by Karen Leabo
“Hey, Joey, where ya calling from this time?” Margo asked in her usual good-natured way. She’d always been a chatty one, and she loved her job, which entitled her to talk on the phone all day.
“I’m in Birmingham,” he told her, curbing his impatience. These things couldn’t be rushed. “This bus station is a madhouse. Must be ’cause of the pilots’ strike, I guess.” He’d heard on the news this morning that some airlines had resumed a limited number of flights with replacement pilots, but a phone call to his travel agent had confirmed that seats were still scarce.
“Birmingham! Well, if you aren’t the lucky one.”
“Lucky?” Joe repeated, confused.
“I found your quarry. He’s been moving around a lot, apparently, but right now he’s cozied up right there in Birmingham.”
Joe’s heartbeat accelerated. He was so close he could almost feel Hank’s presence. Finally something was going his way. “You got an address and phone on him?”
“Joey, what kind of slacker do you think I am? Of course I have it.” She rattled off the information while Joe jotted it down. He repeated it back to her, just to be sure.
“I owe you one, sweetheart,” he said.
“You owe me several, sugar,” she responded with a laugh. “How about dinner out next time you’re in Mobile?”
“Ah...I don’t think my girlfriend would like that.” He felt silly saying it. Jenn wasn’t his girlfriend, despite their recent intimacy. There was no understanding between them, no agreements about the future. Hell, they didn’t have a future. Yet he felt loyal to her.
Margo gasped. “Girlfriend? Steady? You’re joking.”
“I’m crazy about her.” And he was. Crazy for involving himself in her problems, crazy for putting his reputation on the line like this, crazy for loving her.
But he did. The realization brought him little joy at the moment.
“I’m happy for you, Joey,” Margo said, sounding sincere. “Ah, heck, bring her along to dinner. Just ’cause you’re whipped now doesn’t mean you don’t owe me a steak every now and then.”
Joe chuckled. Margo never failed to cheer him up. “All right. Next time I’m in Mobile.” He concluded the call, then immediately deposited another quarter and dialed Hank Patternson’s number. He could hardly believe his good fortune that the man was right here in Birmingham; he almost fainted when Hank himself answered on the third ring. Joe told him a vague story about doing genealogy research, and although he sounded wary, the man had given Joe permission to come by.
He went to find a taxi.
Hank Patternson lived in a middle-class section of town in a housing tract that backed a wooded area, modest but attractive. There were some kids’ toys and a couple of bikes on the front porch. A dog barked when Joe rang the bell.
The door was answered almost immediately by a tall, thin, bespectacled man with thinning brown hair pulled into a ponytail. He wore faded jeans and a T-shirt. It occurred to Joe that Jenn probably would have recognized him, as he looked much like her description.
“Afternoon,” Joe said pleasantly. “Hank Patternson?”
The man nodded. “You ain’t a cop, are you?” he asked, only slightly suspicious.
“No. Private investigator. May I come in?”
Hank opened the door wider. The dog, which looked like a collie mix, stopped barking and started fawning. Joe gave it a scratch behind the ears, hoping that would satisfy it.
“You want a beer or something?” Hank asked.
“No, thanks.” Joe got right to the point. “I’m working on behalf of a woman named Jennifer Montgomery. You probably knew her as Jenn Palmer.”
Hank’s eyes immediately widened in recognition, then narrowed. “I don’t think...”
“Judge Dennis Palmer’s younger stepdaughter. I believe you used to date Jenn’s older sister, Tammy?”
“That was a long time ago,” Hank said, not so friendly now. “She died, you know.”
“So I’ve heard. But you knew her, probably better than anyone. I’m trying to find out why she ran away from home when she was thirteen.”
“Why would you want to know something like that?” Hank asked. “Nothing’s gonna bring her back. If little Jenn is searching for her roots or something—”
“It’s not that simple.” Joe hadn’t wanted to go into a lot of details, but he sensed that Hank wouldn’t cooperate unless he had the complete story. So Joe told him all about the accident and the custody battle. He didn’t specifically mention child abuse.
Apparently he didn’t have to.
“That dirty, old son of a bitch,” Hank muttered.
Inwardly, Joe rejoiced, Hank knew, and if he had a conscience at all, he would help. “Mr. Patternson, Jenn really needs for someone to help her prove that Dennis Palmer shouldn’t be the legal guardian of any child. Ideally, that someone would be another of his victims. But since Tammy can’t testify, you can. I believe you have direct knowledge of Judge Palmer’s...proclivities.”
Hank suddenly became agitated. “Look, mister, I’d like to help, but I can’t get involved in something like this. I have my own wife and kids to think of. Anyone who goes up against Dennis Palmer is crazy, just crazy.”
Joe had been prepared for just such an argument. “Mr. Patternson ... Hank. You’ve seen firsthand what the man can do. He drove his older stepdaughter to the streets, to drugs, and ultimately to death. But he didn’t stop there.”
“He hurt Jenn, too?”
Joe nodded. “Once the truth comes out, Palmer won’t be in any position to retaliate against you. I’m hoping he’ll be in jail, if some more recent victims come forward. I’ll pay all the expenses. All I need is for you to convince a judge that Dennis Palmer has a history of abuse—”
The sound of a door opening somewhere in the house cut Joe off. Hank got a panicked look in his eye, and then his face hardened. He stood abruptly, his fists clenched. “I’m afraid I’m just not interested. You’ll have to go.”
What had made the man get suddenly belligerent? Joe wondered, mentally verbalizing his next argument. He stood, too, just in case he had to defend himself. It wouldn’t be the first time a prospective witness or suspect had attacked him. “Please, Hank, if you’d just hear me out—”
“Hank, honey?” a feminine voice called from the kitchen. “I’m home. I thought you were going to—oh, ’scuse me, I didn’t realize you had company.”
Joe stared. His jaw worked, but no words came out. Into the living room had walked a slender, attractive woman with a mountain of curly blond hair pinned atop her head in a careless style. She had luminous blue eyes and a pixie face, and he’d have recognized it anywhere.
The woman was an older, blonder version of Jenn.
Chapter 13
Joe both anticipated and dreaded his return to the Connallys’ home. As his rental car drew closer to Lake of the Ozarks, he thought about all the things he wanted to tell Jenn—that her sister was alive and thriving in Birmingham; that Jenn had two nieces and a nephew she didn’t even know about.
But the news wasn’t all good. Hank and Tammy Patternson had flatly refused to become involved in Jenn’s custody battle with her stepfather. Even after Hank had more or less admitted that he knew Judge Palmer was a pedophile, even after he’d related the story of how they’d run away, Tammy had flatly denied that any abuse had taken place. She had become almost hysterical, ordering him out of her house, out of her family’s lives.
It had been obvious she was lying. Joe had seen the fear radiating from every cell of her body. But his pleas for her to consider Jenn’s and Cathy’s plight had fallen on deaf ears. She wanted nothing to do with her former life in Rhymer.
Joe had a hard time blaming her. She and Hank had been married for almost twenty years, judging from the framed wedding picture Joe had seen on a shelf, as well as photos of their children, the oldest of whom was well into her teens. They had a good life. Tammy had obviously overcome the nightmare of her childhood. Why wo
uld she want to bring it all back? Why would she want to tangle with Dennis Palmer, a man who had nearly destroyed her?
Both Tammy and Hank had exhibited an almost unnatural fear of Palmer, as if just mentioning his name could hurt them. So, yes, Joe understood their reluctance. On the other hand, he had a hard time understanding how Tammy could turn her back on a blood relative, an innocent child, when she had the power to prevent that child from suffering the same tragic fate she herself had suffered.
The point was probably moot anyway. Joe fully expected Jenn and Cathy to be gone. He’d thought of calling ahead to see what was going on, then had decided against it, preferring to postpone the disappointment. He only hoped that Jenn had left some clue with the Connallys as to her whereabouts. He had no intention of dragging her home, or even trying to convince her to return to Rhymer on her own. But he felt an obligation to tell her about Tammy.
When he pulled up to the Connally house less than thirty-six hours after he’d departed, his fears were confirmed. The Monte Carlo was gone. The ache of disappointment that bloomed inside his chest was far worse than he’d anticipated. He supposed he’d been harboring some illogical hope that she’d trusted him enough to stay at least long enough to find out if his search for Hank had been successful.
His feet dragged as he mounted the front steps. He knocked, and when he received no answer he let himself in with the key Zig had told him about, hidden above the door frame.
The house was oddly silent. Joe removed his jacket and hung it on a coatrack before heading upstairs. He dropped his duffel in the hallway in front of the room he was using, then went straight to where Jenn and Cathy had stayed.
Their room was tidy, the bed made, almost as if they’d never been here. Without pausing to analyze what he was doing, he pulled back the covers on the old iron bed and fell against the sheets, pressing his face into the pillow. Ah, yes, it still smelled faintly of Jenn. He inhaled deeply, filling himself with her distinctly feminine scent.
Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw something that pulled him up short. Sitting in a bentwood rocker was Cathy’s beloved pink teddy bear. He couldn’t believe she’d left it behind. She would be one unhappy camper when she discovered it missing.
He spotted something else—a shopping bag, one that Jenn had been using as luggage. He rose and walked over to inspect it. It was full of her neatly folded clothing. In the closet he found another shopping bag, and a nightgown hanging from a hook.
With his heart beating erratically, he rushed out the door and across the hall to the bathroom. Jenn’s toothbrush and paste were on the vanity. Cathy’s bubble bath sat on the edge of the tub.
Why would they have fled and left all this behind? Was it possible... ?
Joe was afraid to let himself hope that they planned to return. However, there was an extra spring in his step as he went downstairs to the kitchen to find himself a beer. Before he’d even popped the top he heard an approaching car, and he held his breath so he could hear it more clearly. He strained to listen. Moments later he identified the sound of the Monte Carlo’s engine.
He nearly broke his leg getting out the front door and bounding down the stairs. By the time he reached the bottom, his car was pulling into view. His body thrummed with anticipation. He wanted to hug the stuffing out of Jenn. He wanted to kiss her, to make love to her in a real bed. He wanted...
His heart sank. The woman behind the steering wheel was a blonde, and there was no five-year-old little girl in the passenger seat. Anticipation quickly turned to anger. Who in the hell was driving his car, and what had she done with Jenn and Cathy?
Just as quickly, his anger turned to dismay. As the woman killed the engine and climbed out of the car, he found himself, for the second time in twenty-four hours, staring at a blond version of Jenn. Only this one was the real thing.
“You’re back already?” Jenn said inanely. She wanted to throw her arms around him, but the expression on his face clearly was not an invitation.
“Jenn? What happened to your...?” He gestured toward her head.
She ruffled her short hair self-consciously. “Oh, that. I was tired of being a brunette, and the blond roots were getting really obvious. Since I’m no longer a fugitive, I found a salon and had them turn my hair back to its original color. Well, close to the original, anyway. Got it trimmed, too.”
She clamped her mouth shut when she realized she was babbling. Joe came closer and reached out to touch the side of her hair, studying her like she was a bug under a microscope.
“Is it that bad?” she asked.
Joe finally rediscovered his voice. “No, no, of course not. It’s just different, and it makes you look like...well, like someone I met recently. Where’s Cathy?”
“Zig and Fran took her fishing. I don’t do boats or worms, though, so they left me behind—thank goodness.” She fell silent as Joe’s casual touch turned into a caress. Before she knew it she was in his arms, kissing him as if he’d been gone months instead of hours. She’d missed him more than she cared to admit. She savored the feel of his hard mouth against hers, the faintly tangy scent of the soap he used, the springy feel of his hair beneath her questing fingertips.
“I thought you’d be gone,” he murmured in her ear, holding her so tightly she almost couldn’t breathe. “That’s why I left you the car.”
“I know. Oh, Joe, I already told you I’d decided not to run anymore. You didn’t believe me?”
“I believed you at the time.”
She pulled back and eyed him skeptically. “But you didn’t think I’d be able to resist the temptation?”
He smiled crookedly. “Let’s just say that, if I’d been in your shoes, I know what I would have done. I’d have been halfway to the Canadian border by now.”
His words alarmed her. “Should I have that little faith in you? I take it you didn’t find Hank Patternson, or you’d be showing more optimism.”
“I found him, all right.” The smile vanished. He slipped his arm around Jenn’s waist. “Come on inside. You want a beer or something?”
She had a feeling she might need one, so she nodded.
Joe grabbed a cold bottle from the fridge and uncapped it for her as he led the way out the back door and onto the deck. Jenn pulled a deck chair into a sunny spot, even though she was still burning from that kiss. The beer and the autumn breeze would cool her down soon enough, she figured.
“I have good news and bad news,” Joe said, pulling up a chair near hers. “Which do you want first?”
“Just...spit it out, okay?” She was too nervous to play games.
“Okay, well...” He shrugged. “Here’s the deal. Your sister isn’t dead, after all. She’s married to Hank Patternson and living in Birmingham. They have three kids.”
The almost full bottle of beer slipped from Jenn’s nerveless fingers and clunked to the deck. She stared, openmouthed, into Joe’s eyes, trying to find some glimmer of explanation in their depths.
How could what he said be true? Tammy was alive? “H-how?”
“Hank and Tammy ran away to live with his aunt and uncle in Pennsylvania. Tammy was terrified that Dennis would come after her, so they cooked up a scheme to convince Dennis she had died of a drug overdose. I’m not clear on the details, but whatever they did, it worked.”
“I can’t believe this.” She turned and looked sharply at Joe. “Are you sure? Did you see her?”
“I saw her,” Joe confirmed. “She looks very much like you—especially now that you’re both blond.”
Jenn absently touched her hair again. “Where is she now? Birmingham? When can I see her? Will she come here? Should I go there?” Jenn’s questions trailed off when she realized Joe wasn’t answering any of them. “Joe? What’s wrong?”
He pressed his lips into a thin line. He took her hand and held it between his, the pain reflected in his eyes making her heart beat faster. “That’s the bad news, Jenn. She doesn’t want to see you. She doesn’t want to help. She seve
red all ties with her hometown and her family more than twenty years ago, and she wants nothing to do with any of it.”
The breath whooshed out of Jenn’s body. “But how could she not... I don’t understand.”
“She’s afraid, Jenn, afraid of Dennis. She’s built a safe little shell around her life, and she refuses to let anyone or anything breach it. I think she also feels guilty for leaving you behind to face your stepfather alone. Until now, she didn’t have to confront the consequences of her actions. She could imagine that you’d somehow escaped the things she’d suffered. Now she knows better.”
Jenn pulled her hand out of Joe’s grasp and stood, needing to pace. “For heaven’s sake, I don’t blame her. She did what she had to do to survive. Besides, if she imagines she’s committed some dreadful sin against me, she can make up for it now. Doesn’t she realize what’s at stake?” Jenn paused in her pacing and stared hard at Joe. “Did you tell her about Cathy, about the danger?”
“As much as I could before they threw me out of their house.”
She put a hand to her forehead. This was almost too much to take in, too much information to assimilate. She realized, belatedly, that she had no right to snap at Joe.
“If only she knew Cathy,” Jenn said softly. “Right now, Cathy’s just some anonymous little girl. But if Tammy could see her... Oh, Joe, we have to go to her. If I can just talk to her, I know she’ll help me.”
“Exactly what I was thanking. How soon can you leave?”
“You mean you’ll take me there?” Her despair receded slightly.
“Of course. That was my plan, to pick up you and Cathy and head right back to Birmingham. Tammy will take one look at that little girl of yours and immediately change her mind. After all, she has daughters of her own.”
“Oh, tell me about her children. How many did you say? How old are they? What do they look like?”
“I’ll tell you about them while you pack up your things. We can leave as soon as Cathy gets back from fishing. Um, she will be back, won’t she?” He looked down at the toes of his cowboy boots. “I mean, you didn’t enlist Zig and Fran to spirit her off someplace, did you?”