‘Frankly’ – Toni Petit came from behind, holding a cup – ‘I’m more concerned about what might have happened to Billie.’
‘We all are,’ Sam said, and the delicate fragrance from Toni’s drink reached his nose. ‘What’s that?’
‘That’s my chamomile tea, with honey and vanilla,’ Linda said. ‘Get you some, Sam?’
‘Not right now, thanks.’ He paused. ‘Does Billie drink herb tea?’
‘Not to my knowledge,’ Linda said.
‘It’d be healthy for her,’ Toni said. ‘Wherever she is.’
‘I wouldn’t worry too much about our Miss Smith.’ Tyler Allen joined them. ‘I have her down as a Grade-A mini-diva.’
The rest of the group were making their way over the lawn.
‘You couldn’t be more wrong,’ Sam said to Allen.
‘All this chopping and changing Carmens isn’t exactly a picnic for me,’ Jack Holden complained.
‘You said you enjoyed my interpretation on Thursday,’ Carla said.
‘“Interpretation”,’ Tyler mocked. ‘You were a good stand-in, darling.’
Sam shot him a look.
‘You have a problem with me?’ Tyler asked.
‘Just with the barbed remarks,’ Sam said.
‘How about we get down to some work?’ Linda took control.
‘And anyone who’s not needed first –’ Toni raised her voice – ‘I’d like to check measurements.’
Sam called Larry Smith from the Saab after rehearsal to tell him that the school needed to hear from him before releasing any information.
‘I’ll call first thing,’ Larry said. ‘But what if she hasn’t been there? I mean, I guess she can’t be called a missing person, not if she’s probably just gone off someplace.’
‘Any luck naming the bar where she works?’
‘Nope,’ Larry said.
‘Maybe Jill knows,’ Sam said.
‘Jill’s not feeling too great right now,’ Larry said. ‘Which is why I don’t want to stress her. It’s also why I can’t just drop everything and come down to Miami – we don’t even know that Billie’s in Miami.’
Sam told his old school friend that he’d see what he could do.
Billie troubling him even more now.
May 24
On Tuesday morning, shown into Felicia Delgado’s bedroom in her father’s condo by the gentle-mannered nurse, Grace found the room cool and dimly lit, the drapes closed.
The teenager was sitting up in bed, her hands on the covers, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. The dark glasses she wore despite the semidarkness were as oversized as Sam had described.
‘Hello, Felicia,’ she said. ‘I’m Grace Lucca. I’m a psychologist, and I’m here to help you, if you want me to.’
Felicia Delgado didn’t respond, her expression impossible to read.
There was a chair against the wall over to Grace’s right.
‘Would you mind if I bring that chair a little closer, Felicia?’
She shrugged, and Grace picked up the chair and placed it about four feet from the bed, not wanting her to feel hemmed in.
She sat down. ‘Do you understand why I’m here?’
‘You’re a shrink.’ The teenager’s voice was soft and a little husky. ‘A shrink came to see me in the clinic, but I didn’t feel like talking, so she went away again.’
No purpose in raising her brief appointment with Magda, Grace decided, especially given that it had taken place before her mother’s death.
In another lifetime.
‘Do you think you feel ready to talk to me now?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Felicia said.
‘That’s OK,’ Grace said. ‘We can just see how it goes.’
The only sound in the room now was the air conditioning’s low hum.
Grace took a chance. ‘I’m going to ask you to help me out with something, Felicia. But if you’re not willing, that’s OK, we’ll manage.’ She paused. ‘I know you don’t want to take off your lovely glasses—’
She saw the girl visibly flinch.
‘—but because of them,’ she went on, ‘I can’t tell how you’re feeling.’
‘I’m not taking them off.’
‘I’m not asking you to,’ Grace said. ‘I know you have a problem with that.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Felicia’s voice rose a little.
‘You don’t have to. Not till you’re ready.’
‘I’ll never be ready.’
‘That’s OK,’ Grace said. ‘I just want to explain that, from time to time, because so much of your face is hidden by your glasses, I might ask you questions about how you’re feeling that seem dumb.’
‘Oh,’ Felicia said. ‘OK.’
‘Thank you,’ Grace said. ‘I only raised it because I’d like us to be honest with each other. So you know that I know about your problem.’
She allowed a decent pause.
‘It’s also pretty dark in here. Would you mind if I opened the drapes?’
Felicia didn’t answer.
‘I know I’d feel better,’ Grace said. ‘I often find first meetings quite hard, so it might help me if the room were a little brighter.’
‘So open them,’ the teenager said.
‘Thank you.’ Grace stood up, crossed over to the window, found a cord, opened the drapes and turned around.
This room had not, of course, been Felicia’s home, but it was not an impersonal guest room, seemed like a place in which she might have spent time in the past. There were no posters, the only ‘teen’ thing a framed, signed photograph of three of the Harry Potter movie kids. A swift scan of the bookshelves revealed ‘Extraordinary Hispanic Americans’, a Bible and a Laura Ingalls Wilder novel, and Grace wondered if Felicia removed her dark glasses to read, if perhaps she waited until she knew no one would walk in on her, or if she locked doors.
Or maybe she never took them off at all in case she passed a mirror and caught sight of her own reflection.
‘I’m sorry,’ Felicia said. ‘I know I’m not easy.’
‘You have nothing to be sorry for,’ Grace told her. ‘You’ve been through an unimaginable ordeal, and you’ve suffered the worst kind of loss, and I wish I knew some easy way to help you quickly, but I don’t. So I’m just going to see if maybe, over time, we can help each other find a way.’
Felicia Delgado’s mouth lifted a little at the corners. Not exactly a smile, but something like it.
‘What?’ Grace asked gently.
‘Nothing.’
‘I thought perhaps I saw a trace of a smile.’
‘And you could see that even with my glasses on,’ Felicia said.
Being a smart mouth seemed to Grace a welcome sign of normality.
‘Yes, I could,’ she said. ‘But why did you smile?’
‘Because you talk like a real person,’ Felicia said.
‘I’m relieved to hear that,’ Grace said.
There was a knock on the door, and Carlos Delgado looked in. ‘How are we doing?’
Grace knew instantly and with regret that the brief connection was lost.
‘I think we’ve been doing fine,’ she said, staying focused on his daughter. ‘Though I think you’ve probably had enough for one day, haven’t you, Felicia?’
‘I guess,’ she said.
Grace stood up. ‘Would you mind if I come back again soon?’
‘If you want,’ Felicia said.
‘I’d like to,’ Grace said. ‘Very much.’
‘Just so long as you don’t think we’re going to be friends,’ Felicia said.
‘Hey,’ Carlos Delgado said. ‘Don’t be rude.’
‘Your daughter’s just saying what she feels,’ Grace said. ‘I want her to know she can be honest with me.’
‘So how much did she say?’ Delgado asked.
His living room was emphatically masculine, the flat-screen TV huge, the bar handsomely stocked, the furniture racing-green leather.
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‘We made a start,’ Grace said.
‘Did you ask about her mother?’
‘No.’
‘But if she was a witness . . .’
‘We don’t know that yet,’ Grace said.
‘If she’s talking,’ Delgado said, ‘the police will want to question her.’
‘They will,’ Grace agreed. ‘But I don’t think she’s ready to speak to them.’
‘Will you tell your husband that?’ Delgado asked.
‘If Detective Becket asks for my professional opinion,’ Grace said, ‘that’s what I’ll tell him.’
Billie had not been to class for almost a week, Larry Smith reported to Sam that evening, and the school had no information to offer regarding any part-time work she might be doing.
‘And so far, apparently,’ Sam told Grace later, over bowls of vegetarian chili and couscous at their kitchen table, ‘none of her fellow students seem to know anything.’
‘You’re really worried about her.’
‘I’m concerned,’ Sam said. ‘But I guess it’s her parents’ decision as to if and when they regard her as actually missing.’
‘I hope she’s OK.’ Grace paused. ‘And it’s all right, by the way, for you to ask me about Felicia Delgado.’
‘I was waiting for you. Professional courtesy.’
‘There’s not much I can tell you, obviously,’ she said. ‘But you can ask.’
‘Did she talk to you?’
‘A little.’ Grace paused. ‘Is she ready to talk to you? Not quite yet, I’d say, but at least we made a start.’
‘Meantime, every hour that passes . . .’ Sam shook his head.
‘Is wasted from the investigation standpoint,’ Grace said. ‘No help to you, though, if she shuts down again.’ She paused. ‘As it happens, we’d barely begun when her father came to check on her. I’ll see her again as soon as possible.’
Sam put down his fork. ‘Any chance he might have been deliberately cutting your time short?’
‘He instigated my seeing her, didn’t he?’ Grace said.
‘Point taken.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Where did you see her?’
‘In her bedroom.’
‘What was it like?’
‘Comfortable. I thought she’d probably stayed over there in the past.’
Sam took another forkful of chili, then hesitated. ‘Did you happen to notice if she had a Bible?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Did you notice?’ he repeated quietly.
Grace supposed the question meant that Felicia had not yet been entirely eliminated as a suspect in her mother’s death.
Just doing his job.
Didn’t mean she had to like it.
‘I did not,’ she said, and knew that he sensed her lie.
His dark eyes on her were warm though, understanding.
That she liked.
May 25
At nine thirty-five on Wednesday morning, Magda answered a buzz from the office entry system.
‘Is Doctor Lucca here?’ a male voice, accented, asked.
‘Do you have an appointment?’ she asked.
‘I’m afraid not,’ he said. ‘I’m here unexpectedly. We met recently in Zurich.’
‘Your name?’ Magda asked, just as Grace came into the entrance hall.
‘Thomas Chauvin,’ the voice on the speaker said.
‘Good Lord,’ Grace said.
The young Frenchman was apologetic for dropping by without notice.
‘I’m in Miami for a month,’ he told Grace and Magda, ‘hoping to get material for a new project.’
‘What’s the project?’ Magda asked.
‘It’s crime related,’ Chauvin answered.
He offered nothing further, and neither woman pressed him.
‘I’m staying in Surfside,’ he said.
‘In a hotel?’ Grace asked.
‘A vacation rental,’ he said. ‘A studio, one room and bath and a tiny kitchen.’ He smiled. ‘It’s quite nice, and I have a car, so I can get around.’
‘So you’re all set,’ Magda said brightly, and went to prepare for her ten o’clock patient.
‘I’m afraid I don’t have any time right now,’ Grace told Chauvin.
She was finding it hard to conceal her irritation. She worked here on weekday mornings, while Joshua was at preschool. Now and then in the afternoons she saw patients at home, but mostly she liked to focus on her son and his needs. Had Chauvin given her notice, she would have done her best to fob him off, would certainly not have wanted him showing up at her place of work.
‘I know I should have called ahead.’ He looked repentant. ‘But you’re the only person I know in Miami, and all I could find was your business address.’
Better, perhaps, on reflection, than showing up at home.
‘I’ll do my best to schedule something, but this is a very busy time for me,’ she said. ‘I hope you’ll understand.’
‘Of course I do,’ Chauvin said. ‘I will take whatever crumbs you can offer.’
It was hard not to smile at such abject crawling.
He leapt on the touch of warmth. ‘What I would dearly love is the chance to meet with your family and, most particularly, with your husband, so I could maybe ask him just a few questions to help with my research.’
That, at least, rang true. She said she’d do what she could, took the number of his prepaid local cell phone, and said she’d call when she’d had a chance to speak to Sam.
‘But I can’t promise anything,’ she said.
‘Even a cup of coffee would be wonderful,’ Chauvin said.
‘He’s pretty cute,’ Magda said, passing her in the hallway at eleven-fifteen.
‘Don’t even start,’ Grace said.
‘Very cute, if handsome young Frenchmen are your style.’
Grace ignored her and called Sam to put him in the picture.
‘I told him we were both busy.’
‘We have to invite him to dinner,’ Sam said.
‘We do?’
‘Sure we do. You round up the family, fix up a time.’
‘I don’t think we should put your dad and Mildred through it,’ Grace said, ‘but I guess if the others don’t mind . . .’
‘They’ll love meeting the guy who sent you flowers and then followed you all the way over the Atlantic.’
‘Don’t even joke,’ Grace said.
‘It’s not my fault you’re irresistible,’ Sam said. ‘Make it this evening, and Saul and I can rustle up a barbecue.’
‘If I were you,’ Martinez said to Sam, minutes later, ‘I’d check him out.’
Sam grinned. ‘What do you want me to do? Call Interpol?’
‘If Grace were my wife, I think I might.’
‘I think I’ll just meet the poor guy first,’ Sam said.
At eleven-thirty, Mildred and David arrived at the Adams Clinic on Indian Creek Drive for an appointment during which the curve of her cornea and the size and shape of her left eye could be measured again, after which there would be blood tests and a chance for her to ask any questions still on her mind.
If she was capable of speech, she thought.
She had rejected the suggestion she check in today and stay overnight ahead of the surgery, was determined to escape while she could.
‘Very grand.’ She looked up as they entered at the sign on the marble fascia of the building. ‘I’d expect nothing less of the doctor.’
‘You’re still not overly fond, are you?’ David said.
‘It isn’t his fault,’ Mildred admitted.
For a while, her tension eased up a little. David had to go to the office to complete insurance paperwork, but everyone she encountered from the reception desk to the examination room was kind yet down-to-earth. Best of all, Dr Ethan Adams was not around, and instead there were two younger doctors, one a nice, modest man with curling fair hair called Dr Scott Merriam, the other with calm gray eyes, named Dr George Wiley.
‘We’
ve read Doctor Adams’ notes,’ Dr Merriam said, ‘so we know you’re a little nervous.’
‘More than a little,’ Mildred said.
‘If we tell you there’s no need to be,’ Dr Wiley said, ‘you probably won’t believe us. Yet it is true.’
‘Doctor Adams is the absolute best,’ Dr Merriam said.
‘If you’ve read my notes,’ Mildred said, ‘and if Doctor Adams has understood me at all, you’ll know that it isn’t belief in his skills that’s my problem.’
‘No,’ Dr Wiley said. ‘You’re squeamish about eye exams.’
Mildred’s mouth was dry, her insides tight as a drum.
‘Which means you’d like us to stop talking and get the job done, so you can get out of here,’ Dr Merriam said.
‘Or better yet,’ Mildred said, ‘skip it altogether.’
‘And get us fired,’ Merriam said.
George Wiley’s smile was gentle. ‘You will be fine,’ he said.
‘Better than fine,’ Scott Merriam confirmed.
Despite Grace having called him to arrange the barbecue, Chauvin came back twice more that morning, hoping she might have fifteen minutes to spare.
‘I can give you ten,’ she told him finally, at a quarter to one.
‘Great,’ Chauvin said, ‘because I bought us lunch from a café in Bal Harbour.’ He held up a bag. ‘Some tuna salad and quiche – you choose – and crusty bread. OK with you? I brought enough for your colleague too.’
‘She’s with a patient,’ Grace said. ‘But thank you.’
They ate in Magda’s kitchen, sitting on stools at her granite bar.
‘Is it true,’ Chauvin asked, ‘that you used to see patients at your house?’
‘I still do.’ Grace paused. ‘How would you know that?’
‘I must have read it somewhere.’ Chauvin saw her frown. ‘Research is second nature for me, so I Google everyone I meet. It’s become an addiction, I confess, but you can learn so much.’
He stopped, but Grace’s hackles were already up, and most of the time she tried forgetting that her past was out there, and that people like this man, an aspiring photojournalist, were bound to be interested.
‘Why are you really here, Monsieur Chauvin?’ Her tone was sharper.
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