“You’re Phoebe’s sister, right?” she asked.
“Right,” I said.
“Are you here about the note? Hattie told me about it.”
“I’m ... no. I’m here to talk about the investigation.”
She looked me over. “I love your dress. Where’d you get it?”
Today I was dressed in a black, chiffon, midi V-neck dress with a gray waistband. It may have been a bit dressy for work, but it fit my mood for the day.
“I bought it from a vintage dress shop online,” I said.
“Oh, I see. How’s Phoebe doing?”
“Fine.”
“I’d like to see her. Do you think she’s up for visitors?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll talk to her, and she can reach out to you if she feels up to seeing anyone.”
“I appreciate it. What can I do for you, honey?”
She said honey like she was my elder, even though I had at least five years on her.
“I wanted to talk to you about the night Jack was murdered,” I said.
She frowned. “It’s fine. I can talk about it. I just don’t like dwelling on things I find unpleasant. Gives me bad dreams at night.”
It didn’t stop me from questioning her anyway.
“What was Jack like on the night he died?” I asked.
“He seemed to be in a good mood. Of course, he’s always seemed pleasant when I’ve been around.”
“You didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary?”
She thought about it. “Do you want to come in and sit down? I was just about to make a raspberry mojito.”
I shook my head. “I’m working.”
“Oh, there’s no alcohol in it. I don’t drink. It’s made with raspberry, mint, syrup, cranberry juice, lime, and club soda. What do you think? Want to try one?”
I did.
“Thanks, but I have a lot to do today,” I said.
“Oh, come on. You’ll love it. I can whip them up in no time.”
She placed a hand on my wrist. I jerked it back.
“Can you just answer the question?” I said.
She frowned. “Your sister told you, didn’t she?”
“Told me what?”
“What I told her. Guess no one knows how to keep a secret anymore.”
“I knew there had been friction between you two,” I said, “so I questioned her about it this morning. She didn’t intend to break your confidence. She wanted me to know she’d been wrong about you, and she thought telling me the truth was the best way.”
“She misjudged me, like you did just now when I touched your arm. I’m not attracted to every woman I see, you know, just like you’re not attracted to every guy you see. I may be flirtatious, but I love my husband.”
“I understand,” I said. “Where is your husband? I need to speak to him too.”
“He’s not here. Went fishing for the day with his friend Sam.”
“When will he be back?”
“They’re staying overnight in a tent. He’ll be back in the morning. I’ll tell him you’d like to speak to him.”
“I appreciate it,” I said.
“You should know, after you left town, Phoebe and I cleared the air. She confided in me because you weren’t here. We became good friends, and I’d never do anything to jeopardize our friendship. The last night I saw Jack, he was fine. A bit preoccupied, but nothing unusual. There. I’ve answered your question. And I have things to do, so ...”
She started to close the door, and I placed my hand against it.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said.
“You know something? I looked forward to meeting you. I invited you inside because I thought we might be able to talk about Phoebe and how hard it was on her after you took off. I figured if I explained what she never will, it might help you to know how bad she felt about the argument you two had before you left. She wanted to be there for you and what you were going through, and she felt shut out.”
“Guess Phoebe didn’t keep my secrets, either.”
She shrugged. “Guess not.”
I handed her a card with my details on it. “Give this to your husband and thank you.”
“For what?”
“Being there for Phoebe when I wasn’t.”
I decided it was my turn to stalk my sister’s stalker. I penned a short note in response to the one he’d left and suggested the two of us meet at the park that evening at seven beneath a huge oak tree in the park’s center. Then I drove Phoebe’s car to her workplace, parked it in her assigned spot, and placed the note beneath the wiper. I took a taxi back to Phoebe’s and retrieved my Jeep, which I had stowed in the garage to keep it out of sight.
I debated whether or not to call Phoebe and speak to her about the note Hattie had found. I didn’t want to tell her about it, but I’d promised to keep her informed, and my word was everything. I’d also been swayed by the fact Hattie and Holly both knew about the note already, and I didn’t need one of them telling her about it before I did.
The call with Phoebe didn’t go as planned and ended with her asking to tag along for the unveiling of her stalker. I said no. She said it didn’t matter whether I wanted her there or not. She wanted to know his identity. She was going.
I had a couple of hours to kill, so I drove back by Phoebe’s work to see if the bait I’d set had any takers. I was disappointed to see the note where I’d left it. Maybe he’d be a no-show and tonight wouldn’t happen. A few more hours would provide the answer.
I stopped at Andy Sanders’ office for our five o’clock appointment. He wasn’t there. I waited several minutes and then called his cell phone. It rang a few times and went to voicemail. I’d been stood up, and I didn’t like it. I left him a voicemail saying he had a few hours to get back to me before I tracked him down at his home.
I drove by Phoebe’s office a third time, and the note was gone, but I found Joseph Coldwell standing next to Phoebe’s car with his hand cupped against the driver’s-side window.
“See anything of interest in my sister’s car?” I asked.
He turned, shocked to see me walking in his direction.
“Detective,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“Why are you lurking around Phoebe’s car?”
“I was on my way out, and I saw it parked here, and I wondered why. It shouldn’t be here. So, why is it?”
I shrugged. “Maybe she stopped by to grab something out of her office or to visit her coworkers. Who knows?”
“I was just in the office. I didn’t see her.”
He’d balled up one of his hands into a fist.
Was he hiding something?
“What do you have there?” I asked.
He looked around. “Where?”
“In your hand.”
He lifted his right hand. “Nothing.”
“Your other hand.”
He opened his left hand and jingled a set of keys in front of me. “Satisfied?”
No. I wasn’t.
“Have you called Phoebe about her job?” I asked. “We agreed you’d welcome her back when all this is over, and she hasn’t said she’s heard from you.”
“She hasn’t.”
“Why not?”
“You asked for a list of names, and I supplied it.”
“I asked for a list and for Phoebe’s job to be secure when she’s ready to return to work.”
He sighed. “Yeah, well, we can’t always have what we want in life. I’ve decided to go in another direction.”
Another direction?
I don’t think so.
“Meaning?” I asked.
“It’s a bummer, what happened to your sister, but it’s not the network’s fault. We have to keep going, no matter what the circumstances may be. We can’t wait for her to recover, to get past what she’s going through right now.”
“Get to the point.”
“Fine. I’ve hired someone else.”
“A temp. I know. Mal
orie Morgan. She can step aside when Phoebe steps back in.”
He shook his head. “Malorie’s ratings are better than Phoebe’s were before she left. We’re keeping her on. She’ll assume Phoebe’s position as of next week.”
I’d given him a chance. If he had just taken the high road, what I was about to say wouldn’t have needed to be said. But people never seemed to relish the easy way out as much as the challenging one.
Ah, well. His loss.
“The high ratings you claim Malorie’s getting,” I said. “Are we talking news ratings, or the rating you’ve been giving her in the bedroom?”
He looked like he was two seconds away from putting me into a headlock, and I hadn’t even fired my biggest gun yet.
“What are you ... How dare you say what—”
“How dare I speak the truth, you mean?”
He pointed toward the exit of the garage. “You need to leave. Right now.”
“Every other Tuesday and the occasional Friday night,” I said.
He stepped back, eyed me, and said, “What?”
“The Airbnb you rent three or four times a month. Well, except for when your wife is out of town, and then you use your own house for liaisons because ... well, it’s a lot more convenient and discreet, and it saves money, right?”
His face flushed, going from a bright Strawberry Shortcake to a pasty white.
My message had been received.
“The feeling you’re experiencing right now?” I said. “If you don’t recognize it, let me help you out. You’re in shock.”
“I ... How do you know ...”
I reached out and patted him on the shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. I get it. Lots of people step out on their spouses nowadays. I’m sure the two of us could sit down with your wife and clear all of this up in a jiffy. Not today. I have somewhere else to be after we’re finished. What’s your schedule like tomorrow? I should be able to squeeze the two of you in for a few minutes.”
“Whatever you think you know—you can’t prove it.”
“I can, or I wouldn’t use it against you now. Remember the day I sat in your office and waited for you to arrive? I wasn’t just sitting. I was sorting through all of the items on your desk. You can learn a lot about a person by looking at their bills and how they spend their money. Do I need to elaborate?”
He bent over Phoebe’s car and began wheezing.
Perhaps I’d gone too far.
I thought about why it had been so important to me to secure my sister’s job when she hadn’t even said whether she planned to go back to it. I’d just assumed she would. I was a fixer. I liked fixing things. When I was weighted down with guilt, I liked fixing even more. It made me feel better about the injustice I’d done.
“You gonna be okay?” I asked.
He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out an inhaler. He pressed it to his lips and sucked in the medicine. He steadied his breathing, looked at me, and said, “You are a disgraceful, vicious woman. But you keep my wife out of this, and I’ll give you what you want.”
“Let’s go over what’s going to happen when we get to the park,” I said.
Phoebe tugged at the cardigan she was wearing, wrapping it so tight around the front of her it looked like she might struggle to breathe.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said. “You don’t have to go. I can find out who this guy is on my own.”
“I do need to do it,” she said. “What if he knows where Lark is?”
“Then I’ll make sure he tells me.”
“I ... no. I want to be there with you when he shows up.”
We drove for a few minutes in silence, and then I pulled the Jeep to a stop next to a broken lamppost. I killed the ignition and turned toward her.
“I go first,” I said. “You stay behind me. Got it?”
She nodded.
“I mean it, Phoebe,” I said. “No matter what happens, I need you to let me make the first move. Understand?”
“Yeah, yeah. Can we get this over with now?”
We were six minutes away from our scheduled meeting time with Phoebe’s stalker. Not far from the oak tree, Hunter was already in position, something I’d requested hours before—in the event we had a runner, and I needed backup. She’d arrived thirty minutes before I had, so I gave her a quick call to find out if she’d experienced any premature action on her end.
“See anything yet?” I asked.
“A few people here and there,” Hunter said. “Nothing suspicious. No one has gone anywhere near the oak tree so far.”
“We just arrived and are about to head over.”
“Sounds good.”
I ended the call.
Phoebe grabbed the door handle.
“Wait a minute,” I said.
I reached into the back seat and grabbed a black satchel I’d stowed behind it. I popped it open, pulled out the items I was after, and spruced up my look.
Phoebe’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
I turned to her and smiled. “I paid good money for this wig. I think it looks similar to your hairstyle. You don’t like it?”
She reached out and ran a hand through my fake hair. “It’s ... ahh ... a lot thicker than mine, and this isn’t how I wore my hair at work.”
I pulled the hair back into a loose bun to mimic her business style and tried again. “How about now? Any better?”
“It won’t work.”
“It will work.”
“He’ll know it isn’t me. I mean, maybe we’re similar in height and body type, but ...”
“It’s dark out, Phoebe. Height and body type are all he needs to see to think it’s you. I’ll stay in the shadows at first. By the time he figures out I’m not you, it will be too late.”
I removed a pair of dress slacks from the bag, pulled them on, and tucked the bottom of my dress into my waistband, transforming the dress into a shirt. My look was almost complete.
“I need your cardigan,” I said.
She shook her head. “I ... don’t want to take it off.”
“Come on. It’s just for a few minutes.”
She huffed an irritated, “Fine,” unwrapped it, and dropped it into my lap. She pulled her arms across her body like she was hugging herself. The cardigan was more than an article of clothing. It offered her a sense of security, like long hair draped over part of a person’s face. Without it, she felt naked.
“You going to be all right?” I said.
“Yep, yeah. I’m fine.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
We exited the Jeep and inched toward the oak tree. I didn’t want to get too close too soon and risking the stalker seeing both of us and getting spooked.
“All right,” I said, “this is far enough. We’ll wait it out here behind these bushes.
Phoebe stared at the bushes and then looked at the oak tree. “How are we supposed to see him? We’re not close enough.”
I pulled a small pair of binoculars out of my bag. “We’re as close as we need to be for now. Trust me. Okay?”
Five minutes went by, and then ten, and then twenty.
“I don’t think he’s coming,” she said. “I can’t believe it. This was all for nothing.”
“Let’s give him a few more minutes before we give up.”
“I don’t see why. If he was going to be here, he would be.”
I sighed. She was right. The stalker’s last note suggested he was anxious to meet her. He should have been early, not late.
I lifted my phone out of my bag, looked at it, and then slipped it back inside.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I swore my phone buzzed a few minutes ago. I guess it didn’t. I have no missed calls and no messages.”
She slid her hand into her back pocket. “I don’t think it was your phone. I think it was mine.”
“Why don’t you check it?” I asked.
“We’re busy. Besides, I’m sure it’s just Mom looking for an update
because she doesn’t know what we’re doing.”
Phoebe’s phone vibrated again. She looked at it this time and then grabbed my arm.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s him. I think it is, at least. He’s never texted me before.”
“Show me.”
She turned the screen toward me. She’d received two missed text messages from an unknown number. The first said: Are you here yet? Are you still coming?
It was sent fourteen minutes ago.
The follow-up message that had just come in said: Guess you changed your mind. I get it. I’ll hang out a few minutes longer. Then I’m leaving.
“Text him back,” I said.
“And say what?”
I lifted the binoculars to my eyes and scanned the area.
The perimeter around the tree was empty.
He was waiting, playing it safe.
“Tell him you’re here,” I said. “Tell him you didn’t see him at the oak tree and thought he was a no-show.”
While Phoebe worked on the message, I texted Hunter with an update.
Phoebe finished the message, sent it, and said, “What now?”
“We wait for his reply.”
A response came within seconds: I’m ready to meet if you are. I’m so nervous. Are you?
Phoebe replied with: Yeah, see you in a minute.
Twenty feet away from the oak tree, a shadowy figure came into view.
“I see him,” I said. “He’s heading for the tree.”
“What does he look like?”
“Hard to tell yet. From what I can make out so far, he has long hair, and it’s pulled back into a ponytail. Looks like he’s walking with a bit of a limp.”
To me, he looked young, but my definition of young was broad and included anyone between drinking age and their mid-thirties.
“He has a limp?” Phoebe said.
“Looks like it. Mean anything to you?”
When she didn’t respond, I faced her and noticed her eyes sparked with recognition.
“You know who he is, don’t you?” I said.
“I mean, I might ... but it can’t be.”
She snatched the binoculars out of my hand, gazed through them, and gasped.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You gotta be kidding me,” she said. “Sandwich Delivery Guy?”
“Who is Sandwich Delivery Guy?” I asked.
Little Girl Lost (Georgiana Germaine Book 1) Page 13