by Lisa Bork
I checked my watch. An hour to Canandaigua, a couple hours there, and an hour back. I’d be able to pick Noelle up by five o’clock. “Okay, I’m on my way.”
____
No one answered the doorbell or my repeated knocks at the Bryce home. The curtains in the upstairs window didn’t even twitch this time. My watch and my growling stomach told me it was past lunchtime. I cruised up and down Main Street in Canandaigua, looking for the diner where Mrs. Bryce said she worked lunches.
Only one restaurant with gingham curtains and the promise of home-style potato salad on a poster in the window seemed to fit her description. Inside, the restaurant had red-cushioned booths, black-marbled Formica tabletops, and a worn but shiny beige tile floor. Miniature American flags rested in overturned miniature flowerpots on all of the tables. The smell of fried chicken and some kind of tomato-based soup filled the air, along with the chatter from the still almost full dining room.
An elderly woman led me to an empty table by the kitchen doors. Every time someone went through the doors, the rush of air lifted the hair on the back of my head, and I could hear dishes clattering, food sizzling, and men discussing Sunday’s race. I’d eaten in worse places.
The waitress who took my order for a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich, a Pepsi, and, of course, home-style potato salad, said Mrs. Bryce was off.
“So she’s gone home?”
The waitress clicked her gum. “She’s in the back, cleaning.”
“Would you tell her Jolene As … Parker is here to see her?”
She stuck her pencil into her hair and tore my order sheet off her pad. “Sure.”
Two minutes later the waitress returned to set my Pepsi on the table. “She’ll be out in a second.”
When Mrs. Bryce appeared, she had my sandwich and potato salad in hand. She placed them before me and waited. I greeted her and asked if she could sit with me for a minute.
“Just a second.” She walked away and returned with a cup of coffee, sliding into the booth opposite me.
I pulled the girl’s mug shots from my purse. As soon as Mrs. Bryce spotted them, she waved them off. “I saw the pictures on television. The police came and showed them to us as well. I don’t know that girl. Neither does my husband.”
I tucked the pictures away again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize the police had already shown you the pictures.”
Mrs. Bryce took a sip of her coffee and set it carefully back on the saucer. “The night my daughter was run down, she had her purse with her. It had all her I.D. in it. It wasn’t there when the police arrived.” She closed her eyes and pain crossed her face. After a moment where she seemed to fight for control, she opened them again. “They think my daughter laid there for an hour before she was found. She was on the edge of the parking lot, behind the bar. It was three a.m. when the police got the call, four a.m. before they woke my husband and me to identify her.”
Mrs. Bryce closed her eyes for a moment then continued.
“It’s possible when she got hit, she flew in one direction and her purse, in another. The girl may have found the purse and not seen my daughter. Someone else may have found the purse and sold or given the I.D. to this girl. Or in the worst case, the girl was involved in the hit-and-run and stole Abigail’s purse. The police don’t know. I don’t know. All I know is my husband and I don’t recognize this girl.”
She glanced down at my sandwich. The cheese was starting to congeal. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Yes. Would you like half?”
She shook her head. “I already ate, thank you.”
I took a bite and scalded the roof of my mouth on the still hot tomato. I grabbed my Pepsi as my eyes started to water.
Mrs. Bryce winced. “Hot?”
I nodded and took another swig.
“Sorry.” She sipped her coffee, watching me.
I managed to swallow another bite without hurting myself. “Did your daughter have a boyfriend?”
“No. Boys never called our house. She didn’t even go to the prom.”
“You said you had moved here recently. Where did you live before?”
“Lockport. My husband worked at Six Flags.”
“Why did you decide to move here?”
She fiddled with the handle on her coffee cup. “This was a better job. When the water park closes for the season, my husband William works at the ski resort.”
“Could this girl be someone your daughter knew in Lockport?”
Mrs. Bryce shook her head. “I don’t think so. I knew her friends there. She wasn’t one of them.”
A red-haired woman of around forty stopped next to our table. She stared at Mrs. Bryce, who looked up at her and blanched.
The woman didn’t speak. She just kept looking at Mrs. Bryce, who seemed to shrink into her seat.
My waitress appeared next to her. “Everything all right here?”
I looked between the three women. “Fine.” A bald-faced lie, if ever I told one, but I sure didn’t know what the problem was.
The waitress turned to the red-haired woman. “Do you need anything else today, Mrs. Morton?”
Without a word, the redhead backed away and walked out of the diner.
The waitress nudged Mrs. Bryce in the shoulder. “Gotta watch out for them fiery redheads, eh?”
Mrs. Bryce managed a weak smile in return. After the waitress left, she stood up as well. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, Mrs. Parker, but I wish you the best of luck with your adoption.”
I thanked her and watched as she left the restaurant, shoulders hunched and looking more than a bit dejected.
I finished my lunch. The potato salad was every bit as delightful as promised. While I chewed, the tension between Mrs. Morton and Mrs. Bryce continued to haunt me. Wasn’t Mrs. Morton the woman Mrs. Bryce mistook me for the day I approached her in the cemetery? Apparently they’d met since then. What was the deal between them? Both their daughters had graduated the same year from the high school. I remembered seeing Candace’s picture in the yearbook. I couldn’t help but be curious.
My waitress reappeared and leaned in to clear the dishes. “Can I get you anything else? We have fresh strawberry pie.”
“No, thank you. But I am curious. Mrs. Morton seemed to upset Mrs. Bryce. She ran off before we had a chance to finish our visit. Do you know why?”
The woman clicked her gum. “Mrs. Morton is a hothead. She gets upset at just about everything. I’m not sure what’s eating at her this time. Maybe she didn’t get her food as fast as she wanted.” She pulled my check out of her pocket, dislodging a couple straws at the same time.
She leaned down to scoop them off the floor. “Have a nice day.”
I thanked her again and headed toward the cash register. A pay phone with a phone book dangling off a cord sat right next to the entrance. I paid my bill, then took a quick peek in the white pages. Mrs. Morton lived on West Street. I remembered seeing that road on my map. It wasn’t more than a block or two away.
Maybe I’d just wander over to her house with a few questions next.
____
The Morton house was an ordinary gray ranch from the 1950s with dark-green shutters and rosebushes lining the front walk. Mrs. Morton did not answer the door in response to my repeated rings of the doorbell. I started back to my car.
An elderly neighbor woman was pulling weeds from her garden. She had watched me ring the bell and now struggled from her knees to her feet as I approached her side of the driveway. The knees of her jeans were grass stained and the buttons in her shirt gaped open at the belly. Her white hair seemed almost iridescent in the sunlight.
“Can I help you with something, Miss?”
“I was just looking for Mrs. Morton and her daughter, Candace, but no one answered the bell.” I stepped closer to her and caught the scent of musty clothes and fresh soil.
The woman worked her lips back and forth. “Cynthia went out. Candace doesn’t live here anymore.”
&nb
sp; “Oh. Is Candace in college now?”
“That’s what her mother says.” She made it sound like a joke.
“It’s not true?”
The woman looked over her shoulder at the houses behind her. I took a quick look around myself. She and I were alone on the street, except for the occasional passing car.
“I got a piece of mail in my mailbox by accident the other day that belonged to Cynthia. I didn’t want to bring it back to her door, because she doesn’t like me.” She worked her lips some more. “Not that she likes anybody.” The woman rocked back and forth as though blown by a sudden breeze.
I waited, but her eyes grew vacant. Apparently she had forgotten her train of thought. “You were saying something about a letter for Cynthia?”
She started then nodded. “I put it back inside her mailbox, and I noticed a letter from Candace to her. The return address was the Wardmont House in Buffalo.”
“I’m not familiar with the Wardmont House.”
She leaned closer to me. “Neither was I, but I looked it up on the Internet. I’m real good at the Internet. I buy and sell all kinds of stuff on eBay. I bought this antique gold ring just the other day.” She thrust her hand at me. “Isn’t she a beauty?”
I admired the rather unremarkable ring, then tried to get back to Candace’s letter. “The Internet is a wonderful thing. I could look it up myself, but since you already did, what is the Wardmont House?”
Her expression grew conspiratorial. “It’s a home for unwed mothers. They also have an adoption service for their babies.”
I took a minute to process her statement. Another pregnant teenager, just like Noelle’s birthmother. Statistically perhaps not so significant, but I had the feeling the two girls might be connected.
I pulled the picture of Noelle’s birthmother out of my purse and showed it to the woman. “Do you know this girl?”
The woman took the photo in her hands and studied it carefully. She handed it back. “No.”
I tried not to feel disappointed. “Did you know Abigail Bryce, by any chance?”
She shook her head. “Isn’t that the girl who got run down in the road last year?”
“Yes. Did you know her family?”
“No. I think they were new in town. I don’t know if they even live here anymore.”
My cell phone rang. I pulled it out and checked the incoming call number. It was Erica, with her usual bad timing. “I have to take this call, but thank you so much for talking with me.”
The woman waved. “It’s nice to chat with a new young face. Come by again, dear.”
I slid into my car as I hit the send button on my cell. “Erica, where have you been?”
“I’m sorry I haven’t called you. I heard about Theo. And I’m sorry about the other day. Sam came by and insisted I go look at some rings with him. Then we decided to look at apartments. We couldn’t find any we liked so we looked at houses. We put a bid in on one. It’s on Lofton Street. It has four bedrooms and two baths, all hardwood flooring, and the kitchen is real cherry. It’s gorgeous.”
Perfect. She had been out getting herself into trouble “Erica, who is going to pay for this house if they accept your bid? You don’t make enough to pay for the apartment you have now.”
“Sam’s going to talk to his dad. His dad’s got money.”
Indeed he did, but he wouldn’t have it for long if he started buying things for her and Sam. I took a deep breath and decided to mind my own business on that score.
“Listen, I need you to find a subtle way to ask Sam about his dad and any potential inheritance. Theo Tibble’s father is Sam’s father’s half-brother. They don’t speak anymore, but Theo might have been killed for some reason related to inheritance money, either inheritance for him or for his offspring, which would be Noelle. It’s very important. Can you handle it?” I tried not to let my own doubts creep into my voice.
“Sure, I’ll ask Sam. If he doesn’t know, he can ask his father when we go over there for dinner tonight.”
“You’re having dinner there?”
“Yeah, Sam thought it was time for me to meet his family.”
I had a sick feeling. “You’ve never met them before?”
“No. Sam’s going to announce our engagement to them and ask his dad for the money for my ring and for the house.”
“You’re going to spring all that on them in one night?”
“Sure. Sam’s a grownup. He can get married anytime he wants. Why would they care?”
A better woman than I might try to explain to my sister. I elected to let her run the gauntlet without any warnings from me. Who am I to block the course of true love?
Still, I was perverse enough to want to be a fly on the wall when the Greens sat down to dine with their future daugther-in-law tonight.
I picked up Noelle around four thirty. Marcia had her son curled up on her right arm as she handed over Noelle, strapped into her car seat and ready to go, with her left. Her son had just celebrated two months on this earth, so his tiny bald head flopped about and his unfocused eyes blinked drowsily. Noelle, on the other hand, screamed her fury at being strapped into the car seat yet again. She didn’t like being confined.
I shouted over her screams, “Did everything go okay today?” I wanted to ask Marcia if she’d seen anyone lurking in the brush outside her home, but I settled for the more subtle question.
Marcia smiled. “No problems until now. We’re not really anticipating any.”
As I leaned into my car and buckled in Noelle’s car seat, I wondered who she was referring to as “We.” Ray and her? Jeff and her? All I knew for sure was I had been left out of the loop. I saw a familiar pattern. It pointed to Ray, who never shared anything with me he thought might create any agitation, for him or me. He tried to keep the peace at home that way. I didn’t know if it was a trait common to all law enforcement officers or not, but it wore my patience. I liked to know everything that might have an effect on my life, so I could plan and control it. He liked to control it for me, one of the reasons we had difficulties in the past.
Noelle fell asleep five minutes after I left Marcia’s driveway. I welcomed the silence as my conversation with Mrs. Morton’s neighbor replayed in my head. Tomorrow I would have to drive to Buffalo and visit Candace at the Wardmont. Perhaps she could identify Noelle’s birthmother. Maybe the girl had even been a resident at the Wardmont herself before moving to Wachobe. I mentally crossed my fingers.
When I pulled into the driveway, a Mercedes sat behind Ray’s patrol car, a black 2008 CL600 Coupe, one of the grandest new touring cars on the market, retailing around $145,000. I tried not to salivate. Who did I know that could afford one?
Noelle continued to sleep as I pried her car seat out and carried her into the house through the kitchen door. I almost dropped her when I got inside.
Ray stood in our kitchen, in front of our stove, with his arms wrapped around Catherine Thomas. Her head rested against his chest, her face turned away from me, and he appeared to be murmuring in her ear. For a moment, they didn’t realize I was there. For the same moment, I wasn’t. My stomach clenched and my head swam. I rocked back on my heels, leaning against the wall for support. My eyes told me one story, my heart another, and my brain, well, the synapses had clearly stopped firing. Then Ray spotted me.
He released Catherine and took a step back. “Hey darlin’.”
Catherine stiffened and her hands rose to her face, her back to me. I got the impression she was wiping tears from her face. When she turned toward me, her eyes looked red and swollen, but she had a brilliant smile on her face. The smile she most likely showed to the jurors when the defense lost a crucial point in a case. “Hi Jolene. We’ve been waiting for you.”
I matched her smile with one of my own, my best saleswoman smile—the one that says customer satisfaction comes first, even if the customer was a dickhead. I flashed it at Ray, too. Know any of those, Ray?
“What’s up?” I placed the baby carrier
on the kitchen counter and unfastened Noelle’s safety straps. She’d started to stir when she heard our voices and any minute now the screams would erupt if I didn’t get her out of the seat. I lifted her and sat her on the edge of the counter, kissing her cheeks to hide my expression from Ray and Catherine. I fought for control.
“I wanted to get a progress report from you and map out our next steps.” Catherine took a few steps toward me, waiting for me to look up and respond.
I caught the scent of a wet diaper and rejoiced. Changing Noelle would give me enough time to collect myself. “Okay. I just need to change her. I’ll be right back.”
I darted out of the kitchen and into Noelle’s room, where I took my time, fighting my doubts. Was Ray cheating on me? Was Catherine just so much more appealing to him? She was younger, better-looking, taller, firmer, bigger in the bustline, more successful, and, as evidenced by her car, wealthier. And she still had her long brown, Valerie Bertinelli hair.
Then I reminded myself Ray could have had her last year, but he picked me. Me, me, me. And Catherine said they had been waiting for me. Would she really be embracing Ray as a lover when she knew I’d walk through the door any second? I doubted it. And Ray would never be that cruel.
I set my doubts on the shelf again, picked up Noelle, and walked back into the kitchen with more confidence.
After easing Noelle into her highchair, I pulled out the rice cereal mix and heated some water. Ray and Catherine watched my every move, Catherine seated at the breakfast bar, Ray leaning against the stove with his arms crossed over his chest.
I decided to break the silence. “The police had already questioned Mr. and Mrs. Bryce. Mrs. Bryce said she and her husband didn’t recognize the picture of … the girl.” I almost said “of Noelle’s mother,” but at the moment, I really needed to be Noelle’s mother, since I didn’t feel confident as Ray’s wife.
I stirred the heated water into the cereal. “I met a woman who told me another girl from Canandaigua is in a home for unwed mothers in Buffalo. Her mother seems to have an issue with Mrs. Bryce. It’s all too coincidental, so I thought I should drive to Buffalo tomorrow to speak to the girl.”