by Karen Harper
“I can’t believe we’re here,” Tara told Nick. “I’m finally going to face Jen and Laird and get answers.”
“But,” he said as they scanned mailbox numbers in the beams of their headlights, “we’re consulting with Carla first. If she advises against confronting them, no rash moves, no jumping the gun. There, that house,” he said, and turned in the driveway of a contemporary frame home with a big blue spruce in the front yard. In the pearly predawn, they got out and stretched. Tara felt wobbly on her feet. Despite the familiar trees, the area seemed alien, with its relatively flat terrain and the smell of the sea. Even with the early-morning chill, the air seemed moist, not thin and crisp.
A porch light popped on, and a face appeared at the window next to the front door. Tara hadn’t seen Carla for almost four years, but they had always hit it off well, and Carla had been so grateful when Tara located her daughter, Annelise. Almost six feet tall and thin, with long black hair, Carla was a real Amazon who could tackle anything in life—until she’d married a man who almost did her in.
“I’ll carry Claire,” Nick told her. “Go ahead.”
Dressed in baby-blue sweats, Carla met her halfway up the walk with a big hug. “I’ve always hoped for a way to help you,” she told Tara. “I may not look like an attorney-at-law right now, but we’re going to get your ex one way or the other for what he’s done. I’ve taken the morning off, so I can get you breakfast and you can get caught up on some sleep.”
“I’ve been dozing off and on. The only thing I want to get caught up with is you—and then Laird,” Tara told her, stepping back to face Nick as he hefted Claire out of the truck. “Carla, this is my very good friend Nick MacMahon and his completely unconscious niece, Claire.”
“Nick, great to meet you,” she said, patting him on the shoulder since his hands were full. “I’ve got a bed ready for her. And this must be Beamer. He’s beautiful. I had a black Lab once, and it will be great to have a pet around for my girl.”
“You’re a godsend,” Tara told her as they went up the walk arm in arm.
“As you were to me. Come on in. Consider this your home away from home.”
“Oh, no!” Veronica cried when she saw rows of red headlights pop on ahead. As the thick lanes of traffic slowed to a crawl, she hit her fist on the steering wheel. Not only was everything at a complete standstill, but she saw the blinking lights of emergency vehicles up ahead. Drat! She was between exits and, at least temporarily, trapped.
It had been stop-and-go driving as she followed 90 W into Seattle. She should have waited until later in the day when commuters weren’t coming into the city, but she’d already taken too long to make the Denver-to-Seattle drive. The escape part of her journey was over, and she was anxious to deal with Laird. Unfortunately, that meant today was the day that he or Jennifer would call Jordan and tell him where she was. Well, there was one Jordan she would be happy to see, and that was little Jordie. But maybe little Jordie was the problem.
Though she feared she’d get a blast of car exhaust fumes as everyone began to idle their engines, Veronica rolled down her driver-side window and took a big breath of morning air. Yes, she could smell the ocean here. It reminded her of happy childhood days on the shore of Lake Michigan, visiting her grandparents’ cottage near Traverse City. But the shrieks of seagulls overhead and the occasional boom of a distant ferry horn also reminded her of the times she and Jordan had spent here visiting Laird and his new family.
But that’s what was bothering her now. Her family had not told Veronica that Laird and Tara’s baby had been born and lost. They had not even told her about Laird and Jennifer’s baby until she was completely recovered.
So she was also going to use the element of surprise. She wasn’t phoning ahead to find out if Laird was home today. Besides, she figured she’d do better taking on Jennifer, poor pretty girl, so eager to please the Lohans. But above all, she didn’t want Jennifer or Laird to be prepared for her or to tip off Jordan right away.
Somehow, Veronica was going to get the answers she needed, and not only to help Tara. Such knowledge could very well serve as ammunition to blast her way out of the Lohan prison she’d been locked in for more years than she’d like to admit.
Finders Keepers, that was the name of Tara’s private investigating firm. Finders keepers…losers weepers, the old rhyme went. But the official Lohan rhyme should be Humpty Dumpty. After all, as high as he was sitting, he had a great fall, and not even the king’s men could put him back together again. One way or the other, Jordan—maybe Laird, too—was about to topple off his great big wall.
By the time the sun came up, Claire was still in bed and Nick was in the shower. Tara and Carla sat over a cluttered breakfast table, drinking coffee, talking about old times and new.
“Now about today,” Carla said. “I figured you and Nick would want to be out and about this morning, and I’ve got to go into the office about noon for a while. So my mother’s coming over to stay with Claire and Annelise. I don’t usually let her miss school, but having a visitor near her age is special. Mom’s still bemoaning the fact that Annelise is in school, since she used to take care of her all the time, so she’s in seventh heaven. If you want, she can take them downtown to the aquarium after lunch.”
“Claire would love it. Nick kind of promised her that.”
“Then that’s settled. Now back to the legal aspects of all this,” she went on, leaning her elbows on the table and cradling her coffee cup in both hands. She’d been taking notes on a long, yellow legal pad as Tara had explained everything to her. Like Tara—maybe like all women—Carla was good at multitasking and never missed a beat when they switched topics.
“I’m listening,” Tara said. “You’re part of the reason I was brave enough to come here.”
“I still don’t think you can force Laird and Jennifer to give a deposition under oath, and one look at a lawyer with you and they’d clam up for sure. Or they’d just get a lawyer to block us, unless we can get some sort of incriminating admission out of one or the other of them. Misleading and lying to you in the past won’t be enough. Of course, the best thing would be to prove foul play and have them indicted.”
“What about a civil suit, if we can’t find evidence for a criminal one?”
“Possibly, but probably not just on grounds of having your deceased child cremated without your knowledge or permission. It was Laird’s child, too, and you were obviously incapacitated. Proving they induced or extended your coma will be tricky unless you can find that Dr. Givern, whom they’ve obviously spirited off to Europe.”
“What about the fact they never registered the birth and death of my child? That’s got to be a crime.”
“That might work, but the fallout would be minimal with their army of lawyers and contacts. The other drawback is that I don’t have a license to practice in Colorado. You might be better off with a local lawyer for that, but you said you don’t want a Denver-area attorney.”
“Even if I could get them on that or win a civil suit decision, making them pay millions would be like me having to cough up a hundred bucks. Still, the publicity would hurt them. They’re paranoid about the Lohan reputation. I did have a wild idea there could be some sort of genetic testing on the ashes in the urn, but I think they’ve been tampered with.”
“You mean Jordan Lohan only let you take the urn from the crypt because it didn’t contain your daughter’s ashes?”
“I’m not sure. When the house was broken into, I know the urn was moved, maybe even exchanged for another—oh, damn, I don’t know!” She lifted her arms and rubbed her aching eyes with the heels of her palms. “What I do know is that I need to talk to Jen first, alone somehow. She’s much more likely than he is to slip up and say something. And I do think I can get enough information to go after her physician’s license, although she may not care right now, since she’s wallowing in Lohan wealth and has a son to raise.”
“Strange, isn’t it?” Carla said, rolling her
coffee mug between her hands. “Money, position—none of it means a thing if you’re not married to the right person. But throw a child into the mix, living or deceased, and then it gets hard. It doesn’t take long to learn what really counts in life.”
“Sad but so true,” Tara agreed, hunched over her hands, now clasped on the table as if in prayer. “How sad too many women learn that the hard way.”
“Nick seems wonderful, a real blessing in your life, and his little girl has obviously become yours now. When this is all over—I mean, just don’t get hurt here, because you have a great new life waiting for you.”
“But I can’t have that new life until I settle the old one. For Sarah’s sake, as well as mine.”
By late morning, Claire had set out for the Seattle Aquarium with Annelise and her grandmother, Lillian Manning—Carla had taken her maiden name back after her divorce. Nick and Tara were en route to the nearby suburb of Medina with Beamer sitting on the seat between them as if he were the kingpin on their team.
As they talked over possible ploys to get onto the Lohan grounds, they tried to ignore the gray day spitting rain against the windshield. Hoping that Laird was at his office, Tara’s pretext to Jen was going to be that she was desperate to know about Sarah’s birth and death. She would convey no suspicions, bring no accusations. As her former physician and friend, at least Jen owed her an explanation of her daughter’s death.
But that scenario meant they had to get past the front gate and perhaps even a guard. If this frontal assault didn’t work, Tara was going to have to convince Nick that trespassing onto the property was absolutely necessary. No way had they come this far, Tara told herself, not to question Jen and Laird. And if that meant arguing with or defying Nick, it had to be done.
“Damn, the Lohan house isn’t even one of the biggest ones around here!” Tara whispered as they drove past it once, turned around and slowly circled back.
Of redwood and stone, the sprawling house suited its setting in a breathtaking landscape of mature trees and free-form flower beds bursting with late blooms. A small bridge arched over what appeared to be a koi pond. Tara craned her neck, trying to glimpse the back deck and playground area to see if she could catch a glimpse of Jen or her son, but at this first pass, all she saw was a thin man bent over a rose bed.
At least a truck going by slowly was hardly suspicious in this area. They’d seen all sorts of service vehicles: heating and cooling, plumbers, yard care. Other than a few BMWs and other upscale cars with residents on morning errands, the streets were fairly deserted.
“It’s really hard to grasp the Lohans until you see their houses,” Nick said, staring wide-eyed at Laird’s home as they made the second pass. “They say you can’t take it with you, but Laird probably thinks having a son and heir is the next best thing—like King Henry VIII who moved heaven and earth to have a son, divorcing one wife after another.”
“And beheading a couple of them. Look!” she said, pointing, as Nick slowed the truck in front of the yard next to the Lohans’. “Their gardener’s even working in the rain.”
“You said that Jordan’s gardener, Jim, is totally dedicated. Maybe that’s what it takes to work for the Lohans.”
“Tell me about it. Nick, stop here. I have an idea. Can I take Beamer out in the rain for a minute? I’m going to find out who’s home.”
“Sure, but be caref—”
She had the dog’s leash attached to his collar and was out of the truck in a flash, ignoring the fact she should have grabbed the umbrella. “Beamer, heel,” she said, and he did. It always gratified her when the Lab took commands from her.
“Hi!” she called to the man as she strolled up to the Lohan fence. Then louder, “Hello!”
He looked up and turned her way. Would he think she was just a neighborhood woman walking her dog? He was quite young, with a Seattle Mariners cap on his head. He studied her as he walked toward the fence. It had been a long time since she had used her looks to get information. She wished she wasn’t so exhausted and strung out. She forced a smile. He had big hedge clippers in his hands, not electric ones but an old-fashioned-looking pair.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
“I hope so. I’m from the dog breeding company, Pets for Kids, and I need to check out the yard and house before one of our golden Labrador retrievers—not this one—is allowed to be adopted by the Lohans. It’s a gift from the little Lohan boy’s grandfather in Denver, so it’s a bit of a secret. We just can’t allow our puppies to be taken in unless a sort of adoption check is made, you know.” Too much information, she told herself, but sometimes what just came out sounded better than a rehearsed script.
“Oh, for little Jordie? Man, he’s got everything else, so why not, huh?”
Jordie, she thought. For Jordan? Of course, Laird would have named him after his father. He’d even said once that if he had a son he’d name him that, but that he wouldn’t name a girl something as old-fashioned as Veronica, because he wouldn’t want people calling her Ronnie. No, he’d said, he’d name a daughter Alexandra, so she was glad she’d named her Sarah instead. The way Laird had handled her death, Sarah was more her child than his!
“The thing is,” the gardener went on, “they’re not here right now. They gave the housemaid the day off, too.”
Her insides cartwheeled. All this distance and they weren’t here, not even Jen.
“Do you know when they’ll be back? I must have mixed up my scheduling.”
“I could let you walk around the yard, but I don’t have house keys. It’s a great yard for a dog, as you can see,” he said with a sweep of his hand. “Hope he won’t be burying bones, though. The Lohans are at the other house in the woods, up by Robe Valley. That’s ’bout ten miles past Granite Falls off the Mountain Loop Highway, if you need to talk to them.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize they had a getaway. That might give a dog even more room to run.”
“Yeah, their hiding place, Mr. Lohan calls it,” he said, looking her over intently. “I do have the keys for there. I look after it when they can’t get up there.”
Smiling up into his face, she leaned on the fence and flipped her hair back. She was wet, but the sprinkles of cool rain had turned to a fine mist. At least, she thought, if she started to cry in disappointment, he might not be able to tell. “You are being so helpful,” she said. “What’s your name, by the way?”
“Todd Lawrence, groundskeeper here. Yeah, well, they like to head up there now and then when he takes a few days away from the office, and I think Mrs. Lohan’s been feeling a little sick lately, so it may help her. Still, if I had this spread—” he thrust his arm out again to encompass the grounds he was obviously proud of “—I’d be set for life.”
“You sure do great landscaping. You know, I really should check out that getaway residence, too. It isn’t set in a place where a puppy could fall down a cliff or ravine, is it?”
“It’s pretty rough territory up there, but breathtaking.” He smiled down into her eyes. “They’re on Pine Crest Lane, which backs up to the Mount Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest. If you don’t know the area, it’s a little ways past the Pillaguamish Country Club, where Mr. Lohan plays golf. I love to camp and hike around there, and I did the grounds for their place there. Fantastic view of the Cascades. It’s probably raining up there, just like here. That’s why they call them the Cascades, of course.”
She forced a laugh at what must be a stale joke around here. But he’d told her where to find the Lohans. And if Laird’s so-called hiding place was out in the wilds, maybe it wouldn’t have a gate and fence.
Tara managed to get rid of Todd by telling him she’d just reschedule the visit and hoped to see him then. When he pressed her for a phone number, she made one up on the spot and hurried back to the truck, parked down the road.
“So?” Nick said when she got in. He added, “You should let Beamer shake himself outsi—” as the dog sprayed them and the inside of the truck with water.
<
br /> Ignoring that and hugging the dog, she said, “They’re not here, but I know where they are. And we’re going to get close enough to question them. I’ll call Carla to tell her where we’ll be. Head for the hills, driver.”
She felt suddenly hopeful, stronger. Though Laird called the other house his hiding place, no way could he escape her now.
23
“This is going to work. I can just feel it,” Tara told Nick as they drove into the small, historic town of Robe Valley. “It’s not raining here, and the sun’s peeking through. Things are finally going to go well,” she added, sounding more confident than she felt.
He frowned, but as he took the truck around another turn, he conceded, “At least I’m used to Colorado driving, and this increasing altitude’s not going to bother either of us.”
Her heart beat harder, not from the thinning air but from finally getting close to facing Laird. She’d still like to confront Jen first, but she would take whatever chance she got. Considering that most of the homes tucked back up in these foothills of the Cascades looked accessible to someone driving or walking in, Tara was becoming more confident there would be no barriers to the Lohans. Surely that was another good sign.
But the thing she had been silently steeling herself for was not as much facing Jen and even Laird as seeing their son in the flesh. Sarah had died, and Jordie lived. He was a beautiful child. Yes, she was envious, but she had loved to look at him in the photos, to study his little face, those blue-green eyes and bright blond, curly hair. He must be even more appealing in person. She’d like a son just like that someday, with Nick.
“Okay,” Nick said, jolting her from her agonizing, “there’s the country club you said the gardener mentioned, but this town looks really small. I’d better get gas. I’ve only seen two stations here, and the road’s got to be even wilder the farther we go.”