by Lisa Bork
“So? Lots of eighteen-year-olds have babies these days.” Too many, in my opinion, but this one happened to please me.
Greg looked down at his hands. “Yes, but this Abigail Bryce never made it to eighteen. She died in June of last year, five months before her eighteenth birthday. Hit and run. No witnesses. Police thought it might have been a drunk driver, given it occurred around the corner from a bar at two-fifteen in the morning. They never apprehended the driver.”
My chest felt tight. I forced myself to breathe. “But that’s over a year ago.”
“Exactly.”
I tried to fill in the blanks. “Noelle’s mother stole Abigail Bryce’s identity?”
Greg shrugged. “So it appears.”
“Then who is Noelle’s mother?”
“Damned if I know.”
Ray arrived home a little after nine that night. Noelle had gone to sleep an hour earlier, and I sat in our living room staring at the flickering television screen. Who knew what show was on? Who cared? My baby wasn’t going to be my baby, at least not yet. I still couldn’t absorb the news and now I could no longer avoid sharing it with Ray. But when I said it out loud, I would have to accept it as the truth, something I simply didn’t want to do.
“Darlin’, aren’t we going to sit on the front porch and watch the fireworks? I think we might see a few through the trees.”
He didn’t wait for my answer. Instead, he breezed into the kitchen and returned minutes later with a turkey sandwich and a Corona in his hands. “Did you want to go out on the porch or not?”
“Sure.” Why burst his bubble? Ray didn’t need to feel the pain I was feeling any longer than absolutely necessary. I’d let him enjoy his sandwich before I told him the bad news. If I told him now, he’d never eat, and he needed to eat. We were both going to need all the energy we could get to make it through this nightmare. The bag of caramel and chocolate-covered popcorn I’d consumed had energized me for all of an hour before I lapsed back into despair.
I grabbed the baby monitor and followed him outside, sitting next to him in my matching white wicker rocker. My feet skimmed the floor. Ray sat with his legs extended and crossed at the ankle. The thundershower had arrived on schedule at five o’clock and the outside air felt refreshingly cool. But the cushion on my rocker felt uncomfortably damp.
I tried to have our standard end of day conversation. “How bad was the car accident?”
Ray swallowed a bite of his sandwich. “Four boys smashed a Buick into a tree. They’d been drinking. Car must have been going at least sixty in a forty-mile zone. Beer bottles scattered all over the road. The driver’s in critical condition. The passenger was dead on impact. Two kids in the backseat walked away.”
I made a mental tick mark. One death in our town that could have been prevented. “How old were the boys?”
“Seventeen or eighteen. They all would have been seniors in high school this coming year. Football players.”
“Ah. Do we know the families?”
Ray wolfed down the last of his sandwich and wiped his lips on the back of his hand. “I don’t think so. Kids’ names weren’t familiar to me.”
I would send a card anyway. Wachobe was a small town, and their families would appreciate it. “How sad.”
“Yeah.” Ray snorted the word. He had run out of patience a long time ago for teenagers who make bad choices, especially since he was the one who had to help scrape their remains off the roads and deliver the news to their parents. “So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”
The man knew me too well. “I need to talk to you about Noelle.”
“Jolene, I’m sorry I couldn’t watch her today. The Department is short with Gumby’s wedding this weekend and Darrel out on disability after his bypass. I’ll have to work more overtime while Gumby’s on his honeymoon. You know the population in this county more than doubles in the summertime.”
I did know and I hated the fact Ray had used my given name. Sometimes it meant he was feeling the urge, but it also indicated when he was ticked at me. Unfortunately, he’d also answered my unspoken question. He would not be able to take time off to hunt for Noelle’s birthmother. I skipped ahead with my questions. “Do you know any good private investigators?”
Ray turned to look at me, surprise and confusion doing a rumba on his face. “Come again?”
I told Ray about my conversation with Greg Doran. When I finished, Ray drank his Corona in one long gulp and stared out at the street where other families were gathering to glimpse the fireworks.
After five minutes of silence, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Ray, we need a plan to find her.”
He eyed the bottle just to make sure the beer was done. I figured he could use another, but I wanted answers before I would fetch him a second.
“I know one guy. He’s good, really good. But he charges four hundred dollars a day plus expenses. Have you sold any cars lately?”
“No, but I have an appointment tomorrow.” To try to sell the car from hell.
Ray set the empty bottle on the porch floor. “Even if I can get a courtesy discount, we can’t afford this guy for long. This kind of investigation could go on for months, even years. All we know about this girl is who she isn’t. Finding out who she is will take hours of knocking on doors, and even then, it’ll come down to dumb luck. We don’t even have a good picture of her.”
“I guess that’s why Greg was hoping you could take some time off.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not gonna happen right now.”
Even in the dim porch light, I feared Ray would see the tears filling my eyes again. Ever since Noelle had arrived, I’d become all emotional, a new experience for me. If I’d given birth, I could blame it on postpartum depression. Since I hadn’t, I blamed it on all-consuming love.
I turned my head to watch a spider crawl up our yellow siding. I wondered how many children the spider had. Then I hoped they hadn’t all taken up residency at my house.
Ray took my hand and squeezed it. “Listen, the worst that can happen is Noelle remains our foster child. She’d still be with us. That’s the most important thing, isn’t it?”
I yanked my hand away. “I don’t want to jump every time there’s a knock on the door, thinking someone is here to claim her and take her away from us. I want to know she’s ours.”
“Darlin’, even if we are able to adopt her, it’s always going to be a possibility her mother or father will come knocking on the door. People grow and change. They may sign away their rights, then decide they still want to meet her ten or fifteen years from now. We’re going to have to be prepared for that.”
“Fine. But I’d at least like to strive for permanency. Children need stability in their lives. They need … parents.” My voice broke.
Ray reached over to pull me onto his lap and hold me against his chest. He knew I was thinking of my mother, who killed herself when I was twelve and left me to raise my seven-year-old sister, who was now bipolar, often suicidal, and just plain quirky. My father, an eccentric man at best, had spent most of his time hiding under someone’s chassis in his automotive garage. When he died four years ago, I turned the garage into a sports car boutique, both in tribute to his passion and in acknowledgement of his influence on my life. We’d spent a lot of time talking about cars, him and me.
Ray hugged me closer as the fireworks began overhead. He whispered close to my ear, “We’ll do our best to find Noelle’s mother and finalize the adoption. Don’t worry.”
As the crackle of fireworks filled the air and the acrid scent of gunpowder wafted into the neighborhood, I snuggled against Ray and convinced myself everything would happen for the best if I just had faith. Noelle belonged with us. She’d fallen into our laps and we would not let her go. Period.
Wachobe must have doubled the budget for the fireworks this year, maybe because the number of tourists in our town continued to increase each year, along with our property values and the associated taxes. The firewor
ks went on for twenty-five minutes at a steady pace. I cranked the volume on the baby monitor to see if the noise had awakened Noelle. Once in awhile, I heard sucking, but that was it. She wouldn’t awaken until seven-thirty or so in the morning.
When the last sizzling sparkle faded, I fingered the rough whiskers on Ray’s chin. “So where do we start?”
He kissed me on the nose. “We start with what we know. While I’m on patrol tomorrow, I’ll stop at the convenience store where she was employed and talk to her old boss Bobby and anyone else she worked with. Maybe they’ll know something about her. Then I’ll stop by the apartment where she lived and snoop around there. Maybe the new tenant gets a stray piece of mail for her now and then. Maybe she left a forwarding address.”
“I think Greg already checked that angle. He came up dry.”
“That’s all right. We’re looking for one tidbit of information that could unlock the case. We check everything twice, ourselves.”
I got off his lap and returned to my rocker, my confidence returning. Ray stretched out his legs and shook off my lingering weight.
I continued to plan. “What about this dead girl in Canandaigua? Do we check her out?”
“Absolutely. But I can’t get over there tomorrow. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get there. It would be best to go on a weekday to stop in the high school office, places like that.”
Canandaigua was a half hour east, a true Finger Lake at fifteen and a half miles long—more than twice the size of Wachobe’s lake. The city shared our town’s historic Victorian architecture and spectacular scenery, but exceeded our tourist capacity considerably with renowned wineries, a convention center, chain stores and motels, and even a water park. We were in competition for tourists, although our small town won hands down, in my opinion, for its charm and finer quality shops, of course. And Wachobe’s real estate was more valuable, perhaps because it wasn’t as citified. Still, it had occurred to me more than once that my niche sports car boutique might do a more thriving business in a city of Canandaigua’s size. And I had a soft spot for the place. As a child, my parents had taken me often to the amusement park by the lake, Roseland, where the carousel was my favorite ride. I have a crystal clear and precious memory of my mother waving to me as I spun around again and again. I could still hear the music.
Ray gave me a funny look.
I realized I was smiling. I’d drifted onto memory lane. The amusement park closed in 1985. I needed to stay on task.
“I could go to Canandaigua on Friday.”
Ray frowned. “You don’t know where to start investigating. You don’t know the right questions to ask.”
“So you tell me. If I have a question, I’ll call you.”
“Has it occurred to you this girl stole someone else’s identity for a reason? People who do that generally don’t want to be found. She may even have been in trouble.”
“So?”
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea. You may be in danger sniffing around. For all we know, she may have been the one who mowed down Abigail Bryce in the street.”
A mental image of that flashed through my head. I winced. But I didn’t want to hear any drawbacks to my plan. Just put the pedal to the metal. “Ray, it’s Canandaigua. Not exactly the homicide capital of the world. I’m sure the girl’s death was a tragic accident.”
He conceded with a tip of his head. “What about the shop?”
“Cory can watch the shop.”
“What about Noelle?”
That was a little trickier. Cory could watch her at the shop. He would have to keep her in the crib most of the time, though, or ignore his repair and maintenance customers for an entire day to play patty cake and build block towers with her. He’d happily do so, but I hated to impose on our employer-employee relationship by expecting him to care for my child.
Noelle could ride with me to Canandaigua, but her maximum tolerance for her car seat might be exceeded. Things would turn ugly then. And it didn’t seem fair to her.
Another idea occurred to me. I dismissed it just as quickly then let it slide back into my thoughts. I dared to voice it. “What about Erica?”
I could see the whites of Ray’s eyes as they bugged out of his head. “Now you’ve lost your mind.”
My sister Erica had been released from the state psychiatric center months ago. This time when her doctor met with me, he implied they didn’t ever plan to welcome her back. Quite a shock since she’d been in and out of the center for the last three years, attempting suicide each time as her golden key to re-entry. Apparently, the doctor had figured out Erica didn’t like it on the outside and preferred to live there. From what he said, I guessed the state frowned on that. They didn’t consider the psych center a spa and resort.
I braced myself for an argument. Ray had no faith in Erica at all. Amazingly, I still had some. It was part of my job as her surrogate mother. “She takes Noelle to the park by herself.”
“That’s an hour, not a whole day. And the other mothers keep an eye on her.”
I had no doubt. They were probably trying to keep her away from their children. Not that Erica looked or acted peculiar, but the town grapevine made sure everyone believed she was.
“She has a job now. She seems to be doing quite well. I’ve noticed a significant change in her.”
“Has she stopped picking up strangers in bars and sleeping with them?”
“I can’t say.” It didn’t help my case that she worked four nights a week as a waitress in a local bar and restaurant.
“Is she still cutting out pictures of butterflies and hanging them on the wall?”
Of course Ray would remember Erica coveted the butterflies’ short life spans. “I haven’t seen any.” I hadn’t been in her apartment recently either, but I kept that to myself.
“What has your mother had to say lately?”
Now that was just cruel. Ray knew Erica claimed to talk to our mother. I didn’t know precisely how that worked, but Erica claimed Mom had suggested she obtain Noelle for us. Couldn’t fault that idea, whatever the source. “Lots of people go to the gravesite of their loved one to talk to them. That’s not so awful, is it?”
“Your sister never visits the grave.”
A minor technicality. At least Ray didn’t know Erica thought Mom’s ghost had moved into our new home with us. That’s because I’d sold the family home she haunted previously, of course. My mother had asphyxiated herself to death in its garage with car exhaust. Sometimes I wondered if her method of choice had been a message for my dad or just a perverse use of her knowledge of automobiles, learned at his side. I knew her actions had left Erica, my father, and me feeling abandoned, helpless, and hopeless. It remains debatable as to whether or not we ever truly recovered. On my darkest days, I’d have to say not.
“Let’s cut to the chase, darlin’. Do you trust Erica?”
His question stopped me cold. I gave it a few minutes thought and went with my instincts. “Yes. She’s never been harmful to anyone but herself. And she loves Noelle.”
“I know she does. She loves you, too. But that never stopped her.”
This time it might. Erica had said she loved me best. I took that as her promise she planned to stay around, unlike our mother, who thought of herself first and left us.
Ray slapped at a mosquito. “Why can’t you ask Isabelle if her nanny would watch Noelle and Cassidy?”
Isabelle was my best friend from college. She ran an advertising agency, and her husband owned a jewelry store in a city an hour east of Wachobe. They were busy people, too. “Cassidy is three now. She has to be driven to nursery school, library story hour, dancing lessons and a whole bunch of other activities.” My best friend subscribed to the theory a child was best kept moving until worn out. I subscribed to the opposite theory. “It would be very taxing on Noelle, and she’d be exposed to a lot of new germs. Besides, I’d spend all day driving there and back. I’d never get to ask any questions.”
“All r
ight, all right. Maybe your sister and Cory could split a day. I’d be okay with that.” Ray slapped another mosquito. “Let’s go inside.”
It irritated me a bit that I had to supply all the babysitters. Ray knew people, but somehow this responsibility always fell to me. I decided to let it pass. So many more things passed without comment or argument now that he and I had reconciled.
I picked up Ray’s empty beer bottle and headed for the door. “Then it’s settled. I’ll call Erica tomorrow. We need to know everything she knows about Abigail Bryce and Theo Tibble anyway.”
Ray breathed in my ear, “Be sure to ask her if she knows where they’re hiding out.”
“She said she didn’t know, Ray.” Erica swore she knew very little about their alleged participation in the convenience store robberies. Her sociopath boyfriend at the time, Sam Green, had been a suspect and a psych center escapee as well. Theo was his cousin. Needless to say, the demise of Erica’s relationship with Sam had delighted me.
“And you believed her?”
“Ray!” I whipped open the screen door and turned around to retort. “Be nice to Erica. We’re going to need her to talk to Sam and his brother to see what they can tell us about Theo and Abigail. They’ll be far more likely to talk to her than you.”
“Aw, you think they hold their arrests against me?” Ray nuzzled my neck.
I had to laugh.
I was halfway into the living room when squealing brakes and rhythmic thumping of woofers made me stop to look at the street. Ray’s gaze traveled in the same direction.
A shiny black classic Chevy Nova with a jacked up rear end and chrome wheels screeched to a halt under the streetlight in front of our bungalow. The passenger door flew open. Erica popped out, all tousled blond hair and in Daisy Duke shorts with a tank top, looking like a teenager instead of a woman in her early-thirties. Braless, if my eyes didn’t deceive me. Shoeless, too. Not a good sign. When she was on her game, Erica dressed much more conservatively and fastidiously. Although it was hot today …