June 6, 1986.
6-6-8-6, the combination that had opened the laundry room safe.
The day we’d worked so hard to find those numbers, Glenn had suggested birthdays and anniversaries. None had worked, only I hadn’t known about this one.
Had Wendy chosen the date of Greta’s death as a macabre memorial to her friend? Or was the truth so much worse? Was 6/6/86 the date that Wendy had struck out against perceived abandonment and rejection and drowned her childhood friend? Did she view the day triumphantly, as the day she had retaliated for all her grievances?
The way she undoubtedly viewed shooting Vítor Calvo?
Horror stole the breath from my lungs. I had chosen exile instead of prison for my sister. I hadn’t been completely fooled. Had I believed that Wendy had never intended to murder Calvo? Or had I believed she’d only set up Ex as the real murderer at the last minute? No, but because of the slight possibility those things were true, because of how calamitous an arrest would be for our family, I had turned a sociopath loose.
How many other people would die because I hadn’t been brave enough to do what was required?
I was in the car and halfway to my parents’ house before I realized where I was going. I wasn’t sure I had closed the garage door. I didn’t know if one or both my parents were home. I had simply gotten into my car and begun the drive to Gulf Sands.
I wanted to tell my mother first. Telling her would be bad enough, but what would happen when we told Dad? Dale Gracey was a man who took charge, yet throughout the weeks of Wendy’s absence, he had stepped back. Part of his reaction could be explained by surgery, and the depression that sometimes followed. Dad had suffered from fatigue and anxiety, as well, but none of those things could explain why he hadn’t immediately demanded we find Wendy or let a professional do it.
Had my father really wanted to know where his older daughter was? Or had he, who had worked hand in hand with her, sensed the truth and been too sick or loyal to confront it?
The news that Wendy had murdered a man and was now on the run would be cataclysmic. But would it be a surprise? I was no longer sure.
I buzzed past the security gatehouse, just missing the arm as it rose to allow me through. Even so, once I’d parked in front of my parents’ house, I stayed in my car, wondering if this would be the last time I visited here. When I drove away this afternoon, I wasn’t sure if I would ever be welcomed back into our family again.
When I finally walked up to the porch, the cleaning woman was just leaving. She held open the door so I could enter without knocking, and I thanked her, but not by name. She was another in my mother’s endless chain of women who would never clean as well as she did.
I found Mom by the pool, staring at the gulf. Dad was nowhere in sight.
She turned when she heard my footsteps and got to her feet. “I didn’t know you were back yet. You didn’t call.”
“There was nothing I could say on the phone.”
She took in my expression, my posture, and her hand flew to her mouth. “Is Wendy...dead?”
I shook my head and found myself wishing it were that easy. In contrast to what we faced now, how wonderful would it be to mourn the woman we’d thought we knew, the perfect daughter, the sister who had given me thoughtful gifts, the young mother and career woman raising girls and expertly handling all the pressures of a life with a husband so often at sea.
Now, we would never be able to mourn that woman, because she had never existed.
I rested my hand on her shoulder. “Mom, this is really bad news.”
She stared out at the water. Then she turned. “Tell me while we walk.”
I slipped my arm through hers, and once we were on the beach, I did.
* * *
Almost an hour later we sat staring at mugs of tea that had grown cold without either of us taking a sip.
“I didn’t tell you everything.” I looked up. “You still have doubts she’s guilty, don’t you?”
“She’s my daughter.”
“I know.” I stirred my tea, even though there was no sugar, lemon or milk in it.
“There’s more, isn’t there?”
She sounded like someone waiting for the next blow to fall. From her tone, I knew she more than halfway believed everything I’d told her was true. I had debated this, saved it until I was sure I needed it. But now I pulled the necklace out of my pocket and laid it on the table.
“Noelle keeps a stash of things Wendy throws away. She’s only six. It makes her feel closer to her mother.”
“She started doing that after Wendy left?”
“No, I found it under her sweaters when I first got to the town house.” I tried to find a way to continue. “She wanted to be close to her mother. This was the only way she knew.”
Mom didn’t protest or defend. She picked up the necklace. “You just want to show me that Wendy isn’t close to her daughters?”
“No. That’s just how I happened to find it. I didn’t think anything about it until today.”
“So what is it? It doesn’t look familiar. I don’t remember Wendy having anything like this.”
“In eighth grade Jeff Fishler gave Greta Harold a necklace with two parts.”
“Fishler, the golfer?”
I nodded. “They were boyfriend-girlfriend. Maybe you knew that. Anyway, this is called a mizpah necklace. When the two parts fit together, you can read a quote.” Now I knew exactly what it should say, because I had looked it up on my phone while parked in front of the house. I recited it. “‘The Lord watch between me and thee, while we are absent one from another.’”
“I’m not sure what this has to do with anything.”
“The night she drowned, Greta was wearing her half of the necklace at the beach party. When they found her body, the necklace was gone. Jeff kept his half and wore it all through high school as a memorial.”
“Wendy had one, too?”
Of course that was a possibility. Maybe later in her life somebody had given Wendy a similar necklace, but I didn’t think so. If we ever wanted to know for sure, or if anyone in authority did, Jeff Fishler might have kept his out of sentiment, and a match might be made.
Now though, I told her what I believed. “I don’t think Wendy ever had one of these, Mom. Not until the night she grabbed Greta’s from her neck while she was drowning.”
She stared at me, but she didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. I had no idea what she was feeling, either, or what she would say when she could speak again.
Could my mother ever believe that Wendy had done something so horrifying? That when she was barely fourteen, her perfect daughter had killed her own best friend, held her under the water in the dark as retaliation for attracting a boy Wendy had wanted? Or even the kinder version? That Wendy had allowed her friend to drown and still retained the presence of mind to snatch the necklace as she went under?
I pushed my chair from the table. “After Wendy told me her side of what happened in Santa Fe, I thought exile was good enough. I thought if I made sure she never came back, not to Seabank, not to this family and most clearly not to her daughters, we could struggle through this together. We would be okay. But we aren’t, Mom, we aren’t going to be okay. Not as long as she’s out there. Wendy is a murderer. And we can’t protect her one second longer.”
She stood up, towering over the table. “What are you going to do?”
I stood, too, my eyes filling with tears. “I’m going to call the sheriff in Santa Fe, and I’m going to tell him everything I know. Then I’m going to help him find Wendy. We can’t be the ones who decide who pays and how high a price.” I felt the tears running down my cheeks, but for the first time since this whole sad saga had begun, I knew that what I was doing was right.
I touched her arm. “I’m so sorry. I know you and Dad are going to hate
me for this, but I have to stop her.”
As I watched, she tried to speak and couldn’t. I had never seen Arlie Gracey at a loss for words, but I understood. I had been at a loss for the right words, the right action, for weeks.
Finally she shook her head. “No, Ryan, you don’t.”
She held up her hand when I started to speak. “No, you don’t have to call and you don’t have to stop her.” Then she reached for me. I flinched, not knowing what to expect, but instead of a slap or a push, she folded me into her arms.
“You don’t have to make the call,” she said softly, “because I will.”
EPILOGUE
In the two months since I’d returned from Utah, all the furniture in the town house master bedroom had been replaced. I had not wanted to spend another night on the bed where Wendy had brought admirers, and without asking for an explanation, my mother had agreed that the room needed updating.
Gracey Group could easily have afforded a painter, but together Mom and I painted the walls a soft blue-green and furnished the room with bright, coastal pieces, finding comfort in working on the project together. Afterward I moved everything I still wanted from Delray Beach to the town house and gave everything else away. I was back in Seabank for good now, and new renters were already moving into my old digs.
The one thing I’d loved most in my duplex, I gave to Sophie’s oldest daughter. I could no longer bear looking at the painting of the two little girls on the beach at sunset. Was I reminded of Wendy and me? Wendy and Greta? It didn’t matter. Someday I would find and hang more of the same artist’s work, but I already had too many reminders of Wendy and always would.
The alligator clock had gone out with the trash.
My mother had done what she said she would. While I sat beside her, she phoned the authorities in Santa Fe and told them everything I’d discovered. A few days later I flew out to be interviewed. But before I even boarded the plane, the investigators knew Wendy’s latest location. I told them that she’d slipped up and mentioned where she planned to go next without realizing it.
I hoped it was the last lie I ever told, but it served its purpose. Authorities in Los Angeles detained my sister just hours before she was scheduled to board a flight to Montenegro, a charming Balkan country without an extradition treaty. It’s possible Wendy might have been happy there in a cute little villa by the sea, but I wasn’t sure she was capable of happiness.
Now, with the case against her gathering momentum, she would probably find whatever happiness she could in prison.
Ex had been persuaded to tell his story to detectives from the Santa Fe sheriff’s department. His family had arranged the meeting in Costa Rica, and at this time there was no talk of arrest or extradition. Several people really had seen Wendy fighting with Calvo in the bar on the morning of his death, and after her arrest, each of them had identified her.
If everything, including a set of fingerprints Wendy left on Calvo’s light switch, didn’t lead to a conviction, she had also been arrested with a flash drive of photos in her possession. When contacted, several sheepish men had admitted she was blackmailing them. Most likely she would be tried for that crime, as well.
Since there was no death penalty in New Mexico, and with the mounting evidence against her, Wendy was weighing her options. My father and Bryce had agreed to pay for her attorney, but only if she plead guilty. Good legal representation might get her the best sentence, but Vítor Calvo had been internationally acclaimed, and even the best attorney couldn’t sneak the legal proceedings under media radar. For everyone’s sake, I hoped the judge felt enough pressure that Wendy went to prison for a very long time.
As expected, our local authorities said that Greta’s necklace was not enough evidence to have Wendy tried for her best friend’s murder. None of us would ever know exactly what had happened that terrible evening so many years ago, but some of us would suspect the worst.
Today I was upstairs with my nieces, helping them pack. Each girl had one small suitcase to take back to Connecticut, where they would spend spring break with their father. Bryce was on the way from the airport now, to scoop them up and take them home.
We had all decided that he should be the one to explain to Holly and Noelle that their mommy was never coming home again. I thought he would probably tackle it once they were in familiar surroundings.
I didn’t know what else he would tell them, because we’d hardly spoken. I’d seen Bryce twice since returning from Utah, both times when he was able to get emergency shore leave. The visits were short, and I had moved out of the town house to let him stay with the girls. Of course now he knew everything that had transpired with Wendy, and he had thanked me for doing the right thing. I’d assured him I wanted the girls to finish the school year in Seabank, and he had promised he didn’t hold Wendy’s actions against our family.
It was all so wonderfully civil. It was also frustrating.
Holly and Noelle needed me. I was more convinced of it every day. And I wanted them. I visualized being with them when they started middle school, started their periods, fell in love for the first time and got rejected. I would know how to dole out consequences if they got caught smoking or drinking, cheated on a test or even turned into straight A students. I would always love them, no matter what. The girls felt like my own.
How did I tell Bryce I wanted to keep his daughters with me? Of course, he would always be their father. I told myself they could spend time with him whenever he was on shore, as long as it coincided with school schedules. I would never stand between them in any way. And if Teo and I ended up together? I would make sure he didn’t replace Bryce in their hearts. Wasn’t there enough room for all of us? Bryce could continue doing the job he loved, knowing that his daughters were under the loving care of their aunt and grandparents.
Didn’t my mother and father need the girls now? When Mom and Dad were still trying to deal with the ugly truth about their older daughter?
“I want to bring my fairy night-light.” Noelle pulled it from the socket closest to the door and crossed to put it in her suitcase.
“I’m bringing the Paddington books,” Holly said. She was almost giddy with joy that she was spending a whole week with her father.
“Clothes?” I asked. “I know you have some in Connecticut, but anything you want from here?”
I watched them select a few shirts, Holly more carefully than her younger sister. Noelle added a stuffed toy, Holly a string art kit my parents had given her. Once Bryce picked them up, he had promised to take them to Gulf Sands to say goodbye to Mom and Dad.
I told myself all was well. They would be back in a week.
Bismarck announced we had a visitor by barking sharply at the front door. Teo had brought him over to spend one last night with the girls before they left for the week. They’d been overjoyed.
I’d been happy to see Biz and even happier to see his owner. I was seeing a lot of Teo these days, and while the girls were gone, I would be seeing more. Sophie and Ike were already planning to come for a visit over the weekend and another dinner at Seabank Seafood. She’d warned me that before long I might not be the only producer of Out in the Cold living on Florida’s west coast. And wouldn’t it be convenient to have Sophie living just an hour north? In-person meetings were always best. Now, when needed, we could drive to Delray together to meet with the rest of the crew, too.
The girls beat me down the stairs and flung open the door. Then they were both in their father’s arms.
I stayed back and watched the reunion. And as I watched...
I knew.
Bryce finally came inside, a little girl held tightly under each arm. “Have these girls been good?”
“These girls are the absolute best.”
“Their aunt’s pretty wonderful, I think.” He smiled. “I can’t find the words to thank you for all you’ve done.”
I
knew goodbye when I heard it. “Girls, can you take Biz out for a short walk so I can talk to your dad?”
As expected, the request was met with groans, but eventually Bismarck was on his leash and they headed out the front door.
“Just for a few minutes!” Holly glared at me.
“I love you, too, sweetheart.”
She closed the door with a bang.
“She’s a character.” Bryce looked exhausted. I could see lines of fatigue that had never been there before. His dark eyes seemed to take in everything and nothing. I could relate.
“They are so excited,” I said.
“We’ll have a whole week together. I can’t wait.”
“You’re still bringing them back?”
“You’re still willing to stay here with them until school’s over?”
“And later, Bryce. I’ll keep them till they’re grown. I adore them.”
His expression softened. “I’ve been reassigned, Ryan.”
I had assumed his security clearance would be at risk. I felt a sharp stab of sympathy. “Because of Wendy?”
“That was a factor, but I asked for this. I’ve been reassigned to Naval Support in Orlando. I’ll be on land most of the time, but I asked to get as close to you and your parents as I could. I’m surprised it all worked out, but it did. I was lucky.”
“You didn’t have to do that—”
“Of course I did. Did you really believe I loved my job more than I loved my daughters? Holly and Noelle need me now in a way they never did before.” His expression darkened. “Obviously that’s not true. They needed me in the worst way, and I left them with a murderer.”
“Don’t blame yourself. None of us knew.”
“I ignored every warning bell. Every day I ask myself if I’d just been more focused on them and less on my position, would I have seen the truth?”
“You loved their mother. We never see the people we love clearly.”
A Family of Strangers Page 43