by P J Parrish
“Well, geez, Mrs. Tobias. I need to talk to Mrs. Chapinski, and she won’t get here ’til like nine.”
Mrs. Chapinski . . . she was the spa owner. Amelia knew the woman would be able to arrange for Brody’s transport.
“Okay, call me back when you find out what we can do,” Amelia said. “I really don’t want to leave Brody there any longer than I have to.”
“Will do, Mrs. Tobias.”
Amelia started to hang up but then stopped. “Wait! Kristin?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t have my cell. Call me at this number, okay?” Amelia picked up the old rotary phone, squinting to read the number scribbled in the middle of the dial. She gave Kristin the number and hung up.
The creak of the stairs made Amelia look up. Hannah was coming down, hands holding her robe closed. Angel came bouncing down after her.
“I thought I heard you down here. You okay, hon?”
Amelia reached down and scooped up the dog. “Yes,” she said, with a smile.
Buchanan threw the Kindle down on the bed in disgust. He was smarter than this. Why couldn’t he figure this out?
He had spent half the night trying to break the Kindle’s password, using every variation on “Brody” he could come up with. People often used their pet’s name as a password so he had combined the name with every number and fact he knew about Amelia Tobias. But the damn Kindle stayed locked.
He glanced at his watch. Nine ten. Time to call about the dog. A woman answered on the second ring.
“Fantasia Dog Spa. Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m calling about Brody.”
“Oh, hi there, Mr. Tobias.”
It never ceased to amaze him how much people assumed on the phone. Now he just had to play his cards right and make nice. It was a little harder with women—they were always more suspicious than men—but this one sounded young, and they were usually more trusting.
“Yes, hello. Ah, forgive me, but I’ve forgotten your name.” He had to work a little to hide his Southern accent. He hadn’t had to do it in a while.
“This is Kristin.”
“Kristin! Well, listen, Kristin, I won’t keep you—”
“That’s okay. We just opened and I’m not busy.”
“I just wanted to make sure everything went okay with Brody.”
“Oh yeah, he’s cool. Like I just told your wife, he’s just a little—”
“My wife? She called?”
“Yeah, about a half hour ago.”
Sometimes you just get lucky.
“Well, you know how my wife is about Brody, Kristin. She can’t stand being away from him, even for a day.”
Patience . . . don’t press her.
“Yeah, she did seem sort of upset.”
Keep her talking. Get whatever you can.
“Yes, she is upset,” he said. “Her mother is in the hospital, you see, and Mrs. Tobias had to go . . . home to take care of her.”
“Yeah, she mentioned she had an emergency. That’s terrible about her mom. But I talked to Mrs. Chapinski and it looks like we’ll be able to ship Brody to her after all.”
It was just like he had told Alex Tobias. All he had to do was sit back and wait for her to make a mistake.
“Well, that’s good news, Kristin. Did she give you the address?”
“No, not yet. I have to call the airline and see when they can take Brody. I was going to call Mrs. Tobias back and update her.”
“Don’t bother, Kristin. I’ll call her. Damn, I can’t find her mother’s phone number. I know I have it here somewhere. My desk is a mess . . .”
“I got it right here, Mr. Tobias.”
Kristin rattled off the number. Buchanan thanked her and hung up. The area code was 912, not Florida. He grabbed his laptop, called up his PeopleFinders account, and typed in the phone number. The result came up immediately:
Owner Name: Hannah Lowrey
Full Address: 1877 Union Street, Brunswick, Ga.
Phone Type: Landline
Was this a relative? The name had not turned up in any of his research, so he doubted it. Well, at least it was a landline, which was a helluva lot easier to find than a person toting a cell phone.
He pulled up the Delta Airlines website. There was a flight from Fort Lauderdale to Brunswick Golden Isles Airport, via Atlanta, leaving in two hours. He booked the ticket.
Why the hell would Amelia Tobias go to Georgia? It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that he find her, report back to the husband, collect the rest of his fee, and go home. What happened between Alex and Amelia Tobias was none of his concern.
He closed the laptop and began to pack his bag.
It was near six by the time Buchanan turned onto Union Street. He slowed the rental car to a crawl, trying to read the numbers on the houses. Between the three-hour delay in Atlanta and the flight to Brunswick, it had taken longer than he had expected.
There it was—number 1877. He pulled to the curb in front of the big yellow house and rolled down his window. There were lights on downstairs and an old Chevy parked in the driveway. If Amelia Tobias was inside, all he had to do was confirm she was here and call the husband.
A man was coming down the street. He gave Buchanan a look as he passed but continued on. Buchanan watched him go, realizing he was too easily spotted sitting here at the curb. Amelia wasn’t expecting anyone to trail her here but experience had taught him to be cautious in small towns.
The wind was picking up, filling the car with the smell of brine. He glanced left and saw the dark outlines of a church. No lights on, and fronted with a dark parking lot. He put the car in gear, headlights off, and swung into the lot, parking behind a hedge that gave him a good view of the house but enough cover to be hidden.
He killed the engine and slumped down in the seat, considering his next move. He could wait here, hoping Amelia would come out. It was only six thirty, but it was already dark and the temperature was dropping fast. That left one other option—sneaking up to the house and looking in the windows.
He pulled out his Dunhills and lit a cigarette, his eyes locked on the yellow house.
He had been reduced to this sad state once before, when he was just starting out. Crouching in the snow outside the window of an Econo Lodge in Anchorage, peeping at a female embezzler, like some cut-rate Norman Bates.
And even the good money hasn’t made it any better, has it, Bucky?
Her voice was coming often now. Too often. And there was nothing he could do to silence it. Except drink, and he couldn’t risk that right now. Later, after this damn case was finished, he could go home, crawl back in his hole, and let the screech of scotch drown out her voice and the past.
The porch light went on.
Buchanan tossed the cigarette out the window.
A moment later, an elderly woman came out onto the porch. She wrapped herself in a big sweater, went to the porch swing and sat down.
Then a second woman emerged from the house, carrying a tray and trailed by a small white dog.
Buchanan sat up straighter in the seat, trying to get a better look. The woman was tall, but she had what looked like a quilt draped over her shoulders so it was hard to see her body. She wore glasses and had short dark hair. She sat down in a chair next to the old woman and handed her a mug from the tray. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes.
Buchanan reached over to his bag on the passenger seat and pulled out his Armasight binoculars. He had bought them years ago for a night birding trip to Assateague Island to spot great horned owls. But the goggles were perfect for situations like this.
He trained the binoculars on the porch. The little white dog was pawing at the shins of the young woman. She bent down to pick it up and held it high like a baby, tipping her face up to the porch light.
&nbs
p; The woman’s face glowed bright and clear in the hard green light of the binocular lenses. It was the face of the young ballerina in Amelia’s scrapbook.
Buchanan set the binoculars aside, picked up his cell and punched in a number. Alex Tobias answered on the third ring.
“I’ve found your wife,” Buchanan said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Amelia wasn’t sure what made her do it. Maybe it was the soft weight of the accumulated kindnesses of the last two days. The redheaded woman at the pawnshop who had handed over the money, the old black man on the bus who had shared his wine, the waitress at the Red Bone Café who had brought her toast, and Martin the hairdresser whose gentle hands had given her a new way to look at herself.
Maybe it was just because Hannah rekindled a shadow of a memory of someone in her past who had once been good to her. Whatever it was, Amelia, sitting on the porch wrapped in the old quilt with the little dog in her lap, felt safe enough to tell Hannah what had happened.
When she was done, Amelia was glad Hannah couldn’t see her face clearly in the shadows cast by the porch light. It was a long time before Hannah finally spoke.
“You really got no memory?” Hannah asked.
“It’s coming back, slowly,” Amelia said. “But I can’t tell sometimes which ones are real and which aren’t.”
The porch swing creaked as Hannah sat back. “My first husband gave me a diamond necklace,” she said. “It was as bright as one of those Fourth of July sparklers. I found out it was just glass, as phony as he was.”
Amelia looked over at Hannah, waiting.
“Maybe memories are like that,” Hannah went on. “The fake ones can look the most real.”
“I can’t remember anything about the night I got hurt,” Amelia said. “Only a man with dark hair and a feeling that he was trying to kill me.”
“You really think it was your husband?” Hannah asked.
“I don’t know,” Amelia said softly. “I just know I have to get away from him.”
The creaking of the porch swing stopped. Hannah had gone silent and still. From somewhere close by came a church bell, tolling the hour—seven o’clock.
Amelia looked over at Hannah. The old woman was just sitting there, staring out at the dark street. Had she imagined it, that note of disbelief in Hannah’s voice? It seemed like such a crazy story now that her head was clear enough to really consider it. But that gnawing fear wasn’t crazy. It was real. So was this new fear, that maybe she had made a mistake in confiding in the old woman. God, would she ever be able to trust anyone again?
“It’s getting cold,” Amelia said softly.
Hannah nodded and folded her sweater tighter over her chest.
“Would you like some more tea?” Amelia asked. “I can go in and heat up the water.”
“No, I’m fine,” Hannah said. “I’m a little tired, though. I think I’ll go tuck in early tonight.” She rose slowly and started to pick up the tray.
“Leave it. I’ll take it in,” Amelia said.
Hannah gave her a long look and then nodded. She opened the screen door, waiting. Angel jumped from Amelia’s lap and followed Hannah inside.
Amelia pulled the quilt up around her shoulders. She stayed outside for another ten minutes, but finally the cold started to seep into her bones. She rose, picked up the tray, and went into the house, pushing the front door closed with her hip.
In the kitchen, she washed the cups and set them to drain on a towel. Her ribs, still bruised from the car accident, ached, and she knew sleep would come hard tonight. Maybe a long soak in the tub would help.
The phone rang out in the foyer.
Amelia hurried to pick it up, hoping it was the dog spa calling back about Brody’s arrangements. Mrs. Chapinski had called about three that afternoon and promised Amelia she would call back when she had everything finalized.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Tobias? This is Kristin, from Fantasia.”
“Oh, yes, good! Were you able to arrange to get Brody to me?”
“Well, almost. We’re closed now, but Mrs. Chapinski wanted me to call you before I left so you wouldn’t worry. We need Brody’s vet to sign a health certificate first or Delta won’t take him. So I’m going over to your vet tomorrow to get his papers. The first day the airline can ship him is the day after tomorrow.”
Amelia leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. “Thank you, Kristin.”
“I’ll call you back tomorrow when we get everything nailed down, okay?”
“I appreciate this, Kristin.”
“Oh, by the way, I hope your mom is okay, Mrs. Tobias.”
Amelia opened her eyes. “My mom?”
“Mr. Tobias said she’s in the hospital.”
Amelia straightened from the wall. “You talked to my husband?”
“Yeah, this morning. He called to see how Brody was doing. Right after I talked to you.”
“Kristin, did you tell him where I was?”
There was a long pause on the other end.
“Kristin, did you tell my husband where I was?”
“No, I just gave him your mom’s phone number. Geez, Mrs. Tobias, is there—”
Amelia hung up. Her heart was hammering.
What the hell was going on? She knew Alex never would have called to ask about Brody. Maybe it was someone else? She struggled to retrieve a face from her memory, the face of the dark-haired man in the car. Maybe it hadn’t been Alex. But who else would want to kill her?
A noise outside, like a pounding. She hurried into the front room and turned off the lamp. She crawled onto the sofa under the window and peered out the gap in the curtains. Nothing . . . just a car rolling slowly away down the street, the deep thump-thump of its music echoing in the dark. She watched until the sound faded and the red taillights were gone.
“Hon, what it is?”
Amelia spun.
Hannah was standing in the doorway. “What are you doing down here in the dark?” She started to the table, reaching for the lamp.
“No, leave it off!”
Hannah stared at her for a moment and then came slowly forward. Amelia looked back out at the street. She could see nothing moving, except the branches of oak trees dancing in the wind.
“What is it?” Hannah asked.
Amelia turned to her. “He knows I’m here, Hannah.”
“But how?”
“He called my dog’s groomer, and they gave him your phone number.” Amelia slid off the sofa. “I have to go.”
“Hon, wait a minute. Amelia, wait—”
But Amelia was already up the stairs. She ran to her room and pulled the Vuitton duffel from under the bed. She changed into jeans and a T-shirt and packed the rest of her clothes. She headed to the bathroom and emptied her toiletries from the plastic hospital bag into the cosmetics bag she had bought at the mall.
When she got back to the bedroom Hannah was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the white dog.
“Listen, maybe you should just go to the police,” Hannah said.
“No. They won’t believe me. Until I can remember what happened, I can’t prove anything.”
Amelia threw the cosmetics bag into the duffel along with her new iPad. She tugged on her boots and slid into her sweater coat. She turned in a quick tight circle, looking around the room to see if she had left anything. When she looked back at Hannah, the old woman was standing up.
She was holding a gun.
Amelia’s eyes went from the gun up to Hannah’s face.
“Take this,” Hannah said, coming to her. “My daddy gave it to me for protection after my second divorce.”
Amelia shook her head. “Hannah, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.”
“I don’t need this.”
“Yes, yo
u do.”
Amelia tried to take a step back, but Hannah grabbed her hand and set the gun in her palm.
It was cold and heavy. “How does it . . . ?” Amelia asked.
“It’s just a plain old .38 revolver. You just take the safety off, point it, and shoot.”
Amelia’s eyes went from the gun in her hand up to Hannah’s face.
“You hold it like you do a man, hon,” Hannah said. “You’re in charge of when it goes off.”
Amelia stared at Hannah, then she laughed. It came out as a hard, nervous bark.
Hannah gave a grunt and a small smile. Amelia slid the gun into the duffel and zipped it up. When she looked back, Hannah was at the window, peering around the downed shade.
“I didn’t want to say anything earlier because I didn’t want to scare you.” She looked back at Amelia. “I thought I saw something, across the street in the church parking lot, a light that came and went, like someone smoking a cigarette inside a car.”
She let the shade fall. “I might be wrong, but you best go out the back just in case.”
Amelia picked up the duffel from the bed. The white dog was curled up on the chenille bedspread. She stroked the dog’s head and then turned to Hannah.
“Where are you going?” Hannah asked.
“I don’t know,” Amelia said.
“Will you at least find a way to let me know you’re all right?”
Amelia nodded, then she gathered the old woman into a tight embrace.
“Go,” Hannah whispered.
Amelia broke free and hurried from the room. She didn’t look back until she was out the back door and into the alley. The lights inside the house dissolved into a yellow blur. She wiped the tears roughly away, hoisted up the duffel, and disappeared into the dark.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
In the cold moonless night, a night that was slowly shrouding itself in a fog, she couldn’t be sure which direction she was heading. But the smell of the river was growing fainter behind her, and she had the sense that she was heading back toward downtown. And once she found her way there, she could make it back to the Greyhound station.