Of course. She’d been so busy focusing on seeing Carelli that Clare had forgotten Beth was the person who had photocopied the police file on Rina Thomas. For a split second, she wondered how much of the file Beth had skimmed as she was copying it.
“You…uh, will be careful not to…uh…say anything to Vince, won’t you? About the file?”
That was it. “Don’t worry, please. And thank you so much for your help.”
Beth spoke into the receiver and replaced it. “Vince said to go on in.”
Clare waved her fingers and headed along the carpeted hall to Vince’s office. On her way, she caught a glimpse of a man sitting behind a desk in an office marked Sheriff Kyle Davis. She sneaked a quick peek, recalling he’d been the officer who’d investigated Rina’s murder, but saw little more than a sturdy frame in a khaki uniform.
Vince Carelli was reading some papers on his desk when Clare tapped at his door. He leaped to his feet when he saw her. “Miss Morgan, this is a bit of a surprise. I planned to call you myself sometime later today. How are you feeling?” His face wrinkled in concern.
“Not too bad. A bit sore.” Clare took the chair he motioned to as he sat down again. “I came to find out what happened at the Wolochuks’. I assume you went to see them after you left me.”
He nodded. “I did, I did. And as you might have also assumed, young Jason denied even being in the area.”
“I saw him!”
“I explained that and he still refused to admit it. Short of coming up with any other witness, there’s little I can do. However—” he leaned his elbows on the desk “—I did unofficially warn him off. Put the fear of God into him, as my father would have said.”
Clare summoned a wan smile at the look of pleasure in Carelli’s face. His comment, though, gave her pause. And an opening. “Your father—wasn’t he once president of First National Bank?”
“Yes. You knew him?”
“No, but my mother once worked for him. In the bank.” She watched his face, but he wasn’t making any connection. “Her name was Anne Morgan. She worked there for about ten years.”
“Really? Small world, isn’t it? Especially in Twin Falls, as I’m sure you know all too well. Now, is there anything else I can do for you? As I said, Jason’s not going to bother you again. If he does make any kind of contact at all, let me know at once. Okay?”
She wondered if he knew the circumstances of her mother’s leaving the bank, but decided at once that wasn’t likely. He was at least a year younger than she was and from what she’d learned about old Mr. Carelli from Fran, she doubted the man would have confided in his sixteen-year-old son.
She thanked him for his trouble and rose to leave. Partway to the door, he stopped her. “One other thing. I spoke to Mrs. Wolochuk about that remark of hers. You know, you told me she’d said that Rina Thomas was the source of all their troubles.”
Blood rushed into Clare’s head. She met his gaze, keeping her face blank. “Oh, yes?”
“She flatly denied making any such claim. Said you’d got it all wrong. That she’d meant since the girl’s death, the family had had nothing but trouble. It was just a misunderstanding on your part,” he said. “Thought you’d like to know. You seemed concerned about it last night.”
Clare nodded dumbly. She wasn’t certain why he was making a point of the comment. Had Helen or Stanley told Carelli that she and Gil were inquiring about the Rina Thomas case? She hoped not. She mumbled a faint thank-you and left the office, wishing she’d simply phoned for the information.
Beth was on the phone as she walked past the counter and out the door. On the sidewalk, Clare paused to deliberate her next move. One person who might have more information about her mother’s leaving town was Jeff Withers, though Clare resisted the notion of seeing him again. While she was conducting an inner debate about what to do, a voice from behind made her jump. She spun around and smiled.
“Lost in thought or just plain lost?” Gil asked.
“The former for sure. Maybe the latter, too. I’ve just been to see Vince Carelli to find out what happened with Jason last night.”
“And?”
“As might be expected, Jason denies being anywhere near the hotel.”
“He’s lying.”
“I know that, and I think Vince does, too. He warned Jason off and told me that if he bothers me again I’m to call right away.”
“Helpful,” he muttered.
“That’s what I thought.” She held his gaze a moment longer. He was wearing the same black cords, gray sweater and black leather jacket he’d worn the day of her book signing and looked, she thought with an inner sigh, damn good.
“So where are you headed now?” he asked.
“I was just deciding that.”
“I’m going to see Kyle Davis, the Sheriff. I want to ask him why he suddenly gave up on the investigation. Want to come with me?”
Clare thought about the chances of bumping into Vince Carelli. “Maybe that’s not a good idea,” she said. “Vince will think it’s odd that I’m seeing the sheriff.”
“Point taken. How about meeting afterward to fill each other in on things? And, uh, I want to talk to you about something.”
She was slow to reply, focusing on the last part of what he’d said. “Where?”
“There’s a coffee shop a few doors down from here, on the north side of the street. I’ll meet you there in about fifteen minutes. I’m not expecting this talk with Davis to take too long.”
Clare agreed and watched him walk into the Sheriff’s office before heading to the coffee shop. On her way, spotting a pay telephone, she decided to call Jeff Withers at the Spectator.
Mr. Withers, the receptionist informed her, was on holiday leave. No, she didn’t know when he’d be back. Was there someone else who could help?
Clare hung up and browsed through the telephone book. Surely there weren’t too many Witherses in Twin Falls. Unless Jeff had an unlisted number, she might be able to pay him a visit later. In fact, there was only one and she quickly made the call. The telephone rang until the voice mail picked up. Clare left a brief message, asking him to call her at the hotel. She continued on to the coffee shop to wait for Gil.
He arrived shortly afterward, his manner suggesting the talk with Kyle Davis had been unproductive. Clare waited for him to order a cappuccino—declining one for herself—before asking, “How did it go?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest. He remembered who I was and was courteous enough to ask how I’d made out after leaving Twin Falls. I appreciated his interest, considering the reception I got from the other cops who interviewed me at the time. Of course, I didn’t want to let on that we were making inquiries into the case. Just said that I was in town to close up my parents’ house and wondered if any other developments had arisen. The usual bull.” Gil waved a dismissive hand.
“What did he say?”
“What could he say? He hedged around the fact that the case had been buried, making some excuse about cold leads or whatever. Police jargon. But here’s the thing. Last night I found a memo in the file Beth copied for us from the former sheriff, more or less telling Davis to close the case. He wrote some bull about cutbacks and not spending any more department money on a case that wasn’t going to get solved.”
“Really? Isn’t that a bit unorthodox?”
Gil shrugged. “I’m sure it happens all the time, but the fact that it happened at the end of what was mainly poor police work is suspicious. Anyway, I couldn’t mention the memo without revealing how I knew about it. Although I did think, just as I was leaving, that I ought to have used that reporter as a possible leak. Didn’t he tell you he had a source of information?”
“Yes. I called the newspaper a few minutes ago and found out Withers is on holiday leave.”
“Taking time off to write his book?”
“Maybe.” Clare thought. “We should go around to his house tomorrow and see if he’s there. I called, but got the answering servi
ce. Maybe he’s just not picking up.”
“Uh-huh. That’s an option.” He sipped the last of his cappuccino, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
Clare had a feeling he was about to get to the something he had to discuss with her. She moistened her dry lips and asked, “What is it?”
“I’ve been thinking. After what happened to you last night—and our general lack of success—maybe we ought to call it quits.”
Clare didn’t speak, listening to the drumming of blood at her temple. He was merely articulating the conclusion she’d already reached, but the fact that he was beating her to it rankled just a bit.
“You may have a point. But I went to see the woman who once worked with my mother yesterday afternoon. Her name is Fran Dutton and I liked her a lot. She’s vice president of the bank and get this, she’s using Mr. Carelli’s old office. Apparently he left a lot of stuff behind when he retired, and she’s promised to dig through it to look for any evidence of what really happened to Mom. I plan to stick around at least a couple more days until she can get back to me.”
“Okay, that’s reasonable. So, have you set a target date or something?”
Clare frowned.
“For going back to the city?” he clarified.
“I have to be there Friday afternoon for a meeting,” she said.
Something indecipherable flickered in his face but he didn’t avert his eyes. They stayed straight on Clare’s face, as if searching for some hidden message. Finally, he said, “I guess that’s a target date, then.”
She waited for him to go on, but he didn’t. Was he thinking the same thing that had occurred to her? That the chances of seeing each other again later, in New York, were slim?
He cleared his throat and suddenly asked, “How about dinner tonight at my place? I’ll cook for you.”
The invitation took her completely aback. Her immediate reaction was a definite no. Best to leave things as they are. But something in his expression held her in check. There was a hint of pleading in his eyes. “Okay,” she whispered, wondering what she’d just gotten herself into.
Gil’s smile brushed away any doubts about spending another evening with him. Perhaps this was her last chance, Clare reasoned, to make a connection with him that would permit future get-togethers as Emma grew up.
He glanced at his watch and asked, “What’s a good time for you? Five? Six?”
She had few plans for the day. In fact, she’d expected Gil to come up with something. Dinner, she reckoned, was a long way off. “Whatever’s good for you. I could come earlier and help.”
“That’s a great idea.”
“Can I bring anything?”
“Your appetite. What plans do you have for the afternoon?”
“I think I’ll drop in on Laura—maybe offer to look after Emma. There’s only so much Dave can do when he’s alone with her so Laura doesn’t like to leave them for long periods. And Tia won’t be home from school until four.”
“You’re more comfortable with baby-sitting now?”
She smiled at his question. “I’m definitely a slow learner. Tia’s far more adept at handling Emma than I am, but I’ve become good at jiggling her in my arms when she fusses. And she loves it when I make towers out of her plastic rings and then knock then over.”
Gil’s deep laugh rang throughout the coffee shop. Personally, Clare didn’t think she’d conjured up quite such an amusing picture.
“I can’t envision you sitting on the floor playing with Emma and her toys,” he said.
“It’s a more believable image than you changing a nasty diaper.”
He pulled a face. “Tell me about it. All right then, we’ll make it five.” He stood up and unexpectedly leaned down to kiss Clare on the cheek before he headed for the door. Okay, she thought, a connection’s been made.
It wasn’t until he left that she remembered Laura’s revelation about her father and Mr. Harper’s job at Town Hall. Would Gil be upset by the information, or merely puzzled by it, as she and Laura had been? Whatever, she knew she had to tell him.
On the way to her car, she thought that although Jeff Withers was on holiday, he might be at home and she felt too restless to wait for him to return her call. She made a quick stop at the telephone kiosk again to jot down Withers’s address. It wasn’t on her way to Laura’s, but in a town the size of Twin Falls, it wasn’t exactly out of the way, either.
Ten minutes later, Clare’s Jetta was idling in front of a three-story duplex at the edge of the commercial section of the downtown area. It was a mixed neighborhood of small, family-type businesses, a couple of low-rise apartment buildings and a string of houses that had been converted into apartments. The duplex, a salt-box-shaped brick building, boasted a tiny front lawn and, from Clare’s vantage, a gravel drive that led to a large parking area behind.
There was no sign of life around the duplex. Clare noticed half a dozen mailboxes tiered next to the front door of the side where Jeff Withers lived and dug into her purse for a pen and paper. She scrawled her name and hotel phone number, folded the paper and went up to the front porch. Withers’s apartment was on the third floor and she pressed the buzzer. Again. She searched in the rows of mailboxes for his and tucked the note inside. As she turned to leave, a young man in his twenties came out of the building.
“Can I help you?” he asked, checking her out with a pleasant smile.
“I’m looking for Jeff Withers. I rang his buzzer but he doesn’t appear to be home. Have you seen him today?”
The man frowned. “No, come to think of it I haven’t seen him since the weekend. Have you tried his workplace? The Spectator?”
“I did, but the woman I spoke to said he was on holiday leave.”
“Jeff? I doubt it. We were talking about holidays just last week—commiserating about the fact that our work schedules were too tight to even think of a vacation. And when I bumped into him in the parking lot out back on the weekend, he didn’t mention anything about going on a holiday. In fact, he looked more harried than ever from his job.”
“If you see him, please tell him Clare left two messages. Phone and note. If you could remember, I’d appreciate it.”
“Clare,” he repeated. “I don’t think I’ll have a problem remembering.” He kept his gaze on her a moment longer, then headed for the sidewalk.
Clare stood back on the porch and stared up at the third floor. The curtains on all the windows were drawn, as if Withers had indeed gone away. She thought about what the tenant had said on the roundabout route she took to Laura and Dave’s house.
No doubt Withers had taken leave to get a start at his book, as she and Gil had thought. But he could easily have found out that Clare was still in Twin Falls and yet, hadn’t attempted to contact her again. Such restraint didn’t match the aggressive reporting style Withers had shown. If he was working on the book, she decided, surely he would have to follow the same line of inquiry that she and Gil had by a visit to the sheriff’s office.
Clare made a sharp U-turn back to the center of town.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I’M SURE they think I’m a crank,” Clare said. “One of those people who are always imagining others are out to get them.” She was watching Gil mince vegetables for the ragout he was making.
He glanced up for a split second and grinned. “Don’t worry. You’ve got a ways to go before you’re in the same league as…well, as someone like Helen Wolochuk.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said, returning a smile.
“Ready for a refill?” he asked.
“No, thanks, not if you want me to stay conscious for the ragout.”
“Definitely, especially after I’ve been slaving away over a hot stove all afternoon.” He checked his watch. “At least, part of it.” Grabbing his glass of wine from the counter, he carried it to the table where Clare was sitting and straddled the chair across from her. “What made you decide to go see the sheriff about Withers? I mean,
what is there about the holiday story that doesn’t ring true for you?”
“I can’t put my finger on it. Just a feeling I had after I talked to the tenant in his building. And the other thing was, I wondered why Withers hasn’t been trying to see me again about my book.”
“Maybe he figured you’d gone back to the city.”
“Yes, but don’t you think he’d check around to find out? And that if he knew I was still here, he’d take advantage of my presence to ask more questions?”
Gil shrugged. “Got me. Still, I can see why the sheriff wasn’t thrilled with your request to check out Withers’s apartment with nothing more to go on than your hunch, which I imagine he—”
“Totally dismissed. The funny thing was that Vince Carelli was more interested in my report about Withers than the sheriff. I had to explain why I was concerned by pretending I’d offered to help Jeff with his book.”
“You did? God, what made you do that?”
“Because as you just said, I had no reason to go looking for Withers. At least, not a reason I could tell the police. I didn’t want to bring up the whole thing about my mother and what Withers said.”
“No, I can see that.”
Clare recalled the embarrassing scene at the sheriff’s office. What a crazy impulse that had turned out to be. “But you’re right about Kyle Davis and his memory. He didn’t recognize me by sight, but remembered my name as soon as I introduced myself. He had this funny little frown on his face, too. I guess because I was there almost on the heels of your own visit with him this morning.”
“Did you see him first, or Carelli?”
“Him. We were talking in the corridor outside his office when Vince came along. Needless to say, as soon as Vince filled him in on the stuff with Jason—the note and the pushing incident—I gained a bit more credibility with Sheriff Davis.” She ran the tip of her finger along the edge of her wineglass, her thoughts back to the afternoon. “There was one odd thing I picked up, before I left.”
Past, Present and a Future (Going Back) Page 21