Rob Cornell - Ridley Brone 03 - Saving Sasha Brown

by Rob Cornell

  She sighed. “If he has anything like that, it’s packed away in boxes either in the basement or the garage.”

  “Would it bother you if I went through those things?”

  She smoothed out her pants and patted her knees as if calling a kitten to her lap. Then a kitten—more like a full grown cat—leaped onto her from seemingly out of nowhere. The animal had beautiful markings of gold, black, and white across its face and body. I could hear it purr as it rubbed its head against Mrs. Brown’s hand.

  “This is Tonya,” Mrs. Brown said. She stroked Tonya’s back. “Sneaky little kitty, but I always know where she’s hiding.”

  I had nothing against cats, except that they started me into violent sneezing fits. I tried to lean away and the stupid worn out recliner tilted back and threw me into the large indentation presumably made by hours of Mr. Brown reclining in front of the TV.

  “To answer your question,” Mrs. Brown said, “I have no objection to you going through a few…select…things.”

  “Did he have a computer I could take a look at, too?”

  “No.”

  “He didn’t have a computer?”

  “We have a family laptop that is circulated like a library book. Anyone who needs it, signs it out. This way we can check the internet history and make sure nothing…inappropriate was done or looked up.”

  I wondered what kinds of things would make her inappropriate list and had a feeling I’d have an easier time asking what wasn’t off limits. From the sounds of it, Peter wouldn’t have put anything sensitive on the computer anyway, so I didn’t bother asking to see it.

  I noticed I’d never taken out my notebook. I didn’t think I needed it. This conversation would stick for a while in my memory.

  “You do want me to find your husband, correct?”

  “Of course.”

  “Even with the troubles you’ve been having? He probably left because of those issues.”

  “Again, you talk to me like a stupid, Godless child.”

  “I just wanted to make sure you understand. Even if I do find him, I can’t make him come back home.”

  Her hand went back to rubbing the cross hanging from her neck. “I should hope not.” With her other hand, she nudged the cat off her lap. It sauntered out of the room, purring the whole way. “Mr. Brone, I don’t want my husband to come back because you make him. I want him to come back because it is his duty to do so.”

  His duty?

  I knew the idea came out of her religion, but I couldn’t comprehend wanting to stay with someone you nearly gutted with a knife. What I did fully understand was why Peter left in the first place. Thankfully, if I found him, I had no obligation to tell Mrs. Brown about it. She wasn’t my client. I owed her nothing except a thanks for letting me dig through some old things that probably wouldn’t lead anywhere.

  I smiled, and never did a smile feel more fake. “Why don’t you show me the way to those things of Peter’s so I can get out of your hair as soon as possible.”

  Chapter 13

  From the boxes in the basement I found a full set of yearbooks from Peter’s days at Hawthorne High. Man, were there a lot of cheesy haircuts back then. I also laid my hands on a Moleskin notebook. I flipped through it quickly while Mrs. Brown actually stood about six feet behind me, her hands on her hips, an impatient tilt to her face. The Gestapo watching over me to make sure I didn’t start digging through the wrong boxes.

  I fluttered the pages of the moleskin, using my body as a screen between her and the book. Not many of the pages had writing on them. I’d say about a quarter or less. I noticed a few dates above blocks of neatly written text as if it were a journal. It smelled like the box it came out of, musty and old.

  Mrs. Brown provided me with a standard-sized moving box to carry things back to my office in, with a promise that I return the items as soon as I was done with them. I tossed the moleskin journal into the box on top of the yearbooks, trying to appear nonchalant about it so I wouldn’t draw her attention. I didn’t need her stopping me and asking, Oh, what was that? Then start reading and refuse me the access to his words.

  However, like a lot of this stuff, the notebook probably wouldn’t lead anywhere anyway. Had to cover my bases, though. And a secret journal—if that’s what it was—counted as prime material in the investigation.

  I didn’t find much else. A manila folder full of what looked like old bills. A stack of old letters that I tried to get into the box before Mrs. Brown saw them, but she caught me and laughed.

  “Those’ll be fun reading,” she said.

  “What are they?”

  “Letters he and I wrote to each other while we courted.” She smiled. “Days long gone.”

  I put them in my box, and she didn’t not object.

  The last thing I found worth taking was a photo album that crackled when I flipped through the pages. A lot of faces. A lot of people Peter might have turned to for help while disappearing from his wife. But it also meant spending more time with Mrs. Brown to identify any of those faces she could. I didn’t relish the thought of putting in that time. Still…

  I held up the book. “Could we make an appointment to look through this together?”

  She gazed at the album for a while, parts of the album’s blue cover torn in spots, as if it had received a lot of abuse over the years in the bottom of a box. Mrs. Brown sighed. She no more wanted to spend additional time with me and I did her. But she nodded. “I’ll call your office later, after I’ve checked my schedule.”

  “Sounds fine.”

  I placed the album in my box, flipped the flaps on the box closed, and faced Mrs. Brown. “Thanks for your help. I know this is a hard time for you.”

  “He loved her.” Mrs. Brown wiped at her eyes, as if expecting tears, but her eyes were dry. “I can understand his leaving me. We’ve drifted. But not Sasha.”

  I stayed quiet to let her go on at her own pace.

  “He never would have left Sasha.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I don’t know. Just the truth. And here’s a good one. If he really meant to leave me, he would have tried his damndest to take her with him.”

  Damndest. Score one for Satan getting a swear word out of this woman.

  “What about your son?”

  “Peter and Sasha had a special relationship,” she said, ignoring my question—if she even heard it. “It’s why she started acting more like him, I’m sure. Restless. Defiant. Reckless. Just like him.”

  I had trouble picturing the angelic girl with the amazing voice as any of those things. But one night at a karaoke and across the room did not make me an expert on Sasha Brown.

  I rested a hand on the box of Peter’s things I meant to take with me. “Did Sasha ever say anything about going with him? Do you think she might have known where he went?”

  “She never said anything, but…” Mrs. Brown pressed her hands together and looked toward the basement’s drop ceiling. Her lips moved silently. I only caught what she started with before my meager lip-reading skills failed me.

  Lord, help me stay strong…

  After a mere few seconds, she let her hands glide back down to her sides and returned her focus to me. “Prayer is a powerful thing, Mr. Brone.”

  Didn’t know what to say to that, so I tried to get back on track. “Do you think Sasha knew where Peter went?”

  “I heard her talking in her room, the night Peter didn’t come home as expected. At first I thought she had sneaked her cell phone into her room. We have a strict phone policy in this house.”

  “Who was she talking to?”

  “God.”

  I took a confused step backward, as if Mrs. Brown carried that knife she had once cut her husband with. “I’m sorry?”

  “She hadn’t gotten her phone. She was on her knees in prayer. Something I’d seen less of from her lately.”

  “I don’t understand. How does this—”

  “The Lord favors the patient,
Mr. Brone.”

  So I shut my trap and waited.

  As if making a game of it, she remained silent a half-minute longer. But the haggard cast to her face, made worse by the fluorescent lighting in the basement, told me this was not play.

  “I overheard Sasha’s prayer. Not much, but enough to awaken my curiosity. I heard her say, ‘Please bring him back safely from that place.’”

  Not hard evidence, especially coming from a second-hand source. But all I needed was a chain to follow to find Peter. I didn’t need hard evidence.

  “So you think she was talking about wherever Peter was headed,” I said.

  “I asked Sasha about it later, but the girl lied to my face. Said I must have misheard. I slapped her for her sinfulness, but she remained insistent that she didn’t know where her father had gone.” She looked down at her right hand as if it still stung. “I had no choice but to stop.”

  A felt a twitch in my gut. I didn’t want to spend any more time in Mrs. Brown’s presence today…or maybe ever. But, lucky me, I had that session with the photo album to look forward to. Maybe I could wrap this up before then.

  I thanked her for her time, picked up my box, and got the hell out of there.

  * * *

  Neither Carrie nor myself said anything as we pulled away from the Brown’s house, snow crunching under the car tires. A buzz hung in the air between us though, both of us anxious to tell our story, but reticent at the same time, as if Mrs. Brown might somehow hear us.

  It wasn’t until we cleared the block that Carrie spoke, blurting her words in a long breath. “Oh, my goodness, you will never even guess what I found.”

  “I picked up an interesting tidbit myself. Plus some junk that might help.”

  Her silence caused me to glance at her. I found her smirking, one eyebrow arched. “So should we flip a coin and see who goes first?”

  I laughed. “Go ahead. I’m still recovering from Mrs. Brown’s psychoticness.”

  “Is that even a word.”

  “Introduce Webster to Mrs. Brown and it will be, guaranteed.”

  “She’s really not that bad. Strict, but…”

  I navigated the car around a snowdrift in the street. “Why do you stick up for her like that?”

  “She’s lived a hard life. You really don’t know anything about Sasha and her family to make judgments.”

  I wondered what a “hard life” meant to Carrie. On the streets of LA, I saw a lot of hard living. Nothing in Hawthorne ever came close. Not even on the south side. “But you don’t disagree with my judgments.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve known Mrs. Brown for half my life. I earned my impression of her.”

  “And I’m just getting started, is that it?”

  “Something like that.”

  Despite the initial buzz for both of us to share our respective info, we fell into a silence that lasted until we had cleared the Browns’ neighborhood, a few minutes from the interstate.

  “I think Sasha knew where her dad is,” I said to break the silence.

  “I think you’re right,” Carrie said.

  “Why? What did you find?”

  “You first.”

  I shrugged. “Her mom overheard a prayer. Sasha was begging God to bring her dad back safely from ‘that place.’ Only we don’t know what ‘that place’ is. But apparently she did.”

  Carrie smiled. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out something that looked like a tri-folded piece of paper. Then the gray sunlight reflected off the paper’s slick surface and I realized it was a brochure of some kind.

  She held it up proudly.

  I had to keep my attention on the road, so I pulled around a corner, parked at a curb, and gave the item my full attention. On the front of the brochure was a picture of a group of people smiling, looking happier than they’d ever been. In an arch above them was printed, Sunnygale Sanctuary: A Place for Healing.

  I took the brochure from her and opened it up. More pictures of happy people in a setting that looked like a cross between a resort and a hospital. I scanned the text and learned Sunnygale was a addiction and mental health center located on the outskirts of Hawthorne. I’d never heard of the place before, so I assumed it pretty new.

  “Did you find this with Sasha’s things?” I asked, ready to come down on Carrie for veering from our agreed goal—Peter Brown’s belongings.

  “No. I found it in the back pocket of a pair of Mr. Brown’s pants.”

  I gaped at her. “You got into his closet?”

  She waggled her eyebrows. “Impressed, aren’t you?”

  “Where was Collin in all this?”

  “In his room, where I left him after showing off my…boobs.” She blushed. “After that, I figured he’d appreciate some time alone, so I told him I was going to the bathroom. Then I went into Mr. and Mrs. Brown’s bedroom instead.

  My gut turned to spin cycle. “You what?”

  “It’s not a big deal. And look at what I found.” Her blush faded, while her voice took on a high pitched keen to it. “I bet you Mr. Brown checked himself in there.”

  “Without telling a soul.”

  “Or only telling a soul that wouldn’t tell any other souls.”

  I tried to wipe away the knowledge of Carrie’s little trick to distract Collin. It sure as hell didn’t seem very Christian to me. But it had gotten results. This was a big hit. I thought it through. This Sunnygale place wouldn’t just let us in or confirm Peter was staying there. I’m sure they had protocols to keep their patients’ privacy protected.

  So we had to find the person, if such a person existed, whom he told he was checking in.

  He told Sasha.

  Which didn’t do us much good. We had to hope he told someone else, too.

  His checking into Sunnygale also explained the pills. Maybe Peter got hooked on them. He was trying to kick the habit. In the meantime, Sasha waits for him to come back. She has her own little baggie…

  “No,” I said aloud.

  Carrie crinkled her brow. “No, what?”

  “If he told Sasha he was checking into this place, she had no reason to kill herself. Nor does it make sense that she had the pills in the first place.”

  “Maybe she was trying to keep them from him.”

  “But you said you saw them in the medicine cabinet the day before. Wouldn’t she have gotten rid of them all? And why, knowing her dad was getting help, would she take those pills herself?”

  Carrie stared down into the car’s foot well as if she might find the answer printed on her loafers. “There had to be a different reason. Nothing about her dad. Maybe she killed herself because of something her mom did.”

  “I’d believe that,” I said. “But there’s another or in there.”

  “Or…” Carrie said, trailing off.

  “Or she didn’t commit suicide at all.”

  Chapter 14

  “Play it again.”

  The four of us sat at a center table in the High Note. I still had a few hours before we had to get ready to open, so we had the whole place to ourselves. I didn’t bring the kids up to my office because I figured a round table would make it easier for us all to see Carrie’s phone at once.

  Carrie gave me an uncertain look.

  I nodded my head. “Play it.”

  We had already watched the video of Sasha’s apparent suicide note three times. We’d gone through it enough times that I started noticing odd details. Like the nervous glance she kept making at something beyond the frame, as if someone else stood behind her camera.

  She was at the kitchen table in her house. I could easily imagine someone watching it from the opposite side of the table. Someone forcing her to make the message?

  It sounded like a stretch. But the more I watched the video, the more times I saw those quick looks beyond the screen, the more times I heard the quiver in her voice that sounded less like sadness and more like fear, the more convinced I became that we didn’t have the full picture of what rea
lly happened to Sasha Brown that night.

  Carrie played it again.

  And again.

  Rachel broke first. Her eyes were filled with tears. “I can’t take this anymore.” She stood. The legs of her chair barked against the tile floor as it scooted away from her. Wiping her eyes, she marched off to the short hall leading to the restrooms.

  Carrie and Holden both watched her go, but neither of them stood to follow her. When Holden looked back at me, his jaw was clenched. “Why are we doing this?”

  “Have you noticed anything more than the first time you watched it?”

  He stared down at Carrie’s smart phone as if the video still played, though it remained paused on the last frame, Sasha’s wide eyes staring into the camera, her lips parted, her arms folded as if she stood out in the cold instead of sitting in her parents’ kitchen.

  “Oh my goodness,” Holden said. “Her necklace.”

  I’d asked a semi-rhetorical question, but Holden had found a solid answer. Yes, something was different. I noticed after he mentioned it. The cross on a chain that the kids all wore—and Sasha’s mom for that matter—was missing from her neck.

  “Is that a big deal?” I asked.

  “She never took it off. None of us do.” To illustrate, Holden reached into his collar and pulled out his cross and chain.

  “He’s right,” Carrie said, and tilted her head back to show off the matching jewelry around her own neck.

  “Wearing that is part of CYAN membership?”

  “Everyone gets one when they join,” Carrie said. “They aren’t really worth much. It’s not real gold or anything. But they become a powerful symbol.”

  I wondered what kind of symbol it looked like to Collin Brown when Carrie flashed him earlier. I pushed that thought away. “So it’s significant that she’s not wearing it in this video?”

  Carrie shrugged. “It’s not like we never, ever take them off. I mean, sure, to shower and stuff.”

  “So it’s no big deal.”

  Holden pointed at the phone. “She said she wished she could be with Christ. If she’s thinking about…dying…she’d be wearing it.”

  “Then let me ask you a question you might not know the answer to, and it’s okay if you don’t.” I pulled my notebook and pen out. “Could Sasha have been sending some kind of message by not wearing the cross?”