A Distant Memory

by Traci DePree

  Kate reached for it and handed it to the teenager. Her eyes widened as she looked at the front page.

  “One million dollars?” she said more to herself than Kate, her voice disbelieving. Then she lifted her face to Kate. “Dad took out a million-dollar policy on Mom?”

  Kate watched her to see if she had drawn the same horrifying conclusion that she had only moments before.

  The timing of the life-insurance policy didn’t look good for Brad.

  “But Mom had Alzheimer’s so it made sense for Dad to take out a policy,” Becky reasoned, though a spark of doubt touched her gaze.

  “Becky, are you okay?” Kate asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. But...” The worry on her face grew. “Did Dad have something to do with Mom’s disappearance?”

  Kate couldn’t answer at first. “You know your dad better than I do,” she finally said. “What do you think?”

  When Becky couldn’t answer, Kate felt a chill travel down her spine.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After several terrible moments of silence, Kate spoke again. “Becky?” she prompted.

  More silence, and then, “They fought a lot, but he loved her,” Becky said, though she sounded as if she was trying to convince herself. “My dad loved my mom. No, he’d never do anything like that. Never.”

  They didn’t have much else to say after that, so Kate prayed with Becky and then said good-bye.

  Rain was falling in misty drops when Kate stopped at the library right after leaving the Weavers’. Kate hoped that Livvy was in. She wanted to talk to her about her conversation with Willy and all she’d learned during her visits with Sally and Becky.

  Livvy was talking to Caitlin Evans at the front desk when Kate came in. Riley held an oversized book bag of library books and was tugging on his mother’s arm. “Mo-om,” he whined up at Caitlin, who was holding her toddler with her other arm. “I want to play with the puzzles.”

  “Riley, stop!” Caitlin said as her eyes met Kate’s. She smiled, clearly embarrassed by her son’s behavior.

  “Oh, Caitlin,” Kate said, remembering that she needed to set a date with her. “I was going to call you.”

  “Me?” she said, surprised.

  “Paul mentioned stopping in to see Bobby yesterday,” Kate began, and Caitlin’s expression turned to interest while Riley continued to pull on her.

  “Bobby never said anything about it.” She shook her head, then shot Riley another look.

  Kate nodded amiably. “They talked about the four of us going on a double date.”

  “That sounds fun,” Caitlin said. “Are you sure Bobby agreed to that?”

  Kate wasn’t sure how to answer that question. “Paul said he did.”

  Caitlin’s face filled with a smile. “Well, I’d like that,” she admitted. Then they arranged a time, both agreeing that the Bristol was a good choice.

  “I need to find a sitter for the boys,” Caitlin said hesitantly.

  “James and Justin are great babysitters,” Livvy offered.

  Kate turned to her. “Your boys babysit?” she asked as she raised an eyebrow.

  “And do they know you’re volunteering them?” Caitlin put in.

  “Not yet, but they’ll love it,” Livvy said. “They get to be little boys again too. It’s surprising how many calls we get asking for them to babysit.”

  “They are responsible young men,” Kate added for Caitlin’s benefit.

  “If it’s okay with them,” Caitlin said. Riley began to tug again, signaling that he’d waited long enough. “I’d better go.” She waved and left with her two little men.

  “I remember those days,” Livvy said, a wistful expression on her face as she watched Caitlin exit the library. “They grow so fast.”

  “They sure do,” Kate agreed. Then she straightened and said, “Can we talk in your office?”

  Livvy glanced around the library that was bustling with after-school patrons. “Morty,” she said to the elderly gentleman who often volunteered there, “Could you man the desk for a little bit?”

  “Why sure,” Morty said, with a smile to Kate.

  “Thanks.” She motioned Kate to her office.

  Once Livvy had shut her door and they were seated in the chairs at her desk, Kate told about her visit with Willy Bergen.

  “I’m pretty sure he was lying,” Kate added. “He kept glancing away, not wanting to look me in the eyes. Then Sally told me that he just happened to surprise her with a weekend getaway—the weekend Sonja disappeared—as well as an impromptu week of fishing with his brother. He also gave his wife a scarf that matches the description of a scarf Becky gave her mother for Mother’s Day, down to the coloring and the monogrammed S.”

  “Wow,” Livvy mouthed, her eyes wide.

  “That isn’t all. Apparently Brad took out a million-dollar life-insurance policy for Sonja just before she disappeared.”

  Livvy paused, processing the information. “So what does the man in purple have to do with all of this?”

  Kate shook her head. “I haven’t figured that out yet,” she confessed. “But Willy and Brad are both hiding something. When I went to leave after questioning Willy, his employee...that kid named Kip?” Livvy nodded that she knew him. “Well, he avoided looking at me, then when I did meet his eyes he looked at me in the weirdest way. I’m going to see if I can talk to him after the store closes tonight.”

  “Do you want me to come?” Livvy asked. She got up to peek out her door to see how busy Morty was at the checkout desk, then returned her attention to Kate.

  “I don’t want Brad to think we’re ganging up on him,” Kate said. “I’ll go alone.”

  KATE WATCHED THE FRONT of the bait and tackle shop from the driver’s seat of her car as the minutes ticked by toward closing time. She glanced at her watch. She’d been sitting there for five minutes, mulling over her conversations with Willy, Sally, and Becky.

  Willy had been bothered by her questions, she’d seen that. And yet his answers, or rather his demeanor while he was answering, seemed inconsistent. He’d glanced around, avoiding eye contact on some questions and yet meeting her gaze on others.

  If his statement was true that he had nothing to do with Sonja’s disappearance, then why not tell how he had come by her scarf? And why would he have taken her scarf and given it to his wife? Unless, of course, he didn’t know it was Sonja’s. But the implied guilt from leaving town that very weekend was strong. If his wife hadn’t insisted on coming home so she could work, the police wouldn’t have been able to question him at all. Or had that been his intent all along?

  Just then, Kip came out of the shop, drawing Kate’s attention from her musing. He turned to lock the door, then shoved his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans as he hopped down two steps to the sidewalk. Kate got out of her car and walked toward him.

  “What are you doing here?” Kip asked, a surprised expression on his face. He quickly looked behind him as if to see if his boss was coming outside.

  “I was hoping I could talk to you about Sonja Weaver,” Kate said.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” He waved both of his hands as if to reiterate his desire to be away from her, and he started walking toward his car.

  But his reticence to talk only confirmed to Kate that the young man knew something that might be of use. She pressed ahead. “I won’t mention anything to Willy, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  He stopped and turned to her. His brows formed a flat line above his eyes as he paused to consider her request. Finally he sighed and said, “Fine. Not here, though.”

  He motioned for Kate to get in his car, a dilapidated Toyota hatchback with rust along the lower door panels. The interior was cluttered with fast-food wrappers and empty soda bottles. He started the engine and drove a few blocks away, parking alongside the creek.

  He killed the motor, and silence filled the car. The only sound was a gentle rain pattering on the cracked windshield. Kip glanced in the rearv
iew mirror, then over his shoulder.

  Kate ventured to ask a question. “You seem afraid...Why?”

  “I’m not afraid,” Kip defended, shaking his head. He glanced one more time out the window, then turned to her, arms crossed over his thin chest.

  “You know something about Sonja Weaver,” Kate guessed. “Something that has to do with Willy Bergen.”

  The young man nodded just once. His scrawny shoulders hunched over, and he sent the thick hair back from his face with a flick of his head. Kip glanced down at his hands. “Willy, uh...,” he began, his Adam’s apple bobbing between each syllable, “he came back from fishin’ that Friday Mrs. Weaver disappeared actin’ odd. He seemed...suspicious, and he had this scarf. I saw it in the backseat of his car.”

  This confirmed what Kate already suspected, so she waited for him to go on.

  “It wasn’t something I’d expect Willy to have. His wife doesn’t go for that frilly stuff, so I teased him about it.” The muscles in his jaw twitched, and he shook his head. “He got really mad and told me to mind my own business—”

  Kate broke in, “Did you ask him where he got the scarf?”

  Kip laughed ruefully. “After he bit my head off, I didn’t exactly feel free to ask any questions.”

  “How well did Willy know Sonja Weaver?” Kate asked.

  “He...uh...he used to talk about her.” He looked Kate in the eye. “Whenever she and her husband would come in the store, Willy would talk about how pretty she was and that a wife who really loved her husband kept herself nice.”

  Kate thought of Sally, the sweet woman who didn’t resemble Sonja at all. “You mean he expressed dissatisfaction with his own marriage?” she deduced.

  Kip shrugged. “He didn’t say that exactly, just that he appreciated a woman that kept herself lookin’ good like she did.”

  “Did he ever say anything about Brad, her husband?”

  “Nothin’ particular. Though they always seemed real friendly. I got the impression that they knew each other.” He wiped his hands on his dirty-looking jeans.

  “What do you mean?” Kate asked.

  “Nothin’.” He shrugged, though his eyes shifted back and forth. “But when Morty Robertson, the old guy that helps at the library, dropped in for night crawlers on Friday night and mentioned that the police had called him at the library because they were lookin’ for Sonja Weaver, well, you shoulda seen Willy’s face. He turned white as a ghost. Then as soon as Morty left, Willy asked me if I could man the store for the weekend, said he forgot he had plans. He couldn’t get outta there fast enough.”

  Prickles of alarm climbed Kate’s spine, and yet she wondered why Willy would have been shocked by the news if he’d been involved in Sonja’s disappearance. Was he just nervous that the police would find out that he might’ve been the last person to see her that day? Or worse—that he’d hurt her?

  Kip’s expression was deeply troubled.

  “What did he say when he told you he was staying away for the whole week?” Kate probed.

  “Just that he was fishin’ with his brother.” At least that much of the story was consistent. Whether it was true or not remained to be proved.

  “So,” she asked, “if you didn’t tell the police this, why are you telling me?”

  “I should have told them, but...I don’t know. I don’t want to lose my job. I feel bad for Mrs. Weaver. I don’t know if Willy had anything to do with her disappearance, but someone has to find her.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  When she got home, Kate called Becky immediately. The girl sounded glad to hear Kate’s voice.

  “Did you find out anything?” Becky asked, the strain in her tone evident. No doubt she’d been thinking about that life-insurance discovery all afternoon, as Kate had.

  “A few things, but I’m not sure how they’re connected to your mom,” Kate said, not wanting to plant unwarranted suspicion in the girl’s mind. “Did your parents know Willy Bergen at all?”

  “Who?” she asked.

  “Willy Bergen. He owns the bait and tackle shop?”

  “I’ve never even heard his name before.”

  Kate paused in thought, trying to reconcile how Becky’s statement and Kip’s could both be true about whether Willy knew Sonja and Brad. Was it possible that her parents, particularly her father, could be acquainted with someone and never mention the person to their daughter? Of course it was. Kate shook her head. She was starting to overanalyze. Surely she and Paul had many friends whose names her kids wouldn’t have recognized. Teenagers didn’t pay that much attention, she supposed. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Willy had something to do with Sonja’s disappearance. But what?

  THE NEXT MORNING as Kate prayed, the Weavers were on her heart, and she prayed especially for them, that God would begin to heal the family, that he would lead Kate—or someone—to the truth.

  Kate pleaded with God, and yet she felt as though her prayer bounced off the ceiling, going nowhere. She sighed and picked up her Bible, turning to Luke 19:10—For the Son of Man came to seek and to save what was lost. Although the verse was talking about salvation for sinners, Kate knew that God cared about those who were literally lost as well.

  Lord, she prayed, you and I are in this together. Help me stay the course. If I’m looking in the wrong direction, show me the right place to look. It pains me to even think that Brad could’ve done anything to hurt his wife. And the truth is, I haven’t seen any evidence in his demeanor or his character that he is that kind of a person. The same goes for Willy; there’s so much that makes him look guilty, yet I know him. He’s not a conniving person. What could’ve caused such a shift? Or have I been a poor judge of character? Lead me to the truth, because only you know what that is.

  When she lifted her head, Paul was just coming in from his morning run, panting from exertion.

  “Did you have a good run?” she asked as she got up to set the table for breakfast. She’d put an egg bake in the oven an hour before.

  Paul kicked off his running shoes and said, “Oh, man, that smells good. I’m starving.”

  “It’ll be on the table in two shakes,” Kate replied, putting mitten-shaped hot pads on to get the dish out of the oven.

  Paul moved to the refrigerator and took a swig of orange juice straight out of the half-gallon container.

  “Paul Hanlon!” Kate scolded.

  “I’m parched,” he said, though he gave her a sheepish grin.

  “Is this what you do when I’m not home?” Kate teased, pulling the jug from his hands and wiping the spout off before twisting the top back on.

  “Go wash up.” She sounded like a mother even to her own ears.

  Paul obeyed, returning a few minutes later looking much more presentable. They bowed their heads to pray, then started their meal.

  “I ran into Caitlin at the library yesterday,” Kate said as she took a slice of toast and spread jelly onto it. “We thought tomorrow night might work to go to the Bristol for supper.”

  “Good,” Paul said, adding a spoonful of the scrambled-egg-and-bacon dish to his plate. “By the way, I’m visiting Nehemiah later today.”

  Paul’s mentor Nehemiah Jacobs had been a preacher in the small town where Paul grew up. After Paul had gone away to college, Nehemiah moved to Copper Mill, where he took over the pastorate at Faith Briar Church before handing the reins to Paul years later. He’d since retired and moved to Orchard Hill, an assisted-living facility in Chattanooga.

  “Tell him hello for me,” Kate said as she poured glasses of orange juice for both of them.

  He nodded and took another bite of his toast. “So what’s on your agenda for today?” he asked.

  “Lots,” Kate said. “Since I canceled last Friday’s stained-glass workshop because of the memorial service, I wanted to get that set up. And I need to do some more digging into what was going on with Sonja before she disappeared.”

  Kate told Paul what she’d learned the day before—that Willy Bergen h
ad somehow gotten ahold of Sonja’s scarf and planned an impromptu getaway with his wife and a fishing trip with his brother upon hearing of the police investiga-tion. She also told Paul about the very large life-insurance policy Brad had taken out on his wife shortly before Sonja’s disappearance.

  “You think the two are related—Willy’s and Brad’s actions?” Paul asked as he took a bite of scrambled egg. Steam curled from the plate.

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Kate admitted. “I’m not sure what Willy would have to gain. Maybe Brad and he were working together, but then what does that man in purple have to do with any of this?”

  She shook her head and lifted her glass of orange juice to take a drink. When she set it back down, she added, “There’s a lot for me to untangle, and I need to pick which thread to tug on first.”

  “So,” Paul said, “have you come to a conclusion on which one that’ll be?”

  Kate considered for a moment before answering.

  “Willy, I think. Another chat with him might open some doors.”

  PAUL HEADED TO THE OFFICE at nine, and Kate turned to her morning routine of dish washing and bed making. She tossed a load of whites into the washing machine, then took a few minutes to lay out supplies for that Friday’s second stained-glass workshop. She wanted to make sure everything was set to go before she did any sleuthing. Sometimes she got so engrossed in chasing one clue after another that time for such preparation slipped from her fingers, and she wanted to make sure that didn’t happen.

  She gathered glass cutters, pliers, and soldering irons from the organizer in the closet at one end of the studio. Once she had everything laid out and arranged, she returned to the kitchen and set up her laptop computer. Pulling up the photos from her hike with Livvy, she printed off several photos of the flora and fauna on the printer in Paul’s study. She enlarged the shot of the pinecone and took it into her studio to trace later as a stencil for a sun catcher.

  When she returned to the laptop, she studied the image in the background of the photo. Sonja’s jacket. Was Sonja still alive? Had she found a way out of wherever she was? Something inside Kate told her the woman was alive, though she had no proof. The only evidence she had was to the contrary. So why, deep down inside, did Kate still think there was some way of bringing Sonja Weaver home? It didn’t make sense.