by Sara Gauldin
“I’m glad you made it here so quickly,” I said.
Paul groaned and then called my name.
I went to his side, leaving Genevieve, who was speaking with the EMTs about what happened with Paul. “Paul, I’m glad to see you’re still with us.”
“For a moment, I thought I was at the end of the line,” he admitted.
“I hope things get better for you.”
“Look, I already told you. My time is up. Dana, well, I know she thought a lot of you and your family.”
“Thanks, Paul. I feel bad that I never got to say goodbye.”
“It’s better, you should have stayed away.” Paul coughed a painful, hacking cough.
“Why would you say that?” I asked. “This is my home. I grew up here.”
“You were right to leave. Dana and I should have tried to get out, too. But things were complicated.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I said.
“What they say, it’s true. It’s all about power, the whole darn town….” Paul’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted.
I stepped back as the EMT workers converged around Paul. I never could find out what he was talking about; they rushed him out of his home and into an ambulance before he regained consciousness.
What was he talking about? Was there some kind of power play right here in Sandusky, or was Paul hallucinating because he wasn’t getting enough oxygen to his brain? I shivered as I considered what he’d said.
Chapter 17
We made it back to the hotel after ten o’clock. I wanted to fall into bed and block out the day. All the sorrow and heartache people gave the ones they cared about made me wonder why anybody even bothered. I left Genevieve in the lobby and staggered to the elevator holding the PI’s report and hoping the world would somehow swallow me up before I had to see any more of the nasty side of human nature.
The room was pristine; the cleaning crew had done a beautiful job. It always amazed me how people could make things appear so perfect and orderly when nothing was.
I headed for the bathroom but then paused and went to the minibar. I was no drinker, but I couldn’t quite hold any more sorrow. I turned on the water to fill the bathtub, as hot as I could stand it, while I fixed myself a nightcap. The steam soon blocked out the girl in the mirror. She looked tired, and the dark circles under her eyes betrayed her secret wounds. I was glad to block her out and not have to look back into those eyes filled with sorrow.
I took a long drink, the burning liquor setting my throat on fire before I let the formal suit hit the floor. I stepped into the water and let all the aches and pains melt into the heat. I ran my fingers over the scars that reminded me of the times I didn’t die, the times with Ryan Kain where I knew there was no way out. But here I was, alone and free, and where was he? Where was he? Dead. Like my mother, like Dana, like those bodies chopped to bits in the morgue. I thought about what Paul Myer had said. None of it mattered. We put each other through so much, and nobody was getting out alive.
I let my mind wander back to Paul, back to the case, and out of the dark place that nearly swallowed me. What had he said, about the PI? What had he meant about Dana’s other life?
I had to pull myself together and to find out what started all of this. My world was a swirl of pain. But maybe I could put someone else’s world right. There had to be something that would open the door to whatever evil world that had taken Dana.
I tried to focus on Dana’s case, but I kept coming back to all the loss I felt. This place was full of loss. It was a mistake to come back. My dad always swore he would never set foot in this town after we lost Mom here. But he was here, too.
I gave up and hauled myself out of the tub. The ghosts of my past wouldn’t go away that easily. I took my time, combing out my long hair and drying it, so the pillow wouldn’t make it rumpled. The sound of the dryer was comforting; the heat in the steamy bathroom reminded me of my mother. I always loved watching her dry and style her beautiful red hair. I wanted mine to be just like hers, but I ended up with my father’s dark hair instead of my mother’s fiery tresses. I remembered how my mother would say little rhymes with me while she got ready. How did they go? I tried to clear my head so I could remember.
One little burglar in the house, lock the door, and be quiet like a mouse.
Two bad men in one big car, scream for help, never go far,
Mean hands grab and pull, you say, a kick to the groin will make them go away.
What the heck was my mother teaching me back then? I remembered her being all for the empowerment of women. The silly rhymes seemed harmless, but looking back they were dark.
I finished up and put on my PJs. It was time to do some reading. I wanted to know what the PI found on Dana. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have believed anything negative about my sweet friend, but now I wasn’t sure that anybody I knew was who they seemed to be. One thing about Dana was clear: after what I saw in the morgue, she wasn’t faking her death.
***
It surprised me to see I recognized the name of the PI that had been trailing Dana. Marge Dixon had known my mother somehow or another when I was a child. I remembered her as a solid, loud woman who appeared at some of my parents’ social gatherings. I didn’t picture her as a private investigator; she was somebody that made her presence very obvious.
I flipped through pages of mindless stakeouts. I never liked stakeouts. Marge was all over Dana’s every waking moment for more than a week before she realized that Dana wasn’t going anywhere outside of her normal and legitimate routine.
What was so unusual about any of this? Why would Paul bother to share the fact that his wife was ridiculously predictable?
I flipped through the phone records. That was the first flicker of weird. Dana called the same number from her cell phone at least fifty times, mostly while she should have been taking a lunch break or early in the morning, while her husband could have still been sleeping. But early morning calls didn’t scream affair.
I kept searching. If Dana was keeping in close contact with someone, there had to be a reason for it. The next section of the report was a little less obvious. It listed a series of IP addresses. I couldn’t tell who was connecting to what, but there was a pattern between one IP and about ten others that was systematic. The time stamps were around the same time as the strange phone call patterns. But without translation, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to see.
I kept going, hoping to find a summary. Ten pages of uneventful pictured and interactions later, I hit pay dirt. There was page after page of social media feeds printed out. Posts and tweets from at least one hundred people were listed, but several names occurred over and over. I read to see what the posts were about. One of them appeared to be a news story about the candidate for governor in the upcoming election. The posts detailed his alleged mishandling of money in his business. Another set of posts appeared to be pushing the value of a certain supplement over the use of more traditional medical treatments of a wide variety of symptoms. I shook my head. “Snake oil,” I grumbled. Why would Dana be interested in either of these things?
But the posts weren’t from Dana, at least not in her name. I flipped through a few more pages of trending hashtags and wondered what all of this had to do with my friend. Was she involved in the scandal about the candidate for governor? My stomach lurched at the possibility of stumbling into yet another political corruption mess. The last one I took on almost killed me and Ryan Kain likely died to get me free of it.
Whatever Marge was onto, she must have explained in person since she hadn’t included a summary. I lay back on the bed, reading back through the file and trying to understand what it was the PI was pointing out with all of this unrelated information. I was missing something. I was sure of it. Whatever it was, it was right outside of my grasp.
Chapter 18
I looked Ryan Kain in the face. “Don’t go.”
“You always say that, but you know I have to find Caroline Ge
orge.”
“It’s wrong. We don’t owe that family anything but a prison sentence.”
“If we find her, the family will leave you alone.”
“Will they?”
“What do you mean?” Kain’s eyes twinkled in that way that always got to me more than it should.
“They sent someone for me in Sandusky. I can’t prove it. But it had to be them.”
“Sandusky? You went home. I was hoping you would. There’s so much you need to know. It’s all there, you know. If you know where to look.”
“What are you talking about?”
The loud ringing of my phone woke me from the vivid dream. I never could seem to finish the dream. Ryan Kain kept trying to tell me something that I had to know, but somehow I always woke up before he did. I could feel the tears going down my face, as I rolled over and grabbed the phone.
“Hello?” my voice cracked.
“Avery, did I wake you up?” My dad’s voice was too loud.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“It’s already six-fifteen.”
I had every intention of sleeping until seven. “It’s early. Is everything all right?”
“Okay, can’t a father call his only daughter and invite her to breakfast?”
“Breakfast?”
“Avery, get up. You’re staying at the Hilton?”
“Yes.” I sat up and put my feet on the floor.
“Great. I hear they have a decent restaurant on site. I’ll meet you downstairs at a quarter ‘til.”
“Okay, I’ll see you then.” What was I saying? I wanted to go back to sleep. Besides, I was supposed to meet Genevieve at the car by eight-thirty. The line went silent before I could respond.
It was too late to back out, so I headed for my suitcase to get ready.
***
Bill Rich was sitting at a booth in the restaurant off of the hotel lobby. He wore what he would describe as his lawyer suit, a navy blue classic with a striped tie.
I checked in with the hostess and made my way to the booth. Dad hopped up; he was far sprier than you would expect from a man of his age. He gave me a bear hug, as though I was still a little girl, and I returned it because for just a moment, it was nice to be daddy’s girl again.
“Look at my girl. You make your old man so proud.” He grinned.
I smiled back despite myself. “Really? I wasn’t sure about that the last time I ran into you.” It was better to get awkward out of the way upfront.
“Well, I think we both know that was just business. We’re family. No case will come between us.”
“Of course.” I took a seat as the server showed up with a menu. “The bar looks good to me.”
Dad nodded. “I’ll have the same. You know your mother would have fussed at us both. She always worried about the food at a bar.”
I chewed my lip for a minute as I tried to decide how much I wanted to bring up my mother’s memory again.
“It’s strange seeing you here in town,” I blurted. “I thought you said you would never come back here.”
Dad raised his eyebrows and put his coffee mug back down. “Yet, here we both are. It’s a strange reunion, especially since we agreed to get together in California.”
“I went to California,” I mumbled, avoiding eye contact. Confronting my dad was new to me.
“So you did. I appreciate you making the effort.” Dad smiled a little too wide.
“Well, I didn’t stay,” I said.
“Yes, because you have a case. How’s that going, anyway?”
I almost dropped my fork. Was he going there after the move he pulled with Cynthia Ellis? “Why do you ask?”
“I know you think me showing up here is strange. Understand, Avery, Cynthia Ellis’s family worked with your mother. I have to help if I can.”
Something about my father’s sense of loyalty to strangers sent a chill through me. Was it even possible to know anybody these days? I cleared my throat while I tried to sort out my thoughts. “Speaking of Mom’s old friends, do you have any idea how to get in touch with Marge Dixon?”
Dad almost choked on his scrambled eggs. “Marge Dixon? Why?”
“Because she did some PI work, and I need to follow up with her.” I tried to read my father, but he had already put on the calm, content mask he always wore around me, at least until my mother died.
“PI work huh, that’s new. I may have her number.” Dad took out his phone and flipped through his contacts. It impressed me that he was using the SMART phone now instead of the flip phone he held onto for so long. He took his pen out of his pocket and scribbled the number on a napkin. “Here you go. Tell Marge I said hello.”
“I will.” I was surprised Dad gave me the number, considering his recent habit of keeping secrets from me. Maybe it wasn’t a recent habit. I wanted my regular old dad, and maybe I saw what he wanted me to see.
“So what’s on your agenda today?” Dad asked.
“I have several witnesses to question and a few leads to follow up on.”
“So, I take it you won’t be heading back to California today?”
“Today? Why would I?”
“I told you I was coming home on Thursday. Today is Thursday.”
I looked my dad in the eye, trying to take back the edge of adult authority that I lost every time I was around him. “I’m staying. The case won’t solve itself.”
“Fine, I see you have a job to do. Just don’t let it become personal.”
“Personal?” I asked.
Dad looked down his nose and over his glasses at me. “I know how you throw yourself into your work.”
He had me and he knew it. Not that long ago, a case haunting me had nearly killed us both.
I took a few sips of my coffee and tried to clear the cobwebs of my late night from my mind. The more I tried to block it out, the more the questions I had about my mother and about the woman Dad had been spending time with came to mind. It would bubble over, and I wasn’t sure if I cared to stop it.
Dad put his coffee cup down and met my gaze with a slight smirk that reminded me I was using his tricks on him and he knew it. “So what’s new with you? It feels like it’s been a while.”
And he had to ask. “Well, I went to visit Mom’s grave.”
Dad paused and looked at me with a mixture of surprise and something else that I couldn’t quite name. “You did? That surprises me.”
“Why? You visited her, too.”
“Me, no, I can’t go there. I just can’t.”
“Then who put the flowers on her grave?”
Dad put down his coffee mug and pushed the newspaper away. “Good question. What kind of flower was it?”
Why was he on high alert? “I don’t remember.” I lied. I knew the flowers were daisies.
“Well, that is strange.”
“I figured it was just part of the service at the graveyard or some charity or service organization.” I was giving him an out.
“Oh, yes. That must be it.” Dad smiled, but somehow the warmth didn’t reach his eyes.
“Dad, I think you are keeping things from me. What is going on with the woman who was staying with you?”
“Woman? Oh yes, an old friend, nothing for you to worry about.” I noticed he still didn’t offer her name.
“Fine, you can spin it however you want, but something is weird with you.”
“Ah, have a little faith in your old man. I’m not up to no good like one of your suspects.” Dad gave me another fake smile.
I nodded, but I wasn’t buying his story, because he was only telling me the pleasant parts and I knew better. “Look, I’m having a memory lapse. Do you remember me hanging out with anybody named Dave when I was a kid? It came up in questioning.”
“Dave?” Dad pressed his fingers together as he considered my question. “Didn’t your friend Lisa have a brother named Dave?”
I thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, I think she did, that must be it. Thanks.”
“No trouble. This Dave character isn’t causing you any trouble is he?”
“Dad, no, don’t be silly. I just couldn’t remember who he was.” A vague memory of spin the bottle with Lisa’s brother and his friends was coming back to me now. I flushed and fought down a queasy feeling when I thought of Ian Guilford. He had been about my age. Had he been there?
“All right, but Avery, I’m here for you. Come back to California and let me help you get your feet back under you.”
“I’m enjoying being back here at home.” I wanted to see his reaction.
“Not here, Avery, solve your case and come home.”
I took the last sip of my coffee. “I’m glad we caught up today. I hate to eat and run, but I’m expecting someone.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I have a flight to catch. Come back to California when you’re ready. My door is always open.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be homeless if my cabin sells soon.”
Dad gathered his paper, gave me a halfhearted hug, and headed out into the lobby in a bit of a rush. I couldn’t help wondering where his suitcase was.
Chapter 19
Genevieve picked me up at the front door of the hotel looking like she had been up for hours. I told her about what I read in Marge Dixon’s report, and she agreed we needed some clarification.
“Where are we headed?” I was expecting her to tell me we were going back to the police department.
“We will pay a visit to Dana’s most recent boyfriend, Zachary Vance.”
“Really, you got a name?” It surprised me.
“I had to ask around a bit.” Genevieve smiled mischievously. “Luckily, one of the investigating officers talked to a co-worker who knew who he was.”
Zachary Vance lived across town in an upper-class neighborhood. Genevieve drove us back by block through the maze of extravagance using her phone’s GPS.
“In three hundred feet, take the right turn,” the phone blared.
“Ms. Yeaman didn’t mention that Zachary Vance was wealthy,” Genevieve said.
