“I mean, especially if it’s specialty,” Jackson said. “That stuff can take time.”
“Did you work with your dad a lot?” Sully asked.
“In the summer, yeah. Not when I’m in school.”
“So you know how he works.”
“I’m not…” Jackson sighed audibly. “I know my dad isn’t the most reliable person.”
Andy said, “Jack, don’t—”
“No, bud, be real, okay? Dad isn’t a great father. He’s always forgetting stuff, and he’d probably forget we existed if Andy didn’t call and remind him. He loves us, but out of sight, out of mind for him, okay?”
Val closed her eyes. It was painful and true.
“But Dad isn’t a thief,” Jackson continued. “So this guy—whoever he is—had another issue with Dad. It wasn’t about money.”
It wasn’t about money.
It wasn’t.
Val blinked. Jackson was right. She’d been looking for the business reasons why Josh might have taken off, but if she believed Jackson and her own intuition, this wasn’t about money. Not the charges. Not Josh’s disappearance.
If it wasn’t about money, what was it about?
Val closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Mark had said it days ago. Rachel had hinted at it.
“Guy’s opinion here: There’s a woman involved in this somehow.”
“Him upset? I’m not the one cheating on him.”
Why would a customer accuse Josh of stealing from him, especially if he knew it wasn’t true? If Jackson was right, the parts for the job would show up eventually, and the police would be forced to drop the charges.
Maybe it wasn’t money that Josh had stolen from this customer. Maybe Josh had been tuning up something way more delicate than a high-performance automobile. The possibility was not far-fetched.
The wash water had gone cold by the time Sully found her in the kitchen.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m done talking with them.”
Val could hear them back in their room, arguing about doing laundry.
She turned and wiped her hand on a towel, keeping her voice low. “Did you learn anything new?”
“Not much.” Sully also kept his voice quiet. “That wasn’t really why I came by.”
Andy’s voice was happier. Jackson’s was more assured that she’d heard in days.
“You want them to feel like they helped.”
“I didn’t make them any promises,” Sully said. “But if it were me and my dad was missing, I’d want to feel like I did something.”
“That’s a good idea.” Val nodded. “You’re a good guy.”
“I try not to embarrass my parents. I guess that’s all any of us can do.”
She kept her eyes on his. “You’re a good man.”
“And you’re a good mom. Your boys love you.” He glanced down the hall. “I know I can’t stop you from… doing your thing with your friends—whatever that is—but be careful. You have two young men who need you.”
“I know.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then he pushed away from the kitchen counter. “I better go.”
“See you.”
“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “I’ll see you around.”
Chapter 11
Val had been battling a headache all morning while Monica drove her and Robin into Bridger City. It pounded in her temples and made the skin along her neck crawl.
“You doing okay back there?” Robin reached back and squeezed her knee.
“I want to hide in my room for a week,” Val muttered. “I want a dark, cool room with no distractions and nothing that doesn’t belong to me.”
Her own possessions didn’t trigger her. It was one of the reasons her bedroom was a sanctuary.
Her phone buzzed and she glanced at it. There was a message from West.
Boys got Josh’s toolbox. All locked up. Think it’s good.
She texted him back. Thanks, West.
What do you want me to do with it?
Can you just hold on to it for now?
You got it, babe.
Val ignored the babe and focused on the fact that there was one less thing to worry about in all this mess. West had come through.
“We can go home,” Monica said softly. “Just say the word.”
“No, today it’s been six days.” She slipped her sunglasses on. “Six days since anyone has talked to him or he’s reached out. I have to find out what happened.”
“His and Rachel’s house, right?”
“Yeah.”
They kept the minivan quiet as they rolled down the mountain and into town. Robin and Monica spoke softly if they spoke at all. Val was dreading the confrontation with Rachel because she knew it was coming.
The girl’s response to her text earlier in the day had been lackluster at best. I don’t know what you think you’re going to find that the police didn’t.
They’d searched the house with a warrant, looking for the cash, Val guessed, but she wasn’t looking for cash.
This isn’t about the money. Forget the money. Look past the money.
The van pulled up to the curb in front of the tidy bungalow in a working-class neighborhood in Bridger City. The yards were neat and lined with chain link or picket fences. Dogs barked from porches, and children’s toys were scattered across the neighbor’s yard. Work trucks and vans were parked in the street.
“This the place?”
Val peered out the window. “Yep.”
“She home?”
“I don’t know. I told her I was coming, but I know where the spare key is.”
Robin turned around. “Isn’t that a little strange?”
Val shrugged. “Is it strange that he still calls me with questions on his taxes and I’m still his emergency medical contact? It’s Josh. I’m the only truly responsible person he knows.”
“Once you have babies with someone, they’re your family forever,” Monica muttered.
Val sat up and opened the door. “Let’s get this over with.”
She left her gloves in the car. Better to deal with stray images than Rachel’s nosy questions. If she was home.
The curtain fluttered in the front window.
“She’s home,” Robin said.
“Caught that.” Val stuck her hands in her front pockets and walked up to the front porch. Monica knocked on the door and they all waited for Rachel to answer.
The young woman opened the door and leaned against it, blocking their way into the house. She was wearing a velour tracksuit and a tank with the word Baby written in glitter across her boobs. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, but she had makeup on.
It was… a look.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hello, Rachel.” Val kept her sunglasses on. The winter morning was brutally bright. “Can we come in?”
“Have you heard from Josh?”
“No. Have you?”
“No.” She sighed heavily and opened the door wider. “Come in, I guess. I don’t know why we’re doing this.”
Val stepped into the small living area. She could see a breakfast nook in the back corner of the house and lights that probably led to a kitchen. There was a large television mounted to one wall, and a sectional sofa crowded the rest of the room. Josh’s old recliner was in the corner closest to the television.
Val turned around, surveying the house. It was clean, but she could see Rachel’s stress in the pile of mail by the door, the water rings on the otherwise spotless coffee table, and the scent of pine cleaner coming from the kitchen.
Monica put a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “How are you holding up?”
The girl blinked hard. “I don’t know what to think. Everyone is acting like he just took off. But that’s not Josh.”
“No it isn’t,” Robin said. “That’s why Val is looking.”
“The police already came and searched—”
“They searched for money,” Val said. “Obvious stuff. I
was with Josh for seventeen years, Rachel. Just let me look around, okay?”
Robin said, “Do you have coffee? I don’t know about you, but I’d love some coffee.”
“I don’t drink coffee, but I have this detox tea that’s really good,” Rachel said. “I can make some if you want. It’s very cleansing.”
“Detox tea?” Monica shuffled her to the kitchen. “That sounds great. What does it cleanse?”
As soon as Monica and Robin had Rachel in the kitchen, Val went to work. She looked for items she knew were Josh’s and picked each one up in turn. Scattered visions of daily life. Josh bitching at Rachel. Rachel bitching at Josh. Some laughs. She walked to the recliner and sat, putting her hands where his would have rested.
Nothing but football. The man did love football and he was pissed at the 49ers. No surprise there.
She walked to the small desk in the corner, opened the drawer, and found two checkbooks. She bypassed the one with the scrolled leather cover and went for the simple navy-blue bank cover.
Bingo. She picked it up and immediately saw Josh writing checks, frowning. What was the frown about? She paged through but found no deposit for the ten thousand the police claimed he stole. She held it in her hands and tried to sense any emotion, but nothing came to her. There was no strong memory or vision. A vague sense of worry and stress, but that was everyone paying bills, right?
Val wandered from the living room to the bathroom. She hated to do it, but she snooped, trying to avoid anything that looked like it belonged to Rachel. She spotted Josh’s favorite brand of deodorant. Touched the handle of each toothbrush. His hairbrush.
It was remarkable how superficial her ex-husband was. Or maybe everyone’s hairbrush was accompanied by thoughts of how great they looked. Val didn’t want to know.
She touched a bottle of cologne without thinking, and the flash of memory nearly brought her to her knees.
“I smelled it and thought about you. That’s all.”
“This is expensive stuff.”
“If you don’t want it—”
“I want it.”
Val braced herself on the counter and stared at her own shocked expression in the mirror.
Wow. Okay. Hmm.
Of all the people she’d imagined seeing in Josh’s memories, that one was a complete shock. She’d been expecting to see someone other than Rachel, but she hadn’t been expecting Savannah Anderson.
Josh was sleeping with Americano Asshole’s wife.
* * *
“Seriously?” Robin stared at Val back in the minivan.
Val was taking shelter in the third-row seat, which was the darkest. The blinding headache hit her hard ten minutes after she dropped Josh’s cologne bottle. She’d forced herself to pick it up several times, getting a little more of Josh’s memory with each touch.
“Savannah Anderson,” Val said. “I saw her give him the cologne.”
“Did you see… anything else?”
“No. They were somewhere drinking coffee I think. It was the middle of the day. I think it might have been the mall. There was a lot of background noise.”
“So you don’t know for sure that they’re boinking?” Monica said.
“You think they’re just coffee buddies?” Val asked. “Rachel thought he was cheating on her. Mark thought a woman was involved. Do you know of any woman who would get a random man cologne if she wasn’t sleeping with him or thinking about it?”
Monica shrugged. “Probably not.”
“If Josh was sleeping with Savannah, are we assuming that the customer accusing him of theft is Allan Anderson?” Robin asked. “Josh could have met her when he was working on her husband’s car. I can imagine him having a Maserati.”
“I’m going to text West real quick, but that makes sense to me.” Val got out her phone. Does the name Allan Anderson sound familiar? Does he have a black Maserati?
“We know he has a lot of money,” Monica said, “but does anyone actually know what Allan Anderson does for a living?”
“I do!” Robin said. “I asked around after we saw him at the café earlier this week. Mark got to talking with one of the owners of Sierra Slopes. Anderson is one of the owners. He and a couple of his pro-skiing buddies bought the place. They’re the ones fixing it up and modernizing it. They sank a bunch of money into the project. Not sure it’s going to pay out.”
“I hope it does,” Monica muttered. “I wanted to talk to them about a room-and-ticket package for Russell House.”
“Getting back to Josh and Savannah.” Val watched her phone, waiting for West to text her back. “What do you guys think? Logically, the next person I should talk to is her, right? If they were having an affair—”
“Do we call Josh’s random boinks affairs? Is that accurate?” Robin asked. “No offense.”
“None taken. I know what you mean, but this…” The emotions that the cologne bottle stirred up were more shocking than the identity of Josh’s lover. “I don’t think she was a random for him.”
“Really?” Monica glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “He had real feelings for her?”
“I mean…” Val replayed the vision in her mind. Surprise. Discomfort. Affection. Longing? “I think he really cares about her. I could feel what he was feeling, and it was a lot. None of it seemed superficial. And the emotions are… I don’t want to say old, but he’s known her for a while, I think. It’s not new.”
“So we need to talk to Savannah Anderson,” Monica said. “Does anyone know where she lives? I know they’re in Pheasant Creek, but I don’t have any friends over there that I can call.”
“We could wait for her to come into Misfit,” Val said. “She’s always in at least once a week.”
Robin held up her phone. “Or we could ask Miranda to look up her address in our computer.”
“You have her address?” Monica asked.
“Yeah. That dresser she bought?” Robin dialed and held the phone to her ear. “She wanted it delivered. I’m sure we still have the address.”
“Robin knows everything,” Monica said quietly.
“That’s why she’s the best on trivia night.” Val saw a message pop up on her phone from West. Let me call someone.
“Miranda, do you have a minute?” Robin’s voice was bright. She’d hired the girl a few months before and it was working out well. In addition to selling antiques, Miranda was also a ceramic artist and was expanding the local-art section of the store, including some of Robin’s own paintings. “Yes, I need an address.”
Val sat up straight and reached for her water bottle. She needed to wash down some aspirin if they were going to talk to Savannah. Her phone buzzed again. It was West.
Yep. Anderson, black Maserati. He’s some big investor at the ski resort.
Thanks, West.
“It’s him,” Val said. “West just confirmed. Anderson owns a black Maserati. He says he bought it last year.”
“Thank you, West,” Monica said.
“Savannah Anderson,” Robin said into the phone. “She should be in the system. We delivered a dresser to her about a month ago.”
Robin scratched something down on a paper she’d grabbed from her purse. “Thanks, Miranda. I’ll be in after lunch, okay? Great.” She hung up and handed the paper to Monica. “We have an address.”
“We have a client,” Val said.
They were finally making progress.
* * *
Pheasant Creek was a planned development in the foothills between Glimmer Lake and Bridger City. It had been a ranch, but developers had bought it years ago, slowed the creek to a crawl to widen it, and sold lots for custom homes that soared in price. Homes in Pheasant Creek regularly sold for over a million dollars, which was nearly unheard of in the foothills.
Green lawns and manicured landscaping wound through granite-dotted hills. Pheasant Creek was just far enough down the mountain that snow fell, but it didn’t stick around.
The cars switched from practical Fords and H
ondas to Lexuses, BMWs, and Mercedes. Monica drove her minivan through the open gates and looked for the turnoff to the Anderson home.
“Do you think she’ll even be home?” Monica asked. “And how do we know Americano Asshole won’t be home with her?”
“Good question,” Val said. “We do not want to talk to Savannah when that guy is around.”
Robin pulled out her phone again. “I have someone I can call. I bet you he’s on the mountain today.” She touched a number and held the phone to her ear. “Cassie? Hey! How’s the snow looking today?”
Val listened as Robin made skiing small talk. They were talking about storms and snowpack. Lift lines and tour groups.
“Hey, is that Anderson guy on the mountain today?” Robin paused. “I have a friend who wanted to talk to someone about a promotion with her new hotel. Is he the guy to ask? I know he’s an owner.”
Monica whispered, “You know, she looks like such a soccer mom, but she’s a frighteningly good liar.”
Val whispered back, “I assume all soccer moms are masters at deception. No one enjoys going to peewee soccer games every Saturday for months on end.”
Robin held her hand out and gave them a thumbs-up. “Oh, okay. I’ll let her know. Thanks, Cass. Yeah, I think we’re going up tomorrow. I’ll see you.” Robin turned off her phone. “She’s one of the ski instructors and a school friend of Austin’s. Anderson is on the mountain, so he will not be at his house.” She turned to Monica. “But Charlie Gross is the one to talk to about promo stuff. Just so you know.”
“Cool.” Monica held her hand out, and Robin bumped her knuckles. “You’re super useful. Thanks.”
“Glad I could do something since the ghost thing is kind of a crapshoot this time.”
“At least you’re getting something. I haven’t had a single vision that’s not related to blood, snow, and skiing.”
Of course, blood, snow, and skiing seemed a lot more ominous now that they knew Josh was sleeping with the wife of a former pro skier.
Chapter 12
The Anderson home was an attractive Californian adaptation of a Swiss chalet. Made of stone and exposed wooden logs, it stretched across a rise that overlooked the neighborhood and the valley below. A broad porch shaded the first of three stories.
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