She checked her watch. “A quick one.”
Back at the house, Whistler slipped out for a run as we entered through the front door. I headed to the kitchen, but Lu hadn’t followed. Retracing my steps to the entrance hall, I found her staring at the recently hung portraits of my great-grandparents.
“Quite the resemblance to Zoe, isn’t it?” I shared with her how Ashley and Vince had found and rescued the paintings and installed them back to their rightful places.
“Amazing story,” she said, now tagging along to the porch as I carried a chilled bottle of Fume Blanc and two glasses.
Not nearly as amazing as my mother’s paintings of Percy and Celeste. I’d keep that disquieting tale to myself, as well as the existence of my own paintings that so eerily mirrored my mother’s.
Lu settled into a wicker rocker with comfy, fluffy pillows and touched her glass to mine.
“To your first show. Excited?”
“More like terrified.” I took a large gulp before asking the question I’d put off long enough. “Has Zoe mentioned her plans to you?”
“Plans?” Lu took a ladylike sip and pretended not to follow.
“Does she intend to come east for the exhibit?” I barely succeeded in keeping the irritation from my voice.
The chair began to rock in rhythm to her nervously bouncing leg. “Look, Cassie—”
“You don’t need to say another word.” I held up a halting hand. “I can tell you already know she’s not coming. But I’d have appreciated it if she’d at least given me the courtesy of telling me herself. When was she going to let me know? The day of?”
“I know how disappointed you must be, but give her a break.”
“Of course I’m disappointed.” I didn’t want to hear a defense of my sister’s selfishness. “She’s my only remaining living relative and she can’t be bothered to make one trip home?”
Whistler returned from his romp and flopped down at my feet.
“Especially in light of everything else happening in my life.” I shook my head. “A little sisterly support would be nice.”
“Zoe has always been supportive of you.”
“I’m talking about a physical presence, not just money or a voice on the phone.”
Lu released a defeated sigh. “There’s so much you don’t know about why Zoe left.”
“I don’t know anything about why she left or why she refuses to come back.” I blurted this out before recalling Zoe’s confession about the pervasive smell of burning flesh in The Bluffs.
Lu tilted her head and pursed her rosy, glossed lips. “Have you ever asked her?”
I stalled by swallowing the remaining wine from my glass. There were many reasons for not betraying Zoe’s admission of a haunting odor, not the least of which was having to explain about the spirits who lingered in my home.
“I have asked her on countless occasions to come home since Mama and Papa died. For Fiona’s memorial service, my wedding—”
“Your wedding? Zoe told us all you and Ethan eloped.”
“Not exactly. We married here on The Bluffs. Judge Jordan presided over the vows, and Brit was the only other witness. We popped the cork, made a quick toast, and the festivities were concluded.” I poured myself a second glass of wine. “I didn’t want much. A small, informal affair. I asked Zoe to come—pleaded actually.” I took a gulp of wine, knowing I should stop, and yet still forged ahead with my version of the injustice.
“I’d hoped she would help me plan the ceremony and reception, go dress shopping with me. But she said the timing was difficult, the firm was making all kinds of demands on Oliver, and she couldn’t possibly get away just then. I’d offered to postpone it to a more convenient date to make it easier for her, but she wouldn’t hear it. ‘We’ll celebrate later. Come to the West Coast for your honeymoon. We’ll treat.’ And that was the end of the discussion.”
“Perhaps she was punishing you for turning down that opportunity to study in France.”
An opportunity to break up Ethan and me. Zoe and Oliver had offered to pay for a year of study at a renowned art school in the heart of Paris. It was a dream course that any artist in their right mind would have jumped at. Not to mention they were planning to rent me a pied-à-terre in the 7th arrondisement. In retrospect, perhaps it would have been best for me to go. But I just couldn’t bring myself to leave The Bluffs.
“She was always trying to control my life. Instead of being a part of it.”
“Well, that certainly backfired, didn’t it? Did you ever take that honeymoon trip?”
I shook my head. “I grew tired of having to be the one to travel in order to see my sister. It never seemed authentic, catching up at some sterile resort or, when I did stay at Zoe and Oliver’s, always being forced to attend boring cocktail parties with the phony executive wives club. Anything not to have to spend time getting to know me.”
“Zoe’s just always had this”—Lu shook her head—“confused interpretation of your relationship. You know? Part sister, part mother.”
“Tell me about it,” I groaned.
Lu set her glass down and patted my hand. “Trust me. She loves you more than anything.”
I took hold of her hand and leaned forward. “Then please tell me. Why won’t she come?”
“Your sister’s issues are complex.” She picked up her glass but didn’t drink, her crossed leg bobbing again. “The ending to Brooks and Zoe’s love story was … unfortunate.”
“But she was the one to break it off.”
“She told you that?”
I had to stop and think about it. “Not exactly. But she came back from that spring break trip to Mexico mooning over the fascinating and handsome Oliver Young. I assumed he was why she ended her relationship with Brooks.”
“You know what they say about assumptions.” She took a sip from her glass.
“What are you telling me? That Brooks dumped Zoe? That’s crazy. He adored her.”
“Still does as far as I can tell.” Lu’s pretty mouth turned downward. “If you want to know more, you will have to persuade your sister to tell you.”
“Did you know they still talk?” I persisted in my probing.
“I’m not surprised. But I can’t say anything more on the subject of your sister’s past or why she left, why she can’t come back.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Either way it’s the same result, isn’t it?” Lu set her glass down and began to rub her temples. “I’ve got to run. I’m meeting with the caterer for your exhibit.”
My breath caught at the possibility of Billy Hughes’ presence in my life again.
Lu inspected me closely, then offered a shrewd little smile. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m going with Feast. Have you heard of them?”
I shook my head, too relieved to speak.
“It’s a wonderful little shop that just opened in Whale Rock. I like to patronize new businesses when I can. Besides, it’s so much more convenient than La Table. Don’t you agree?” She winked and grabbed her purse. “Ta’ now.”
Were there no secrets in Whale Rock? I reconsidered the question and laughed. There were secrets aplenty in this small burg. Unearthing mysteries hadn’t been the problem; solving them had.
Less than ten minutes after Lu departed, a familiar gray Avalon rounded the curve of the drive. Whistler must have recognized the vehicle, for he stopped barking as soon as it came into view, wagging eagerly and waiting for the driver to emerge. A sense of distrust had been edging its way into my heart, but as Daniel sauntered toward the porch, my body’s response was entirely contradictory and desirous.
“So what brings you all the way out here this time of the day, Mr. Benjamin?”
“Should I be worried?” he asked.
“I don’t know, should you?”
“I’m not sure I like the formality of your greeting, Ms. Mitchell.” He directed his gaze to the half-empty bottle of wine and two glasses. “I see you’ve had company.”
/> “That’s right.” I offered nothing further, letting him wonder who might have been drinking out of that second glass and hoping he couldn’t see the telltale trace of Lu’s lipstick. “I presume you’ve driven all the way out here because you have something important to tell me?”
He blew out a lungful of air and eased himself into the rocker Lu had occupied just moments earlier.
“You’ve found them.” My eyes started burning from the tears I would not let flow.
“No, Cassie.” He reached for my hand. “They’re still missing.”
Part of me was relieved because it meant there was still a chance they were alive. But Daniel was not projecting a good-news persona.
“Something’s not right, though.”
He hesitated, releasing my hand and reaching down to pat Whistler’s head, obviously not looking forward to whatever it was he’d come here to tell me.
“Daniel?”
“The agency has lowered the priority for the case.”
“How can they? It’s only been—what?—three weeks since they disappeared?”
“We’ll still be working on it. Every lead will be followed, but the problem is a lack of clues to pursue.”
“What about the photo? The rope?” I just couldn’t believe they were giving up.
“Neither has turned up anything of intrinsic or forensic value.”
“Then I want them returned to me.” I was hurt and angry and responded childishly.
“You can’t have them back.” His voice had a condescending edge. “They’re part of the evidence we’re required to keep on file. As I said, people will still be working on it.”
“People? What people?”
He didn’t respond.
“So you’re abandoning them too?” I shook my head in disbelief.
“I’ve been reassigned to a higher level case. But I’ll still consult when any new leads turn up.”
“What a comfort.” I was spoiling for a fight, and although Daniel appeared wounded, he didn’t rise to the bait. I wanted to confront him about what Brooks had learned from the pawnshop but knew it would cause trouble.
We sat in prickly silence until I recalled my conversation with Cindy.
“What about the T-shirt?” I watched him closely to gauge his reaction.
He gave me a quizzical look.
“The one the cleaning lady at Hilliard House gave to you. I’m not sure why you didn’t tell me about it before, but I’m now aware of its existence.”
“Cindy?” He shook his head dismissively. “She wasn’t exactly a reliable witness. We interviewed her on three separate occasions, and her answers were all over the place. No consistency equals no credibility. But we did run the T-shirt through rigorous testing. Only the housekeeper’s DNA was discovered. So our conclusion was that if it had once belonged to the missing persons, it had likely been washed.”
“Do you remember the image on the T-shirt?” I asked.
He forced out his lower lip. “It was a bird, I think, but I don’t have a clear memory. I submitted it immediately for forensic testing, and I haven’t seen it since.”
At least he was telling the truth about the bird. Or was he merely giving me enough to keep me believing in him?
“What about the wording?” I asked. “Cindy said there was something written on the T-shirt.”
“Did she remember what it was?”
“No.” Suspecting he was holding back, I mentioned nothing about the Jewish school.
He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and punched in a number. “Could you sign out the evidence box for the Jacobson case and pull the article of clothing? It’s a T-shirt.” He paused to listen. “That’s right. Take a photo of any images or print and email a copy to me as soon as you can.”
He ended the call and said to me, “I promise you will have the answer to your question today.”
“Just so you know, I am not giving up on finding them.”
Daniel stood and slowly stepped off the porch. “We haven’t given up either, but we require solid leads. We’re the FBI, not Harry Houdini.”
“My intention is only to find my friends, not to bruise any egos.”
“No egos here.” Daniel’s guard came down, with a rare glimpse of anger. “We are all working toward the same good end in this matter.”
“I hope so.” I lifted my chin defiantly.
He rested both hands atop the porch railing. “Cassie, let’s not allow this to interfere with the terrific thing we have going between us.”
His pleading eyes were pulling me under, and I had to force myself to look away.
“The trouble with us is, there is only one me, but there are two Daniel Benjamins, and right now it’s kind of hard to keep you separate.”
He gave a sad but brusque nod and turned on his heel.
At six thirty I still hadn’t heard from him or received a photo of the shirt in question. Tired of waiting, I made the call.
“I’m in a meeting.” Daniel’s voice was hushed. “A little problem has developed on this end.”
“What kind of problem?” And how little?
I heard muffled voices, then the sound of a door closing. “I only have a minute.”
“Okay. I’m listening.”
The first ten seconds of that minute was dead air. At last he told me, “The evidence box for the case has been misplaced.”
This was followed by more silence. Misplaced? How could that happen? It was the FBI, for pity’s sake.
“Cassie? Are you still there?”
“Yes.” It was barely a whisper.
“It will turn up. I promise.”
I’d had enough of Daniel Benjamin’s empty promises and no longer felt confident in his ability or his interest in helping me find Vince and Ashley.
“Cassie, did you hear me?”
“I’m done,” I said. We’re done.
“You’ve got to listen.”
“No, Daniel, I don’t.” I disconnected the call, and within seconds the phone was ringing again.
My anger was suffocating. Compounding the problem was an overwhelming sweet aroma of burning sugar, which I tried desperately to ignore. But there was no avoiding the confusing signal from Percy and Celeste save to bolt from the house. The Miata was my escape accomplice, and I found myself nearly to P-town when Wizards popped into my head. I hadn’t spoken with Ashley and Vince’s friend Teddy since the night they disappeared. I found the nearest opening in the median and made a U-turn. Maybe the young bartender would remember the T-shirt or some other identifying items the couple may have worn or carried with them. Perhaps Vince and Ashley had dropped some type of hint about where they were from or where they were headed for Ashley’s job. It was certainly worth a try.
* * *
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the poorly lit tavern. Soon I recognized the genial Teddy working his magic behind the bar. In no mood to fake conversation with strangers, I climbed up onto a barstool at the far corner away from the crowd.
“Cassie, right?” Teddy asked, his disarming smile the only bright spot in the dim bar.
“Good memory.” I returned the smile.
“What can I get you?”
“Diet coke with a lime?” Having already downed two glasses of wine, I thought it prudent to cut myself off.
“You got it.” As he filled the glass from the dispenser, he asked, “Has there been any news about Ash and Vince?”
“Sadly, no. But I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”
His gaze took in the busy bar scene. Probably an inopportune time for an interrogation.
“Just a minute,” he said and walked to one of the booths bordering the room. He leaned in and whispered into the ear of an older woman, who nodded and then replaced him behind the bar.
Teddy motioned for me to follow him into a windowless dark-paneled office rife with the stifling stink of tobacco. In an automatic reaction, my hand shot up to cover my nose and mouth.
“S
orry. The owner’s a chain smoker, and her office is the only private place to talk.” He spritzed the room with air freshener, then offered me a seat while turning another chair backwards and straddling it. “So what did you want to know?”
“I’m not really happy with how the FBI is handling the case. In fact, they seem to be losing interest in finding Ashley and Vince.” That’s not all they were losing, but I refrained from sharing that depressing detail.
“Bummer.” He looked genuinely distressed.
“I know. But I’m hoping maybe they mentioned something to you about where they came from or where they were going.”
Teddy frowned, triggering an odd feeling of familiarity.
“Nothing’s coming to mind.”
“How about clothing? Someone else mentioned a T-shirt with a big red bird on it. Does that sound familiar? That would stand out well enough.”
“Not a shirt.” Teddy cocked his head, making me hopeful. “But there was something. Damn. What was it?”
“Something with a red bird?” I asked.
“Not sure.” He shook his head, and my hope dissolved. “I’ll think on it. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Would you mind sharing with me the type of questions Agent Benjamin asked?”
“The FBI agent?” He shrugged. “He asked when I last saw Ash and Vince, what I was doing the night they disappeared—that kind of stuff. He might’ve asked if I knew where they were from … yeah, actually he did. So did Brooks.” There was that familiar frown again. “It just came to me.” He snapped his fingers. “I’m not sure if it means anything, but Vince had this really cool money clip. It was the letter ‘T’ and made of silver. At the time, I figured it was his last name initial.”
“But their last name was Jacobson.”
He nodded. “I’m aware now from the newspapers, but I don’t know many of my customers’ first names, let alone their last, and they were strictly cash-paying customers, so it’s not like I ever saw a credit card.”
“Jacobson may have been an alias.”
“Alias?” Teddy scratched his head. “Were they in some sort of trouble?”
“I don’t know.”
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