The Cat Came Back

by Louise Clark

  Patterson's eyes were steady on her. "What would you say if I told you he was back in Vancouver?"

  Christy drew her breath in a quick hiss. "I'd want to know where he is so I could find out what the hell he's playing at."

  "So would I," Patterson said. She sat back and drank her coffee, and watched Christy over the rim of her cup.

  "You're not making any sense."

  "Two days ago Mr. Jamieson arrived at the Vancouver Airport on a flight from Mexico City. He filled in a customs declaration, went through the primary customs checkpoint. There, a customs agent read his declaration, then asked him a few questions. The agent said he seemed nervous and his answers didn't ring true, so he coded Jamieson's card so the guard at the exit door would send him for a baggage search, but there was a huge crowd. A half-a-dozen jumbos arrived one after the other and there were line-ups halfway to the arrivals gates, passengers jostling other passengers, people getting annoyed. Somehow, Frank figured out his card didn't have the right coding and he managed to switch."

  "How?"

  Patterson played with her coffee cup, watching Christy in silence.

  Trying to decide how much she can tell me. Evidently, Detective Patterson didn't quite trust her. She stared back, annoyed and amused and damned if she was going to accept the blame for Frank's misdeeds yet again.

  A slow smile crept into Patterson's eyes and her mouth curved up into a rueful smile. "Customs wasn't particularly helpful. All they would tell me was that Frank had made it through and a German male, blond and about your husband's height, traveling on a flight that landed ten minutes before the Mexico City flight, was discovered to have Mr. Jamieson's declaration when he was sent for a baggage search. The German's declaration was later found with a stack of cards taken at the exit doors. A search was made for your husband, but he couldn't be found." For the first time Patterson showed annoyance. "He probably walked out the door and grabbed a cab into town."

  None of this sounded like Frank. "How would he switch a customs declaration card without another person's knowledge?"

  "The German had tucked his card into the outside pocket of a carry-on, which was slung over his shoulder. The baggage area was crowded. It would have been easy enough for Frank to slip the German's card out and stuff his own in its place."

  Before Patterson had finished, Christy was shaking her head. "No. No, something is wrong. Frank doesn't necessarily think the law applies to him, but he's not a criminal. He doesn't know how to pick pockets. Nor is he the kind of guy who would victimize a stranger visiting from abroad."

  Patterson watched her narrowly. "How well do you know your husband, Mrs. Jamieson?"

  Chapter 4

  Christy sighed, then sipped some coffee. "You've asked me that before, Detective. Before Frank disappeared, I would have said pretty well. Now I'm not so sure. Why would Frank be worried about a baggage search? Detective Patterson, he's rich. He's always been rich. He'd laugh off a few thousand dollars in customs charges, and how would he know that his luggage was likely to be searched anyway?"

  Patterson rubbed her scar. "I wondered about that too, although I suppose it isn't that hard to tell. When I checked the air manifest I found he was traveling with a woman."

  Christy looked up, jarred by the sympathetic note to the detective's voice. Billie Patterson thought Frank was cheating on her. Well, maybe he was. There hadn't been much to their marriage before Frank disappeared. She said carefully, "Brianne Lymbourn."

  Patterson nodded. "I believe they compared codes once they were both through customs. Lymbourn may even have checked hers against other, innocent looking people, made an assumption that she'd received a green light code, then tipped off Mr. Jamieson. He then made sure he acquired a similar one."

  Patterson paused. Christy said, "Brianne Lymbourn has slept with half the men in Frank's crowd. Not surprisingly, I don't know her very well, but she made no secret of her desire to marry money or her opinion that the bedroom was the way to reach her goal. Still, I don't believe that Frank is one of her lovers, Detective."

  Billie Patterson sighed. "That's your right, Mrs. Jamieson."

  Christy blushed. She knew the cop thought she was being blindly faithful to her husband. In fact, her assumption was based on Frank's loyalty to his daughter. Any relationship Frank formed would have to have Noelle as a central part, and he'd said more than once that he couldn't imagine Brianne being a step-mom to Noelle. "Okay, let's get back to the customs mess. You're telling me that Frank and Brianne are back in town."

  Patterson nodded.

  Christy picked up the cup to take a sip. She was surprised to find that her hands were shaking. "So now what? Do you arrest Frank for theft?"

  The embezzlement of the liquid assets of the Jamieson Trust had come to light three weeks after Frank disappeared and the day before the sale of the mansion had been confirmed. Funds from both the embezzlement and the sale had been transferred into an account in Christy's name. The money had then been quickly wired to an overseas account in Indonesia, this time to an account in Frank's name. From there the money was sent to Brazil where it was deposited into the account of a numbered company. Since Brazil refused to identify the principals in the numbered company or to release bank account information, there the trail ended.

  For a time Christy was implicated in the embezzlement, but there was enough ambiguity in the case for Patterson to question whether or not Christy was involved. With Frank on the run with another woman, she had become an abandoned wife, and her participation considered unlikely. Still, she was a suspect. She would always be a suspect until Frank was apprehended.

  Billie rubbed the scar again, clearly uncomfortable. "At the present I only wish to speak to Mr. Jamieson to discuss his case."

  Christy held the cup in both hands, just below her chin, and looked at the detective over it. "So what do you want from me? Are you're asking me to report to you if he comes home? Is that it?"

  Billie took a deep breath. "Not quite. You will remember, Mrs. Jamieson, that initially we were looking for your husband because he was a missing person. Given the size of the Jamieson Trust there was a good possibility he had been kidnapped and would be held for ransom. Then it came out that his disappearance was the result of his own actions. Further, he'd diverted funds from the trust for his private use. Now that's embezzlement, Mrs. Jamieson, and embezzlement is a crime. But stealing money from his own trust fund could be considered a victimless crime by some people. Who gets hurt? Frank Jamieson mainly."

  Outrage raced through Christy. "His daughter, for one! She's had to move from the only home she's ever known, change schools, find new friends..."

  Patterson put her mug down on the table with a deliberate thump that cut through Christy's tirade. "She's got a mom who loves her, a clean house in a nice neighborhood, food to fill her belly, and a decent school where the teachers can concentrate on making sure the kids are learning, rather than surviving. She's doing pretty well, Mrs. Jamieson. Not having a few million bucks behind her isn't going to hurt her any."

  Billie Patterson was undoubtedly right. Though Noelle complained about her teacher, she had begun to talk about one little girl in her class, and she was entranced at being able to walk to a neighbor's door, ring the bell, and ask a friend out to play instead of arranging a play date through a nanny or parent and being driven to another child's mansion. "Okay, Frank and his family are the only ones who see the result of his crime. What does that mean?"

  Patterson drew circles on the tabletop with her mug. "It means that we would like to speak with him to ensure that he chose to leave the country and was not forced to do so by others. We will question him about his knowledge of the embezzlement of his trust fund, again to ensure that he was not being coerced by a third party. Then we will decide if laying charges is warranted. We would like to be able to close his case."

  Christy gaped at her. Of all the things she had imagined she'd hear from Billie Patterson today, closing Frank's case was not one of t
hem. Patterson drew more nervous circles on the tabletop, then caught herself and stilled the movement abruptly. She drank some coffee, then put the mug down with a thunk that spoke of finality. Bewildered, Christy said, "Frank may have returned to the area, but he hasn't contacted me. Who's seen him? Have you talked to any of the trustees? If he hasn't called me, surely he must have spoken to one of them?"

  "I talked to Gerald Fisher, the chairman of the trust, and Edward Bidwell, the legal counsel. Neither had seen or heard from Mr. Jamieson."

  "How about Brianne Lymbourn's friends? Have you talked to them?"

  "Ms. Lymbourn's friends appear to be mainly male. A large number of them are aware she has returned to Vancouver. They have also heard that she's flush with cash and looking for fun." The derision in Billie Patterson's tone was clear. She thought Brianne Lymbourn was two-timing Frank and she didn't approve.

  "Don't you think it's a little strange that Brianne is announcing her presence, but Frank isn't?"

  "Yes, I do. I've spoken to Ms. Lymbourn, but she claims she's no longer with Frank."

  "And you accepted that?"

  "Look, Mrs. Jamieson, there's nothing further I can do." There was resentment in Patterson's voice. "The department is confident your husband was not the victim of a kidnapping. Further, he is no longer a missing person. Lymbourn checked into the hotel as a party of two, but since then she's been acting as if she's solo. People do split. That's probably what happened here. The department doesn't have the resources to waste on a case that's basically been solved. Frank Jamieson is back and what you do about it now is your problem. Sorry to be blunt, but that's how it is."

  That's how it is. Sorry, lady, your husband is cheating on you with a woman who's cheating on him. Don't like it? Figure it out and deal with it. I'm not involved. "You want me to confirm your assumptions," Christy said slowly.

  Patterson leaned forward. There was resignation and a certain lurking concern in her expression. "I want you to contact me if you hear anything, Mrs. Jamieson. Anything at all."

  "Do you have an address for Brianne Lymbourn? She probably knows how to reach Frank. I'll start with her."

  As if Billie Patterson realized how much that even tone and reasonable statement had cost Christy, she nodded without comment. She pulled a notebook from her pocket, quickly wrote an address. "She's registered at a third rate hotel downtown." She underlined the name of the hotel and frowned. "Unusual choice for a woman like that." She took a deep breath, then ripped the sheet from the book and handed it to Christy. "Start there."

  * * *

  As Christy walked back to her car she was largely oblivious to the rundown neighborhood around her. Instead, she was trying to puzzle through the information Patterson had just given her.

  Frank's behavior didn't fit. Oh sure, it seemed to fit. The rich self-indulgent playboy straying from his marriage vows, using drugs, and doing whatever he needed to get the funds to pay for an expensive lifestyle.

  That wasn't the Frank Christy knew, though. The Frank she knew was self-indulgent, sure, but he was also devoted to his daughter and he had a deep commitment to her well-being. And for Frank, the definition of well-being for a child meant that the child would be loved and cared for by two parents. It was a legacy from his own problematic childhood, and it was rooted deep within him.

  She thought back to the last time she had seen him. The argument they'd had that night, and the promises he'd made, lingered in her mind and made her shake her head as she walked.

  Patterson was wrong. Frank couldn't be back in Vancouver.

  * * *

  The final evening had begun as evenings always did in the last few years of their marriage, with getting Noelle to bed.

  "Hey, kiddo, you've gotta do what Mommy says." Frank smiled as he hugged Noelle, but the smile was gone when he looked over his shoulder at Christy.

  Christy ignored the annoyance on his face. Frank was as much a kid as Noelle was and, if allowed to get away with it, he'd play with her until she collapsed with exhaustion. The trouble was, Noelle faced a full day of school the next day. Though the child was only eight years old, academic expectations were high at the exclusive private school she attended. If she was tired, she wouldn't be able to keep up.

  The annoyance disappeared from Frank's face as he once again focused on his daughter. He held out his hand. "Let's go upstairs, poppet. I'll put you to bed tonight."

  "Will you read with me, Daddy?" Noelle asked, looking up at him with adoring eyes.

  Frank pretended to consider this, although it was actually a done deal and they all knew it. "Depends what's on the reading list."

  "Harry Potter," Noelle said. A perennial favorite.

  Frank frowned, apparently considering.

  Noelle giggled. She widened blue eyes the color of her father's and tilted her head to look up at him, spilling thick blond hair over her shoulders. "If you don't like Harry Potter, there are other books we could read."

  Christy had to stifle a laugh. At eight, Noelle was already a conniving female, though still wrapped up in a little girl package. She understood how to manipulate the daddy she loved. Frank realized Noelle could twist him anyway she wanted, but he didn't care. He loved her with the same intensity she loved him. For Christy it was her husband's best characteristic, and the one that kept her in a marriage where love had dwindled into familiarity.

  "Hm," Frank said, a serious expression on his golden boy features. "Let's discuss this when you're ready for bed. How's that?"

  "Okay," Noelle said happily.

  "Lights out in a half hour, guys."

  "Aw, Mom!"

  "It's a school night, Noelle. I'll be up in a half hour to say good night."

  Noelle looked up at her father, making effective use of those lovely blue eyes of hers. "Daddy, do I have to?"

  Frank looked down. Christy could tell he was torn. Though he knew Noelle wasn't above playing one parent off against the other to get her way, he would happily have read longer. Still, he never contradicted Christy in front of their daughter. It was one of the few parenting strategies they had talked out and agreed upon that they still carried through.

  "You heard what Mommy said. A half hour is all we've got, kiddo. Come on, we'd better make the best of it."

  They went off at a trot, Noelle giggling as they slid across the travertine marble tiles in the hallway and Frank hooting as he pretended that he'd nearly lost his balance on the slippery surface. Then they were charging up the broad, curving staircase to the second floor.

  Christy smiled, but it was a bleak expression, not a happy one. On the surface she had a pretty good life. She was married to one of the wealthiest young men in the province of British Columbia, and they lived in a huge mansion on an exclusive, tree-lined crescent in an old, established part of Vancouver. Servants did the cooking and cleaning, and she didn't have to go to an office to toil at a boring nine-to-five clerical job. Best of all, her daughter was smart and healthy, blessedly free of the emotional burdens that warring parents could load onto their young.

  That was the essence of the problem, though. Over the course of their ten-year marriage, she and Frank had evolved from passionate lovers, through a stage as parents who were lovers, to parents who were friends and allies in an important job.

  They'd been content. Or she thought they had. She turned away from the staircase, chewing her lip. Ellen Jamieson, Frank's aunt and one of the trustees, had called that morning. She wanted to know why Frank had been talking to offshore investors about selling the mansion.

  Ellen Jamieson wasn't Christy's favorite person, but she understood the anger and frustration she'd heard in the woman's voice and sympathized. The mansion was Ellen's family home too, even if she hadn't lived here for years.

  Though Frank hadn't said anything about selling the mansion to her, Christy wondered if the information Ellen had obtained could be right. About a year and a half ago something happened to Frank. His social patterns changed. There were times when
he seemed to be filled with energy and others when he was so lethargic Christy feared for his health. She began to hear rumors of a girlfriend, coupled with snide sideways looks or pitying condescending ones.

  Though their marriage was melting down, their relationship with their daughter, together and separately, remained stable. Frank might go out every night, but he did it after Noelle was in bed. And if he came in at four in the morning and slept through breakfast, he always made a big fuss of her when she returned from school. Christy might be the responsible parent, but Frank was, without a doubt, the most beloved.

  With a sigh, Christy checked her watch. Time to break up the party.

  At the door to Noelle's room she paused, smiling at the scene. The room was pink, the bed canopied in white ruffles. Favorite stuffies, including a cinnamon-colored bear and a goofy-looking horse, had been settled at the footboard to make room for Frank. Noelle was sitting up, her legs crossed, her elbows on her knees, holding the thick hardcover with both hands. Frank lay beside her, resting against the walnut headboard, propped up by Noelle's pillows. In his lap was the family cat, a twenty-pound monster with the heavy stripes, bulky build, and blocky muscles of a tiger. When Stormy moved it was with the same kind of powerful grace as that big cat. Right now though, he was stretched on his back, purring noisily as Frank rubbed his belly while he read over Noelle's shoulder, correcting her pronunciation from time to time.

  It was a beautiful scene, one that spoke of love, contentment, and security. Tears caught in Christy's throat. She wished she had some way of capturing this moment and freezing it so it would be there for them—for her—forever.

  She must have made a sound, or perhaps Frank was still attuned to her, the way he had been when their marriage was a romance. He looked up. Feeling his attention drift away from her, Noelle looked up too. So did the cat. They all glared at her. "Lights out time," Christy said with an inward sigh.