"I should tell her what happened," he told his friends.
"She prob'ly knows by now; my mom prob'ly called her."
"Yeah, but just in case," he told Joshua.
"Well, we're not waiting. Meet us at the beach."
They had already decided that the town beach was technically not "too far." It's just that Josh's mom was a worrier after the accident.
Tyler waved to his friends and leaned the bike against the stile fence, in a spot that didn't have roses. He was surprised to see that the front door was locked. He rang, but there was no answer. His key was at Joshua's in his backpack, so he went around to the side of the house; there was an extra key hidden there. More amazement: a yellow Civic—the yellow Civic; he remembered the plates—was parked practically under the arch that was cut through the ten-foot-tall hedge.
Tyler didn't understand it at all. Were his mom and that lady both inside, then, not answering the door? But then he thought of the patio. You couldn't hear the front doorbell if you were on the patio. So he squeezed around the yellow Civic and through the arch and went around to the back. He found no one on the patio, but someone on the beach.
She was there, alone, her light blond hair lifting in the wind. She was wearing a dress just like the blue one she wore that day, but this one was the color of a golden palomino. Between her hair and the dress that was being pressed against her by the wind, she really did look like a wild ... something. A woman-horse, maybe, who could carry you to a distant land of wizards.
She turned around suddenly, as if she could hear his thoughts. He became convinced just by the way she stared at him that she had magical powers. He found himself drawing nearer, just to see if she did or not.
"Hi," she said, waving at him.
She had a huge smile. Her sleeve spilled back to her shoulder and he thought again how long and lean her arms were. He remembered that from the birthday party: her arms and her legs. She was just so different from his mother; he couldn't get over it.
He waved back shyly and said, "Are you here to see my mom?"
She didn't hear him over the wind. And he might have been mumbling, the way his mom always accused him of doing. So he came closer and repeated his question.
The woman didn't answer it. She said, "My name is Zina. I'm Zack's sister. What's your name?"
Tyler was flabbergasted. Zack's sister! No one told him that!
"Tyler Hodene," he said, feeling his cheeks burn. "I saw you when you were here before." Suddenly it occurred to him why she had come that day: she had been looking for Zack, not his father. It was all an amazing misunderstanding.
"I remember you very well, Tyler Hayward," she said. She swept away the long, long strands of hair that were blowing across her face, but immediately they blew right back. She laughed, and her voice sounded like water falling over a high ridge.
Tyler wanted to tell her that she'd got his last name wrong, but he hated to hurt her feelings—especially after the way his family had treated her. He, at least, would never make her cry. He said respectfully, "I should see if my mother's home; she could have gone to a neighbor's house."
"No one's home," Zina told him. "I rang the bell, but nobody answered. I tried the door, but it was locked."
"That's all right," Tyler said. "There's a secret key under the frog."
He waited for her to come up to him, fascinated by the way the sun seemed to just slide off her long hair. Zack's sister! It explained everything.
"You look so much like your father," she said as they walked together to the hiding place. "Has anyone ever told you that?"
"All the time," said Tyler, slightly disgusted. "I really don't like it."
She laughed again, the kind of laugh that you heard on TV commercials at Christmas. "Oh, but you shouldn't mind the comparison," she said. "Your father is an exceptionally handsome man, and when you grow up, you will be, too."
Tyler was surprised to hear her say that. His father wasn't exceptionally handsome. His father was a lot of fun, but he wasn't exceptionally handsome. As for Tyler, he would much rather be considered fun—but he wasn't even that.
Which is why it pleased him so much that he had been able to make Zina laugh. "You don't look like Zack at all," he ventured to say. "Has anyone ever told you that?"
"All the time," she said, and they laughed together, as if they shared some secret that the rest of the world just couldn't understand if they tried. Tyler was glad that she was Zack's sister, because he decided then and there that he liked her very much.
At the foot of the arch on the beach side of the house, a big stone frog protected the key. The frog had a mean expression on his face, perfect for scaring people away from him. "This is our watchfrog," Ty said, making Zina laugh again.
Trying not to make it look like an effort, Zack tipped the heavy frog back far enough to reach the key underneath. "See? No one would dare steal this to break in." He took out the key and they went around to the front.
"Did anyone know you were coming?" he asked, curious, as he stuck the key in the lock. He disabled the alarm as he'd been instructed to do, surprised that it was even set on.
"No, this is a last-minute thing," Zina answered. "I'm going house-hunting today, and I was hoping to talk your dad into coming with me. He knows a lot about houses; he used to be a real estate agent."
Tyler didn't even know that. He said, "My dad's away on business, in Phoenix, I think. Or one of those places out there."
"Oh, pooh," Zina said.
Her face got such a sad expression that Tyler said, "Can I get you a lemonade or something?"
"N-no ..." she said, thinking. "Do you know when he'll be back?"
"A couple of days, my mom told me."
She looked as if she was going to start crying. Tyler was scandalized. Of all the people to make her cry, he didn't want to be one of them!
"I guess I'll have to go to Newport alone, then," she said. "I'm so disappointed. Oh, this is so disappointing."
She sat on the nearest chair and then she did begin to cry. Not buckets, just ... a thin trail of tears, as if she were watching a really sad movie. She reminded Tyler of his mother just then. He felt absolutely devastated.
"My mom would go with you," he assured her, trying to make her feel better. "But she thinks I'm at Martha's Vineyard, and she might not be back for a while. I think someone in my family must have come by and picked her up. Probably my grandmother or my aunt Charlotte."
He ran to get a box of Kleenex for her. She thanked him, then pulled out three tissues and blew her nose.
"Well, what did I expect?" she said, as if he were a good friend. "I should have warned Jim sooner that I was coming."
She sighed and didn't say anything for a little while. And then, while Tyler was still frantically searching for something to tell her that would make her feel better, she suddenly brightened and said, "I know! Why don't you come to Newport with me?"
Tyler was unsure about that, but then she said, "In fact, there's a sand castle competition going on today at the beach, right near where I'm going to look for a house. I remember, when I was here the last time, seeing a big sand castle on your beach. Tyler, these will be so much bigger than that."
"No kidding?"
"They're amazing."
Sorely tempted, Tyler said, "But I would have to let my mom know I was gone. And I don't actually remember her cell phone number."
"We'll leave a note!" Zina said, looking more cheerful by the minute. "We'll probably be back before she will; but just in case, we'll leave her a note. Do you have a camera?" she asked, jumping up to scribble on the grocery pad that they kept on the fridge door. "Because you'll want to take pictures."
"I do have one," Tyler said, swept up in her enthusiasm.
"Are you sure we won't be gone long, though?"
"We'll be back in the blink of an eye," she said with a beautiful, happy smile. "I promise."
****
The computer searches were exhaustive: the detec
tive had plugged in everything from "face, round" to "skin, hairy," in the approximate height and weight that Wendy had given for the intruder. Back came dozens and dozens of mug shots, none of them a right match. Or maybe right; Wendy couldn't tell anymore. She was becoming punchy.
"Can you search on 'smelly' or 'loathesome'?" she asked, only half joking.
Zack was at another computer, scanning duplicates of whatever mug shots Wendy was scrutinizing. There was always the possibility that the intruder had found an excuse to come to the house on Sheldon Street while Zack had been at work there.
"Okay, I give up," Wendy said at last. "These men all look alike to me, white, black, round-or oval-faced: bad."
"He's from out of state, most likely," Detective Mizzner speculated. We're small. He could easily be from Connecticut or Mass."
Zack had a thought. "What about the Dodge Charger? Could that be an in-state rental?"
"We're checking on that right now," the detective told them.
The investigation seemed to be moving along aggressively. Zack and Wendy left both of their cell phone numbers with Detective Mizzner and climbed into Zack's truck, both of them bone-tired. Zack tried calling Margie again but got no answer. He tried calling Zina again; no answer there, either.
"It's not surprising," Zack said, but he looked tense. "Margie said she'd take Zina out to breakfast and then maybe to do a little shopping."
But Wendy knew, from their long talk together in the hours before they went to the station, that Margie was a hands-off landlady. She might have felt indebted to Zack for the carpentry, but there was no real bond between her and Zina to exploit.
Zack knew it, too. It was written all over his face.
"Zack ... take me home and then go back to Hopeville. I'll be fine," she insisted.
He gingerly stroked the bruise on her chin and said, "Yeah. I see how fine."
He might be being protective, but she took his gentle irony very personally. "That was then," she said, bristling. "This is now. I'll call my brother Dave and have him come over to stay with us. My family has to find out about everything sooner or later."
Zack chewed his lip and then nodded. "Yeah. Something's not right h—"
His cell phone rang and he jumped on it. After a brief exchange, he snapped his phone shut and, tucking it in his shirt pocket, brought Wendy up to speed as he pulled out of the station's parking lot.
"That was Morgan from the shelter. She went over to Zina's to check on her. There are no cars there. No one's home on either side."
"How is that possible?" Wendy asked, dumbfounded. "You have her keys."
"Yeah. I'll take you home. You call Dave and I'll—ah, shit!" he said, slamming the wheel in exasperation.
She could see that he wanted to be everywhere at once. "This is a lose-lose situation for you, Zack," she said, guilt-ridden herself that she was part of his problem. "I'm so sorry."
He nodded again. They drove the short distance home in silence, each of them immersed in thought. Wendy was frankly relieved to see that the house on the beach was still standing. In the mood she was in, she wouldn't have been surprised to find it burned to the ground.
"Whose bike is that, I wonder?" she said, eyeing a bright-blue, obviously expensive mountain bike leaning against the stile fence that angled in from the lane. They pulled up alongside her Taurus, Wendy with a backward glance at the bike as she fitted the key to the front door.
The door was locked, but the alarm wasn't set. "You were here, Zack," she said, puzzled. "You saw me do it."
He was as puzzled as she was. They were moving through the house, checking the rooms, when the doorbell rang. Wendy went back to answer it and was stunned to see Joshua standing there, with Michael holding his bike in the drive.
"Why are you here?" she asked rather stupidly. "You're supposed to be on the Vineyard." With Tyler.
Josh said simply, "We didn't go. Can Tyler bring my bike back now? Because my mom doesn't let me just leave them by the road."
"Get in here," she commanded, yanking him inside by his Tommy Hilfiger shirt. "Where's Tyler? Why didn't you go?" Her hand was shaking, her whole body was shaking.
If Josh explained why they didn't go, Wendy scarcely heard it. All she caught, all she comprehended, was, "He was going to catch up with us at the town beach."
She released her white-knuckled grip on his collar and turned around to see Zack. "They didn't go," she said, practically pleading with him to say, "Of course they did; you're hallucinating."
Instead, he held up the notepad with the magnetic back that they kept on the fridge. Wendy read the flamboyant scrawl on the top sheet:
Off to see castles.
"This is her handwriting," he said tersely.
No need to ask who "her" was. Wendy had only one question for him: "Should I be afraid?"
He shook his head. "No. Not of Zina."
Relief flooded in, making Wendy sharp. "The mansions!" she said, gripping Zack's arm. "She's taken Ty to see the mansions in Newport!"
Not a Rhode Islander, Zack still knew exactly what she was referring to; everyone knew about Newport's Gold Coast.
"Good possibility. Are any neighbors home? We can ask if they saw a yellow Civic."
Wendy shook her head. "They all work."
"Okay. Call the kid's mother and tell her to lock Tyler in the bathroom if he happens to show up. You and I are going to Newport."
By then Josh and Michael had long gone, leaving the spare bike to fend for itself. Undoubtedly Wendy's legend would grow.
Back into the truck she and Zack went, with Zack hard-pressed to throttle back to a reasonable speed.
"The mansions make sense," he said, his brow tight with concentration. "Zina did seem suddenly obsessed with the idea of buying a cottage on the shore. She saw this place. She saw Jim looking happy."
"He was, wasn't he?" Wendy said, bewildered by the fact. She couldn't understand how it could be fun to live such a fierce lie. It would eat her alive.
"Zina put two and two together," Zack went on, "and came up with the idea of a cottage on the shore for them both. She doesn't have a clue about the cost. For all we know, she may be planning to buy the Breakers."
Smiling faintly, Wendy said, "The Preservation Society may have something to say about that." After another moment, she couldn't help asking, "Zack, why did she do this, if not to strike back at me?"
"That's not it; I'm sure of it. She has respect and affection for you. To be honest, she feels sorry for you, that you won't have Jim."
"Good God."
"I think the thing about Tyler—it's because somehow, some way, she's made a connection between the baby she lost and with Ty. He's roughly the age that her baby would have been. He looks like Jim. You can see how her mind would work ... or not work," he said, sighing. He glanced at Wendy, hoping for understanding.
"It's hard for me, Zack," Wendy said, closing her eyes. "Don't ask me right now."
He took his phone off the dashboard and handed it to Wendy. "Call Mizzner and bring him up to speed on this. He should know."
"But you said I didn't have to be afr—"
"Not of Zina, is what I said," he muttered, staring straight ahead.
Chapter 29
"I'm sure Detective Mizzner's head is spinning," Wendy said, snapping the phone shut. "He seems determined to believe that the two events are related—the thug's appearance and now Zina's."
"He's not the only one," Zack said. "I can't help thinking that the thug also discovered Jim through that AP photo that ran with the lottery story. Tell me this: has anyone ever called him 'Jimmy' since you've known him?"
"Nobody. Unless we're being snotty."
"Well, he was 'Jimmy' to Zina and me back then. And, I'm assuming, to the charmer who left those messages on your machine and then assaulted you. It bothered me when I heard it, that 'Jimmy.' It bothers me now. This guy is linked somehow to Jim's past."
She could see him think about it, then shake it off before as
king her, "So what's the plan? Did Mizzner say?"
"He said that they'll alert the Newport police to watch for the car and to put the word out to each of the mansions that's open to the public. He'll also try alerting the local realtors. There aren't that many mansions to tour—but the area has dozens of realty agencies."
"They're being thorough," Zack said with approval.
"Yes, but you could tell that he had his hands full already with us, what with the searches for the thug and now Jim."
"Hey, that's what we pay taxes for," Zack quipped, trying to make her smile. When she sighed instead, he took her hand in his and said softly, "It'll be all right, Wendy. Zina is kind to all of God's creatures. She feels bad when she cuts down a sunflower."
Wendy let the warmth of his calloused hand spread over her own chilled one, infusing her with some of his confidence. "I know, Zack," she said. "I saw that for myself. It's just that there are too many people running around, too many unknowns ...."
"Call the landlady for me," he said, maybe to give Wendy something to do. He gave her the number, and this time, someone answered.
Wendy quickly handed him the phone. His voice was grim, his manner terse, as he said, "What happened, Margie? How did she get her car started?"
She saw him listen, then shake his head, then sign off with a quick good-bye and no further comment.
"My sister talked Margie into driving her over to my house, where I keep her spare key to the car," he told Wendy with a sigh of disgust. "Zina's always been spacey about losing keys and wallets," he added. "Ironic, that she had the cunning to talk Margie into driving her over there."
"Why didn't Margie call and tell you when she saw that Zina's car was gone, for God's sake?" Wendy asked, aware that this latest trauma could have been avoided if they'd had some warning.
"She was afraid to. She got in her own car again and began driving around Hopeville, looking for Zina at the few haunts she knew about. That must have been when Morgan dropped by the house and saw everyone gone. You're right," he said, exasperated. "If everyone would just stay put for five freaking minutes—"
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