What She Gave Away (Santa Barbara Suspense Book 1)

by Catharine Riggs

  “Let’s go,” I say, climbing into my Civic.

  “You’re being kinda mean,” Mimi says, sliding onto the passenger seat. “She was your dad’s wife, after all.”

  “I told you not to talk about her, didn’t I?”

  “You did.”

  “So don’t ever mention her again.” I made the mistake of pointing out the wife a couple of weeks ago when we saw her slip into a restaurant near the park. I don’t know why I opened my mouth, but I’ve been paying for it ever since. Literally paying. Whenever Mimi brings up the subject, I hand her a dollar to make the subject go away. I hand her one now, but she won’t stop jabbering.

  “Look, she’s crying. We have to help her.”

  She is crying. But what do I care?

  “Come on. Her husband got killed by that bad man. I’ll bet she’s terribly, horribly sad. We should help her. Please?”

  I pause and consider. Maybe I should make one last pass at the wife. I might get a kick out of telling her. Watch her squirm like a worm on the hook. “Okay. But she can’t see us together. I don’t need her figuring us out.”

  “You think she’ll know we were the ones on the tracks?”

  “Maybe.”

  That’s not really true. I doubt the wife’s bright enough to put two and two together. But it might spark a rare thought in her head to see a bank employee hanging with a homeless gal. “There’s also the problem of your big mouth,” I say. “I’m not sure I can trust you to keep it shut.”

  “My lips are sealed.” She makes a motion like she’s locked them with a key.

  “Why don’t you just spend the night at the shelter? We can do something tomorrow.”

  “But you promised we’d do something today. Don’t make me go away. Please. Please. Please.”

  I think for a moment. “Okay, then. You can come with me, but you have to climb into the trunk.”

  “The car trunk? Won’t I die in the heat?”

  “It’s cooling off,” I lie. On a Santa Ana night, it only grows warmer. “Anyway, if she needs a ride, it won’t take long. Her house is only twenty minutes away.”

  “You’ll let me out after that?”

  “Of course.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.” I pop the trunk, and Mimi climbs in and snuggles like a child. I hand her a half-empty water bottle and a bag of stale chips. “You have to be quiet,” I say. “This shouldn’t take long.”

  She smiles up at me. “I kinda like it in here.”

  “Good.” I shut the trunk and lumber down the ramp. The wailing’s stopped, and the wife now sags against a cement pillar.

  “You okay, Mrs. Wright?”

  She straightens, wiping her eyes before pasting on a crooked grin. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry. Do I know you?” Her eyes are red, her makeup smeared. Stains spot her dress.

  “I’m Crystal Love. I work at the bank. We’ve met before.”

  She taps her forehead. “Well, of course we have. Stupid me.” Grabbing a wadded tissue from her purse, she wipes her runny nose. “You’re the loan analyst with the delightful name. But you look different. You’ve lost some weight, haven’t you?”

  “A little . . .”

  “Well, it’s very becoming.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wright.”

  “Please call me Kathi. Mrs. Wright makes me feel old.”

  “Sure. Can I help you with something, Kathi?” I try not to choke on her name. “Do you need a ride?”

  “That’s sweet, but no. I’m fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find a restroom somewhere. It’s so hot I’m melting. My makeup has got to be a mess. Maybe the museum will let me step inside. My husband used to be on their board of directors, and I’m sure they’ll . . .” Her voice drifts off as she shuffles away.

  “Wait a minute,” I call out. “Wasn’t that Mr. Wright’s car getting towed?”

  Kathi turns to face me, a look of horror in her eyes.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “I . . .”

  “Did the battery go dead?”

  “Yes. Yes. That’s it. The battery.”

  I can’t help rubbing salt in the wound. “You must’ve left something inside the car. I heard you shouting at the man.”

  She works her hands together. “Why, yes, I left my . . . my notebook. That’s right. I probably overreacted, but I’m a writer, you know. Romance novels. I keep my notebook near me at all times in case an idea pops into my head. Anyway, I guess the driver couldn’t hear me. He had his windows rolled up and was playing that awful rap music. I find it so very offensive and . . .” She pauses with a look of confusion, like her brain’s not connected to her tongue.

  “Let me give you a ride home. It’s hot out.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that. I live in Montecito, you know. I can take a taxi. Or one of those Uber things.”

  “You have an Uber account?”

  “Do I need one?”

  “Or cash for a taxi?”

  She peers into her purse. “Stupid me. I spent all my money on lunch and left my credit cards at home.”

  “Then follow me.” I don’t wait for her answer and head for my car, smiling when her heels clickety-clack behind me. I climb into my seat. “Sorry about the trash,” I say as she settles into hers.

  “No problem.” She shoves aside the fast-food wrappers with her designer heels and giggles. “You should see the inside of my car. I haven’t had it washed in months. The car wash is so expensive, don’t you think?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Kathi’s perfume is chokingly sweet, like she bathed in a vat of moldering orange juice.

  She gives me her address and tries to buckle herself in.

  “Sorry,” I say. “That seatbelt’s broken.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Not if I don’t crash.”

  “Oh, you’re joking.”

  “Of course.”

  She giggles again like some crazy woman, but when I pull onto the freeway, she grows quiet.

  “Don’t be nervous,” I say as I speed around slower cars. “I’m a good driver.”

  “Of course you are.” Her jaw is clenched, her body stiff, her arms folded tight.

  “You all right?” I ask.

  “I’m fine.” Her breathing speeds up and doesn’t slow down until I pull off the exit to Montecito. She gives me directions, followed by a tidal wave of chatter. “I know I sounded crazy in the parking garage,” she says. “I was really nervous about Rich’s car getting towed. Of all the things to happen. I never drove it before today.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Rich didn’t want me to. He was afraid I’d scratch it.”

  “So he was the boss of the family.”

  “Oh yes, I suppose he was.” She lets out another giggle. “It’s true I’m not the best driver. I only took his car today because I needed to get to a meeting with my lawyer. I would’ve driven the Volvo, but it’s . . . it’s in the shop.”

  “That’s too bad. What’s wrong with it?”

  “Oh, you know. Car problems. Engine kind of things. And it’s European, so it’s hard to find parts. I have no idea when I’ll get it back.”

  “So what will you do?”

  “Well, I have an Audi, but it doesn’t seem to work.”

  “Maybe it needs gas.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Of course not.”

  “It’s okay,” she says sadly. “I would make fun of me too.”

  I consider giving Kathi another smart-ass reply, but I glance at her and don’t. A single tear travels the length of her broken face. Now it’s my turn for breathing funny. I grip the wheel and stare straight ahead. We don’t say another word until I pull into her driveway.

  “Can you come in?” she asks.

  “It’s been a long day.”

  “Just for a moment? Please? I could use some company.”

  Her sadness washes over me. I think I
might puke. “Okay,” I say. “But I can’t stay for long.”

  Kathi

  September 2, 2016

  “I forgot to lock my car,” Crystal says when I open my front door.

  “No need for that around here.”

  “You can never be too careful. I’ll be right back.”

  “Fine. I’ll leave the door unlocked. Just come on in.”

  I wait until she moves off and then rush through the living room to the kitchen and pour what’s left of a boxed chardonnay into an empty bottle of expensive wine. I’m not sure why I feel the need to impress this girl, but I do. Recorking the bottle, I hide the box in the oven and stick the bottle in the fridge. Then I push open the glass pocket doors and step outside. The Santa Anas blow so hard the trees are nearly bent. The scent of dried manzanita hangs thick in the air. The blazing sun dips behind a wind-whipped purplish sea.

  “It’s pretty out here,” Crystal says, stepping up from behind.

  “Thank you. I’ve always loved this view.” Crystal towers above me like a house. If she were thinner, she’d be beautiful in that supermodel kind of way. Her skin is flawless, her cheekbones striking. She has the very brightest of blue eyes. They remind me of Rich and Jack. I’m suddenly sad again.

  “Are there fish in that pond?” she asks.

  “There used to be a few koi before the cats and raccoons cleared them out.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Do you ever worry about wildfires?” Crystal gestures toward the rugged ravine that skirts the south side of the house.

  “Of course, especially on a night like this. We’ve had two close calls in fifteen years, but we’ve been lucky and escaped the infernos.”

  We, I think. There is no we. There never really was. The sadness creeps across my soul, and the view morphs to waste and ruin. Rotting leaves coat the pond. Scorched weeds edge the bricks. Cat poop fills the fire pit. I’m overwhelmed by a longing for escape. “Can I get you an appetizer?” I ask, almost choking on my grief. “Crackers and a little cheese?”

  “No, thank you.”

  The train horn sounds in the distance. The sun inches into the sea.

  “I didn’t realize you could hear the train from here,” Crystal says. “That must be hard to take.”

  “Yes, well. It is what it is.” I glance at her from the corner of my eye. Who is she to hint at Rich’s death? I think I’ll ask her to leave. But that means I’ll be alone with my thoughts. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not being a very good hostess. Would you like a glass of wine?”

  “Why not.”

  We head inside, and I apologize for the heat, telling a little white lie. “The air conditioner’s broken again. It just never seems to work.” Of course it hasn’t worked since before Rich passed, but I would never admit to that.

  “You’re lucky to even have one,” she replies. “Tonight my apartment will feel like an oven.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “In a converted garage downtown.”

  “Is it nice?”

  “It’s cozy.”

  Cozy. That sounds perfect. Something small with lots of books. Maybe one day I can live somewhere like that. I pour two glasses of wine and take a seat on the living room couch. I expect Crystal to follow my example, but instead she wanders the room.

  “When was this taken?” she asks, pausing before a framed Christmas photo.

  “A couple of years ago.”

  “You do these every year?”

  “We do. I mean we did. My son refused this past Christmas. Said he was too old to be a part of the annual card.”

  “He’s handsome. What’s his name?”

  “Jack. He’s an actor. You might’ve seen him on TV. He has a recurring role on Revenge.”

  “I don’t watch TV.”

  “I guess young people have other things to do these days.”

  “I guess we do.”

  She says something else, but I’m no longer listening. Leo’s words swim through my head. Jack’s show had been canceled. He’s on a plane heading to India with the girlfriend I’ve never met. He won’t be back for at least a year. He left without saying goodbye.

  “Another glass?” I ask, holding up my empty one.

  “Not yet.” Crystal’s glass is close to full.

  “Well, I’m going to have a tiny bit more. Friday night is my time to splurge. Not that I work, but I think I deserve a preweekend treat. I’ll be right back.” I cross to the kitchen and refill my glass to the very tippy-top. I gulp the golden liquid and quietly refill it. Then I wobble back to Crystal, who’s staring at the photo with a frown.

  “He looks a lot like Rich,” she says.

  “Yes, he has Rich’s beautiful blue eyes.”

  “Are they anything like mine?” She turns and faces me.

  “They are,” I say, peering close. “You’re very pretty, you know. You’re lucky to have such wonderfully thick hair. If only . . .” I have to be careful here. My thoughts are parting ways with my tongue.

  “Only what?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “I bet you were thinking I need to lose a few pounds.”

  “Of course not. You’re beautiful the way you are.”

  “You believe that?”

  “I do.”

  She nods, looking pensive. “I thought Montecito women only worshipped size two and below.”

  “Some people are like that, but not me.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  There’s something I don’t like about her attitude. I really should ask her to leave. Feign a headache or some such thing. I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

  Crystal sets the frame on the coffee table and picks up her wine glass with a smile. “Did you ever wish you had more children?” she asks.

  “What?”

  “More children. Did you want them?”

  She’s being awfully nosy. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Not really. I mean, lots of people have problems. Like they’re poor or crazy or impotent or barren. But you and Mr. Wright were healthy and wealthy and educated. You seem like the kind of couple that would’ve had at least two children, if not three or even four.”

  “We had our reasons.”

  “Like?”

  I want this woman out of my house. She’s weird, if nothing else. “We would’ve had more children, but unfortunately we couldn’t.”

  “Couldn’t?”

  “Couldn’t.”

  “Medical?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “It is. Or it was. I guess I’ve gotten over it by now.”

  “But let’s say you had a daughter. Would you have loved her no matter what?”

  “Of course.”

  “Even if she were fat or ugly?”

  “What a strange question.”

  “I’m sorry if I’m being intrusive. I’m just interested in the whole parenting thing. Maybe I’ll have a child one day. Not now, of course. First I have to get thin and snag a husband. But when I do, I want to get things right. And it seems that a lot of moms want their daughters to be pretty and slim. Smart, too, but I’m guessing pretty is more important. Am I right?”

  “No . . .”

  “Really? So if you had a daughter and there were issues with her looks, what would you do?”

  I speak slowly, trying to keep the slur from my words. “I would help her to be the best she could be.”

  “That’s sweet. Do you consider weight an issue?”

  “Only if it gets out of hand.”

  “What if she was fat? Would you send her to weight camp?”

  “Only if she wanted to go.” I set down my glass with a clink. If she won’t leave, maybe I will.

  “What if she didn’t want to go?”

  I roll my tongue around my words. “I suppose I would eliminate any junk food in the house. I would only serve nutritious meals.”

  “But if that didn’
t work. Would you take her to a specialist?”

  “If I thought that might help.” I pick up my cell phone. “Oops. I forgot I’m meeting a friend for dinner. I have to get ready.” I stand, but Crystal continues like I hadn’t spoken.

  “So if she didn’t go to a fat camp and she didn’t lose weight, would you be embarrassed to show her off to your Montecito friends? How about cotillion classes? I’ll bet the heavy girls get fat shamed there. Would you feel bad watching that happen to your daughter? Would you cringe when she didn’t get asked to dance?”

  “I would find a way to help her,” I say primly. “There are secrets to getting thin.”

  “Are there?”

  “Yes. I have personal experience with that.”

  “So you were a fat kid?”

  “I gained a few pounds later in life, but they’re mostly gone now.”

  “Yes, you’re quite trim.”

  “Trim or thin?”

  “Thin.”

  “Oh good. Anyway. You’ve been so very gracious, and I so appreciate the ride . . .”

  Crystal doesn’t take my hint. Instead she plops on the couch with a sigh. “I always wished I had a brother.”

  “You don’t have any siblings?” I ask, not caring if she does.

  “Not really.”

  “What does ‘not really’ mean?”

  “I was adopted, and my faux parents didn’t have any more children together.”

  “You call them ‘faux’ parents?”

  “They weren’t very nice.”

  “Oh.”

  “In fact, they were quite mean. Ended up they didn’t want me. After they got divorced and remarried, they started all-new families, and each had a new set of kids.”

  “So technically you do have siblings.”

  “No. Technically, I don’t.”

  “I’m so sorry.” The heat and the wine are making me woozy. “Have you tried to search for your biological parents?”

  “I have.”

  “And?” I perch on the edge of the couch.

  “I found them.”

  “Was it wonderful?” I ask breathlessly.

  “No. I didn’t like what I found.” She drains her glass. “I’ll have that second glass of wine now.”

  “Oh. Are you sure? It is getting late, and I have to get ready—”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Then wait right here.” I stagger to the kitchen and refill the wine glasses and return. There’s a look on Crystal’s face that says she’s judging me. I can’t understand why. I’ve been the perfect hostess.