by Nora Roberts
“She’d have been the one to take her,” Doug said quietly. “She’d have been the one in the area, the one with the opportunity to keep tabs on my parents, on us. She’d have had time to learn the mall, how to get out of it fast.”
“Works for me,” Callie agreed. “My parents said a nurse brought me to Carlyle’s office.”
“Other factors,” Lana mused. “Jessica was probably not the only candidate. It’s more likely at least two or three others were under consideration. If we accept that Barbara Halloway was a point person, there would have been other baby girls born that fit the basic requirements during that period. And it’s also likely she wasn’t the only plant. There would have been others at different facilities around the country. Jessica was the only infant taken from the area, but Carlyle, from our suppositions, exchanged a number of infants over the course of several years.”
“Every level you go down in a dig you find more data, make more connections, expand the picture,” Jake said. “Halloway’s our current find.”
“We dig her up, seal her up and label her,” Callie put in.
“Obviously, she needs to be questioned.” Lana drew several circles around Barbara Halloway’s name on her pad. “Even though your information is still largely speculative and circumstantial, I think you have enough pieces to take to the police. Isn’t it more likely she’d talk in an official interview with the authorities than to you?”
Callie merely slid her gaze toward Jake, smirked as he slid his toward her.
Noting the exchange, Lana shook her head. “Well, really, what are you going to do? Tie her to a chair and beat it out of her?”
Callie stretched out her legs. Jake drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Doug looked pointedly out the side window.
And Lana finally blew out a long breath. “I don’t have enough on me to post bond for multiple charges of assault. Callie.” She boosted forward in the seat. “Let me talk to them. I’m a lawyer. I’m a brilliant talker. I can make it seem as if we know a great deal more than we do. I know how to put the pressure on.”
“You want a shot at her? Be sure to ask her who they sent up to Maryland, and if they even knew Bill McDowell’s name when they killed him.”
“Killed him? But I thought he . . . Oh God.” Lana dug frantically in her purse for her phone to check on her son.
“He’s all right,” Doug stated as she dialed. “Grandpa won’t let anything happen to him.”
“Of course not. I just want to—Roger? No, nothing wrong.” She reached across the seat, relaxing again when Doug’s fingers linked with hers.
“I didn’t mean to spook you,” Callie said when Lana hung up.
“Yes, you did, but I appreciate it. It’s easy to think about this as something that happened years ago and forget the immediacy. You need to go to the police.”
“After we talk to the Simpsons, I’ll give Sheriff Hewitt everything I have. For all the good it does.” Noting the joined hands, Callie swiveled farther around. “So, you guys sleeping together yet?”
“Where the hell do you get off asking that?” Doug demanded.
“I’m just trying the sister hat on for size. I didn’t have the chance to evolve into it, go through the pest stage and all that. So I’m just jumping in. How’s the sex anyway? Good?”
Lana ran her tongue around her teeth. “As a matter of fact—”
“Cut it out.”
“Guys get weirded out when women talk about sex,” Callie commented.
“I don’t.” Jake reached over to pat her hip.
“You’re an aberration. But Graystone here’s really good in bed.”
“I don’t want to hear about it,” Doug said.
“I’m talking to Lana. You know how some guys are mainly good at one thing? Like maybe they’re a good kisser, but they’ve got hands like a fish or the endurance of a ninety-year-old asthmatic?”
“I do. Yes, I certainly do.” Lana capped her pen, put it back in her bag.
“Well, Graystone, he’s got all the moves. Great lips. And, you know, he does these little magic tricks, sleight-of-hand stuff. He’s got really creative hands. It almost makes up for his numerous flaws and irritating qualities.”
Lana leaned forward, lowered her voice. “Doug has reading glasses. Horn-rims.”
“No kidding? Horn-rims kill me. You got them on you?” She reached back, pushed at Doug’s knee and got nothing but a withering stare in return. “Starting to think it wasn’t such a bad thing when somebody grabbed me out of that stroller, huh?”
“I’m wondering how I can talk them into kidnapping you again.”
“I’d just find my way back now. You’re awful quiet, Graystone.”
“Just enjoying watching you needle somebody besides me for a change. Almost there, Doug.”
“Just remember I’m in charge,” Callie said when Jake got off at the exit. “You three are just backup.”
“Now she’s Kinsey Milhone,” Doug grumbled.
She felt more like Sigourney Weaver’s character from Aliens. She wanted to slash and burn. But she strapped her rage down as Jake pulled in the driveway. Temper wasn’t going to blind her.
She climbed out of the car, walked to the front door, pressed the bell.
She heard nothing but the late-summer twitter of birds and the low drone of a lawn mower from somewhere up the street.
“Let me check the garage.” Jake walked off while Callie pressed the doorbell again.
“They could be out, Sunday lunch, tennis game,” Lana suggested.
“No. They know what’s going on. They know I’ve been talking to people who might remember Barbara. They’re not sipping mimosas and playing doubles at the club.”
“Garage is empty,” Jake reported.
“So we’ll break in.”
“Hold it, hold it.” Doug put a restraining hand on Callie’s shoulder. “Even if we toss out the downside of daytime breaking and entering, a place like this is going to have an alarm system. You break a window, bust down a door, the cops are going to be here before you can find anything. If there’s anything to find in the first place.”
“Don’t be logical. I’m pissed.”
She slapped a fist on the door. “They couldn’t have known I was coming. Not this fast.”
“One step at a time. Doug’s got a point about the neighborhood.” Jake scanned the houses across the street. “Upscale, secure. But a village is a village, and there’s always a gossipmonger. Somebody who makes it his or her business to know what everyone else is up to. We fan out, knock on some doors and politely ask after our friends the Simpsons.”
“Okay.” Callie reined herself in. “We’ll go in couples. Couples are less intimidating. Jake and I’ll take the south side, Doug and Lana, you take the north. What time is it?”
She studied her watch as she ran ideas around in her head. “Okay, timing’s a little off, but it’ll do. We were supposed to drop by for drinks with Barb and Hank. Now we’re worried we’ve got the wrong day or that something’s wrong.”
“It’ll do in a pinch.” Jake took her hand, linked fingers when she tugged. “We’re a couple, remember. A nice, harmless, unintimidating couple concerned about our friends Barb and Hank.”
“Anybody believes you’re harmless, they’re deaf, dumb and blind.”
Lana and Doug started off in the opposite direction. “They don’t act divorced to me,” he said.
“Really? What’s your definition of ‘acting divorced’?”
“Not like that. I watched them putting breakfast together. It was like choreography. And you saw how they were in the car. They can let each other know what they’re thinking without saying a word, when they want to.”
“Like when Callie distracted us from worrying by tormenting you?”
“He knew exactly what she was doing. I don’t know what the deal is between them, but I’m glad he’s around. He’ll look out for her.”
He pressed the bell on the first house.
By the time Jake rang the bell on their third stop, they had their story and routine down smooth as velvet frosting. The woman answered so quickly, he knew she’d watched their progress from house to house.
“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but my wife and I were wondering about the Simpsons.”
“I’m sure we just have the wrong day, honey.” But Callie glanced back with a distracted air of concern at the Simpson house.
“I just want to be sure everything’s okay. We were supposed to drop by for drinks,” he said to the woman. “But they don’t answer the bell.”
“All four of you having drinks with the Simpsons?”
“Yes,” Jake confirmed without missing a beat, and smiled. So she’d been watching the house. “My brother-in-law and his fiancée walked up that way to see if anyone could help us.”
“My brother and I are old family friends of Hank and Barb’s.” Callie picked up the angle on Jake’s story as if it were God’s truth. “That is, my parents and Dr. Simpson go way back. He delivered my brother and me. Our father’s a doctor, too. Anyway, my brother just got engaged. That’s actually why we were coming by for drinks. Just a little celebration.”
“I don’t see how you’re going to celebrate when they’re out of town.”
Callie’s hand tightened on Jake’s. “Out of town? But . . . for heaven’s sake. We have to have the wrong day,” she said to Jake. “But they didn’t mention a trip when I talked to them a couple weeks ago.”
“Spur of the moment,” the woman provided. “What did you say your name was?”
“I’m terribly sorry.” Callie offered a hand. “We’re the Bradys, Mike and Carol. We don’t mean to trouble you, Mrs. . . .”
“Fissel. No trouble. Didn’t I see the two of you over at the Simpsons a while back?”
“Yes, earlier this summer. We’ve just moved back east. It’s nice to catch up with old friends, isn’t it? You said spur of the moment. It wasn’t an emergency, was it? Oh, Mike, I hope nothing’s happened to—” What the hell was the daughter’s name? “Angela.”
“They said it wasn’t.” Mrs. Fissel stepped out on the front patio. “I happened to see them loading up the cars when I came out to get the morning paper. We look out for our neighbors here, so I walked over and asked if anything was wrong. Dr. Simpson said they’d decided to drive up to their place in the Hamptons, spend a few weeks. Seemed strange to me, them taking both cars. He said Barbara wanted to have her own. Took enough luggage for a year, if you ask me. But that Barbara, she likes her clothes. Not like her to forget you were coming. She doesn’t miss a trick.”
“I guess we mixed something up. They didn’t say when they’d be back?”
“Like I said, a few weeks. He’s retired, you know, and she doesn’t work, so they come and go as they please. They were out here around ten this morning, loading up—and Barbara, you never see her up and around on a Sunday morning before noon. Must’ve been in a hurry to get on the road.”
“It’s a long drive to the Hamptons,” Callie noted. “Thanks. We’ll have to catch up with them later.”
“Mike and Carol Brady,” Jake said under his breath as they started back across the street. “We’re the Brady Bunch?”
“First thing that came into my head. She was too old to have watched it the first time around, and didn’t strike me as the type to tune in to Nick at Night. Goddamnit, Jake.”
“I know.” He lifted their joined hands, kissed her knuckles.
“Do you think they went to the Hamptons?”
“However much of a hurry they were in, I don’t think Simpson would be stupid enough to tell the town crier where they were going.”
“Me either. And I don’t think they’re coming back.”
“They had to go somewhere, and wherever that is, they’ll leave some sort of trail. We’ll find them.”
She only nodded, stared at the empty house in frustration.
“Come on, Carol, let’s go get Alice and the kids and go home.”
“Okay. Okay,” she grumbled and walked with him. If she was going to get through this, and she was, she needed to hold on to control, maintain her perspective. “So, do you think Carol Brady was hot?”
“Oh man, are you kidding? She smoked!”
PART III
The Finds
When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
* * *
Twenty
You did the right thing.” Back in Maryland, Lana stood out by her car with Callie, jiggled her keys in her hand. She was reluctant to leave, though she’d imposed on Roger far too long that day.
Knowing the Simpsons had evaded them was frustrating. She had to admit, she’d been revved up for a showdown, for the prospect of hammering the Simpsons with questions, twisting them up with facts and speculation.
And the long drive back only to relay the scattered pieces of the puzzle to the county sheriff, leaving everything very much as it had been at the start of the day, was another disappointment.
There should’ve been something more to be done. Something else.
“Hewitt didn’t seem particularly dazzled by our deductive reasoning.”
“Maybe not, but he won’t ignore it. Plus, now everything’s on record. And he’ll—”
“Look into it,” Callie finished, and managed a laugh. “Can’t blame the guy for being skeptical. A thirty-year-old crime solved by a couple of diggers, a girl lawyer and a bookseller.”
“Excuse me, two respected scientists, a brilliant attorney and an astute antiquarian book dealer.”
“Sounds better your way.” Restless, Callie picked up a stone, tossed it toward the creek, where it landed with a sharp plop. “Look, I really appreciate all you’ve done over and above the call of billable hours and stuff.”
“It’s not my usual kind of work, and I have to admit, it’s been exciting.”
“Yeah.” She pitched another stone. “Getting burned out must’ve been a hell of a thrill.”
“No one was hurt, I’m insured, and the fact that it pissed me off is to your advantage. I’m in for the duration. And the fact that this matters a great deal to Doug adds additional incentive.”
“Hmm. Hey, look, there’s a black snake.”
“What? Where?” In instant terror, Lana hopped onto the hood of her car.
“Relax.” Callie picked up another stone, took aim. “Right over . . . there,” she said, and tossed the stone toward the creek again where it landed several inches to the right of the snake. Undoubtedly annoyed, it slithered along the bank and into the trees. “They’re harmless.”
“They’re snakes.”
“I like the way they move. Anyway. Doug. He’s an interesting guy. He brought me an Elvis beer cozy from Memphis.”
“Did he?” The sigh escaped before Lana realized it was there. “Now, why should that just touch my heart?”
“Because you’ve got the hots for him.”
“True. Very true.”
“Listen, that business in the car about your sex life was really just a . . .” She paused, whipped around, and even as Lana prepared to duck and cover, swatted a fat, buzzing bee away, the way a batter might swat a good fastball.
The somehow fat sound of the contact had Lana shuddering. “Jesus. Are you stung?”
“No. Those kind usually just like making a bunch of noise and annoying people. Like teenagers, I guess.”
“Were you, by any chance, a tomboy as a child?”
“I don’t get that name. I mean, Tom’s probably already a boy, so why is tomboy the word used to describe a girl with likes, skills and habits more traditionally ascribed to boys? It ought to be something like maryboy. Don’t you think?”
Lana shook her head. “I have absolutely no idea.”
“Makes more sense. Anyway, what was I saying before?”
“Ah . . . about my sex life.”
“Oh yeah. That bit
in the car was really just a ruse.”
Deciding whatever nature might wing their way, Callie would handle, Lana eased off the hood to lean against the door of her car. “I know.”
“Not that I don’t like hearing about other people’s sex lives.”
“Living or dead.”
“Exactly. Every life has its defining moments.”
Callie glanced back toward the house as someone inside turned on music. As the Backstreet Boys pumped through the windows, she figured on Frannie.
“My first one happened when I was sleeping in a stroller in December of ’seventy-four,” she continued. “Defining moments create the grid for the pattern, but it’s the day-to-day that makes the pattern. What you eat, what you do for a living, who you sleep with, make a family with, how you cook or dress. The big finds, like discovering an ancient sarcophagus—that makes the splash in a career. But it’s the ordinary things that pull me in. Like a toy made out of a turtle’s carapace.”
“Or an Elvis beer cozy.”
“You are pretty smart,” Callie declared. “I think we’d have gotten along if we’d grown up together, Doug and I. I think we’d have liked each other. So it makes it easier to like him, and it’s less awkward to be around him, or Roger, than it is for me to be around Suzanne and Jay.”
“And easier to look for the people responsible, to look for the reasons how and why it happened than to deal with the results. That’s not a criticism,” Lana added. “I think you’re handling a complex and difficult situation with admirable common sense.”
“It doesn’t stop everyone involved from being hurt to some degree. And if we’re right, two people who aren’t even part of it are dead because I have the admirable common sense to demand the answers.”
“You could stop.”
“Could you?”
“No. But I think I might be able to give myself a break, to sit back for a while, try to take a look at the pattern I’m in right now, and how I got there. Maybe if you do that, you’ll be able to accept it all when you do find the answers.”