Unveiling the Past

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “I’m serious, Kev. It’s not like you need to turn this place into House Beautiful, but right now it looks like a dump. How can you focus in here?” She snatched up articles of clothing he’d left on the floor and piled them on the end of his bed while she harped at him. “You’ve got a closet plus a dresser. There’s no reason to leave clothes all over the place. This room is a great size. You could make a sitting area in this corner if you brought in a throw rug and a couple of small chairs. Maybe folding butterfly chairs—they’re comfortable but can be tucked against the wall if you ever need the floor space. Your mini fridge would be perfect as a table between the chairs, serving dual purposes. Honestly, this is so much better than my dorm room. You ought to fix it up and really make it a great place for us to hang out.”

  He liked that she’d said us. He patted his back pocket where his wallet created a bulge. “I’ve got my credit card. If you want, we can go shopping.” He slung his arms around her and pulled her tight against his frame. She fit there so perfect. Whatever he needed to do to keep her coming around, he’d do it. Except…“Don’t do anything girlie in here. I’m living with a bunch of guys. I don’t want them ragging on me, okay?”

  She wriggled free and shook her head. “You’re such a dork. I wouldn’t make it girlie. But warm? Inviting? A place where people want to be instead of a place that people want to escape from?” She grinned, letting him know she was teasing. “Let’s shoot for that.”

  Present Day

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  His room had become the choice hangout spot for every guy in the fraternity, all because Diane had made it welcoming. The classy way she dressed told him she hadn’t lost her touch.

  He crossed the parquet floor to Diane and stuck out his hand. “Shall we make hiring DeFord”—he glanced at her mother, including her in the deal—“and DeFord official?”

  Diane linked her hands at her waist and pinned him with a long, pensive frown. Then the corners of her lips twitched. “Hmm, Mother, what should we charge for our services?”

  A teasing grin quivered on her rosy lips, and he couldn’t resist winking at her. How long had it been since he’d engaged in playful chitchat with such a worthy partner? He slipped his hand in his jacket pocket and tipped up his chin, peering at her down his nose. “How about we negotiate over caviar and lobster tails?”

  “I’d be fine with a vegan lobster-topped caesar salad from Lobster ME.”

  Kevin scratched his head. “What in the world is vegan lobster?”

  “Believe it or not, it’s heart of palm tossed in lemon juice and seasonings. It’s a great substitute for lobster.”

  He shuddered, and she laughed.

  “You don’t have to eat it. Lobster ME has plenty of traditional lobster choices, and it’s within walking distance.”

  Walking would take longer than driving. Especially walking with a woman who had more than eighty years on her. But the added time was a bonus, not a burden. He angled a concerned look at Diane’s mother. “Are you okay with us walking to the café, Hazel?”

  The same impish expression Diane sometimes wore appeared on the older woman’s face. “I’ve had eighty-three years of using these feet, so they’re well practiced at walking. Let’s go.”

  She headed out the door. Kevin glanced at Diane and found her grinning at him. Something seemed to sizzle. A connection that whisked him backward in time with such force that he felt like a goofy, smitten twenty-year-old again. He dropped his arm across her shoulders and aimed her for the door.

  “You heard the lady. Let’s go.” And to his satisfaction, Diane didn’t pull away.

  Eighteen

  Fort Smith, Arkansas

  Meghan

  Meghan tapped on Greg’s door. His grunt came in response. The door swung open, and she grinned at his tousled light-brown hair. “Were you napping?”

  He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Yeah. Dozed off in front of the television. Dinnertime, huh?”

  “It’s actually a little early for dinner, but I thought we might drive by Sheila’s former house. Maybe it will stimulate some memories.”

  Greg narrowed his gaze. “Did you and her have a talk?”

  Meghan glanced aside, shrinking her shoulders. “Well, no. She said she had a headache, so she napped, too.”

  He groaned. “DeFord…”

  “I know, I know.” She picked at a bit of loose wallpaper border. “I’ll talk to her before we turn in tonight, but she seemed pretty upset after the meeting at the bank. I decided it was better to wait, let her calm down so she’d be more likely to listen to reason.” Meghan also hadn’t been much in the mood for a chat after texting back and forth with Mom and discovering what she and Grandma had gotten themselves into.

  “You’re probably right about that.” Greg scratched his cheek, stretching the skin into a jowl. “My girls don’t listen good when they’re upset. But if I give ’em time to calm down and give myself time to cool off”—he shrugged—“things go better. Guess I kind of forgot that when I was giving Sheila the third degree.”

  The agents didn’t talk much about their personal lives at the office. Meghan knew that all but Roach were married, and she’d overheard random comments about kids’ sporting events and birthday parties, but she’d never asked for particulars. She tipped her head, trying to envision Greg with little girls. “How old are your daughters?”

  “Sixteen, twelve, and ten. And my son’s thirteen.”

  Meghan’s jaw dropped. Four children?

  He blew out a breath. A rueful scowl formed. “They’re growing up fast, and I’m not there as much as I’d like to be.” He shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts. “And this kind of talk isn’t getting the job done.”

  An idea seemed to drop like a ceiling tile and bop her on the head. She straightened. “Greg…I’m not going to talk to Sheila about interfering in the investigation. I think you should.”

  He reared back. “Why me?”

  “Because you’re a father. What is Sheila missing in her life?” A lump filled her throat, and she swallowed. Hard. “I think she’d listen to you if you took a fatherly approach.”

  He scratched his cheek again. “I don’t know. My girls listen to me because they’ve known me their whole lives. They don’t have much choice. It’s either listen or get grounded. But it’s not like I can threaten to ground Sheila.”

  Meghan laughed. She could well imagine the outcome. “No, of course not, but you might be able to get through to her if you were more patient and kind than you were earlier. It’s at least worth a try, isn’t it? Wouldn’t it be better if she could stay? Cap would be happier. You wouldn’t have to eat up half a day driving to Little Rock and back in the middle of our investigation.” She paused, giving him time to think, then added softly, “So what do you say?”

  He rolled his eyes ceilingward and sighed. “I say we’re both plumb loco for getting roped into bringing a civilian along on an investigation in the first place. But since she’s here, we might as well make the most of it. Go get her. We’ll do what you said—drive to her house, let her memory banks get poked some—and then, if it works itself naturally into the conversation, I’ll see if I can convince her to stay at the hotel the next time we go to the bank.”

  Meghan smiled. “Thanks, Greg.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you just don’t wanna be the bad cop in this partnership.” His crooked grin ruined what could have been a derogatory comment. “Lemme grab my keys, and I’ll meet you at the car.”

  Meghan encouraged Sheila to ride shotgun so she could more easily direct Greg to her former home. Although reluctant, she eventually slid into the front seat and fastened her seat belt. Meghan took the passenger seat behind her but sat on the edge and leaned sideways for a view out the front windshield.

  Although it had been years since Sheila had lived there, she gave precise direct
ions to the neighborhood. Greg turned onto Oak Street, and Sheila said, “Go slow, please. There’s lots of trees and stuff here that wasn’t before. It’s kind of confusing me. But our house was white with green shutters, and there was a flower garden in front of the picture window.”

  Meghan tapped Sheila’s shoulder and pointed. “That one?”

  Sheila’s gasp gave the answer.

  Greg pulled up to the curb and put the SUV in park, but he left the engine idling.

  Sheila rolled down the window and curled both hands over the edge. “Everybody says when you go back home, it looks smaller than you remembered. But it doesn’t. Not to me.”

  Greg rested his elbow on the console between the seats and peered out the window. “Nice house. Seems like a good place to grow up.”

  “It was.” Sheila nodded, her blond hair bouncing on her shoulders. “It…yeah…really was.” She fell silent, seemingly lost in thought.

  Greg glanced at Meghan, dipped his eyebrows low, and bobbed his head toward Sheila. Meghan got the silent message. She cleared her throat. “What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you look at the house, Sheila?”

  A strange laugh burbled from the younger woman’s throat—half chortle, half sob. “Sitting on the porch steps, usually barefoot, scratching mosquito bites and watching the street. Waiting for Dad to come home.”

  Pain stabbed Meghan’s heart, but she forced a soft chuckle. “Did you run to greet him when he pulled in?”

  “Yeah.” Sheila’s fingers tightened, her knuckles glowing white. “He always scooped me up in a hug. That hug…it fixed things, you know? Even on the worst days, when Mom was really suffering, it seemed like when he got home and gave us all hugs, it helped.”

  “He was a good dad.” Meghan stated it rather than asked, but it took every bit of strength she had to say it without breaking down.

  “He was. Even up to the end. You know, the last day before he went away.”

  Greg said, “I know you’ve talked to us about the last day, but do you remember anything else? Something he said, something he did, that seemed out of the ordinary? Anything that might give us a clue about what he was thinking?”

  Sheila stared out the window for several minutes, her frame stiff, and then she gave a little jolt and spun to face Greg. “That last night, Daddy didn’t come to my room to kiss me good night like he always did. So I went looking for him.”

  March 21, 2002

  Sheila

  What were Mom and Daddy still doing at the kitchen table? The little clock on her bedside stand blinked 9:03. Supper was over hours ago, and she was supposed to be asleep already. But how could she sleep without her good-night kiss?

  Sheila lay under her pink-and-white-checked comforter and listened to her parents’ mumbled voices. Maybe they didn’t know the time. After all, goofy Wayne had broken Mom’s wall clock yesterday bouncing a basketball in the house, and the itty-bitty clock on the kitchen stove was pretty hard to read. They probably didn’t know it was past her bedtime. She should go remind them.

  She slid out of bed, padded up the hallway, and peeked around the corner into the kitchen. Mom sat kind of slumped in her chair with her elbows on the table. She held some papers, and it looked like she was reading them. Daddy sat across from her, watching her with his forehead all crinkled, the way he did when Mom was having one of her bad days. But they weren’t talking anymore, so they wouldn’t say Sheila was interrupting.

  She stepped into the kitchen. Her bare feet met the cold linoleum, and her whole body shivered. She curled her toes and sucked in a breath.

  Daddy jumped out of his chair so fast it almost tipped over. He took one step toward Sheila. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  Sheila drew back, fiddling with the buttons on her Barbie pajama top. Why was he so mad? He only got mad when somebody did something really bad. Like bouncing the basketball in the house and breaking Mom’s clock. “I…” She licked her dry lips. “I didn’t get my good-night kiss.”

  A smile formed on Daddy’s face, but it wasn’t his real smile. More like the smile Wayne used when he got caught doing something he shouldn’t and wanted to fool the person who caught him. “Sorry, punkin, I guess I forgot.”

  He forgot? How could he forget? He’d never forgotten to come kiss her good night. Not ever. She leaned sideways slightly and peeked at the table. “What’re you—”

  “Let’s get you tucked in.” Daddy reached her in two long steps and bent forward, putting his hands on his knees. “Hop on. I’ll piggyback you.”

  She gawked at him. “But you said I was getting too tall to ride piggyback.”

  He laughed. A weird laugh, almost like he was choking. “One last time. Okay?”

  Sheila giggled and hopped on. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he hooked the backs of her knees with his wrists. She buried her nose against his neck. Daddy always smelled good—like cinnamon and oranges and maybe a little bit of vanilla. He smelled even better than the pumpkin pies Mom baked for holidays. She sniffed hard, filling her nostrils with the scent.

  He moved through the hallway real slow, making the ride last, but they reached her bedroom sooner than she wanted to. He backed up to the bed, then gave a little buck. She plopped onto her mattress with a bounce and giggled again.

  Daddy put his finger against his lips. “Shhh. Don’t wake the boys.”

  Mom always said an earthquake wouldn’t wake Wayne and Brandon once they’d conked out, but Sheila wouldn’t argue with Daddy.

  He tugged at her covers. “C’mon, climb under.”

  She burrowed beneath the comforter and nestled her head on her pillow. “Daddy, what were you and Mom doing?” It must’ve been important since he forgot to kiss her good night.

  He tucked the edge of her comforter under her chin, brushing her jaw with his knuckles. “Nothing to worry about. Just getting our ducks in a row.”

  Sheila imagined a bunch of ducks all lining up like the kids did at school to go to recess. She grinned. “That’s pretty funny.”

  He nodded. “It is.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then stayed close, looking into her eyes. “Sweet dreams, punkin. I love you.”

  For a second, it looked like his eyes were wet, but her little plug-in night-light didn’t put out much light. It was hard to tell in the dark. “I love you, too, Daddy.” He stood straight, and she rolled to her side and closed her eyes. She waited for Daddy’s foot to hit the squeaky board under her carpet when he left. But she didn’t hear it.

  She peeked over her shoulder. He stood beside her bed, staring down at her. Now she knew his eyes were wet. Was Daddy getting ready to cry? But daddies didn’t cry. Or did they? A funny feeling wriggled through her middle. “Daddy?”

  “Shhh.” He smoothed her hair and smiled. His regular smile.

  The weird feeling slipped away, and she smiled back at him.

  “Sleep, now.”

  “Okay.” She snuggled in and closed her eyes. “Good night.” The creak let her know he left.

  Present Day

  Meghan

  Meghan swallowed. Whatever else Anson Menke had been, he’d been a good dad. Did Sheila know how lucky she was to hold memories of a daddy giving her piggyback rides and tucking her into bed?

  Greg said, “It sounds like maybe he was worried about something and wanted to make sure your mom was taken care of.”

  Meghan gave her head a little shake, forcing herself to focus on the present. She looked into the front seat at Sheila, and the tender expression the girl had adopted while she reminisced disappeared beneath a hardened veneer.

  “Or he was planning to run and wanted to make sure she had all the doctors’ contacts and everything since he was usually the one who handled stuff like that.” She rolled up the window and set her gaze straight ahead. “I’m done here.”

 
Greg put his hand on the gearshift, but he didn’t take the vehicle out of park. He turned his head and aimed a thoughtful frown at Sheila’s profile. “Thanks for sharing that with us. I’m sure it wasn’t easy, making yourself go back there.”

  Sheila didn’t answer, but she gave a stiff nod.

  “Here’s the thing about dads, Sheila. They think they’re the strong ones. That they have to carry the load for everybody and not worry anybody. So they keep stuff to themselves. They think they’re protecting their family by staying quiet. Sometimes that makes wives and kids draw incorrect conclusions about what’s going on.”

  Slowly, Sheila shifted her head and looked at Greg. “Are you saying Dad left to protect us? From what?”

  He held up his hand. “I’m not saying anything yet. It’s too soon to know. But you’re plenty mad at your dad for going away.”

  She nodded hard. “I sure am. He totally messed up our lives.”

  “Since it’s too soon to know why he left, it’s too soon to be mad. Wouldn’t you rather hold on to the good memories? The hugs? The good-night kisses? The piggyback rides?”

  Meghan’s heart ached with such ferocity that she planted both palms over her chest in a feeble attempt to ease the pressure. Even if her father decided to step into her life tomorrow, she’d never have sweet childhood moments. The sense of loss nearly overwhelmed her.

  “Here’s the thing, Sheila.” Greg spoke softly, his tone gruff yet kind. “Yeah, your dad went away. But for your first ten years, he was there. And during those ten years, he was, you said yourself, a good dad. Hold on to that. Don’t let bitterness erase the memories. They’re too important to lose.”

  Meghan glanced back and forth between Greg’s fervent expression and Sheila’s uncertain one. She’d been given a glimpse of Greg’s fatherly heart, and her admiration for the detective grew. Even if Sheila didn’t accept his advice, Meghan had listened intently. “Don’t let bitterness erase the memories,” he’d said. She didn’t have any memories with a father. But maybe, in the future, she’d have face-to-face time with him. Would she let bitterness about the lost years keep her from enjoying those moments?