by Lisa Bork
“She’s playing mind games, just like you and Catherine. She’s smarter than we thought.”
Ray poured me a glass of chardonnay and opened a beer for himself. “Maybe we should hire an investigator who doesn’t have any emotional investment in the outcome of this case, someone who can see things objectively. You and I are too close to the case, too easily manipulated.”
We’d spent the last hour going over my meeting with the girl again and again. I couldn’t let go of my concerns and my frustration mounted as I realized Ray didn’t share them. “You didn’t see her, Ray. She was genuinely upset. You didn’t hear the fear in her voice. Someone threatened her … and Noelle.”
Ray eased into his recliner, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned toward me. “She’s definitely afraid of someone or something. Otherwise, she would be talking to us, or at least to Catherine. Maybe this guy did threaten to hurt Noelle if she talked. But it’s more likely that he threatened to kill the girl, and she’s expanding it to Noelle. I’m sure this girl cares about Noelle. She gave birth to her. She knows Noelle has a good thing with us. It takes a real wacko to make good on a threat to a baby.”
I took a sip of my wine then a couple gulps. “Maybe he is a real wacko. Maybe that’s why she’s so afraid.”
Ray finished his beer and set it on the coffee table. “Maybe.”
“What about her parents? Do you think you can identify them, based on the fact they died in a car crash?”
“Maybe.”
All these “maybes” were not making me feel any better.
Ray slid to the end of his recliner and leaned toward me. “A lot of couples die in car crashes, even a lot of couples in the right age range. We don’t know where the crash occurred. Only local crash information will be easy to access. The rest will take a lot longer. And that’s all dependent on whether she was telling you the truth or not.”
“So you think she lied about that, too? Why would she do that?”
“Just to muddy the waters enough to throw us off her trail.”
“So what are we going to do?”
He reached over and took the glass of wine from my hand, setting it next to his beer bottle. Then he pulled me onto his lap. “We’re going to keep Noelle safe. And we’re going to keep asking questions because it will be a lot easier to keep her safe if we know where the real threat is coming from.”
I burrowed into the warmth of his chest. “Can we keep her safe?”
“Of course.”
I pulled back and looked into his eyes. “Are you sure?”
The grooves around his eyes deepened as he smiled. “I’m positive.” He brushed his lips over my temple and moved down to nuzzle my neck. “Now I’d like to think about something else for a little while—” He scooped me up in his arms and headed toward our bedroom—“and not burn all our energy worrying.”
I hugged his neck, still struggling with all my doubts. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
____
Catherine called at nine the next morning. Noelle and I were lying on the floor, playing with one of her toys that made crackling, squeaking, and ringing bell sounds. She liked the squeaks best, and I continued to squeeze the toy for her as Catherine talked.
“Ray called me this morning. He’s going to check into the car crash angle, see if he can come up with any leads, and he’s going to see if he can find out if the girl was ever in the foster care system. I need you to visit Theo Tibble’s family today and ask them what, if anything, they knew about this girl he was dating. See if they’re going to say anything damaging about her at the trial.”
“Are they on the prosecution’s witness list?”
“It’s too early for lists and discovery. We haven’t even had the preliminary hearing. I’m just trying to cover all the bases. They might know something that would lead us to this girl’s identity. Ask them if they know where the two met, how long they dated, where they went on dates, who they hung out with, how Theo felt about becoming a father, why they aren’t interested in adopting the baby, and any other nosy question you can think of. Call me when you’re done.”
Catherine certainly had no trouble bossing me around, but I’d let her for now. “Okay. What about the girl?”
“I’m going to see her today. I’ll keep the pressure on by telling her the Department of Social Services doesn’t think it’s appropriate for you to keep Noelle since you were present at the racetrack and are involved in the investigation.”
I winced, wondering if Social Services even had a clue all this was going on. I hoped Ray’s questions today wouldn’t tip them off. It was hard to say what their view would be on the whole situation. Some of these things we were saying actually might come true. I didn’t want to find them on my doorstep when I got home tonight.
Catherine snapped me out of my reverie. “What is that noise?”
I realized I’d been squeezing Noelle’s toy faster and louder like some sort of stress reducer. “Just one of Noelle’s toys.”
“I don’t know how you stand it. It’s very annoying.”
I hung up, wondering if Ray had ever discussed his desire to have children with Catherine. She didn’t seem very maternal, although she had held Noelle the other day. She seemed much more of a career woman than me, driven to achieve visible status in her profession. That could only work in our favor right now.
After I called Marcia and arranged to drop off Noelle in an hour, I tried to phone Erica for the fifth time since she stood me up for dress shopping. Once again, she didn’t answer at home or her cell. Clearly she was avoiding me. She had done so often in the past, usually when she’d done something I wouldn’t approve of, like running off and eloping perhaps. I left her a message that if she didn’t call me, I would send Ray looking for her. That ought to get her attention.
Then I baked some chocolate chip cookies. Theo Tibble’s funeral was scheduled for tomorrow. I would just drop by his family’s home with my condolences and my cookies then try to ask my questions.
While the cookies baked, I called Cory. “I’m sorry to stick you with the shop. How are things going?”
“Okay. We’ve had a lot of foot traffic interested in the Ferrari.”
“That’s great.” Its sale would spell a huge positive shift in my karma.
“Not really. Our visitors are only interested in seeing where the body was found. One of them asked me if we had a ghost.”
Perfect. I’d never sell the Ferrari now. Maybe I could sell tickets to a ghost house instead. “Did you tell them only at my house, the one my mother haunts?”
Cory chuckled. “Next time I’ll use that.”
“Have you come up with any ideas on how to approach Sylvia Wilder about the Datsun Z for Dave and Kim Barclay?”
“I’ve got one idea. I’m going to have to drive down there and scope out the situation first. I’ll ask Mark if he wants to take another road trip this weekend. Chautauqua’s always nice this time of year.”
Mark. I still hadn’t decided whether or not to tell Cory about Mark’s wife and child. Ray never gave me his opinion either. I couldn’t think about it now. Besides, Cory sounded so happy every time he mentioned Mark.
“Okay. Do you want to tell me your idea?”
“Not yet. Let me see if it will work first.”
Ten minutes later, I packed up Noelle and the cookies. Noelle fell asleep on the drive to Marcia’s house, a brand-new blue Cape Cod situated on three acres of land off a rural road. I carried Noelle to the door still strapped in her car seat. Marcia took her from me and smiled. “They’re so cute when they’re asleep, aren’t they?”
I smiled in return. “Adorable.”
“I’ll take good care of her.” Marcia started to close the door.
“Marcia?”
“Yes?”
I studied her, trying to decide if she’d be any match for a homicidal maniac. She was five-eight or so, with an average build. She must have dropped her baby weight fast. He
r arm holding Noelle’s car seat made a nice bicep, but still, she was a woman. Here she sat in this house in the middle of nowhere, with no neighbor in sight. “Do you get many visitors out here?”
“We don’t get any. I wouldn’t answer the door if we did.”
I felt a little better. “It’s just that …” What could I say? Noelle’s life may be in danger and, therefore, so is yours? She’d hand Noelle right back to me, and my investigating days would be over.
My concern must have shown on my face because Marcia’s expression turned quizzical. “Didn’t Ray tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“I was in the Army for eight years before I met Jeff. We met at the rifle range. I’m armed and dangerous, Jolene.”
My laugh sounded nervous, even to me. “I thought you were a school teacher.”
“I am now, and you better believe the self-defense training comes in handy at the high school level.” She set Noelle’s car carrier on the floor behind her and turned back to smile at me reassuringly. “Ray told me about the potential threat to Noelle. Don’t worry, I can handle it.”
____
It bothered me that Ray hadn’t confided in me about Marcia’s additional babysitting qualifications. Perhaps he thought it would further alarm me. It did. If Ray thought he needed a trained killer to care for Noelle, then he took the threat a lot more seriously than he admitted. Or maybe he just decided to err on the side of caution. Either way, I felt more confident leaving Noelle in Marcia’s care, but concerned again about my marriage. Why was he doing so many things without telling me? I set my doubts aside for the time being and focused on the task at hand.
Theo Tibble’s parents lived on the edge of Wachobe in a small, dated-looking colonial with peeling white paint and crooked black shutters. Boxes were piled high in the windows and the stair railing wobbled as I climbed the steps. I rang the doorbell and got no response. I rang it again and listened for its tones. Nothing. The doorbell must be broken.
I knocked on the door, once, twice. Nothing. I should have called ahead. I turned to leave and heard the door fly open.
“Yes?” A woman wearing a light-weight flowered housedress and blackened slip-on sneakers stood in the doorway. Her mousy brown hair was streaked with gray at the temples, but it was neatly pulled back in a French braid. She had a middle-aged paunch and her shoulders slumped forward as though she carried a heavy weight.
“Mrs. Tibble?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m Jolene Parker. I’m very sorry about your son’s death. My husband, Ray, and I are the foster parents for his child.”
She looked over her shoulder then back at me, waiting. She didn’t seem all that upset about the loss of her son.
“I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions … about your family’s health history, things like that. My pediatrician always asks when I take Noelle in for her checkups.”
She frowned. Her hand moved toward the door.
“I brought you some chocolate chip cookies.” I held them out so she would have to slam my hand in the door to get it closed.
Instead she accepted them and stood aside to let me in.
The stench of garlic and broccoli hit me as soon as I stepped through the doorway. On my right lay the living room. It was filled with stacks of yellowed newspapers and cardboard boxes. Empty whiskey cartons. It also held a plaid couch with two holes in its cushions, a mauve recliner with a cream-colored tatted doily on its headrest, and a blue leather recliner with a man slumped in it. His eyes were closed. He wore a soiled white T-shirt, and an empty bottle dangled from his hand. A television blared The Price Is Right.
Mrs. Tibble nodded toward him. “My husband, Theo’s father.”
That explained a lot.
I followed her into the kitchen. The linoleum was cracked and chipped, the counters covered with pot burns, and the stove was circa 1940, just like the icebox. But the room was spotless and smelled of Pine-Sol.
Mrs. Tibble picked up a coffeepot from the stove and pulled a mug from the cupboard. She set it in front of me and filled it.
“Thank you.” I don’t drink coffee, but I wasn’t going to spoil the moment.
She sat down opposite me and filled her own chipped mug. Then she pushed the sugar and creamer toward me.
“No, thanks. I take it black.” I picked my mug up and pretended to take a sip.
She opened the tin of cookies and took one. I watched as she ate it with great relish.
She wiped a smear of chocolate from her finger onto a dish towel lying on the table. “My husband’s a diabetic—and a drunk. I don’t make cookies, but these are good.”
“I hoped you would enjoy them.” I sat up taller in my chair. “I am sorry about Theo. I didn’t know him, but his daughter brings my husband and me great joy. She’s a happy, healthy, cuddly little girl.”
Mrs. Tibble smiled faintly. “Do you have a picture?”
“I do.” I dug the picture of Noelle at the wedding out of my purse and handed it to Mrs. Tibble.
She glanced at it and passed it back. “She’s pretty. She don’t look nothing like Theo.”
“She looks like her birthmother. Exactly like her, to tell the truth.” I hated to admit it. Somehow the admission took something away from me.
Mrs. Tibble nodded. She grabbed another cookie and bit it in half.
“Did you know her birthmother?”
Mrs. Tibble finished chewing the cookie before she answered. “Never met her. Theo never brought any of his friends around here.”
“Do you know where Theo met her?”
“I don’t know nothing about her. First I heard of her was when Social Services called, asking if we were interested in the babe.”
“So Theo didn’t live with you?”
She shook her head and took another cookie.
I congratulated myself on bringing the cookies. Mrs. Tibble seemed content to answer any question as long as she could talk with her mouth full. “Where did he live?”
She shrugged. “Not here. Not for the last year anyway.”
“Do you know the names of any of his friends?”
“Nope.”
“Do you know where Theo worked?”
She snorted, showing her chipped front tooth. “He robbed convenience stores, last I heard.”
“Do you think your husband might know more?”
“He don’t even know what day it is.”
Talk about a dysfunctional family. The Tibbles made the Asdales look like positive role models.
“It’s my understanding Theo is Sam Green’s cousin. Is that correct?”
“Yeah.” Her hand hovered over the cookies once more then dropped to her side. Apparently, three was her max.
“How are you related to his family?”
“Sam’s father is my husband’s half-brother.”
“Oh.” Awfully big contrast between the Green mansion and the Tibble hovel.
Mrs. Tibble smiled like she could tell what I was thinking. “I got knocked up with Theo when I was eighteen. His brother didn’t want my husband to marry me, so he don’t talk to my husband no more. My husband hurt his back on his job four years ago. He needs constant care. He drinks to kill the pain. We can’t care for a babe. We barely have enough for ourselves.”
Mrs. Tibble stood up, waiting.
I stood up as well, knowing I was being dismissed. She led me to the front door.
“Thank you for talking with me, Mrs. Tibble, and again, I’m very sorry for your loss.”
I stepped outside on the stoop and turned back to her. “It really would be helpful to know your family’s health history for Noelle’s records.”
She sucked her front teeth. “Tell your pediatrician the only family history to worry about is alcoholism. Alcoholism and stupidity.”
Then she closed the door right in my face.
“Alcoholism and stupidity. At least she’s kept her sense of humor.”
“I’m not sure she was kidd
ing, Ray.” In fact, I was doing my best not to add it to my growing list of concerns about Noelle’s future.
I took a sip of ice tea from the bottle I’d just purchased from a convenience store. Ray had called seconds after I returned to the car with it in hand. I felt like he was checking up on me. He’d already called Marcia to check up on Noelle. When I called her five minutes ago, moments after she’d hung up with him, Marcia got a little irritated. “You didn’t tell me Marcia was G.I. Jane.”
“She’s more lethal weapon. She was a sharpshooter in the Army.”
“So you are concerned about Noelle’s safety.” I held my breath.
“Not really. Marcia’s the only stay-at-home mom I know, and Jeff said they could use the extra money. But I’m not denying her training could be beneficial.”
I had to agree, even though his words reassured me. As I hung up, I realized this was the first time in my life I wished I had something more than just self-defense training. In that class, the instructor said it was important to look like a predator rather than prey. To anyone with a gun, unarmed me would always look like prey. But I wasn’t going to be a rabbit frozen in anyone’s sights, that’s for sure.
Catherine Thomas’ office and cell phone numbers were now programmed into my cell phone, just like Ray’s. Talk about ironic. I dialed her number to report as requested.
She sighed when she heard the results of my meeting with Mrs. Tibble. “Not much to go on. You say the half-brother’s family has plenty of money? Maybe there’s some kind of inheritance Theo and therefore Noelle are entitled to. Why don’t you visit the Green family and ask?”
I had spoken to Sam Green’s father last year when Erica and Sam went AWOL together from the state psychiatric facility. He hadn’t been warm and fuzzy then. I could only imagine how he would be now that Erica might be marrying into the family. “I could ask my sister to find out. She’s engaged to Sam Green.” That was, if Erica ever called me back.
“You don’t say.” Catherine sounded half-amused, half-revolted.
“Unfortunately, I do.”
“It would be less obvious we’re fishing if you do it that way. In that case, why don’t you take the mug shots of the girl back to Canandaigua and show them to the Bryces again? Now that she doesn’t look like some kind of grunge queen, maybe they will recognize her.”