by Gary Parker
Though not expecting anything, she moved to the bookshelves in the den. From the bottom shelf, she lifted the yearbook, blowing dust from its cover. A minute later, still wiping dust, she perched herself at the kitchen table, laid the ball down, and began to flip through the pages.
Miller High School. The Wildcats. She examined the cover, but nothing jumped out. Carefully, she opened it and scanned the introductory pages. Typical high school yearbook.
Dedication page, pictures of the students in action, the student leaders—Most Likely to Succeed, Best Couple, Most Athletic, so on and so on. She had seen the pictures a few times over the years, nothing unusual about them.
Jack, an A and B student of medium popularity, hadn’t won any superlatives. Connie flipped to the next page, the page showing the faces of the senior class. She began to read through the alphabetical listing, again not sure what she should expect to find. Betsy Aaron . . . Bill Abbott . . . Tom Acer . . . nothing jumped out at her.
She moved through the entire class but gained no clue.
Exasperated, she dropped the book onto the table and leaned back in her seat. She was missing something here, she just knew it. Jack wouldn’t tell her to examine the baseball, then leave her hanging. Somehow or other, she had to figure it out. She glanced at her watch. Almost an hour had passed since church ended.
Tess would call her soon, want to know where she was.
Without breaking her concentration, she dialed Tess. She answered in two rings.
“Yeah, Tess,” said Connie. “I’m running a few minutes late here. The kids okay?”
“No problem, take all the time you want. Tick’s showing the kids the new boat he just bought. We’re going to the lake with it soon, and they say they want to go. They don’t even know you’re not here.”
“I shouldn’t be much longer.”
She hung up and turned to the yearbook again. What had she missed? Sitting back at the table, she picked up the baseball.
Had Jack left something more she wasn’t seeing? She rolled the ball in her hand. MHS ’75, in a circle. He left something else here, she just knew it. MHS, 1975 . . . Wait a minute! In a circle!
Maybe the circle meant something. But what? She bit her lip and closed her eyes, giving the riddle every ounce of her focus. MHS 1975 in a circle . . . in a circle . . . in a rim . . . in an orbit. She considered the meaning of each of the possibilities.
Nothing made sense.
She opened her eyes and stared at the baseball again, trying by the very power of her gaze to make it say something she could understand. MHS, 1975, in a circle . . . in a sun . . . in a round . . . in a hole . . .
She gritted her teeth now; she felt that something lay just beyond her thoughts, something crucial, the key to it all . . .
MHS, 1975, in a hole . . . in a . . . saucer . . . in a ring, in a— She knew it instantly. In a ring!
Leaving the baseball on the table by the yearbook, she sprinted to Jack’s top right dresser drawer and yanked it open.
Pulling his class ring from its box, she rolled it over and over in her fingers examining it for a clue. Nothing obvious came to her.
She peered through the glass cutting on top and stared at the “MHS” letters cut into the side. She held it up, inspecting the inside of the gold exterior. She read the initials cut into the inner edge. SER.
SER?
What was that? The initials weren’t Jack’s! She’d never noticed that.
If not Jack’s, then whose?
A strange thought invaded. The ring was so small. Connie slipped it over the ring finger on her right hand. Though snug, it fit. But, if it fit her, how could it fit Jack? Though small, he wasn’t that small. This ring definitely fit a woman, not a man.
The ring in her hand, she ran back to the kitchen table, and picked up the yearbook. Not bothering to sit, she flipped it open and scanned the pages as fast as her eyes could move. She had a notion what she would find, but she couldn’t know for sure.
Gasping, she came again to the superlatives, the kids voted best in every imaginable category. Hurrying past the Most Likely to Succeed and the Most Athletic, she turned the page to the Best Couple. Her eyes immediately fell on the picture on the right side, the picture of a tall, blonde, senior girl. The female side of the Best Couple.
Connie carefully examined the girl, comparing her to the image she had in her mind. Yes, like everyone else, the girl had grown up since 1975. Her eyes wore some lines at the edges now. But it was her, no doubt about it. For a moment, Connie stood still and tried to figure out what it meant. But, try as she might, she couldn’t fathom the riddle. She opened her eyes and focused on the girl again. Absolutely, no doubt about it, the girl voted one half of the Best Couple—a girl named Sandra Richards—was the same person as Sandra Lunsford, the woman in the video with Jack Brandon. The ring belonged to her.
Connie studied the picture. Apparently Sandra Richards had married at some point, became Sandra Lunsford. But one thing bothered Connie. Richards was the maiden name of Jack’s dead mother.
CHAPTER
20
Connie knew how confusion felt. She had practicall drowned in confusion since the day of Jack’s death. But none of that compared with what now gushed through her. Sandra Richards? Who was this woman? Did Jack date her in high school? Did she give him her ring as a token of love? Did she show up again in the last few months and entice Jack to rekindle a former romance? But Jack had never mentioned her.
In those times when they kidded each other about their “old flames” he never said a word about her. And what about her name—Sandra Richards? Was that just a coincidence or did she have a connection to his mother’s side of the family? No way to tell, unless . . . unless she found Sandra Richards. Which, of course, Jack had deliberately told her to do through the clues left behind on the baseball and the ring.
Connie picked up the phone and dialed information.
“What city, please?”
“Miller, Missouri,” Connie said.
The computer connected her.
“Yes, the number for Sandra Lunsford, please.”
Biting her lip, Connie waited. A couple of seconds later, an operator spoke. : “I don’t have a listing for a Sandra Lunsford,” she said.
Connie tried again. “What about Sandra Richards?”
Another wait, then another failure. “No, no Sandra Richards either.”
Hanging up, another idea occurred to Connie. She dialed long distance information for Las Vegas. Maybe Lunsford lived there.
But again, she struck out. No Sandra Lunsford or Richards.
Frustrated, Connie laid the phone down. She had come to a dead end. She remembered Tess and Tick and the kids. They were surely wondering about her by now. She decided to leave the mystery for the time being. But, even as she climbed into the van and drove to Tess’s house, she knew what she had to do. She had to find Sandra Richards.
Who killed Reed Morrison? If anyone knew, Richards did.
Did Jack have an affair? Richards could say yes or no. Did Jack commit suicide? Again, Richards could answer. Who killed Jack if he didn’t kill himself? Maybe, just maybe, Richards could give her a direction, perhaps even a name. If not her, then no one could.
Pulling into Tess’s driveway, Connie shuddered. Obviously, not everyone wanted her to find the mystery woman. If, as she strongly suspected, someone had killed Reed Morrison to keep him quiet, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill her too. Another frightening possibility hit home. Whoever killed Morrison might also want Richards dead. Unless . . . and here the worst suspicion of all came . . . unless Richards and the two men in the Mercedes worked together.
All through the afternoon, even as she talked and laughed and forced herself to function with Tess and Tick and the Reverend and Mrs. Wallace, Connie rolled the different notions through her head. Jack wanted her to know about Richards. But why? So she could answer the riddle of his death? Or to warn her away from her? In some respects, both made sense
.
Eating her banana pudding, Connie chewed through her options. She thought back to Jack’s words in his notebook. She had stamped them into her brain as a rancher brands a letter on a steer. Jack said, “Remember this, appearances can deceive. . . . ”
Then, “For now, I ask you not to go to the police. . . . Follow the gift first, then go to the authorities if you need. No one knows about this gift, so I know you’ll be safe for now.”
She had followed the gift. It took her to Richards. Should she now go to the police?
Connie didn’t know. As the shadows of the day became longer, she continued to divide her attention between the party going on around her and the debate churning inside. Jack had told her, “If I write everything here and this notebook somehow falls into the wrong hands, people I care about could get terribly hurt.” But what people? Connie and Daniel and Katie? No, that didn’t make sense. He would have simply said, “You and the kids could get hurt.” He meant someone else he cared about.
But who?
Only one answer made sense. Someone she didn’t know until now—Sandra Richards. But if Richards meant a lot to Jack, she didn’t have anything to do with his death.
Another insight came to Connie. Jack had said, “People I care about could get terribly hurt.” “People,” as in “more than one.” Who else did he mean besides Richards?
Connie remembered the elderly man in the pictures she took from Morrison’s house. Who was he? What was his connection? Her head began to throb as she mulled over the questions. To her relief, the party began to break up, and she joined the others at the door to leave.
“Thanks so much,” she said to Tess and Tick, forcing herself to concentrate. “This has been great.”
“So glad you came.” Tess beamed. “Hope this hasn’t been too much for you.”
Connie shook her head. “No, I needed to get out, back to church and all . . . back with . . . back with my friends.”
“The people who love you,” said Tick, his bald head glowing.
For a moment, everyone became quiet. Reverend Wallace stepped closer to Connie and put his hand on her back. “You’re going to have some more down days,” he said softly. “The woods where you’re walking are dark and deep.”
“I know,” said Connie. “But maybe I’m through the first part of those woods.”
“I’m sure you are,” he said.
“We’re walking with you,” offered Tess. “All the way.”
Grateful for their love, Connie hugged the whole circle of friends, then turned to the van. Daniel and Katie were already in their seats, ready to go.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said to Tess.
“And I’ll check on you before Wednesday,” said Reverend Wallace. “Let me know if you need anything before then.”
Waving one more time, Connie climbed into the van with the kids and left. Determined to give the children her attention, she shoved aside her continuing questions and took care of their needs for the next couple of hours. Get them into a bath, check on their homework, lead the devotional, tuck them into bed.
Leaving Katie’s room last, her shoulders slumped in weariness, she changed into her nightclothes and grabbed a couple of aspirin from the bathroom. Chugging them down, she headed to bed. Her headache had gotten worse. She rolled down the covers, then fluffed her pillow. Stretching out, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to ignore the voice inside her soul. She didn’t really want to do what it said.
A sharp pain ripped through her skull. She bit her upper lip and took a long, deep breath. Her head throbbed. She had to find Sandra Richards. As simple as that. Jack cared about her. In what capacity, Connie didn’t know. But he wanted her to find Richards. As surely as a lighthouse lit up a shore for a ship in a storm, so Jack had turned the spotlight on this woman, and Connie had to follow that light. As she told herself to relax and go to sleep, she continued to wonder if Jack pointed the light at Richards as a rescue or as a warning.
*****
A hundred yards away from Connie’s bedroom window, to the left of her house and just past an oak tree as thick as a refrigerator, Brit pulled his red Jaguar to a stop. As its headlights dimmed, he pulled a cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open. Hitting his auto dial, Brit reached Lennie on the other end.
“I’m situated,” Brit said. “I’ve got Red in sight. She’s all settled in after a big day with church and friends.”
“She give any signs?” asked Lennie. “Call anybody, anything like that?”
“She’s all quiet,” said Brit.
“You get ears into Garner’s place?”
Brit smiled. The two listening devices he put at Tess and Tick Garner’s house had given him access to the whole afternoon’s conversation. “Yeah, got the bugs in when they went to church,” he told Lennie.
“She said nothing to Garner?”
“Like I said, she’s all quiet.”
“Nothing to Tyler?”
“What I gotta do, send you an e-mail? She’s all quiet!”
Lennie paused. Brit drummed on the steering wheel and guessed Lennie’s thoughts. Lennie hoped they wouldn’t have to move on Red. But Lennie didn’t know her like he did. He’d watched her for several days now. In a strange way, he had come to admire her, the strength she showed, the way she forged ahead, flying out to Vegas all alone. She would move, he knew that. Somehow, she would act. Maybe what she did wouldn’t go anywhere, wouldn’t mean anything, wouldn’t threaten them in any way. But she wouldn’t give up. Too bad for her. Since she wouldn’t give up, she posed a threat to him and Lennie.
Not that he cared about Lennie. But he did care about himself, and, according to Lennie, she had seen their faces.
“Stay with her,” said Lennie, interrupting his musings.
“That’s my plan.”
“But don’t move on her.”
“You’re the boss.”
Brit hung up, rubbed the back of his head, and remembered the knot Lennie laid on him after they finished Reed Morrison.
The knot still hurt. Lennie would eventually pay for that. But not now, not until he finished his most pressing business.
He gazed at Connie Brandon’s bedroom. She would do something, he had no doubt. When she did, he would move.
Lennie or no Lennie, he would make sure she never identified him to anyone who could hurt him.
*****
Stirring in bed, Connie opened her eyes wide and jerked up. It seemed so obvious it amazed her she hadn’t considered immediately. Tess worked in the Social Security Department, in the individual accounts division. Her computer held the names and addresses of millions of people, in Missouri and across the country. If a Sandra Richards or Lunsford existed in the United States, Tess could probably locate her. True, if Richards used an alias, Tess might not find her, but chances were, one of the two names would show up on a scan.
Energized, Connie rolled to the nightstand and grabbed the phone. A few seconds later, she reached Tess.
“Hey, this is Connie.”
“You okay?”
“Sure, fine. Look, you’re working tomorrow, right?”
“If it’s Monday, I’m working.”
Connie smiled. “I need a favor.”
“I’m your girl, whatever you need.”
“I’m not sure it’s legal.”
Tess paused. “How illegal is not legal?”
“Not bad, I don’t think. I need you to go . . . go into your computer, see if you can find somebody for me.”
“Let me get this straight. You want me to use a government computer to look up a name for you?”
“That’s it, as simple as that. I need an address.”
Tess hesitated again, obviously making up her mind.
Connie figured it would break the law. Neither Tess nor Tick would like that. But would that stop her from doing it? She didn’t know.
Tess spoke. “You going to tell me why you need to find this person?”
Connie wanted to
tell Tess, knew she owed that much to her. But she just couldn’t. To do so would put her in extreme danger.
“I think you know why.”
“You’re trying to clear Jack’s name.”
“I knew . . . knew you’d understand, Tess. I don’t know if I can live with all the rumors. Jack didn’t commit suicide, but too many people think he did. But that’s not the worst of it. The worst of it is the kids, they think their daddy killed himself. I don’t want that for them. It could eventually make them think Jack didn’t love them enough to stay with them. I’ve got to do everything I can to show them the truth. If I can find a way to do that, then I have to try it, even if it does mean breaking a law in the process. Believe me, I know I shouldn’t ask you this, but I . . . don’t . . . don’t know how else to do it.”
“Why don’t you let Tick help you? Or Tyler?”
“They’ve already made their decision about this.”
“Tick will help you,” encouraged Tess. “Tell him what you know, let him go to Tyler. He’ll convince Luke to reopen the investigation.”
Connie hesitated. What Tess said made sense. Except for one thing. Luke didn’t control the situation anymore. Johnson Mack did. If the major wanted this matter closed, then closed it would stay.
“I can’t do that,” she protested. “If Luke controlled the matter, okay. But you and I both know he doesn’t. For now, I have to do this myself. If it gets dangerous, I’ll come to Tick. I promise you that. All I want is an address or a phone number. Both if I can get them.”
“Tell me who you’re looking for.”
Connie started to give Tess the name, then reconsidered. As much as she loved and trusted Tess, she knew Tess might tell Tick. Tess might think that the best thing, and Connie couldn’t ask her to hide it from him. That wasn’t fair.
But if Tick found out, he would go to Luke, who believed Sandra Lunsford and Jack had an affair. If Luke knew she was trying to find Lunsford, he might try to stop her. Worse, he might even warn Lunsford. For him to know complicated matters far too much.