by Lisa Jackson
Sweeping up the phone, she checked the number. Not one she knew, so she let it go to voice mail. She poured herself a glass of water and drank half of it down, staring through the window above the sink to the small patio beyond. It was a nice house, but she wouldn’t miss it. Chloe, though, had known no other home and it would be one more huge life change in a series of huge life changes.
Maybe she could hang on to it. If she actually sold Mazie’s house, the commission would be enough to keep her afloat awhile. And if the Sorensons would ever settle on a property . . . or any of Mazie’s clients who’d called her and sworn they wanted Elizabeth and had decided to sell . . .
Her cell beeped, alerting her to a voice mail. Curious, she clicked on the number.
“Hello, Elizabeth. It’s Gil Dyne. I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner tonight? Give me a call at this number and let me know. I’d love to see you again.”
“No,” she said to the empty room, hanging up.
She was in the process of putting on her coat before heading to the preschool—rain was in the forecast again—when her doorbell rang, startling her. She actually jumped at the sound, her heart thrumming. “Geez, Louise,” she muttered, annoyed, then walked to the door and peered through the peephole.
Detective Thronson stood on her doorstep, head bent against the rain, her short gray hair glistening with moisture.
Elizabeth immediately froze. Her heart rate had slowed to normal, but it leaped in fear again. Stop it, she warned herself. Stop it.
She opened the door.
The detective gave her a fleeting smile. “I didn’t hear from you, so I thought I’d just stop by.”
Elizabeth looked past her, that sense of someone, or something, watching her washing over her again. A car drove past, a man at the wheel, but he didn’t look her way. “Yes, uh, I’ve been busy. Come in.”
She led the detective into the family room, then stood by the counter that separated the kitchen, leaning a hand on it for support. A lash of rain battered the sliding glass door.
“You’d never know it was Southern California,” Thronson observed. Her barrel body was wrapped in a navy blue jacket. If she wore a gun, it was probably beneath that coat because it didn’t appear to be at her hip or back.
“I have to pick up my daughter soon.”
“I won’t take much of your time. We’re still looking for the woman who played tag with your husband on the freeway and the one that was at Tres Brisas when your husband and Mrs. Bellhard were there.”
Elizabeth hung onto the counter. “Any luck?” She wanted to press her hands together and wring the hell out of them but managed to hold herself back. Just.
“Some,” Thronson said. “Both women have been described by witnesses as blond, slim, midtwenties.”
“So you said.”
“We’re running on the theory that it’s the same woman.” Her gaze was mild, but Elizabeth felt the scrutiny beneath it.
“Okay,” she said slowly.
“I think it’s someone who knew your husband or Whitney Bellhard or both, and also knew of their love nest at Tres Brisas. I think she followed them down the freeway and, rather than playing a game of tag, she was purposely harassing them. I think she forced them off the freeway, and I think she meant to do it.”
Elizabeth could feel her knees begin to quiver and took one of the counter bar stools, half-falling into it.
“Do you know anyone who looks like that who would wish your husband and/or Whitney Bellhard harm?”
Elizabeth hesitated. Only practically every friend I have . . . “I think what you’re trying to say is that you think it’s me, but I was not anywhere near San Diego that day. I can’t prove my whereabouts, unless there’s a camera somewhere that I didn’t see, but I was here, in Irvine. That’s the truth.”
“Would you consent to a polygraph test?”
Lie detector. “Yes!” Elizabeth said emphatically. “Yes, I would. Set it up.”
The detective slowly nodded. Whether she found Elizabeth’s enthusiasm surprising, she couldn’t say.
“You told me that Peter Bellhard followed my husband and his wife to Tres Brisas,” she reminded the detective.
“That’s correct.”
“But you’re not looking at him as a . . . jealous spouse? It’s just this blond woman who looks like me?”
“We haven’t ruled anything out.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
“We want to find this woman.” The detective seemed to want to say something more, but she pressed her lips together and kept it to herself.
Suddenly, Elizabeth felt the urge to tell her everything. Pour it all out. Let the chips fall where they may. She hadn’t been to Tres Brisas, nor had she been on the freeway to San Diego. But she had wished them all deadly harm.
“You have something to say?” Thronson asked, correctly interpreting what the look on Elizabeth’s face was telling her.
But Elizabeth froze, knowing how it would come off if she did start blurting out all the thoughts and feelings jumbled inside her. “I really have to pick up my daughter,” she said, moving toward the door, holding it open for the detective, letting in a mist of rain.
Thronson took her time following after Elizabeth. Clearly, she wasn’t ready to go. “I’ll get back to you on the polygraph.”
Elizabeth was afraid to have her stay, afraid she would change her mind and say too much. She wanted nothing more than to push her out and slam the door shut behind her, but the detective lingered on the outside steps a moment, turning back at the last moment, unmindful of the rain dampening her hair. “I showed a picture of you to the Tres Brisas staff. Two of them identified you as the woman at the hotel.”
Elizabeth heard a buzzing in her ears and felt light-headed. “It wasn’t me,” she choked out, then shut the door on the detective. She threw the dead bolt again and walked backward away from the door. Oh, God . . . oh, dear, God.
She thinks I killed Court.
What if she finds out about GoodGuy?
“There’s nothing to find out,” Elizabeth whispered aloud.
You need to tell her about him. And Mazie. And Officer Unfriendly. You need to come clean. Now! Call her back!
“Jade told me not to . . .” Elizabeth whimpered.
She’s right. I can’t. Everyone would think I’ve lost my mind. And Chloe needs me. What if . . . what if I ended up under a doctor’s care or in a mental hospital? What if they took her away from me?
No. She couldn’t say anything. Nothing. She shouldn’t have even told Jade.
Five minutes later, she dashed out into the rain and jumped into her Escape. Chloe. She needed to grab her daughter and hold her close.
“Let’s go to Wembley Grade School,” Ravinia said, looking at the clock on Rex’s dash. “There’s still time.”
Rex followed her gaze. Three thirty. “Might be too late to find someone who’ll talk to you.”
“You said school gets out at three thirty.”
“It’s a guess. Three o’clock, maybe. And nobody sticks around unless they have to.”
“Just take me there.”
Rather than argue the point, Rex headed in the right direction. What the hell. If it was a waste of time, it was his time to waste.
The series of buildings that made up Wembley Grade School looked as if they could really use a face-lift. They were painted concrete and the paint was faded, appearing as if it had been a few years since the last application of medium brown had been rolled on. The drinking fountains were circa 1965 and though the playground equipment still looked sturdy enough, Rex figured it had been erected enough decades ago to make him question its current safety compliance rating.
“You’re overdressed,” he told her, examining her short black dress.
She made a strangled sound, tugging on the hem. “Underdressed, overdressed. Who cares? I’ll tell her I just came from work.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Yea
h, what are you gonna be, my dad? I can handle this.” And with that, she climbed out of the car and hurried somewhat awkwardly on her short heels.
Rex tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He shouldn’t let her just go on her own, but he also sensed she might have more success without him. A man showing up at a grade school without a student and asking questions was enough of an anomaly to raise questions. A young woman, barely more than a girl, looking for a relative might be more palatable. Not that he expected her to come back with any meaningful information. The best link they had to the Gaineses was Marlena from the Brightside Apartments, but he was pretty sure he’d tapped her out. Still, Ravinia wanted to meet her and maybe she should. She isn’t half bad at the job, he thought grudgingly, which made him feel superfluous in a way that bothered him and made him feel far older than his thirty-six years.
Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty. He was thinking about driving away and searching out food, figuring it would take her awhile. He could call her on her cell to let her know, but just as he was reaching for his phone, she suddenly appeared, hurrying as fast as her command of her shoes would let her.
At the car, she ripped the pumps off and flung them into the backseat.
“She went to Van Buren High,” Ravinia said in a rush as she settled herself in her seat. “Some teacher there named Bernice Kampfe—K-A-M-P-F-E—took an interest in her. That’s what Mrs. Holcomb said, the lady I talked to. She said Bernice Kampfe knew Elizabeth Gaines well, so maybe she knows where she is now. Let’s go to Van Buren. How far away is it?”
“How’d you get all that so fast?” he demanded.
“Holcomb was the oldest teacher I could find. I told her I was Elizabeth’s cousin. You were right. They were all leaving. School was already out, but I caught up with this one who walked with a limp. She’s retiring next year. I pretended that Elizabeth and I were close once, but her parents divorced and it was bad and I’ve lost touch with her. I looked into Mrs. Holcomb’s heart and she’s one of those really nice people who want to believe the best in everybody. So anyway, she remembered Elizabeth and said I should talk to Mrs. Kampfe.”
Ravinia was flushed with success, and he could only sit back in reluctant admiration. He didn’t believe in this looking into the heart thing much, but there was no accounting for Ravinia’s ability to suss information out of people.
“Well,” he said, accessing the GPS app on his cell phone. “I think Van Buren’s the one about half a mile away.”
“Good.” She smiled broadly. “And then let’s get food. Pizza.”
“That works.”
Her good mood was infectious, and though Rex sensed he should be a lot more worried about his “new partner” than he was, he drove her to Van Buren High School. She hurried inside again, but was back within ten minutes. “They’ve gone home for the day. Maybe you can look up Bernice Kampfe’s address.”
“Might be easier to find her at the school tomorrow. You never know how people will take it when you show up at their door unannounced.”
“Doesn’t sound like I have a choice,” Ravinia groused. “When I get my license, though . . .” She made it sound like a threat.
“You can go into the private investigation business all on your own.”
“Don’t think I don’t hear the sarcasm.”
A smile crept across his lips and when she glared at him, he just couldn’t help the little bark of laughter that followed.
Chapter 23
Tara caught up with Elizabeth at the preschool playground where their girls were chasing each other around the equipment in a game of tag that was being supervised by their teachers. The rain had abated and they were enjoying stomping in the shallow puddles as they ran after each other, their laughter filling the air.
“Hey, I was going to call you,” Tara called as she came to where Elizabeth was leaning over the sign-out page to pick up Chloe. “Dave’s out of town, so I wanted to know if you and Chloe want to join Bibi and me at that burger spot down the street from Uncle Vito’s?”
Uncle Vito’s was an Italian restaurant at the end of the strip mall that was close to Elizabeth’s house. The mall also held a Ralph’s grocery store, a coffee shop, a cleaners, and a UPS store along with several businesses that seemed to come and go with the economy. The burger spot was around the corner and down the street.
It was all Elizabeth could do to react normally. Thronson’s comments and insinuations had made her feel almost physically ill, so her first inclination was to decline. But the thought of heading back to the house was equally unattractive. Besides, she didn’t have a clue what she would serve for dinner. And the burger spot was cheap.
“Lots Of Beef,” Elizabeth said, forcing a smile.
Tara snapped her fingers. “That’s what it’s called. I can never remember. I know it’s early, but do you care?”
“Not at all. It’ll be nearly five by the time we get there,” Elizabeth said.
They collected Chloe and Bibi, although it was a bit of a wrangle as neither girl wanted to leave the playground. As they were leaving, Vivian came and picked up Lissa, and Jade got Little Nate, but though they invited them, neither could join them for dinner.
By the time Bibi was ensconced in Tara’s car and Chloe in Elizabeth’s, and they got the girls through their mopey meltdowns as they wanted to ride together and could barely stand it that they had to be separated, it was five. By the time they reached the strip mall where both restaurants were located, it was closing on five thirty and the early dinner crowd was filling up the lot.
Traffic was coming fast off the main street toward Uncle Vito’s and the cars were circling around like a pack of hungry wolves. Elizabeth was lucky enough to find a parking spot, though it was a bit of a hike to Lots Of Beef. Even so, she and Chloe arrived first and grabbed a table, waiting for Tara and Bibi who finally blew in about ten minutes later. In that short interim Elizabeth had gone back inside her head, Thronson’s words running around and around.
I showed a picture of you to the Tres Brisas staff. Two of them identified you as the woman at the hotel . . . I showed a picture of you to the Tres Brisas staff. Two of them identified you as the woman at the hotel....
“Want me to order?” Tara asked, breaking into her reverie. “What do you both want?”
As Chloe declared for chicken strips and a strawberry milkshake and Bibi ordered the same, scooting into the booth beside her friend, Elizabeth looked up at Tara, the words dying on her tongue as she really looked at Tara’s hair in its messy, blond bun, just like she wore hers.
I showed a picture of you to the Tres Brisas staff. Two of them identified you as the woman at the hotel....
“Do they have salads?” Elizabeth asked, pulling herself together.
“Kind of a chicken Caesar,” Tara answered, staring up at the menu, her face in profile.
“That sounds good.” When Elizabeth reached for her purse, Tara waved her away.
“We’ll settle up later,” she told her.
Thronson was just trying to scare you. Maybe you should talk to her after all. Risk her thinking you’re crazy as a loon.
Tara came back with their drinks and then waited at the designated pick-up spot, returning a few moments later with Chloe and Bibi’s chicken strips. “Salads are still coming up,” she said as she’d decided on the same thing as Elizabeth.
It wasn’t me. Lots of people look like me. . . . The woman at the hotel could be totally innocent . . . a complete stranger to Court and Whitney Bellhard . . . She doesn’t have to be the same one as the one on the freeway, if there even was one. What if . . .
Elizabeth’s thoughts shut down. Were overridden. A terrible vision overtook her and she suddenly stood up, nearly knocking over her chair. Tara was just bringing up the rest of their food order and she looked at Elizabeth in surprise.
“I have to go,” Elizabeth told her flatly.
“Go?” Tara looked at her in disbelief. “Go where? What do you mean?”
&nb
sp; “Take care of Chloe. I’ll be back.”
And then she was running. Out of the burger joint and across the parking lot to Uncle Vito’s, racing among the cars, and causing people to stare.
Oh, God . . . oh, God . . . oh, God . . .
She barreled into the Italian restaurant, nearly knocking over a woman walking toward the restrooms. The woman glared at her and stomped onward.
“Get away from the windows!” Elizabeth screamed at the couple seated in the waiting area directly in front of the windows that looked straight toward the street entrance into the strip mall.
As they gaped at her in surprise, she grabbed up the young boy about three years old who was standing in front of them and ran for the interior of the restaurant. Shrieking, the woman leaped to her feet and charged after her. Her husband damn near ran over his wife in his own attempt to reach Elizabeth.
“Stop!” he yelled
At the same moment, a car smashed through the window with a roar of engines and shattering glass. A collective gasp and shriek ran through the crowd. People clattered from their chairs, running to safety as a green Buick flew forward, humping over tables and chairs before smacking into a pillar. The building shook. The alarm blared. Woowoowoowoo. Steam hissed from the radiator.
The boy in Elizabeth’s arms wriggled free and found his mother who was crying and gulping and shaking as if stricken with palsy. The father gazed at Elizabeth dully.
Elizabeth surfaced from the terrible scene in her mind, slowly focusing on reality—the elderly man slumped over the steering wheel of his car, the noise, the panic. She placed her hands over her ears and stepped toward the car.
“You knew,” the husband said. “You knew. . . .”
“I-I saw it coming,” she choked out. The truth.
People were gathering around the vehicle. Blood ran from a gash in the driver’s head. Elizabeth saw a man press 9-1-1 on his cell and hold it to his ear.
It took several minutes, but blessedly, someone finally cut the alarm. The sudden silence was immediately replaced by the sound of an approaching siren.