Scar Tissue

by Patricia Hale

  We took seats on one side of the conference room table, across from a couple introduced by Peggy as the Morrows, the sellers of the property. And after a little more than an hour and with our hands sufficiently cramped from signing a mountain of forms in which we promised all but our first born, we were homeowners. We shook hands all around and then made our way to the elevators alongside the Morrows.

  Peggy made small talk while we waited. “Talk about a small world, Mr. Cole’s in the same line of business as Mike McKenzie.”

  Ellen Morrow’s head shot up. Her eyes wide but guarded.

  “Not exactly,” Griff clarified. I’m a PI. On occasion my path crosses with the Portland PD, but more often I’m involved with the Criminal Investigation Unit. I don’t know McKenzie directly.”

  I noticed Ellen squeeze her husband’s hand.

  “Sounds like Rhea will miss your daughter. Her name’s Halsey, is that right?” I asked.

  Mitch’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

  “They did get together occasionally,” Ellen said. “But lately, not so much.”

  “Too bad. Must have been nice to have a babysitter that close by.” I was hoping to provoke a longer response. From the look on Mitch’s face there was some bad blood and I wanted to know more.

  “You have children?” Mitch asked.

  “No,” I said.

  He nodded. “You’re lucky. Rhea seems to have a way of losing them.”

  “Mitch,” Ellen scolded. “She didn’t lose Halsey. She wandered off all by herself.”

  “That must have been scary,” I prompted. The elevator bell signaled its arrival and the door in front of us parted. I stepped inside hoping she’d continue.

  “We became a little leery about Halsey playing at McKenzie’s after…,” Ellen hesitated. “After Jonathan disappeared. He was a year old.”

  “Here one day, gone the next.” Mitch snapped his fingers in front of my face. “I mean how does a one-year-old just disappear out of the house when his mother is home?”

  “Mitch,” Ellen said, her tone indicative of how many times she’d heard this before.

  “Never found,” he continued, “not even after a major manhunt. Mike being a cop the search went on for months, but they still found nothing. Who isn’t going to be hesitant about their kid playing with that family? I mean Ellen and Rhea were friends. They were both pregnant at the same time, gave birth a month apart.”

  Ellen broke in. “After it first happened we didn’t see Rhea at all. But after a year or so, after Halsey had turned two, Rhea was feeling better and started asking if she could come over and play. Offering to give us a night out. Halsey loved her, and I felt sorry for her, but I couldn’t relax when they were together. Rhea’s a nice person, but…”

  “I never felt comfortable with Mike,” Mitch interjected.

  Ellen put her hand on her husband’s arm. “Mitch.”

  “I don’t care,” he said. “They should know.” He looked at Griff as though it was a guy thing. “There’s something about him, you know?” I mean, how do you lose your kid out of your own house? Then one day Rhea comes running over and tells us Halsey had been in the back yard. She went inside to get them a snack and when she came out Halsey was gone.” Mitch’s voice was getting louder his anger mounting as he relived the moment.

  “Mitch,” Ellen said as the elevator doors opened.

  She turned to Griff and me. “She’d just walked into the front yard gathering flowers. We found her within five minutes.”

  “But you can imagine what went through my head for those five minutes,” Mitch said. “I wasn’t being unreasonable. Anyway, after that I just couldn’t allow Halsey to go to their house anymore.”

  Griff nodded. “I have a daughter. I get it.”

  “It all became very uncomfortable. When this job offer came up we grabbed the opportunity. Rhea means well, but I’ve always had the feeling that there’s more going on in that house. Even before Jonathan was born something felt off.”

  “Okay Mitch, that’s enough,” Ellen said. “Look,” she turned to me. “The McKenzies are solid people and they’ve had to deal with more than their share. I don’t think Mike is a bad guy and they’ve been good neighbors. Who wouldn’t be a little off after losing a kid, right?” She smiled. “I hope we haven’t scared you. It’s a great house. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

  Griff smiled and shook Mitch’s hand. “Without a doubt, and good luck with your move.”

  Mitch looked at me, his eyes offering a warning he couldn’t verbalize.

  We watched them walk toward the parking lot. “Mitch doesn’t mince words,” I said.

  “I can understand it. Most parents would feel the same way.”

  “But he acts like Rhea and Mike had something to do with Jonathan’s disappearance. What parents would make their kid disappear?”

  “There are some crazy parents out there.”

  “You don’t need to tell me, but Rhea doesn’t fit the profile of a psychotic parent. How much do you know about Mike?”

  “Nothing about his personal life. He’s a dedicated cop, and from what I hear, well liked.”

  “You asked John about him?”

  Griff nodded.

  John Stark is the head of CID, Portland’s Criminal Investigation Unit and Griff’s closest friend.

  “Mike doesn’t fit the psycho profile either.”

  I thought about the bruises I’d seen on Rhea but held my tongue. I needed proof before mentioning it to Griff. He hates assumptions.

  “Anyway, how do we know it wasn’t a real psycho who snuck in and took their kid? And now he’s a million miles away from here?”

  “We don’t,” I said. “Should we find out?”

  “They already tried.”

  “But we haven’t and we’re the best there is.”

  “I won’t disagree with that,” Griff said. “But I don’t think Rhea and Mike want to dig it all up again.”

  “Who says we tell them?”

  “So we do it out of the goodness of our hearts? And behind their backs?”

  “We do it for baby number two. Before he or she arrives it might be nice to know what happened to baby number one.”

  “I think we let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “How ‘bout you let sleeping dogs lie and I wake them up?”

  “If I disagree will you change your mind?”

  “No.”

  “Then have at it, but keep it quiet, as in complete silence. I don’t think Rhea or Mike would be pleased to find out you’re investigating something I’m sure they’re trying to put to rest.”

  “I’ll bury my bones,” I said. “No pun intended.”

  Eleven

  We’d met with the moving company yesterday after the closing and refereed the packing at Griff’s townhouse then the loading at my apartment. This morning the truck was stretched diagonally across the road as the driver inched forward and back, lining up the eighteen-wheeler with our narrow drive. Blocking traffic in both directions was a great way to introduce ourselves to the folks in North Yarmouth. Not that there were many cars at nine o’clock on a Saturday morning. A couple of produce laden pick-up trucks en route to the farmers market and a parent with a kid bouncing a soccer ball off the inside of the windshield. But first impressions matter.

  Griff pulled the Land Rover into the driveway ahead of the truck and I followed in my Rav just as the trailer’s back up signal began to sound. We parked alongside the house giving the truck ample space to position itself as close to the front porch as possible. Even though we’d opted to keep the Morrow’s furniture and sent most of mine to a local consignment shop, we still had hours of lifting, pushing, pulling and carrying to keep us busy.

  “I love it here,” Allie said twirling around the driveway in little circles, her arms stretched wide. “It’s so peaceful and private. I can sun bathe without the old man watching my every move.”

  “Who’s that?” Griff asked.

  “O
ne of the men at Mom’s condo. Every time I go to the pool he comes outside and sits on his porch. When I go in, he goes in. Talk about obvious.”

  “How old is he?” I asked.

  “About a hundred,” Allie laughed.

  “He probably can’t see much then,” Griff said. “It’s wishful thinking.”

  “Eeww, gross, Dad.” Allie took off around the back of the house.

  The driver slid the back door up along its rollers. His partner tossed a cigarette onto the front lawn. I held my tongue. By noon everything that had been inside the truck was inside the house in an anything goes arrangement. After a quick handshake, the guys got back into the truck, revved the engine and started down the drive. In that moment with just Allie and Griff and I standing in front of the house, no movers and no realtor, the house became home. I looked at Griff and from the smile on his face, knew he felt it too.

  “Beer?” he said.

  “In the plural.”

  “Champagne?” Allie came through the front door with an opened bottle of Gosset Grande Reserve Brut and three crystal glasses.

  “Where’d you get that?” Griff asked.

  “And these?” I lifted one of the crystal glasses from its precarious position on the narrow wooden rail.

  “None of your business. Just drink and enjoy.” She took the glass from my hand and set it once again on the porch railing and began to pour.

  “You’re not even old enough to buy let alone spend that much,” Griff said.

  “I have my connections.”

  “Allie.”

  “Okay, okay,” she laughed. “It’s a gift from Mom. She sends her congratulations. To both of you.”

  Eliza and I tolerate each other. She’s a bit of a drama queen for me and I’m a little rough around the edges for her. But we make it work.

  A cyclist was making their way down the dirt drive. We watched as Mike McKenzie approached.

  “Now that’s the way to move in.” he said rolling to a stop in front of the porch steps. He was dressed in black, biking shorts and a yellow, reflective jersey.

  “Wow, nice ride,” Allie said eyeing the silver racing bike.

  “Thanks. It’s a Colnago, Italian made. Ever hear of Enzo Ferrari?”

  “As in the sports car?” Griff asked.

  “Yeah, the maker of these is connected to Ferrari. Racing bikes, racing cars, what more could any guy want?”

  “I’ll get another glass.” Allie disappeared inside the house.

  “So, today’s the big day.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “The day that ends with aching backs and ibuprofen.”

  Mike laughed and took the matching crystal champagne glass from Allie, holding it as she poured. “Well I have to say you folks know how to do things right.” He lifted the glass in the air. “To good neighbors,” he said.

  We clinked our glasses together, the sun glinting off the crystal.

  Griff nodded to his biking attire. “You just coming in or heading out?”

  “Just back.”

  “You ride every day?”

  “Every day I can. Rhea says it’s an addiction,” Mike laughed.

  “Not a bad one to have. Ever do it professionally?” Griff asked.

  “Used to, but now it’s more of a hobby.”

  “Where is Rhea?” I asked.

  “Napping. Those little rug rats have a way of wearing you out even before they’re born.” He smiled, tilting the champagne flute to his mouth. His knuckles were scraped and raw.

  “Take a spill?” Griff asked nodding to his hand.

  “No, more like had a fight, with a fifty-pound rock. We’re redoing the landscaping around the pool. I’m putting in a stone wall.” He looked at the back of his hand and shook his head. “Guess it got the best of me.”

  “That’s why they have masons,” I said.

  “I know, but I hate to pay someone for a job I can do myself.”

  Like making a kid disappear, I thought. The accusation blew through my head before I could filter it. For three years in family law I’d witnessed the damage men could do to their wives and children, many of them upstanding citizens, judges, doctors…even cops.

  Mike emptied his glass and set it on the railing. “I’ll leave you folks to get settled in, but welcome and thanks for the drink.”

  “The first of many, I hope,” Griff said. “Thanks for coming by.”

  With a wave, Mike disappeared into the trees.

  “What does one of those bikes go for?” Griff asked Allie.

  “I saw one in a biking magazine once for $17,000.”

  Griff glanced at me and raised his eyebrows.

  “Cops must be doing pretty well these days.”

  “He seems nice.” Allie took a sip of her champagne.

  “They always do,” I said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Griff asked.

  I shook my head. “Nothing…I don’t know.”

  “People are innocent until proven guilty.”

  I realized that he was referring to the conversation we’d had about looking into Jonathan’s disappearance, not the bruises I’d seen on Rhea.

  I raised my glass. “To innocence,” I said.

  Twelve

  “I was thinking I might pay Gwen a visit this morning,” I told Griff as I dug through a cardboard box labeled kitchen. I unwrapped a couple of coffee mugs and set them on the counter. Crumpled newspaper fell to my feet.

  “We should probably check in at the office first.” Griff rummaged through another box and pulled out a bag of sugar.

  “I was thinking I’d go alone.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “I want to get clearer on her relationship with Ashley as well as how she feels about Greg and I think she might be more forthcoming if she’s just talking to me. You know, woman to woman. No offense. I’m well aware of your therapeutic skills in drawing out information.”

  “Only when you’re on a couch.”

  I pulled the frying pan from the box I was unpacking and gently conked him on the top of the head. “I’m trying to work here.”

  “All work and no play…”

  “Christening our new bedroom last night wasn’t enough for you?”

  “I’m insatiable when you’re around.” He wrapped his arms around me. “And this is only the beginning. How does it feel?”

  “Scary and wonderful,” I said raising my face to his and kissing him.

  “Get a room, you two.” Allie stepped into the kitchen in gym shorts and a tee shirt. “What’s for breakfast?”

  Griff took the frying pan out of my grasp and handed it to Allie. “Whatever you want to make, but since all we have is one box of cereal and no milk you’re limited.”

  She took the pan from his outstretched hand. “I can see my work is cut out for me.”

  “Yeah, and first off, timing is everything.” He released me from his arms. “I’ll shower and head for the office. You go see Gwen.”

  “What am I gonna do?” Allie asked.

  Griff waved his arm at the sea of cardboard boxes. “Have at it.”

  I pulled into Lambert’s driveway at ten o’clock relieved to see Greg’s car was gone. Last time we were here he’d mentioned a standing tennis game on Wednesday mornings and I’d hoped that was still the case. Carole opened the door as I approached.

  “Hi,” she said with obvious surprise.

  “I was hoping to talk with Gwen. Is she around?”

  “In the garden. I’m on my way to the store, but c’mon in.”

  I followed her through the dank interior. Nothing had changed since our last visit. The place still felt like a catacomb. Unlike Gwen’s garden, full of warmth and color and the scents of lilac and forsythia, I couldn’t walk through the cold, dark interior fast enough. Carole pushed open the French doors and we stepped outside.

  Gwen looked up, her face registering surprise. “Greg’s not here,” she said standing.

  “Actually, I was hoping to spe
ak with you.”

  She gestured to the wicker patio furniture. “Have a seat.”

  “You need anything before I go?” Carole asked.

  Gwen looked at me and raised her eyebrows.

  I shook my head. “No, I’m fine.”

  “I’ll be back by lunchtime,” Carole said and disappeared inside pulling the door closed behind her.

  “What can I do for you, Ms. Callahan?”

  “Britt,” I said. “If it’s not too difficult, I’d like to ask you about your relationship with Ashley.”

  She took a breath and looked past me out toward the pond and the ducks squawking and chasing after one another in the morning sun.

  “Were you two close?” I asked.

  “My daughter was everything to me. Both of my children were, but Clayton was Greg’s. He was very possessive of his son from the moment he was born and so Ashley became more…mine, I guess.”

  “And you and Greg?”

  Gwen’s gaze had been resting on the ducks, but she looked at me now, her eyes narrowing. “What are you asking?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but it will help a lot if I can get a sense of the family dynamics.”

  “Are you married?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “People marry for many reasons. It’s not always love that brings a man and a woman together.”

  “And what was it for you?”

  She smiled. “You’re persistent, aren’t you?”

  “So they say.”

  “Our families knew each other when we were children. We both had a country club upbringing if you know what I mean, lots of money and parties. Everything had to be perfect, though truth be told, it was all for show. It was my mother’s way. She wasn’t always the best mother, but to the world, she looked like she was and that’s what mattered. I’m not ashamed to say that I’ve followed in her footsteps.”

  “Did your parents love each other?”

  “Love? I have no idea. My father wasn’t faithful, but he gave her what she needed, and I think that was enough for her.”

  “Carole told me you have a stepbrother. She said he wasn’t welcome.”

  Gwen dismissed my comment with a wave of her hand. “Lowlife.”