“You’ll need my help,” Will offered. “I know that area really well.”
“But…” I started, swallowing hard and realizing I was outnumbered and unable to do a thing about it.
“How long will it take us to get there?” Cara asked Will.
“We can be out of here by tomorrow if we’re lucky,” he said.
We couldn’t repeat what Ian had done. We didn’t have the connections. It took us two days to make all the arrangements, days I was loath to lose.
Patrice was in too much pain from her ribs to come with us. Mike moved her in with his sister who was a practical nurse. Then Cara, Will and I hopped a flight for Seattle, bought a clunker of a car from a lot not far from the airport, drove across the border into British Columbia and took a ferry to the island, just like hundreds of people did every day. No one blinked an eye.
Fortunately Will knew the area. He’d had a couple of months to explore, and, being the social type, had passed a lot of the time by getting to know the locals. Unfortunately, he’d never heard of Alexis Gerhart.
Ian, of course, knew about Stephen’s place, making it too dangerous for us to use. So we took rooms at a little inn built on the water. Will picked up some weapons he had stashed, and, without even unpacking our bags, I tried the first most logical method of finding someone. I looked in the phone book. Her name wasn’t there.
“She’s probably married, which means she’s no longer a Gerhart,” Cara pointed out, lounging on the hotel bed, her knees bent and her shoes resting atop the bedspread.
“She never was a Gerhart,” I snapped.
I stared at her. I didn’t bother to tell her to take off those shoes. My mind was still reeling.
Josie. Married. She’d had a life, at least I prayed to God she had, a life I knew nothing about.
“So,” Cara added, “how do you find someone whose name has changed?”
I slapped the book shut and let it drop to the floor. “You want the long method or the short one?”
“Mom, I don’t think we have time for anything long.”
“I start asking around. I go to the grocery store. I—”
Cara reared up on the bed. “You can’t do that.”
“Oh, yes I can. My sister ran off over twenty years ago. I’ve finally tracked her down to Cowichan Bay. Does anyone have any idea where Alexis Gerhart is? I won’t need to give them my name, at least not my real one.”
Will came out of the bathroom, towel drying his hair. I saw Cara’s eyes take in his bare chest. It wasn’t as though she needed much of a push to appreciate Will. He was charming when he wanted to be, just as she’d said he’d be. And he had that arrogance for her to work on. What more could a girl want?
“Ask Sandy Parsons, the social editor for the newspaper,” he said. “She knows everyone in town. You’ll find her office on the main street, between the barber shop and Cynthia’s Diner.”
“You look like Lexy a little around the eyes, and you have the same curly hair,” Ms. Parsons observed from across her neat wooden desk, in the tiny old storefront building that served as the newspaper’s editorial offices. She must have been close to sixty.
I tried to mask my surprise. Just as no one is ever prepared for someone to die no matter how long it is in coming, I wasn’t really prepared for Josie to actually be alive, no matter how fervently I’d hoped I was right.
“You okay?” Ms. Parsons asked. She got up and poured me a cup of water. I took it gratefully. I forced the muscles in my throat to relax enough to accept some of the liquid.
“You have some of Lexy’s mannerisms, too,” she added with a clip to her consonants.
I dropped the curl I’d been twisting, put down the cup and let my hands rest in my lap.
“Lexy married Nathan Estes not too long after she came here,” Ms. Parsons went on. “Six months maybe. No more than that. He’s a fisherman. Owns his own boat. Their twins are great. Handsome. All grown-up now. I think John is in med school, and Stephen’s working with his dad.”
Sons. Twins. My nephews. One named after Stephen, the man who had saved their mother’s life.
I couldn’t speak. This woman whom I’d never seen before was privy to my sister’s life, had seen her, interacted with her over all of these lost years. She treated that contact so casually, so unaware of how precious it was. Damn it. It wasn’t fair.
“She was a real asset to the community. Helped out at school. Worked with pollution control.”
“Was?” My mouth went dry.
She pursed her lips. “You don’t know, then?”
Oh, God, let her say anything except what I know she’s going to.
“She died about three weeks ago.”
I took a sip of water, grateful to have something in my hands to steady them. “How?” I managed.
“Accident. She drowned. Took the boat out one night by herself when she should have known better. The winds were up. We did a big write-up about it.” She turned and rummaged through a stack of newspapers, pulling one out and passing it over to me.
“Pity,” Mrs. Parsons added. “Those boys adored their mother. So did Nathan. Don’t know how they’ll get along without her.”
I stared at the headline. The black-and-white letters swam. I couldn’t read. I could barely see. Mrs. Parsons handed me a tissue. That’s when I realized I was crying.
We were too late. Ackerman’s goons had gotten to her. They had killed her. But how the hell had they found her—weeks ago?
Chapter 29
About three that afternoon, we found Josie’s house, a nice old Victorian in a little neighborhood at the end of town. It was authentic, not one of those new imitations. It was painted the palest blue with white trim and hinged navy blue shutters that could be closed during a storm. The large porch wrapped around the front and down one side. Lace curtains hung in the windows. On the roof was a widow’s walk. Absently I wondered if Josie had stood there watching for her husband to bring in his boat. She must have made peace with the water. When we were children, she’d have nothing to do with it.
“Mom?” Cara shook my shoulder. “Aren’t you going to knock?”
We were standing on the sidewalk, and I was staring.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Will asked.
I shook my head. “It’s not a matter of wanting. It’s a matter of having to.”
We climbed the three steps to the porch, and I rapped my knuckles on the door, which had a drape of black cloth stretched over the arch. I saw movement behind the etching on the oval glass of the door. It opened and I got my first glimpse of my sister’s husband. Nathan was average in height. Muscular, not from working out but from hard work. His face was creased from the salt air and the harsh sun. I immediately saw why Josie would have liked him. He had an honest look about him, thick, close-cropped hair and a kindness about his mouth. A black band was wrapped around the upper part of his plaid sleeve. A mourning band.
“Come in, Elizabeth,” he said, as though he’d been expecting me.
We followed him inside. Josie’s colors hadn’t changed. The dusty rose she’d loved so well dominated the sitting room he led us into. She’d blended it with a gray-blue and a cream to create a restful, welcoming room. I went to the mantel over the old fireplace. It held photos of her boys. Sailing. Fishing. Playing soccer. There was something in their faces that reminded me of Cara, and I wondered if my own sons would have looked like them if Stephen and I had had any.
Josie had had a good life.
But I hadn’t been part of it.
“So you found us after all,” Nathan said.
I turned and saw him offer Will his hand. I sensed this wasn’t their first meeting.
“You know each other,” I suggested.
“Nathan brought us in. By boat. He worked with Stephen. They never told me his name.”
I nodded. So that was how they’d met. The young fisherman who’d helped Stephen and the young woman without a family, with a new name, so vulnera
ble, so ready to put down new roots.
Stephen had purposely kept Will from meeting Josie, protecting her to the last. But he couldn’t protect her from everything, not after he was dead.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Nathan said, looking first at me, then at Cara and finally at Will.
“Where should we be?” I asked. “Stephen’s dead.” His eyes didn’t flicker. “But you already know that.”
“Ackerman’s men have Stephen’s code and the code book,” I said.
“Then you need to leave before they get here.”
“You can’t possibly believe Josie’s death was an accident.” I’d raised my voice louder than I intended. “They’ve already been here, Nathan. Which one of them killed her—Ian Payne or James Lowell?”
“Mom.” Cara touched my hand. “Ian and James didn’t have the code three weeks ago when Aunt Josie died.”
I heard her words, but I couldn’t believe fate could be that cruel. Only men. Somehow one of them had discovered Josie’s location earlier and killed her. That was the only way her death made sense. But then, why all this cat-and-mouse game with me? And why hadn’t they gone after Will?
Nathan lifted his chin. “A squall kicked up. She took out the boat when she shouldn’t have been on the water.”
“I read the newspaper account,” I said. “Josie wasn’t stupid. She didn’t swim, and I’m certain she’d never go out on the water alone. Why was she out there?”
“You need to leave,” Nathan said, tension straining his face. “You have no business here, not anymore. Please. Just go away and leave me in peace.”
I wanted to rage at him, but I didn’t. He’d just lost his wife, his sons’ mother. How she died didn’t begin to compete with the fact that she was dead.
“I want them in my life,” I insisted, holding back tears. “Your sons. I want them to know Cara.”
Nathan stole a look at her. He knew her name. He had known Stephen. And he’d known Josie. He probably thought he knew me. She and I shared a lot of characteristics, stubbornness just one of them.
“Later, once things have settled down, you can come back then. But please, for now, go home. Enough people have died.”
“Where is she?” I whispered.
“God’s Rest. It’s a little cemetery about a mile down from here. It’s where my family is buried. You can go by on your way out of town.”
We stopped at a flower shop, and I had the woman make up a large bouquet of cut flowers in mauves, pinks and light blue. It didn’t look at all like a funeral arrangement, which was exactly what I wanted. Such a hollow token, but it was all I had to give.
Then we walked the short distance to the cemetery, passed through the huge iron gates without a word, and found the Estes family crypt, shaded by large trees.
The entrance was dark and the concrete cold. I stopped, reluctant to leave the sunshine.
“You don’t have to go in there,” Cara said. “We can leave the flowers out here by the door.”
“Yes, I do,” I insisted.
Will waited at the open doorway, keeping watch as Cara followed after me.
So this was to be Josie’s final resting place, buried under an alias in her adopted country, among her husband’s kin. Her vault was about shoulder high. I laid my cheek against the cold metal, forcing myself to keep from thinking what lay inside. My fingers traced the letters on the bronze plaque. Alexis Gerhart Estes. I wanted to scratch them away. She was Josie, damn it! My poor Josie. My dear sister. Dead again, all these long years after I’d buried her in my heart.
I set the flowers on the concrete, told her I was glad I’d found her at last, and whispered to her that I loved her. My last words were a promise uttered so that Cara couldn’t hear. “I’ll get him,” I swore. “I’ll get the man who took you from me, and then it will finally be over.”
That night I tossed in the bed at the inn, afraid I was keeping Cara awake, but unable to do anything about it. I would find time to mourn, but that time would have to come later. At that moment all I knew was rage.
About five in the morning I fell into a fitful sleep. I dreamed of death and black banners and funeral plaques. A shroud descended over my head. Everything went black and I choked. I couldn’t breathe and woke in a fit of coughing.
Cara came to my side, calling for Will to bring some water. They forced me to drink and I finally came to my senses. We were at an inn in Cowichan Bay, British Columbia. Josie was dead, not me, and we had work to do.
We packed quickly, loaded the junker with our bags and went for one last visit to Josie’s grave. Anyone looking for her now would find her already dead. I whispered once more that I loved her, as I again ran my fingers over her name on the bronze plaque. Alexis. Alexis Gerhart Es—
I jerked my hand back as if it had been burned.
Josie, dear God love you. I should have known.
It was then that I laughed, choking on my tears. Cara put an arm around me. I swiped at my cheeks and smiled at her. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m more than all right.”
I climbed into the driver’s seat of the old clunker and turned onto the road.
“Ferry’s the other way,” Will pointed out.
“I know.”
“Then why…” Cara asked, turning to shrug at Will in the backseat.
“I intend to meet them right here. I told you before we left, this is where we’ll make our stand.”
“But Aunt Josie’s death—”
“Doesn’t change a thing,” I insisted.
“I can’t believe you actually want James dead,” Cara said. “Mom, I stayed with that man for days. There’s no way—”
“That you can see into any man’s soul. You saw what he wanted you to see. When people are murdered, the killer’s neighbors, friends, families all say there’s no way their son or daughter or friend could have done this. Yet there lies the body. Somebody did it. Not an ogre or a boogeyman. A human.”
She shivered. I knew exactly how she felt.
“Nathan’s right,” Will agreed. “Ian and James are headed here, if they’re not here already.”
Cara frowned at me. “You told Nathan that either James or Ian killed Dad. Do you really believe that?”
“We need to visit your uncle.”
“My uncle,” Cara repeated. “Now that’s a concept to wrap my mind around.”
“Won’t he be out with the boat?” Will asked.
I looked over my shoulder. “He’ll be home. And I don’t think he’ll be at all surprised to see us at his door. We’re not the only ones who think it’s time to put a stop to Nick Ackerman and his associates.”
“Get the hell away from here,” Nathan growled. “Now.”
“No. Hear me out.” I walked past him with Cara and Will following after me into the house.
He shut the door behind us, but he was seething, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, his gaze traveling back and forth through the front window, studying the wooded area across the street.
“Do you mind?” he asked, nodding Will and Cara toward the kitchen. “I need to have a few words with Elizabeth.”
“Not at all,” Will agreed, grabbing Cara’s arm and leading her off. They’d no doubt be listening at the door.
“It’s too late,” I told him. “Are they watching the house?”
Nathan nodded, his gaze straying again out the window. If he was working with Stephen, he must have had some training, at least enough to spot surveillance. “Since yesterday morning.”
“Then they’ve already seen us. They must be waiting for us to leave Cowichan Bay before they take Will and kill Cara and me. The only thing that’s keeping us alive is our contact with you and their assumption that you don’t know they’re here. Making their move now would blow their cover. Ackerman wants Will, but he also wants Josie. Why does he still care after all these years?”
Nathan’s silence bored
through me.
“What’s your plan?” I asked Nathan. We understood each other—Nathan and me—two stubborn people, neither willing to give an inch.
He eyed me. “Why do you think I have a plan?”
“Stephen’s been dead for a month. His grave marker won’t be ready for at least five more. How many years have you had Josie’s engraved?”
“Some things move faster up here.”
I shook my head. “Your grief is superficial. You lived with a woman more than twenty years, she bore you children that I have no doubt you adore, but you don’t even have a catch in your voice when you speak of her. What’s more, you’ve kept your boys away when you would need each other more now than you ever have in your lives.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“For years I’ve been afraid the danger in Stephen’s life would engulf Cara and me, and I’ve been preparing for it. Josie knew exactly what her danger was. You both knew what you were up against even if I didn’t. I know she’s alive. You should have waited to put the marker up. No one dead a few weeks has her name on her grave. Where is she?”
He opened his mouth to tell me what I knew would be a lie, but then he closed it.
“No, don’t,” I said. “It’s better if I don’t know.”
“Walk away, Elizabeth. Take your daughter and run.”
“We have nowhere to run. There is no safe place for us.” And I had too much invested. I’d lost Stephen and I’d lost more than twenty years with Josie. Will had lost his mother and might yet lose his life. I was staying. One way or another it would end here.
“Stephen lived knowing Ackerman was working his evil for years,” I told Nathan. “I want to sleep when I lie in bed at night, not wonder when he might show back up in my life. I can’t get Stephen back, but I can damn well get Josie. I’m in, like it or not.” I leaned back against the wall. If he wanted me gone, he’d have to physically throw me out.
“How can you possibly help?” he asked.
“Do you know either Ian or James personally?”
No Safe Place Page 19
