by Jayne, Chris
“You can, Bran, but I have to go to the store to get you a bathing suit. And some medicine for your sister. You’ll need to wait a few more minutes.”
“I want to go swimming now.” His face darkened like a thundercloud.
“Bran, you don’t have a bathing suit.”
“I don’t care. I want to go now!”
Lori couldn’t deal with this. “If you go swimming in your underwear, everyone will laugh at you.” Normally, Lori wouldn’t have said anything like this, but at this moment, she was at the end of her rope.
Fortunately, this threat worked. Even at age five, the idea of going into a public pool in his underwear appeared sufficiently horrible to shut the argument down. “Okay,” he said, pouting. “How long?”
“Half an hour,” Lori bargained desperately. “That’s all. I’ll get you a bathing suit and I’ll be right back.”
Chapter 23
Standing in line at the Walmart, Lori reflected that it had been a bit more than half an hour, but it hardly mattered because Brandon couldn’t tell time. The store was only a five minute drive from the hotel, and Lori had easily grabbed everything she had needed: a variety of children’s cold and flu remedies in the pharmacy, ingredients to make a simple Bolognese sauce, pasta, garlic bread, and a salad in a bag from the grocery, and from the clothing sections, bathing suits for everyone.
The choices for the last item had been fairly sparse. Not many people bought bathing suits in Oklahoma in October, it seemed, but the store still maintained a year-round stock of basics. Those, taken with a few left on summer markdown, and she was able to get a cute black bikini for Simone, plus a basic tank suit for herself. She’d also found a two-piece for Grace, even though Lori doubted Grace would be doing much swimming, and a pair of Hawaiian print trunks in Brandon’s size.
Standing in the checkout line, her eyes idly ran over the display of tabloids. Suddenly, she blinked, then blinked again, her jaw dropping.
It couldn’t be but it was.
The moment was not quite as bad as the one in Saldata’s kitchen when she first heard the screams of the tortured senator, but it was close. On the display rack in front of her was the nation’s most prominent tabloid, and the headline was clear: “Dead Senator’s Girlfriend Missing! Chilling Clues in Caterer’s Disappearance.”
Underneath the compelling headline was a picture of a smiling Senator Kyle Michaels. Like all tabloid covers, the photo was supposed to be a long shot, a candid, and the slightly fuzzy senator stared off at something in the distance. That wasn’t what caught Lori’s eye, though. What caught her eye was herself, in the same picture, behind him. The picture was a couple of years old, but it was definitely her. She was wearing a tailored black suit and someone’s garden was behind both of them.
Her body lunged forward reflexively, intending to snatch every copy from the display, but she stopped herself, because another image intervened. Also in the checkout line was a display of cheap sunglasses, complete with a mirror built into the rack, so a potential buyer could experiment with new shades while waiting to pay.
As she’d dived for the magazine rack, she’d caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The black-haired woman in the small mirror looked nothing like the grainy photograph on the front of the magazine. Nothing. There was no way that anyone would connect the photograph on the tabloid with the woman shopping in Oklahoma City. She knew she was the person in the mirror, and even she didn’t recognize herself. Thank God she’d followed her instincts that first night, and bought the hair dye and scissors.
Lori forced herself to relax. The only thing that would give her away were her own actions. Casually she reached out to the magazine rack, snagging a magazine with a headline concerning the latest overseas disaster, then, almost making it look like an afterthought, added the tabloid to the cart.
An hour later, Lori stood in the hotel room’s small kitchenette, stirring fragrant Bolognese sauce, a national cable news station on the television behind her. Grace had responded well to the ibuprofen, and had fallen into a fitful sleep in the bedroom. She’d thrown up once while Lori was at the store, according to Simone, but when Lori got back to the room, she’d swallowed some ginger ale and ibuprofen, and now was dozing.
Simone had taken Brandon to the pool, and blessedly they were still there.
So far nothing had come on the news about the senator’s death, but Lori suspected it was only a matter of time. While still in the parking lot at Walmart, Lori had skimmed the tabloid article. Like most such articles, it didn’t say much. Popular Miami caterer, Lori Dovner, a widow, “might have been” Michaels’ girlfriend. There were “questions” about her disappearance. Her whereabouts were “uncertain.” And the “chilling clues” promised in the headline? They were nowhere to be found.
One thing Lori gleaned from the article was that Michaels had been divorced for several years, so at least there wasn’t a wife out there denying that her husband even had a girlfriend. And, ironically, much of what was in the article about her was actually true, even complimentary, saying that she’d become one of the most successful small event caterers in Miami in just five years. They’d even managed, in the short period of time, to find and interview a couple of her clients who had nothing but glowing things to say about Top Hat Catering. Too bad my business is toast, Lori thought sickly, desperate tears welling into her eyes. This would be great publicity.
Lori had examined the photo on the tabloid’s cover carefully. Was it a composite? From some client or guest, they’d gotten a photo of her at an event. She couldn’t place the location, but it was outside at a pool. How many of those had she done through the years? Too many to count; and really, it didn’t matter.
She recognized what she was wearing, though. That suit had been destroyed in a major grease spill, and Lori didn’t think she’d even worn it to a job in two or three years at least. Then, somehow, someone had added Michaels into the foreground. Unless, Lori considered, Michaels had actually been at the party. Michaels had only been elected the previous fall. If this picture were three or four years old, he would not even have been a senator then. He could easily have been a party that she’d catered, just another guest.
How could they do this so fast? She’d run from Miami on Monday, and this was Wednesday. The tabloid was already in stores in Oklahoma. How could they even get it printed? She wouldn’t have believed it if she were not seeing it with her own eyes.
She gave the Bolognese sauce a quick stir, and walked to the door dividing the suite’s main area from the bedroom to check on Grace, then froze as she saw what was on the television. Back from a car commercial, the talking head on the cable news network announced that they were going live to Miami for a news conference on Senator Kyle Michaels’ death. Within seconds, she was looking at a man she recognized well, the assistant chief of police for Miami, Nico Rossi. The last time she’d seen him was when she peeked through the kitchen door to check the table at Saldata’s dinner party.
Oh yeah, he was an impartial source.
Bonelessly, Lori sank down onto the sofa across from the TV, horrified, for not only was Nico Rossi on TV, behind him, on a large screen was a full color picture of herself. This made the grainy picture on the front of the tabloid look like child’s play.
And, worst of all, Brandon and Grace stood next to her. Grace was looking up at her mother, frozen in time, talking and smiling. Brandon was eating an ice cream cone. While she had not been able to place the time or location of the photo that the tabloid had used, this photo she recognized.
This photo had been taken at the school’s picnic only last spring, so it was fairly recent, not only of her, but also, of her children. And while she still believed that her new haircut and color was a very effective disguise, there was no mistaking the kids. She looked more carefully, realizing that wasn’t completely accurate. While Grace was unmistakable, the ice cream cone obscured much of Brandon’s face, and he was wearing a ball cap and sunglasses. Lori of course
knew it was Brandon, but to a stranger, there was not enough here to go on. At least she hoped so.
Nico Rossi spoke into the cameras. “Thank you for coming, Ladies and Gentlemen. First, I will read a prepared statement, then I will take questions.” He looked down to a lectern and began reading. “We have no new leads in the murder of Senator Kyle Michaels. Our initial assessment of the situation has not changed. This appears to be a random carjacking, and Senator Michaels was not the target. When the shooters realized they had caused a fatality, they fled the scene. We continue to explore every lead, including review of all CCTV video from the area. The FBI has posted a reward of one million dollars for information leading to the apprehension of those responsible for senator’s death.” Rossi took a deep breath, looked his listeners in the eye, then returned to his notes. “There has been a great deal of speculation in the press about the involvement with the death of Senator Michaels by Miami resident Lorraine – Lori - Dovner, age thirty-four, who is,” he indicated with a sweep of his arm, “shown here behind me. We began looking for Mrs. Dovner when it was reported that she had removed her children from school abruptly on Monday morning, less than twelve hours after the senator’s death.”
Try two hours, Lori told herself.
“Then we learned that Mrs. Dovner had catered a party that Senator Michaels had attended the evening before. We also learned that the two were acquainted. Because of these facts, Mrs. Dovner was quickly considered someone we wanted to talk to. At no point, has Mrs. Dovner been considered a person of interest in Senator Michaels’ death, at least in the way that term is typically used. I cannot stress that strongly enough. And, in spite of the fact that it has been widely reported that she has disappeared, she has not. We know where she and her children are, she is safe, and we are talking to her.”
News to me, Lori thought cynically.
“She also knows nothing about the senator’s death. While she did see him at a party she catered Sunday night, after the party she went home. She was not present in the car when he was shot. She did not learn of his death until after she took her children to school on Monday morning.” Rossi cleared his throat, shuffled the papers, and looked into the crowd of reports. “Are there any questions?”
A woman shoved a microphone into Rossi’s face. “We have numerous reports that she abducted her kids from Sea View Elementary. Are you now saying that is not true?”
Rossi responded. “Yes. That is not true. Mrs. Dovner was very distressed to learn of the senator’s death and she decided to get away for a few days. She may have removed the children from school in an abrupt way that raised some alarms at the school, but there was nothing illegal about what she did.”
Another question was shouted at Rossi. “Was she his mistress?”
“As far as we know, Mrs. Dovner had no romantic relationship with Senator Michaels. We’re still trying to determine the exact nature of their relationship.”
Great, Lori realized. Leave the door open just enough that people will keep speculating and wondering.
Still another reporter jostled to have her question heard. “So how did they know each other?”
“Mrs. Dovner’s husband, Jack, and Senator Michaels were friends.”
“Where is Dovner’s husband?”
“Jack Dovner was killed six years ago in a work-related accident.”
Smart, Lori thought. Smart. Tell everyone that Michaels and Jack knew each other and now, no one in the world can disprove it because they’re both dead. And it gets me off the hook, except not really. Because the entire time this news conference is going on, my picture is still sitting there, the only thing for people to look at. So, you tell everyone I’m safe and that you’re not looking for me, but then you show my picture often enough, and eventually someone is going to talk anyway.
The door to the suite opened behind her. She did not want Simone to see this, but her frantic glance around the room did not reveal the location of the remote, and then it was too late. Simone gasped and Brandon’s voice piped up, amazed. “Mommy,” he said. “That’s us on TV!”
Chapter 24
Louise
Wednesday
6:00 PM Mountain Time
Hobson, Montana
* * *
Louise walked out onto the porch of the small farmhouse. The October wind, sharper every day now, hit her face. She thought she’d heard something and yes, there was a car coming up the driveway. It had to be Sandy Kaplan with her children.
At least that was one thing she could rest easy about.
There was a lot, though, that she could not. It would be winter soon, and she was not looking forward to spending it here in this old-fashioned farmhouse with minimal insulation, with an infant no less. Last winter they’d been safe and snug in their new log home, and now… She closed her eyes, hardly being able to look around. She lived in a hovel. And that was a worry that was several weeks at least in the future. Now, she had a much shorter term worry: her sister.
It was more than forty-eight hours since Lori had called, and Louise had heard nothing more. Had Lori changed her mind? Worse, had whatever terrible risk Lori felt she was running from turned out to be real? Louise didn’t know what to do, but if she didn’t hear something from Lori by tomorrow, she was going to have to tell Roger. And Deacon? He complicated everything in a way that Louise didn’t even want to think about.
Louise pushed the thoughts away as Sandy’s car crunched gravel and pulled up almost to the porch. “I’m going to unload our stuff first, and then where should I park?” Within a few seconds, Sandy’s car was unloaded, each child carrying his own school pack and overnight case and Sandy had pulled her car around to the side of the house.
Had Sandy had even considered what she was going to do with her car? When it came right down to it, why wasn’t she just driving back to Illinois? You couldn’t leave a car at the airport for months, especially in Montana in the winter. She wondered if Sandy was planning on parking her car at their house. Would she or Roger have to drive the family to the airport next Tuesday, a four-hour round trip? Something else to worry about.
In the tiny kitchen, Louise indicated a corner. “Put your bags there. Roger and Deacon are still setting up beds.”
As if on cue, the heavy tread of the men’s work boots sounded on the stair and first Roger, then Deacon came into the kitchen. “All done,” Roger said to Louise. “I didn’t think that king-sized bed was going to fit in our bedroom but we made it happen.”
“Barely,” Deacon added. He looked at Sandy. “Did you have any problems getting out?”
Sandy opened her mouth to speak, but then gave a glance at her children. Sandy’s older daughter was eleven, and obviously listening to what was going on. Sandy shook her head quickly, indicating she didn’t want to say any more in front of the children.
Louise took the hint. Normally, they didn’t allow their children to watch television during the day, and she assumed Sandy had the same rule, but no time like the present to make an exception. “Hey kids,” she said. “I have the new “Incredibles” on disk. Want to watch?”
Sandy’s daughters gave their mother a hopeful pleading look and she nodded her consent. Within just a few moments, the five children were safely out of the way in the front room, engrossed in the video.
“No one even looked at me twice,” she answered when Louise returned. “I’d been invited to a Bible study at the church this afternoon so I decided to go. If anyone was watching me, I figured that would really throw them off track. When I came home, I backed into the garage. That way I could easily carry a few things from the house and put them right into the trunk of my car, without anyone really noticing. Fortunately, most of my nicer things that I wanted to keep - my grandmother’s china, my photographs, the baby clothes I’m saving - I’d already packed those things in the boxes you brought in the truck. So, I packed an overnight case for everyone, threw in as much of the winter gear as I could, put it all in the trunk of my car, and I did what you
said. I just pulled up to the bus stop to get the kids, and when Joyce Huffman asked where I was going, I told her exactly what you suggested, that I was going to the Warehouse Club in Lewiston.” Sandy shrugged. “No one batted an eye.”
“Everyone at Willie Central was probably so bent out of shape about us coming that no one even thought about you,” Roger offered. He looked at Louise again. “Does your mother know that you’ve left? That you’re here?”
“Yes. I called her while I was driving. Why?”
“Call her back,” he advised, “and tell her you’ve made it here. Tell her to not answer any calls from any numbers she doesn’t recognize until you get there next week. Then turn your phone off. I’m not sure Willie has the ability to track people, but you never know.”
“What?” Sandy gasped.
“It’s true,” Deacon seconded. “Law enforcement could possibly track your phone, and if they’re working for Willie…” He didn’t finish his thought, but he didn’t need to.
Roger continued, “Let anyone who might be looking think you went right to the airport.” He paused. “When do you figure he’ll know you’re gone?”
Sandy shook her head. “I called Leslie on my way out of town. He’s been coming over for dinner a couple of times a week. He didn’t answer, so I left him a voice message, told him the same story. I was going into Lewiston to the Warehouse Club, and wouldn’t be home for dinner. I closed the garage door so no one can see my car’s not there. If Leslie comes by later, tries to check up on me, he might figure it out tonight. Otherwise, no one will probably notice I’m gone until the kids don’t get on the bus in the morning.” Before anyone could ask the next question, she added, “I left a note on my kitchen table for Leslie, plus mailed a copy to Willie and to the chief of police. Kept it simple. I just said that Bowenville was too sad of a place without Tom, and I was going to live with my mother. That I’d left like this because I didn’t want anyone to make a fuss or have any long goodbyes. And that I’d be in touch about putting my house on the market.” Sandy looked at the Louise, Roger, and Deacon, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Are we in danger? Is my mother in danger?”
