Her jaw loosened, but her fingers twisted together. “No. He moved home with his father after our divorce. I never knew of any secret hideout. I’m sorry.”
Trevor stood. “Thank you.” He left his card with her and escorted Lara outside.
He held open the passenger side door for her. “Does Bernie’s former wife’s description sound like your coworker?”
She had to think. “Bernie kept to himself and was driven to be the best. He did love to show how smart he was.” She looked over at him. “But was Bernie this self-destructive gambler capable of murder? I don’t know. I never knew he cared about money, nor did he mention anything about what it was like to grow up under those circumstances.”
“Trust me when I tell you, growing up with a messed up family can ruin a person for life. For some, even therapy can’t help.”
Her heart stopped. If she ever told Trevor what had happened to her, would he believe she was beyond saving? Unlovable, maybe, or beyond hope?
Lara stepped through her front door and sighed. She loved being in her own home again, especially after staying cooped up in a hotel for close to two weeks. Thank God, the bastard was permanently behind bars. Between the torn shirt, possession of the stolen necklace with Ethan’s blood stains on the back of it, and the scalp in the trunk of Bernie’s car, her former coworker was being held for murder without bail. When no more murders occurred or any Native Americans went missing, Trevor relented and agreed to let her return to her normal routine.
She’d dreamed for days of sleeping in her bed and showering in her bathroom with her fluffy towels, not the starchy, scratchy ones from the hotel. But with freedom came no Trevor. She refused to shed a tear though. She had no right to expect he’d want to spend time with her after the case closed. The only way to survive was to go on as if none of this mess ever happened. It wouldn’t be easy, but she had to suck up her courage.
In case he had called, she checked her phone messages. He hadn’t, and her heart broke. Foolish her. Maybe they hadn’t shared a special bond like she’d thought. Their relationship must have been about sex and nothing more. Enough people had turned on her, so why should she be surprised when Trevor had?
Get over him.
Ethan was still missing, so it was possibly Trevor needed time.
She placed the groceries on the counter and unpacked the food. The frozen food was almost put away when the phone rang. Caller ID said it was her next-door neighbor. Darn.
“Hello, Mrs. Olmstead.”
“I see you’re home. Can you come get that cat of yours?”
Uh, oh. “Has Butch been a problem?” How much trouble could a cat cause in three weeks? When Trevor dropped her off last night, she hadn’t wanted to disturb her neighbor. She knew the older woman went to bed by nine.
“Ornery thing wouldn’t come out from under the bed except to eat. He missed you.”
She missed him too. “I’ll be right over.”
Mrs. Olmstead was waiting at her door in her bathrobe and hair curlers with her hands on her hips, when Lara walked up the steps. “You’ll have to find him. He won’t show his face for me.”
With a lot of prodding, Butch ambled out from under the sofa. Lara hugged her kitty, thanked her neighbor and left. Mrs. Olmstead refused any money, but Lara would find a way to repay her.
Lara nestled her face in his fur. “You missed me, huh?” The cat purred.
Back in her kitchen, she put Butch down. “I hate to leave you, but I have to check a few things at my parents’ house. I need to arrange to have an appraiser come to see about putting the house up for sale.” Butch meowed as if he understood and rubbed against her. “I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.”
Before she headed to her parents’ house, she stopped at the store to buy large garbage bags and some boxes to continue packing. With nothing more to divert her attention, she drove there, but with each mile, her heart grew heavy. They weren’t her biological parents, but she had loved them, which was why Trevor’s words still stung when he said her parents hadn’t done right by her.
Had he believed they’d failed to provide her with the tools necessary to be successful? She was successful and had even graduated at the top of her class. Lara didn’t need any hearing dog, note takers, or phone for the deaf to get the job done. She might not have many friends, but she was a success.xxx
The family mansion loomed ahead of her before she had a chance to prepare for going inside. Her stomach ached. She’d have to do something with the memory-filled albums, old videotapes, and the rest of the personal items before she could put the house up for sale.
She parked and trudged up to the front door. Once she punched in the security code, she stepped inside. The air smelled stale and empty. Lara stood in the entranceway gathering the courage to enter the den, the room that held the most personal items.
One bookcase was devoted to her mom’s favorite books. Lara fingered the spines, deciding which to donate and which to keep. She’d already planned to take home most of the photo albums. The newer pictures that were on the computer she’d email to herself. She wasn’t sure about the videotapes, but Trevor reminded her that if she destroyed them, her childhood memories might disappear.
She pulled
out her third birthday party tape and shoved it into the VCR, hoping the tape hadn’t disintegrated after so many years of disuse. Dad kept saying he’d have them transferred to digital, but he never had. She sat in her mom’s chair and watched her youthful days. There were about fifteen kids at her party held outside under the big oak tree in back. A stack of opened presents were piled high on the table. The redheaded girl next to her had been her best friend for a while, but after all this time, Lara couldn’t remember her name.
When she finished, she wiped away the tears and put in the next one, this time from her 6th birthday party. Halfway through, both her mom and dad appeared off to the side. They hadn’t been in the first tape at all. Interesting. Mom seemed to be arguing with dad. Her mother shot a glance toward Lara, and then faced her father. Lara stilled and rewound the tape. She couldn’t believe what her mother had said. For the first time in her life, she wished she hadn’t been able to read lips. The horrible words would be forever engraved in her brain. She yanked the offending VCR from the machine and shoved it in her purse, praying she’d misinterpreted the meaning.
25
Lara’s parents’ house seemed to shrink. She had to get out of there but even going home wouldn’t ease her disappointment at what she’d learned. How could her mother look at her, frown, then tell her dad that Lara’s uncle had ruined her mom’s life? If only she understood what role Uncle Jack played. The only way to find out would be to speak with him. The fact he’d walked out of their lives so many years ago certainly hadn’t helped.
Right now, only work would calm her turbulent thoughts. Without stopping to change, she drove straight to the lab. She signed in but didn’t make small talk with the guard at the desk like she often did. In fact, she didn’t want to speak with anyone, not even her mentor, Sam. Randall Johnson’s X-rays and lab tests would top her list of must-dos. Despite the fact she’d met the man, she still believed he was her second skeleton. People lied about their identity, and she planned to prove the man wasn’t telling the truth.
She became so engrossed in work that she’d forgotten to eat. After several hours, she sat back and stretched. Even with a full afternoon of work, she wasn’t any closer to figuring out where she’d gone wrong with the Randall Johnson identification.
It was time to hit the snack room. She bought a bag of donuts and a Coke, hoping the sugar fix would put her in a better frame of mind. The nagging conversation between her parents kept beating the back of her skull, but she’d been able to work despite the depression that had settled in the pit of her stomach.
On her way upstairs to her lab, she decided a new set of eyes would help her figure out the dilemma. Sam was busy with the Winnebago fire victims. The only other person’s opinion she respected more than his was her senior thesis professor, Dr. Rolf Hoffman. She called his office.
“Of course you can stop by, Lara. I’d be happy to take a look at what you have.”
She gathered her X-rays and photos and let Phil know where she was going. Given it was a bright sunny day with thousands of students roaming about campus, she walked over to the Sociology building, but the pain from her mother’s hateful words took away the joy of the nice day.
Dr. Hoffman smiled and stood as she entered his small office. “You’re looking well.”
She knew a lie when she heard it. The circles under her eyes were misty gray at best. “Thanks.”
He spent more than a half hour pouring over her information. “You’ve done a very thorough job here.”
A lot of good it did her. “You would have concluded this was Randall Johnson too?” she asked.
“Absolutely, but you said the man’s alive?”
“Yes.”
Hoffman closed the file. “I don’t know how else I can help you.”
“Other than asking this person for his DNA, I’m at a stone wall.”
He shrugged. “Yes. I wish I could be of more help.” Dr. Hoffman straightened his bow tie.
She guessed that was her cue to leave. As Lara stood, she inadvertently knocked off a couple of four by six postcards from the stack on his desk. “I’m so sorry.” She picked up those on the floor and placed them back on the pile, reading the top line. “Oh, wow. The Tampa Museum is having a showing this Friday night on Native Americans.”
“Take one, Lara.”
She read the details. The name Robert Hoffman was printed in bold red print. “Your brother is having an exhibit? I thought he was a mortician.”
“He now fancies himself an artist.” From his puckered lips, she guessed her professor didn’t approve of his brother’s new interest.
Dr. Hoffman rapped his pencil on the desk. “Personally, I think he should stick to fixing dead bodies.”
Clearly the topic disturbed him. “Are you going to the opening?”
His lips pursed and his brows rose. “I don’t have a choice. My brother would be very disappointed if I didn’t. The museum is displaying a lot of other artists too. Many are Native Americans.” He tugged on his cuffs. “For that, the visit might be worth the trip.”
She picked up the card, stored it in her folder and said her goodbyes.
On the walk back to the lab she decided to call Trevor to see if he’d heard anything about Ethan today. Their last conversation had been strained, but she cared about his brother, and she cared about Trevor.
After checking over her shoulder to see no one was following her, she dialed his number. Even though Bernie was in jail, these last few weeks had taught her to be careful.
“Kinsey.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “It’s Lara.” She held her breath, wondering how he’d react.
“Something wrong?”
Always the protector. She wished she could tell if he sounded scared, concerned, or indifferent. “No. Have you heard anything about Ethan?”
“Not yet.”
Darn. “I’m sure something will come up.” Lame comment. “I just found out there is a new exhibit opening at the Tampa Museum on Native Americans Friday night. My professor’s brother is exhibiting. You’ve met him. He was the one who handled my parents’ funeral.”
“The director. Yes.”
She inhaled, revving up her up courage to ask him out. She shouldn’t be nervous given what they’d shared, but she was. “I thought perhaps you’d like to come with me to see the show. It might be good for you get away for a few hours.” She fisted her hands, wondering how he’d react to being asked out on a date.
No response. “Trevor?”
“Sorry, I was distracted. Sure. What time?”
Her stomach fluttered. “Seven?”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“Great.”
Lara’s heavy heart lightened for a moment. She was going to see Trevor again.
Close to six thirty, Lara had yet to figure out what she was going to wear. She’d tried on three different dresses before she chose the plain black dress that hugged her figure.
Her cell rang at quarter to seven. It was Trevor. Tingles tripped along her spine. “Hi.”
“Lara, I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
“I hate to do this, but I have to cancel. Something came up.”
Her shoulders bowed. Was he contrite? Or merely blowing her off? “Is it about Ethan?”
“Yes, I need to follow a lead.”
“I didn’t think you were allowed to investigate.”
“Not officially, but no one can stop me from asking questions.”
The tension in her neck eased. “Then by all means. I’ll let you know how the show goes. It’s on for another month so you can catch it later. Personally, I like opening night.” Stop babbling.
“Sounds great. Have fun and be careful.”
“Always am.”
Damn. She’d been looking forward to seeing him again, however, she understood his need to locate Ethan. She prayed he’d be successful.
Now that Trevor had canceled and the museum would be open until ten, she had a few
minutes to spare. She’d give her uncle a call, even stop by his place, find out what he knew, and then head on over to the show—assuming he’d speak with her.
It took a moment to find the number. With her breath held, she dialed.
Her uncle answered. “Lara? Did something happen?”
Besides his brother and sister-in-law dying suddenly? What an odd way to greet her after so many years. She’d emailed him about his brother’s death, but other than a note of sympathy, he’d not called or anything. “No, but is there any way I could stop by? I wanted to ask you a question about something my mother said.”
He coughed. Footsteps sounded in the background. “Aunt Patty is at the store right now so now would be a good time.”
What an odd thing to say. “I’ll come right over. I’m heading your way anyway.” She might lose her nerve if she didn’t get to the bottom of the comment.
She put the finishing touches on her makeup, grabbed her purse, and left. Even though he only lived ten miles away, she programmed her GPS for his house.
Once she arrived, she headed up their massive drive, her legs refusing to stop shaking.
Her uncle opened the door. “Come in.”
No smile. No hug. She understood he and his brother had a falling out, but he shouldn’t take it out on her. “You look good Uncle Jack.”
He finally glanced her way. “You’ve grown.”
“I should hope so.” She laughed, but no doubt, the sound came out forced.
“Let’s sit in the den.”
He fixed a glass of scotch and water and turned to her. “Want something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
He dropped down onto the leather chair and guzzled half the contents. “So what was so important that you needed to see me after all these years?”
“I found out that I was adopted.”
His eyes revealed nothing, but the coloring in his cheeks darkened. “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
He raised the glass and took a long drink. “And you want to know why I gave you up, I suppose.” Other than the tightening around his mouth, he showed no emotion.
