“This is Meri Ann Fehr,” she said tentatively.
“Detective Jack Mendiola; Ada County Sheriff’s Office.”
Mendiola. The Basque name and his thick western accent took her back to high school in a split-second lapse. Then she focused. He was an Idaho cop and she knew without doubt the one reason for his call. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. She held one hand to her breast as though that might stop the pounding. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry to bother you ma’am, but the director at your dad’s nursing home gave me this number. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. My father has Alzheimer’s. You’ll have to talk to me.” Her voice broke. “Have you found my mother?”
Pitelli muttered “Jesus,” as if it were a prayer.
“Can’t say just yet. The remains showed up east of Boise, on Table Rock.”
She visualized the high, barren plateau topped with a sixty-foot neon cross—a place frequented by rattlesnakes more often than humans. “Do you know how she died? Did she fall?” Her voice cracked. “Was she murdered?”
“We can’t say. The remains were found near the cross by two joggers who reported it a week ago Thursday. Said it wasn’t there Wednesday. Just bones, a gold bracelet, and some fabric. The bracelet matched the description in the missing person’s report in your mom’s file, so we thought it might be her. I’ll fax a photo of the bracelet for identification.”
“It’s got to be my mother.”
“Possibly, but we’ll need samples of your mother’s hair for the State Pathologist. He’s wanting to send a section of bone for mitochondrial DNA testing. We need a blood sample from you for comparison.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s helpful in cases with massive decomposition.”
“I’m aware of mitochondrial testing. I’m a detective with the Sarasota County Sheriff’s Department. My question is why bother with complex identity tests when you can use dental records?”
He cleared his throat, lowered his voice. “Not gonna work for us. You see, ma’am, the skull is missing.”
Without the skull, the cause of death might never be known. Suddenly, she felt the distance between her and those bones which had to be the last remains of her mother. She gathered her strength and tightened her grip on the cellular. “Don’t bother to fax the evidence photo. I’m coming to Boise.”
Pitelli had remained calm and sympathetic during the conversation until she declared her intent to leave Sarasota. At that point, he adamantly shook his head. He held up his hands, signing for a time out. But Meri Ann didn’t care what he wanted or what anyone else wanted for that matter. She took down Mendiola’s contact information and switched off the phone.
She explained where the remains were found and about the DNA. “Nothing but bones, her bracelet and some fabric from the skirt she wore on the day she went missing. There’s no skull.”
His jaw tightened, and she saw signs of anger and disgust in his expression. “It’s rough, Fehr,” he said after several seconds. “Some scabby weirdo doing that. But re-think this going out west. And it’s not just my agenda I’m thinking of. The cops working the case might see it as interference.”
“I’m not going to step on their toes.”
Pitelli rolled his eyes and laughed under his breath. “Yeah, right.”
“I can’t not be there. You don’t know what it’s been like all these years, wondering what happened to her.” She struggled to control her emotions, to organize her thoughts. “I could give my DNA in person, talk to the detective and the forensics folks. It would save time and ease my mind. I have a good friend I can stay with. My aunt is there too.” She took a deep breath, noting Pitelli’s reddening face.
“You came into this department six months ago. You sat in that chair you’re sitting in now and told me you wanted to work homicides. I said it takes time to pay your dues. A miracle happens: you hit the lottery and become the departmental poster girl. The sheriff is the man who can make it happen two, maybe three years faster than I could. And now you want to throw a wrench in the momentum.”
It was true. To solve homicides was her dream. And she knew opportunities such as this one seldom came about. And yet she wanted it all and felt she could pull it off. “When is the meeting?”
“Thursday afternoon.”
She counted on her fingers, four days away. “And the Governor’s conference is ten days after that?”
Pitelli’s jaw muscles tightened and he took a deep breath before he answered. “You are not a visiting dignitary who can cancel a meeting on a whim. Well, not a whim, Fehr. I didn’t mean that. But the man needs a briefing. It’s key to his speech and your introduction. I was going to help you with it today.”
She understood Pitelli’s distress. “I know you were and I’m grateful.” In a stronger tone she said, “A face-to-face meeting makes a stronger impression on a detective working a case. I want them to work hard on this one.”
Her boss shrugged his affirmation. “Guess I can’t change your mind.”
“I will make the meeting, Pitelli. But to do that, I’m going to have to leave today.”
# # #
Meri Ann made the travel arrangements in twenty minutes and packed in less time than that. But before leaving she swung by her father’s nursing home; because going back to Boise was as much for him as it was for her.
She pulled a chair next to her dad’s recliner in the Pine View nursing home. He sat beside a picture window, looking out on a lot thick with Florida slash pines and split-leaf philodendrons. It was a peaceful scene, but in his confusion there was no peace for him. He pawed at a crease in his twill slacks. “Joanna,” he said.
“No, Dad, I’m Meri Ann.”
She put a hand on his, threading her fingers through to calm the motion. She gave a squeeze and rose. “How about we play some Frank Sinatra?” She strode to the CD player and turned it on. The disc he liked was all ready in place. Sinatra crooned In the wee small hours of the morning . . . .
She yearned to tell him about the find on Table Rock, but the discovery would only further confuse him. Instead she stuck to what mattered in his world. “The menu says they’re serving roast pork, gravy and mashed potatoes for dinner.”
He nodded, his hand still smoothing the crease in his slacks. His deeply lined face turned up and his eyes met hers. “It’s time your mother came home,” he said.
He sounded as lucid as his nurse. Even his eyes seemed brighter for a few seconds. Meri Ann picked up his hand and kissed it, praying she could make his wish come true. “Yes,” she said. “It’s time.”
# # #
A red-winged hawk riding the thermals above Boise’s velvet-brown foothills caught his eye. A twelve gauge shotgun was hooked over his arm, though he didn’t intend to shoot bird. He and the hawk were one—hunters out for prey. He laughed, lifted his chin and cried to the hawk, “You are my brother.”
A growing sense of power filled him, a resurgence of control. He strode along the hill’s crest in a lofty mood. God provides. Hadn’t her face appeared to him in the midst of his darkest trial?
He looked down on north Boise’s grid of bustling roads—a city of trees growing naked. Only a scattering of yellow, red, brown, ocher leaves clung to the branches. The changing season triggered a pang deep inside, a painful wildness buried far too long. He contemplated the days to come, driven by a hunger as powerful as the keen-eyed hawk’s, or a bear’s at first frost. Yet he was ill prepared to stalk live quarry, older and now less agile. His skills needed honing, his plan fine tuning. This would be his last chance.
In anticipation his hand slid down to the soft leather pouch tied to his belt loop. His nostrils flared as he stuck his fingers inside and caressed the smooth metacarpals, the phalanges, the remnants of Joanna’s hands. He patted them, li
stening to the delicate clicking of bones, thinking of her.
“Hurry, Meri Ann. Hurry.”
Chapter Two
Idaho cold seeped through the accordion passageway, up Meri Ann’s pant legs, and through her light-weight jacket. The black carry-on roller bag thumped behind her, as it had through Atlanta’s, Denver’s, and Salt Lake City’s airports on the marathon hopscotch to Idaho. Now she was here, hurrying down the passageway with a throng of deplaning passengers in the city she’d never wanted to see again.
Ahead, she heard Becky squeal from somewhere in the crowd behind security. Her sturdy body bowled forward, a shocking red-haired Becky. She was heavier than the last time she’d seen her and seemed happier too. She wrapped her arms around Meri Ann and squeezed.
Meri Ann hugged back. Then she pulled just far enough away to look closely at her good friend. “It’s been so long.”
“I know, kid. Sorry about your mom. How are you holding up?”
“I’m not thinking straight. I barely had time to rent a car and get up to Tampa. I left my cell phone in it when I dropped off. A brand new one, a Razr.”
“What, one of those skinny things? Who needs one anyway?”
Becky disliked the new phone technology as much as her boss. “The point is that it is so unlike me.”
“Okay, so you’re not holding up so well. Let’s get out of here.” Nonetheless, Becky took time to point out the mural-sized Steve Bly posters of familiar landmarks.
“Boise’s changed, kid. Get a load of the designer jeans and khakis. Everyone looks so upscale, sometimes I’d swear I’m in Seattle.” Becky nodded in the direction of a poster of a local ski resort. “Last time I skied Bogus Basin, the lift lines were as long as Sun Valley’s.”
As Becky went on about the lift lines, Meri Ann happened to glance over her shoulder. And there amid another group of arrivals, she spotted a familiar face. A tall, middle-aged man with thinning hair was approaching her. He carried a tan parka on one arm and a cardboard tube under the other, the type architects and engineers use for drawings. Her heart did a flip-flop.
She shielded her mouth with her hand. “Coming this way. Robin Wheatley, the engineer Mom worked for. I don’t want to talk to him.”
“Hell if it isn’t. Sumbitch.”
He strode forward, his face cast down so that the comb grooves in his slicked-back hair were highlighted by the overhead fluorescent lights. The gap closed between them: twenty feet, ten feet, suddenly five feet. He lifted his head and looked right at her.
Memories of a spiteful argument in his office rushed back. Her mother had worked late that particular evening. Meri Ann and her father had picked her up. Her dad lost his temper, insisted she quit. He yanked her by the arm to hurry her out the door. Wheatley jumped to her rescue, knocking Dad against a desk. He’d fallen to the floor humiliated. And there was Wheatley standing above him, slicking back his perfect hair.
He stopped right in front of her. “Meri Ann? Meri Ann Dunlap?”
“Yes.” She didn’t bother adding Fehr.
“I can’t believe it. I saw you on television last week. You… you’re the image of your mother. More so in person.” Wheatley’s ears reddened. “I knew you’d moved east with your father. Can’t say I blamed him wanting to make a fresh start. What a nightmare for him, for all of us.” He shifted the parka draped over his arm, as though it had suddenly grown heavy. “Back for a visit?”
“Seeing friends.” Meri Ann forced herself to look him in the eye.
He turned to Becky. “Have we met?”
“Yeah, Becky Schuster,” she said. “Meri Ann and I copied blueprints for you on your stinking ammonia machine a hundred years ago.”
“Oh, the old monster. Everything’s digital now. You wouldn’t recognize the place.” Wheatley paused. “Well, enjoy your stay. I’ve got to go; I’m meeting a client.”
He and Meri Ann nodded cordially, but not Becky.
“Come on, kid, my truck’s in short-term parking.” Out of earshot, she said, “I don’t like him. Never did, not even before he pushed your dad around that time. The old sanctimonious Mormon.”
“Actually, Mormon’s the best thing about him.”
They made their way outside to the parking lot. The dry frigid air stung her cheeks and Florida’s Gulf of Mexico seemed worlds away. “It’s so strange, like I’ve been away forever and yet like I never left. Before we moved away, I’d lie in bed at night and rewrite my life. Dad kept his job and Mom stayed home instead of working for Wheatley. Everyone was happy and… and alive.”
Becky glanced over but didn’t respond—there was no response needed. She halted beside a silver Cadillac Esplanade.
“Not exactly a truck, Becky.”
“I got it for the ‘On Star’ button. Hey, what’s life without someone to talk to?”
She stowed the one bag in the back, while Meri Ann got inside. A polartec fleece jacket was draped over the passenger seat. “What’s this?” she asked.
“I brought it for you, thought you might be cold.” Becky slammed the back hatch shut and climbed behind the wheel. Her short legs made it a hike. She started the engine, her expression suddenly coy. “It’s my friend’s.”
Meri Ann donned the jacket, which fit perfectly. “A friend?”
“Meg. She’s moved in.”
Becky had had girl friends before, but no one had ever lived with her. “Big step,”
“Meg is unbelievably cool. Got me into silk flowers, wholesale and retail. It was always my hobby. Now it’s a business. Know what’s best? She listens to me. She makes me feel important.
“I like her already. When do I meet her?”
“Next time. She’s in New York on a buying trip. Won’t be back for two weeks. I meant to tell you when you called but with all this about your mother.” Becky took a deep breath. “You’ll like Meg. And she’s says you can use her Mazda while you’re here.”
“That’s really nice of her.”
“See what I mean?”
Meri Ann squeezed Becky’s hand, happy for her. Yet, despite the good news and warm jacket, she felt cold. The uncomfortable meeting with Wheatley continued to bother her. Coincidence of any kind unsettled her, and this one within minutes of her arrival. Just what were the odds that out of Boise’s quarter of a million people that she’d run into him?
Chapter Three
The ride to Becky’s brought on a rush of nostalgia. In minutes, Vista Avenue merged into Capitol Boulevard and the Union Pacific Depot with its mission-style arches came into view. Down the hill, the Idaho’s State Capitol building sat at the boulevard’s other end. The city’s skyline had changed but not those two landmarks. She had spent half of her life in their shadows.
She remembered her ninth-grade class visiting the Capitol’s marble halls and the awful moment a classmate pointed to Meri Ann’s mismatched sneakers. One was an old Nike and the other a new Adidas. Everyone but Becky had teased her mercilessly. She laughed it off, but a profound truth struck her that day. With her mom gone and her dad lost in grieving, only she could catch her mistakes.
“What’re you thinking about, kid?”
“Just remembering.”
In the north end of town, a block off tree-lined Morrison Boulevard, they turned onto Schuster Lane, part of the old Schuster farm. Becky’s family’s home sat at the end of the block on a cul-de-sac, the only original home on the lane of high-ranches and fake Tudors. She slowed to a stop. The headlights illuminated the three-story house.
“It’s mine now, I’m sorry to say. Not that I’m sorry it’s mine, just that I loved my grandpa. Well, you know.”
“Everyone loved Paw Paw. I felt bad when you told me.”
They lingered a moment, and Meri Ann took in the river-stone structure, the stately portico to the side, the thicket of poplars
, elms, and cedar trees that bordered the driveway. Sometimes things from your childhood look smaller when you go back but not River House.
And there was the free-standing three-car garage in the back, built seventy years ago when most families didn’t have one car, let alone three. She glanced at the dark windows above, the place where she and Becky had studied or hid to gossip. “Oh, the apartment—”
“It’s for rent. What can I say? Takes money to keep this place up.”
Becky pulled into the driveway and parked under the portico. “So, kid, does it look the same?”
The house resembled a stone fortress, eerie, dark, and fascinating. The end of Meri Ann’s long day’s journey.
“It’s just like I remember it.”
# # #
Old ghosts haunted Meri Ann as Becky flicked lights on in the living room. One by one, each degree of brightness brought Meri Ann a notch back in time. Friendships aren’t built on laughter alone. She and Becky shared good times and bad.
The lingering scents of fireplace ashes, old wool rugs, and the faint aroma of Paw Paw’s pipe filled the room. A showy silk floral arrangement on the coffee table was new, as well as a fern and philodendron display on the plant stand. But the plaid upholstered sofa, leather club chairs and maple gun cabinet with its assortment of shotguns were unchanged.
“Paw Paw took care of me, and so did you,” Becky said.
Meri Ann reached out and squeezed her hand. “We took care of each other.”
She recalled the day Becky’s dad ran off with another woman. Becky’s mom lost her mind, literally. Every day she’d set his place at the table, taken his clothes to the dry cleaners, mumbled through imaginary conversations. It went on for over a year. Then her psychiatrist forced her to accept, the truth. Becky’s mom went home, took a long bath in tepid water, and slit her wrists. Becky found her dead the next morning.
Becky, too, had lived through hell. When Meri Ann’s mother disappeared, and the detectives finally gave up, Becky understood. They’d both lost their mothers before they’d worn their first prom dresses.
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