‘Hello?’ said a tiny feminine voice.
‘Hello. I’m looking for a relative of Emily Madigan?’
‘This is Jody. She was my aunt. Is this about the house?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Malcolm. He introduced himself, explained.
‘Oh my goodness,’ said Jody. ‘Oh my goodness,’ she said again. ‘I was there when we cleaned out the house. It was sad, you know? You have this whole life built up with stuff you think is important, and then you die and, well, the stuff you leave behind, it’s just junk.’
‘A profound thought indeed,’ said Malcolm.
‘That why I’m putting my trust in Jesus Christ.’
There was a little silence. The waitress appeared and plunked down a salad.
‘The photograph,’ Jody said then. ‘I don’t think we would have left something like that behind. Tall Pine Lake? I’ve heard of it, but none of us ever went there. We used to live in Jersey, you know. Of course,’ she added with a laugh, ‘my aunt might have had a secret life. But, no, I don’t know what it was doing there.’
‘Well, thank you very much,’ said Malcolm and clicked off.
The rib-eye appeared, the fries. The rib-eye, to his delight, was cooked just right, juicy and oozing pink, the fries properly greasy. He ate it all except the salad. He just didn’t have room for the salad.
Then he called Rose, Carrie’s sister. She answered this time.
‘Tall Pine Lake?’ he said, without much expectation.
‘What about it?’
‘Does it mean anything to you?’
‘Sure. We used to go there as kids. My grandparents owned a cottage.’
‘Really? Just as kids then? Never as grown-ups?’
‘Not really. My grandparents died when I was twenty. The cottage was sold.’
‘What about Carrie?’
‘You mean, did she ever go there as a grown-up? Yes, actually, she did go there. Several times, in fact. Kind of a nostalgia trip. She told me one time our grandparent’s cottage was all fixed up, in the worst way. Not quaint any more.’
‘Like when?’
‘I don’t really remember specific dates. It’s one of those memories that just floats up out of nowhere. Sorry.’
‘Rose, I’m going to take a picture of a photograph and send it to you, okay? It’ll be a couple of minutes.’
‘Okay,’ said Rose. ‘Listen, I’ve got some crafts people here, we’re about to start a class. I’ll get back to you.’
Malcolm paid the bill and left the restaurant. The light was better outside, and he managed to get a pretty decent shot of the photo, which he sent to Rose as a picture message. Carrie had spent time at Tall Pines Lake. A link, a concrete link. He didn’t want to expect too much, but it was hard not to.
He got in the rental and back on the freeway to the plaza he found himself thinking of as his and Kate’s. Out of a sense of nostalgia and urgency both, he called Kate, got her voicemail but didn’t leave a message. Then he felt foolish.
Aimless, Malcolm cruised back to the house on Roscommon Drive.
He’d been through the house already, but he wished now he could do it again. Even though he remembered checking everywhere, there might be a place he’d missed. In a way, he knew there probably wasn’t, but in another way, cases were solved when things that had been overlooked came to light.
Malcolm called Evan Bright Realty to see if he could get the key to the house, but no one answered. A robot informed him they were closed for the day but his call was very important to them. He called Steve’s cell, got his voicemail.
‘Give me a call,’ he told Steve’s voicemail.
He went back to the motel. His sleepless night caught up with him then all at once, and he collapsed into sleep.
His cellphone chimed somewhere far away. He reached for it in his sleep, opened his eyes. Rose.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Where did you say you got that picture?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure I ever said. It was in the bedroom of a house at three fifty Roscommon Drive in—’ Jeez, what town was this, anyway? – ‘a town in New Jersey.’
‘That’s strange,’ said Rose, ‘very strange.’
‘Why is that?’
‘That’s definitely Carrie in the picture. It was one of her favorites. But what was it doing in some town in New Jersey?’
‘Who took it?’ Malcolm said urgently. ‘Rose, who took that picture?’
‘Some old boyfriend.’
‘Who?’
‘I can’t remember exactly. But it was one of those pictures she always had with her, you know? Shoot. Let me think about it, okay? I’ll ask my mom too – sometimes her memory’s really good, you just never know when.’
Malcolm fell back asleep, just as he was thinking he should call Kate, tell her the woman at Tall Pine Lake was Carrie. What would she make of that?
FORTY-ONE
After work, Kate picked up her car at Dakota’s and drove it over to her rented house. She and Dakota had discussed it and decided having Kate’s car in Kate’s driveway would keep someone from breaking into Kate’s house – unless, of course, it was to murder Kate, ha ha, and then she wouldn’t be there. Plus, then no one would know Kate was at Dakota’s. Then they ordered takeout for dinner, since Dakota didn’t think she could cook anything that Biker Bill would like.
‘What!’ said Kate. ‘You can cook?’
‘Shut up.’
They ordered a large all-meat pizza: sausage, bacon, pepperoni with extra cheese. Biker Bill came over at seven wearing stiff jeans and a clean T-shirt, just the faintest hint of marijuana as an aftershave. They ate half the pizza outside on Dakota’s patio and the other half inside, in front of the television, watching Dead Man. Biker Bill stretched out on the couch, Dakota and Kate on chairs on either side.
Halfway through, just when William Blake was meeting up with Nobody, Kate’s cell chimed. Malcolm. She’d been meaning to call him but hadn’t gotten around to it. She took it outside to the patio. It was dark by now, eight o’clock, stars peppering the sky.
‘How’s it going?’ Malcolm asked.
‘I’m at Dakota’s. We’re watching a movie with Biker Bill – we had him to dinner since he’s been protecting us.’
‘Great! What’s the movie?’
‘Dead Man.’
‘Ah.’
There was a tiny silence while neither of them mentioned what would happen to Biker Bill if whoever had killed Wes and Carrie aimed at him while he was protecting Kate and Dakota.
‘Well,’ Malcolm said, ‘looks like I’ve identified the woman at Tall Pine Lake.’
‘Very good,’ said Kate. She laughed. ‘Anyone we know?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes? Really?’
‘Know isn’t exactly the word I’d use, but the woman is Carrie Cooper. Rose, her sister, identified her.’
‘Rose,’ said Kate. ‘Yes, Rose. Of course.’
Another silence.
‘You know what?’ said Kate. ‘This doesn’t make any sense. No sense at all. Unreal. I’m tired of it all. Can we change to a different script? Maybe a romantic comedy?’
Then she was sorry she’d said that.
Johnny Depp floated off in a boat to the spiritual world, and Biker Bill snored softly on the couch. Dakota ejected the DVD and put in the one Mandy had sent Kate.
People Kate had known years ago appeared on the screen, faces coming close, noses first, then receding. An apartment, a couch, a table with people eating, a birthday party. There was Mandy, and then Kate herself in a big black sweater with shoulder pads.
‘God,’ said Kate.
Dakota giggled.
‘There’s Ellen,’ said Kate. Sweet, dark-haired Ellen with her manic laugh. Kate felt a twinge of sorrow.
Rick appeared beside Kate, bearded temporarily. He waved. Then a new video popped up: everyone a bit older, a wedding party, yes, Kate remembered the party but not who got married. There was Kate herself in
an ugly dress. Then another video, a later time. Kate not in it. Three youngish men sang a song together. A silly song, made up. Jake and Jessie and Buzzie. Buzzie … what was it about him, she started to wonder – yes, he’d joined the military. Dead, maybe, dead in Afghanistan? No in Iraq – then the video changed again, to some sort of gallery opening.
There was Mandy coming out from behind a cluster of people, a shy smile, then there was Rick to one side. No beard now. He and Kate used to go to the city together from time to time, then he started going alone ’cause she got so busy with the arts center. He held up his hand in front of the camera, turned away, bent his head. His arm was around—
‘Wait,’ Kate said. ‘Pause that.’
Dakota did.
‘Now go back, just a bit, and hit play.’
Kate watched. She saw Rick earlier this time; watching Mandy, she hadn’t noticed him. He was with someone, holding hands. He was with someone holding hands, then he saw the camera, held up his hand, turned away, bent his head. His arm was around—
Hannah.
How could it be Hannah? This was years before Hannah had arrived in Rustic, Vermont. He’d never said he knew her. Wouldn’t he have mentioned it? Oh, by the way, an old friend of mine is coming to town. Yet there he was with his arm around her, years before that. Around the time he started going to the city alone. He went a lot, really – making useful connections, he liked to say.
Seeing Hannah.
‘Shit.’ Kate stood up.
Biker Bill stirred.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Dakota.
‘I’ve had enough. I need a break.’ Kate went outside again and stared up at the stars. Rick had been cheating on her with Hannah for years. Literally years, and she hadn’t had a clue.
FORTY-TWO
Malcolm woke with a start. How long had he been sleeping? Just a few hours; his watch said eight o’clock. But why was it so light outside? He got up slowly, still in his street clothes, went to the window. It was quite light outside,; it was that daylight saving time they had here. Arizona didn’t have it. Then he realized. Not eight p.m. It was eight a.m.
No one had gotten back to him since Rose’s call last night – not Rose, about who had taken the picture of Carrie. Not Steve either. Well, it was early still. He turned on the television, making sure there was not some disaster taking place that would change his life forever.
It looked like not.
He took a long hot shower. Breakfast – he needed breakfast. He hadn’t had dinner even. Then Evan Bright Realty. Get the key, go through the house once more – the last, final, final time, he promised himself. Then he thought he’d stop in and talk to law enforcement – they might be a whole lot more helpful if they thought this involved a double homicide.
Malcolm went to the same Denny’s he’d gone to with Steve and ordered the same thing Steve had ordered yesterday – the lumberjack slam. Bacon, sausage, eggs, buttermilk pancakes, hash browns. Coffee. He thought about orange juice too but didn’t want to overdo it. He was almost finished when his cell chimed.
Rose.
‘I remember who took that picture,’ Rose said.
‘Who?’
‘Except I can’t really remember his name – just that it started with a B and was kind of funny. I never met him. Plus, if I did meet one of Carrie’s boyfriends I didn’t bother to pay much attention ’cause it would be someone else the next time. But this boyfriend lasted a while.’
‘Yeah? A “B”. For Bill, maybe?’ Could there actually have been a Bill Matthews in Carrie’s life?
‘No, not Bill. And wow! You know what else? He was really, really mad at Carrie when she broke it off. She left him for Wes. I’d sort of forgotten the whole thing, but now I’m remembering. It was a while ago, you know?’
‘You’d be surprised,’ said Malcolm, ‘how long someone can nurture a grudge.’
‘Anyway, one thing I do remember Carrie mentioning is he was an amateur actor. You know, had big roles in amateur productions.’
‘Aha. But no name. Damn.’
‘Listen. There’s some people I can call, maybe they know. If they do then I’ll get back to you.’
‘Okay, great.’
Then Malcolm sat quietly for a few moments. An actor. Okay, that would work. A guy shows up in the courtroom wearing a disguise, posing as Dr Paul Sanger. He’d have to either be someone who knew Wes and Carrie, to know about Dr Sanger, or a hit man hired by someone else who did. Like the old boyfriend whose name started with a B? The man posing as Paul Sanger and the man who did the shooting didn’t have to be the same person.
He felt as though he had a whole bunch of fragments, but nothing seemed to hold together. Especially how this involved Kate. How the hell did she come into this? It made no sense at all.
He felt like calling her, so he did. Got her voicemail; she was probably at work, not lying on the ground, shot dead by a hit man.
Malcolm paid and left the restaurant, headed for Evan Bright Realty. He parked where he had before, got out of the rental. He paused at the big plate-glass window, looking at the houses for sale. ‘Drastically reduced!!’ it said on one. ‘Motivated seller!!’ on another.
Foreclosures everywhere. All the empty houses.
He walked into Evan Bright Realty. Four desks, two were empty. At one of the desks a woman was on the phone, and at the other, a woman smiled at him expectantly. The name on her desk was ‘MARCI WHITAKER’. Oldies but goodies were playing softly somewhere. Stormy.
‘You’re Steve’s client, right?’ Marci asked.
He nodded. ‘Is he around?’
‘He’s out with a client.’
‘Shoot.’ Malcolm snapped his fingers. ‘I just wanted one more look at the Roscommon Drive place.’
‘Now I remember,’ Marci said. ‘You’re the investigator. Steve told us all about it. It’s really—’ She paused as a couple came in the door. ‘Excuse me,’ she said to Malcolm. She stood up.
‘The key? To Roscommon?’
But Marci had lost interest in any conversation with him. ‘Ask her—’ She jerked her finger at the woman on the phone. ‘Or it might be on his desk.’ She brushed past Malcolm. ‘The Pomeroys!’ she said to the couple. ‘So good to see you. We can head over there right now.’
The woman was still on the phone. Her sign said ‘ABBIE FLINTSTONE’. Malcolm could see Steve’s desk; he knew it was his due to the sign on it that said ‘STEVE ANDERSON’. He walked back, past the Abbie Flintstone woman and a trophy case containing trophies won apparently by the employees – an athletic bunch. He could see a silver trophy of a woman swinging a tennis racket, but on Steve’s desk he could see no key.
So he waited.
The woman got off the phone after a while. ‘Lots of trophies,’ he said to her.
She smiled. ‘The former owner – he’s passed – was a basketball star in college. He brought his trophies in, and then someone else did, and it kind of snowballed, you know?’
‘I’m looking for the key to three fifty Roscommon,’ Malcolm said.
‘It’s not on Steve’s desk?’
‘No.’
‘Let me see – maybe—’ She stood up. ‘Be right back.’
Waiting, Malcolm checked out the trophies: a big one in the middle for the basketball star dead owner and the rest grouped around it, along with some medals. He was dimly aware that now Elvis was singing ‘In the Chapel’ on the oldies but goodies station. And then suddenly something happened, something changed, snapped, and at that point, when he looked back on this day, everything seemed to take place in slow motion.
‘Found it!’ Abbie dangled the key to Roscommon Drive in front of Malcolm. She looked at his face. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Where’s Steve?’ Malcolm asked.
She looked taken aback. ‘I don’t know. Don’t you want the key?’
‘I want to know where Steve is. Marci said he was with a client – do you know who that might be?’
‘We always say tha
t,’ said Abbie, ‘that they’re with a client. To show we’re always on the job, you know?’
‘I don’t know.’ Malcolm had his cell out, calling Steve, but just got his voicemail again. ‘Do you have any idea where he might be?’
‘Probably with a client, like I said. I just can’t tell you who at the moment.’ Abbie looked huffy. ‘What’s this all about, anyway?’
‘I’m telling you this as a member of law enforcement,’ said Malcolm. ‘I need to find him. I think he’s in danger. Serious danger.’
‘Oh my God.’ Abbie put her hand on her heart, theatrically. ‘Steve’s wife, Mary Ann. She probably knows where he is.’
‘And how can I reach her?’
‘I – I actually don’t know his home phone number. I’m not sure they even have a landline. I think they both just have cells, but I don’t have her number.’
‘Does she work? How can I find her?’ Malcolm asked.
‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ said Abbie. ‘She used to work. At the garden center in the local Target. But she got laid off a few weeks ago.’
‘Aha,’ said Malcolm. ‘So there’s maybe been a strain on their finances?’
‘I’m sure there has been,’ said Abbie. ‘But they were lucky. Steve inherited some money from an aunt about the time Mary Ann was laid off. But what does that have to do with—?’
‘Nothing,’ said Malcolm. ‘Probably nothing. Steve’s car, what kind of vehicle does he drive?’
‘A silver green Honda Accord. Listen, I can tell you where they live, if that helps.’
On his way to the address Abbie had given him, Malcolm called Kate, got her voicemail and a message saying ‘this voicemail box is full’. Damn, damn. He texted her: call me right away. She would be at work, probably, joking around with Windsong, not paying attention to her cellphone. And what was he planning to tell her, anyway? He didn’t know anything for sure. Not yet.
He pulled in front of Steve’s house, a two-story Cape Cod with a big front yard. There were no cars in the driveway at all. He got out of the rental.
Next door a woman in tank top and shorts was watering a bank of zinnias.
‘Hi there,’ Malcolm called. ‘I’m looking for Steve or Mary Ann Anderson?’
Empty Houses Page 23