My Sister, Myself

by Alice Sharpe

  “Sanchez.” He swallowed deeply but remained standing. “Lingford allowed them to search his house, the arrogant bastard, but once they found his prescription for sleeping pills he rescinded permission and clammed up. Unfortunately for him, however, they’d already found a pair of muddy shoes in his garage, hidden under a tarp and guess what kind of bumper sticker he has?”

  “A California windsurfing club.”

  “Give the lady a cigar. They’ll compare the mud on the shoes and in the car with the mud outside Kinsey’s place and do all the other hocus-pocus lab stuff, and you watch, Lingford will start talking. I told them to look for any guns he has and take them along for testing. I assume there’s a bullet lurking in my car somewhere? Case closed.”

  “Hmm,” she said.

  He frowned. He recalled the photos and handed them to her. They were eight-by-ten blowups, a little fuzzy, but not bad. There were ten of them and he watched as she shuffled through them, pausing at the one of Katie and her father at the picnic.

  “You printed these off Katie’s phone?”

  “Yeah. There was never an opportunity before to give them to you. I guess now that you’ve seen all your sister’s photos, these don’t mean as much—”

  “No, these are special, these are the ones she cared enough to save on her phone. The picture gallery got erased. Did you do it?”

  “I guess I might have done it inadvertently,” he said. He studied her a second longer, then lowered his voice. “Okay, out with it. What’s going on?”

  “I told you, I just have a feeling—”

  “Not with the case and its resolution. Not with Katie or your father. What’s wrong with us?”

  She met his gaze straight on. “It’s going too fast,” she said bluntly.

  “Too fast. As in lovemaking—”

  “As in everything. I didn’t know you existed a week ago. I didn’t know anyone here existed a week ago.” She put aside the notebook and the papers and stood up, hugging herself.

  “We’ll slow it down,” he said. “We’ll fly between here and San Francisco. We’ll date. We’ll take our time and get to know each other the way normal people do.”

  “What happened with your brother?”

  Just like that she brought up Peter. Did his relationship with her hinge on his sharing the details of the major tragedy of his life?

  Maybe it did. But could he talk about it at the drop of a hat after years of keeping it inside?

  He stood there in the bright light of his apartment, staring at the woman he suspected he loved. Did he have a choice?

  “Never mind,” she said, rubbing her temples. “I’m sorry, that was cruel. It just goes to show how little you and I know about each other. I can be impatient and thoughtless. You have deep, dark secrets. Who knows what else. And—”

  “Just stop,” he said, taking a deep breath. Halting at first, his words gained momentum as he continued. “It’s really pretty easy. I let him down. He was eighteen years old and called me for help. But I was in the police academy, a big test was coming up the next morning, one I couldn’t miss and still graduate on schedule. I didn’t go when he begged me. And by noon the next day he was dead of a drug overdose and it was too late. That’s the story. It’s not big and it’s not complicated or unexpected or even unusual in today’s world, but it’s the shame of my life and now you know. You’re the only one who knows.”

  “Your parents?”

  “I never told them about the call.”

  “Because you thought they would blame you?”

  “Because I knew they would forgive me,” he said, his voice cracking. He took a deep breath and added, “It wasn’t the first time Peter had called for help. I’d rushed to his aid many times before. He’d messed up every opportunity he had to straighten out. He’d worn out all the other members of our family. I was the only one left he could turn to. But that night he needed help. He reached out, and I failed him.”

  She put her arms around him. “You know how illogical this is, don’t you?” she whispered close to his ear.

  Her arms felt like a fragile grasp of heaven, an angel’s touch. He shook inside as he said, “I guess.”

  She held him away and peered into his eyes. “You know you couldn’t have anticipated your brother’s death. You know he was hell-bound for a fall despite the efforts of everyone who loved him? How were you to anticipate this was his last chance, your last chance? And even if you’d put your life on hold and rushed to his aid, there would likely have been another time and another until he managed to kill himself or drive you away or finally take control and conquer his addiction. You know all this, don’t you?”

  Shocked by the tears he could feel burning behind his nose, he tried to move away.

  But she wouldn’t let him. Searching his eyes with hers, she finally said in a voice so tender it shook him, “Oh, baby.”

  It was the last straw, that affectionate word uttered in that compassionate way. She pulled him to her. His chest heaved. The next thing he knew, he’d buried his head against her neck, buried himself in her and he was doing the unthinkable: crying.

  There was no pretty way to end such a breakdown, and once the worst was over, he dreaded facing her, ashamed of himself because he figured he’d brought this on himself by never dealing with reality, always pushing it away. He found a tissue and took care of the damage from the waterworks, hands shaky at first, growing steadier as he moderated his breathing.

  The next step would be talking to his parents. They’d probably spent a decade wondering why they lost two sons instead of one the day Peter died, because Ryan suspected his reluctance to talk about Peter had been as hard on them as it had been on him.

  And yet…there were still all these vague issues floating around. He’d assumed that once the brains behind Tess’s father’s death was found, once the person responsible for Katie’s hit-and-run was uncovered, once the man who attacked Tess had been outwitted, they would move ahead.

  He chanced a look at her. She said, “Thank you.”

  He knew what she meant and so he nodded. It seemed silly to thank her in return, but the truth was he did feel fifty pounds lighter.

  “It explains why you took Katie’s situation so hard.”

  “I guess it does,” he said. Moving his hand back and forth between them, he added, “But I don’t see what it has to do with this thing between us.”

  “It explains why you protect yourself. It’s as though you’re finally ready to forgive yourself and step out of the dark, safe place you’ve created. I’m afraid, I’m terrified it’s because of me, and I don’t know, it’s all so fast, there’s something missing with this case and Katie—”

  She stopped talking abruptly as tears brightened her eyes and slid down her cheeks.

  He couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d sprouted wings and flown through the window. It was his turn to reach for her, but she turned away, and suddenly he understood.

  “You’re afraid I care more for you than you do for me. You’re afraid if you change your mind, I’ll wallow in misery forever,” he said. “Like I did with my brother.”

  She turned back to him and nodded.

  He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if he was the only crazy one in the room or not. Why was she worrying about this? He knew no relationship came with a guarantee. He said, “So you don’t even want to try?” and was stunned with the hurt he heard in his voice. As a shining example of manliness, he was a big flop.

  “I don’t know what I want,” she said. “It’s just—”

  “There’s more?”

  She blinked a couple of times as though trying to decide if she wanted to add anything and finally said, “All you care about is finding out who’s guilty.”

  “Isn’t that the bottom line?”

  “No. The bottom line for me is more complicated. What was my father doing at the Lingford house?”

  “Starting a fire.”

  “Has anyone proven that?”r />
  “The fuel can, the receipt—”

  “Could have all been planted.”

  “The wild-goose chase he sent me on. The graft that came out later. The money, for heaven’s sake, Tess,” he added, his voice rising. “The money you found!”

  “I’m still not convinced,” she said, her stubbornness reaching new and profound heights. “I think you’re settling on an answer too soon, that you want this to be over so it’s over.”

  Incredulous, he stared at her. “Now you’re questioning my ethics as a cop?”

  “I—”

  “You suddenly know more than all the police in New Harbor, is that it?” he added. “More than Sanchez, more than Donovan and certainly a hell of a lot more than me.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Fine,” he said. “Go ask all the questions you want. Be Tess Mays or Katie Fields or Caroline Mays or Wonder Woman if you want. Nelson Lingford is in custody, he can’t hurt you or his stepmother, and Kinsey is dead, so knock yourself out.”

  He threw up his hands.

  She picked up the shoe box, the notebook and the photos and nodded curtly. He didn’t turn as she gathered the rest of her belongings or when he heard a thunk on the table and figured she’d just returned his car keys. He didn’t turn until he heard the door shut and then he moved to the window, angling to see the sidewalk, watching until at last he had to accept she’d walked off in the other direction.

  He kicked the ottoman and swore.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tess walked the few blocks to the hospital. She’d left the crutches and the pseudo cast at Ryan’s place.

  She wouldn’t think about Ryan. Shame or regret or maybe both gnawed away in the deepest pit of her stomach. She’d allowed things to get out of hand. But how could she give up when Katie still depended on her to uncover the truth that would salvage their father’s name?

  Is that the whole reason or are you hiding behind Katie’s needs to mask your own?

  How could she need a man she’d known such a short time, when the game plan was and always had been that she should never need a man at all?

  Katie’s phone rang a block from the hospital. Tess had to juggle the pictures Ryan had given her to dig the phone out of a pocket.

  “Caroline, dear? It’s Madeline,” came a soft voice.

  It wasn’t Ryan, it might never be Ryan again. She’d pushed him into leaving her. How clever! Now she didn’t have to leave him, or worse, wait for the day when he decided he’d had enough and rode off into the sunset, her heart in his back pocket.

  She was an emotional coward—just like her mother….

  And heaven help her, she was weak with relief that this call wasn’t Ryan. She couldn’t talk to him. She wouldn’t know what to say.

  “Have you heard? They’ve arrested Nelson!”

  “I just heard,” Tess said, a new crop of tears rolling down her cheeks, tears that had nothing to do with Nelson.

  “I’m devastated,” Madeline cried. “The police are saying Nelson killed a man. They’re saying he was behind my fire! I can’t bear to stay here. I’m on my way to a friend’s house in Portland. I’m dropping off all the photos at Irene’s place first. She said I could, that Georges will be there to let me in but it’s Sunday and he has plans and has to leave right away. Will you meet me? Will you wait for Irene? She’s with Tabitha but she’ll be along soon.”

  “Okay,” Tess said woodenly. She owed Madeline and Irene an explanation. Might as well get it over with. “I have to stop by and visit…a friend first,” Tess said, eyeing the photo Ryan had printed, the one of Tabitha in her party hat. The one Katie took the day she was hit by a white van. The young girl smiling, cake crumbs on her chin, a pink party hat perched on her head, art in the background. She could give the photo to Irene to give to Tabitha. She could say goodbye.

  There was a moment of silence before Madeline added, “Caroline? Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is fine,” Tess said.

  “Okay. The store is on Broadway—100 Broadway Ave.”

  Tess resumed walking to the hospital. She found Katie as she always found her, in bed, out like a light. However, many of her tubes had been removed and the head bandages modified, so that now Tess could see the beginnings of light roots at her sister’s hairline.

  She leaned close and whispered, “I have to tell you some bad news about Dad. Wake up, please.”

  But it wasn’t that easy, and Tess had known it wouldn’t be. She kissed her sister’s hand. Would they ever look into each other’s eyes?

  RYAN PACED HIS LIVING ROOM for a while before calling Sanchez again. He asked a few questions and listened to a few answers, splashed his face with cold water and left the apartment. Ten minutes later he was at the precinct.

  Nelson Lingford had started talking again. He swore he had nothing to do with Kinsey’s death. Surprise. He swore he didn’t know how his muddy shoes got under the tarp, but he did admit he’d driven to Kinsey’s neighborhood. He said Kinsey had called him and he’d gone, but something about the call sounded fishy, so in the end he didn’t stop.

  The mud on his boots suggested otherwise.

  No recently fired gun in his possession, though. That fact really bothered Ryan, though it was easy to get rid of an unwanted weapon when you lived close to a great big ocean. Still, the guy was guilty. Everyone knew it.

  Except Tess.

  And she was out there somewhere, bumbling along, asking questions, snooping, refusing to face reality and the truth. Alone. Or maybe not alone. If Nelson didn’t try to kill her, was there someone else?

  Should he be worried about her?

  That depended. Was he one hundred percent sure Nelson Lingford was responsible for every single thing that happened? Him and Kinsey? If so, then she was safe.

  If there was even a shred of doubt, she wasn’t safe.

  Her safety was his priority.

  But she doesn’t want you around, his pride whispered.

  “Ryan? You okay?”

  Ryan looked up to find Sanchez staring at him.

  “I’m going to go talk to that neighbor,” Ryan said. “The one with the rug.”

  “Go for it,” Sanchez said.

  Ryan assembled a few photographs and left the office. He stopped by Katie’s building first. Once again he knocked on doors, showing pictures to anyone who answered, asking anyone if they’d seen Lingford or Kinsey.

  He even tried the grouch’s door and was surprised when the old guy actually took a moment to look at the pictures. He shook his head no, closed the door and then opened it again. A dog peeked from behind his leg. “This to help the little redhead at the end of the hall?” he demanded.

  “Yes, it is. Have you recalled seeing one of these men?”

  “What I seen was a woman who don’t belong here. I seen her outside in a van.”

  Surprised by this unexplained cooperation, Ryan asked a slew of questions.

  “I seen her twice,” the old guy answered. “A few days ago and again yesterday. I don’t know what she looked like. Gray hair, maybe white, maybe blond, hard to tell in the rain but she was wearing a blue scarf, tied at the neck. Light-colored van. Morning one time, afternoon the other. Sitting in the driver’s seat.”

  Ryan didn’t know what, if anything, the old guy’s observations meant. The woman in the van could be someone’s ex-wife, part of a new car pool or a dozen other things. He questioned him further about the scarf—was it blue-and-white striped? The old man couldn’t recall. He slammed his door once his natural surliness resurfaced.

  So, what did this mean? The only women involved in the case were Irene Woodall and Madeline Lingford. Was it possible Madeline wasn’t as crippled as everyone thought? That she was hell-bent on protecting her stepson? Was it possible Irene was jealous of what she considered her paintings?

  He drove to Kinsey’s neighborhood next and walked up the drive of the rug beater’s house. The woman who answered the door seemed excited to review d
etails, the kind of neighbor who minds everyone’s business, half frightened by the idea of a murder so close by, half titillated.

  “I want to know about the man you saw walking along the street yesterday, the one you told the officer who interviewed you last night was a stranger.”

  “Isn’t it terrible? To think that man was murdered two doors down in the middle of the day!”

  “I know, it’s terrible. Now, about the man you waved to?”

  “A total stranger. I know who lives on this block and the one over and the one over from that. I know most everybody, and I’d never seen this person before and I would have remembered because of the blue and white striped scarf and because he was, well, you know…”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged plump shoulders and looked embarrassed. “He was one of them.”

  “Them? Mrs. Pilsner, one of whom?”

  “One of those men who want to be a woman.”

  Marcel? Doyle? What? What did either man have to do with anything? Doyle maybe, in some convoluted way, but Doyle a cross-dresser? “How do you know?” he asked.

  She talked in circles for a moment before finally saying, “So I knew at once that it was a man trying to be a woman dressed up like a man.”

  Pretty sure he’d missed something, he said, “And why couldn’t it have been a woman dressed like a man?”

  She shrugged. “That’s too simple, isn’t it?”

  Hell, he didn’t know. Nothing was simple. He showed her the pictures he’d shown Katie’s neighbor and she didn’t recognize anyone but Nelson Lingford, whom she admitted having seen pictures of in the newspaper over the years. He could have been the walker, but she wasn’t sure.

  What he needed were pictures of Irene and Madeline. He’d swing back by the station and see if Donovan had any.

  He had another thought and took out his cell phone, punching in Katie’s number, his thoughts tumbling over one another as he waited for Tess to answer. It switched to voice mail. He called the hospital and learned Tess had left some time before.

  He started off down the street, knocking on doors, showing pictures, growing increasingly uneasy. Who was this mystery woman? Was she important or an unimportant tangent?