Maybe Harry could help. Her former boss had insisted he couldn’t spare time for a lunch meeting, but his secretary sent them into his office the moment they arrived.
Bianca would have recognized Harry’s disorganized mess anywhere. Folders from file cabinets overflowed, spreading across every surface from the desk to the windowsills and onto the floor in a manila wave. Bianca and Craig wound their way through piles of documents to reach the two chairs facing Harry’s desk.
“Come in. Glad you could make it. How’s your neck?” He peered at Bianca’s bruises while moving papers off the chairs so they could sit. “Coffee?”
“No thanks,” she answered, eager for him to get to the point, eager to think about anything besides Craig’s frosty treatment.
In his usual brisk manner, Harry’s greeting had jumped from subject to subject, but today he sounded nervous as well as overworked. His eyes darted from her to Craig and back as if afraid of their reaction.
Harry’s delay in reaching the point of their meeting unnerved her. She had no time for social amenities. “Why did you ask us to come here? Is there a problem with a case I worked on?”
“Nothing like that. Your work was impeccable, always neat and organized.” He threw his hands up in the air. “I really have to straighten out these files. But then how would I find anything?”
Beside her, Craig stretched out his feet, his brow raised at Harry’s remark. Craig’s cold silence unnerved her. Or perhaps it was pain that prevented him from saying much. Either way, he seemed determined to let her carry the conversation.
Harry peered at her through his glasses. “I had a break-in last week. As far as I can tell, the only item stolen was the file concerning your parents’ estate.”
“How odd. My parents didn’t own anything of value. Perhaps the thief made a mistake. Or maybe you simply misplaced the file.”
“Are you sure?” Craig asked.
“I may appear disorganized, but I brought out that file just last week when Bianca’s Uncle Bob came to see me.
Bianca rubbed her brow. “Did his visit have anything to do with me?”
Harry planted his elbows on his desk and knitted his fingers together. “That’s just it—I don’t know. Bob had been drinking. He kept grumbling about those stock certificates your father was supposedly holding for him.”
Craig leaned forward. His eyes gleamed with sudden interest. “Are you saying old stock certificates are just left lying around in your files?”
Harry bristled. “Absolutely not. The estate had few assets that I could find. No stock certificates were mentioned. After Bianca’s parent’s deaths, I meticulously read all the paperwork, everything but her mother’s diary.”
“A diary?” The existence of such a memento stunned her. Her only memories of her mother were from Gran’s stories. To hold her mother’s diary, to read her words, would have given her immense pleasure. “She left me a diary?”
“According to the will you are supposed to receive all personal items when you turn thirty.”
“Why so long?”
Harry shrugged. “That’s a moot point now.”
“The diary was stolen?” Sorrow filled Bianca at the loss.
“Did the diary refer to the stock certificates?” Craig asked, making a connection she wouldn’t have thought to ask about.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “After Bob mentioned the stock certificates, I read the diary twice. I assure you, the certificates were never even alluded to.”
Bianca recalled how Uncle Bob always needed money. “You think Bob didn’t believe you and broke into your office to steal the file?”
“The thought occurred to me.” Harry rose from his chair, walked around his desk and patted her back. “I thought you should know. I intended to tell you at the party but didn’t have the chance. After you were attacked, I wondered if the same person might be behind these seemingly unconnected incidents.”
Bianca stood and hugged Harry. “Now you have me wondering, too. Thanks for letting me know.”
Craig shook Harry’s hand. “Just one more question. Have you ever been fingerprinted?”
“No, why?”
“It’s not important,” Craig told him.
As she and Craig walked out of the office building into LA’s smog, Bianca felt as though the air was being sucked from her lungs. She had to talk to Gran, but Craig looked so weary, she hated to drag him to the nursing home. “Do you think it’s safe to visit Gran?”
“Why?”
“I want to ask her a few questions about Uncle Bob and the stock he mentioned.”
“A call would be safer. I’d recommend keeping the conversation short—no more than three minutes, so the call can’t be traced.”
His responses were brief, cold, as if he cared nothing for her, as if they’d never made love. His attitude clearly said he’d help her protect his babies, but anything more between them was off-limits.
Right now, her concern revolved around the past. She pulled into the first store where she could buy a trac phone and minutes. Then she punched Gran’s number and walked back to the car where Craig was waiting.
“Hi, Gran.”
“Are you all right?” Gran’s voice revealed no signs of sleepiness. “I was so worried after the party. I know it’s hard for you to call.”
“Sorry.” To her long list of faults, Bianca guiltily added another for making her grandmother worry. “I can’t talk more than a few minutes. I went to see Harry Pibbs. He told me my parents’ file was stolen from his office.”
“After all this time?”
“Uncle Bob visited Harry just last week and asked about those missing stock certificates again.”
“You know better than to listen to Bob’s ramblings. For years after your father died, Bob claimed your father owed him money. He said your dad kept the certificates in a safe place, probably to prevent him from drinking up the profits.”
“So you don’t know if my father bought stock or not?”
“Your father buy stock?” Gran snorted. “My son was a straight arrow. He believed investing in other people’s businesses akin to gambling.”
Perhaps the break-in had nothing to do with her uncle. “So Uncle Bob’s story is impossible?”
Gran paused for a moment. “Come to think of it, your mother occasionally dabbled in the market. I seem to recall reading something about stocks in her diary. You’re supposed to receive it when you—”
“Wait a second.” Bianca’s heartbeat accelerated with excitement. “Harry just told me there wasn’t a word in Mom’s diary about stocks.”
“He did?” Doubt filled Gran’s voice. “Maybe I’m wrong.”
“Think, Gran.”
“I could have sworn I read about your mother’s investments somewhere. Maybe I’m mistaken. She died a long time ago.”
From the car, Craig motioned Bianca to cut the call short. Quickly she asked Gran to give her directions to Uncle Bob’s house in Santa Barbara.
“Gran, thanks. I don’t know when I can call again.”
“I understand.”
“Gran, was Uncle Bob ever fingerprinted?”
“I don’t know. Be careful. I love you, honey.”
“Love you, too, Gran.” She hung up the phone and hurried back to Craig. After repeating the conversation, she waited for his take on the situation.
His face remained unreadable. “You said Harry needed money years ago when he started his business, right?”
“You think Harry took the stock?”
“He had opportunity and motive.”
She breathed deeply then slowly exhaled. “Even if he did, that doesn’t make him the stalker.”
“Unless he was trying to distract you from the missing stock by giving you bigger pr
oblems to think about.”
“But Harry has always been so good to me.”
“Maybe he feels guilty. The timing seems right, too. Didn’t the stalking begin shortly after you called and asked Harry if there was any truth to the missing stock?”
While she disagreed with Craig’s analysis, at least he was talking to her. An afternoon and evening without tension might restore any goodwill he had left toward her. With that goal in mind, she pulled out of the parking lot. There was no sign of anyone following.
Still, her neck prickled as if someone was watching.
A good night’s sleep in wine country would leave them well rested. With no bolt-hole ready for them to hide in, they couldn’t turn back. If she had to, she’d drive like a crazy woman, lose the tail.
The past weeks on the run had toughened her. Although she was tired of running, tired of being a coward, fear wouldn’t stop her. Neither would Craig.
Craig’s cold and silent treatment wouldn’t defeat her. She wanted answers. And she was willing to risk another encounter with her stalker to get them. Anything to get her life back.
Tonight, she’d stay with Craig, make sure he recovered. She owed him that much. Tomorrow, she’d confront Uncle Bob. If necessary, she’d face him alone.
Chapter Ten
CALIFORNIA VINEYARDS were renowned for producing some of the finest wines in the world. While the northern vintners grew most of the wine grapes, others had discovered pockets of land where soil and climate matched the growing conditions up north. Santa Barbara, where Bob Carlson lived, was one of those pockets.
The day before, Bianca and Craig had driven north on the Hollywood Freeway. They had spent the night in Ojai, a sleepy artists’ and writers’ colony hidden away on the edge of the Los Padres National Forest.
Bianca had thought Craig should have spent the afternoon recuperating in bed from his head injury, but he’d worked through most of the day and into the evening, texting directions to his staff and catching up on email. He’d used the trac phone to call one of his twin brothers, and she’d overheard him turning down invitations to family gatherings.
This morning, Craig, mostly recovered, was back behind the wheel, driving North on Highway 101. His attitude toward her hadn’t changed, and his polite indifference irritated her. Not that she had a choice, but she’d rather he’d yell at her than ignore her. Since she hadn’t worked up the courage to deliberately start an argument, the car remained silent, the air between them fraught with tension.
They took the main street out of town past the graceful tower that offset a row of unpretentious shops under a covered veranda. She didn’t break the silence between them until they arrived on the outskirts of Santa Barbara.
When Uncle Bob had a job, he worked unusual hours, and she hoped to catch him at home. Bianca stretched her legs, anxious to get the visit over with. “Bob lives between the wharf and downtown, a little north of the city.”
Craig turned at the corner of State and Victoria. “We should have called first.”
“I don’t want to give him any warning. If he did steal the file and my mother’s diary from Harry’s office, he might leave it in sight. If we warn him, he’ll have time to hide the evidence.”
“You think he’s the stalker?”
“What would be the point? What motive could he possibly have?”
The contrast between the quiet tension in the car and the humming activity around an outdoor fountain in the attractive town where tourists and locals sipped coffee increased Bianca’s awareness of how out of kilter her life had tipped. In another minute or so, they’d reach the area where State Street terminated at Steams Wharf, but they wouldn’t be visiting any of the tourist attractions. Instead, she was considering whether or not her uncle could be her stalker.
Craig avoided a skater and smoothly changed lanes. “Let’s suppose the stock certificates Bob asked Harry about actually exist. Suppose they’ve appreciated over the years and become valuable. If he thinks you have them, maybe he’d come after you.”
“If I had them, I would have sold them to pay for law school. He’s aware of my tight financial situation. Besides, if the stock certificates existed, why would Uncle Bob warn me at a party to get rid of you and the babies?”
“Perhaps he thinks you’ll sell the stock and spend the money on your new family. Unless your grandmother told him, he doesn’t know the conditions of our agreement.”
“Gran wouldn’t tell.” Spotting the adobe bell towers her grandmother had told her to watch for when she’d given directions, Bianca checked the car’s GPS. “Make your first right, then go about a mile. His house should be on the right.”
“Maybe Bob thinks you spent his share of the stock and is after you for revenge.”
She sighed. “I suppose it’s possible. But why would he keep bringing up the subject if he believes we already spent the money?”
“Who can tell what goes on in the mind of an alcoholic? Has your uncle ever been arrested? Fingerprinted?” Craig asked.
“I asked Gran, and she didn’t know. But when I was a kid, Gran tried to keep him away from me. She didn’t approve of his drinking.”
“What’s he do for a living?”
“He’s a salesman. Actually, he’s quite good at it while he’s on the wagon. He’s sold everything from radio advertising to used cars. Lately, he’s into multilevel marketing. He never lasts long once his bosses find out about his drinking problem. That’s when he comes around asking for handouts.”
Craig’s fingers clenched around the wheel. “Do you have any enemies you haven’t told me about?”
“Enemies?” His question revealed his distrust and left the taste of ashes in her mouth. She supposed since she’d lied about her name, he thought she’d lied about her entire life. This was her fault, and it sickened her. Whatever fires had been kindled between them, she had extinguished. “I’ve led a quiet life. Until the stalker pursued me, nothing unusual happened in my entire life.”
“Losing both parents in a train accident is unusual. Perhaps the events now are connected to the past.” She shook her head. “After all this time? I don’t think so.”
Bob Carlson’s house, painted a light tan, stood at the end of a short grass driveway, its front so veiled by showering gold-green foliage of weeping willows that Bianca glimpsed only a hint of the rambling, nondescript stucco house. Except for a flower box with marigolds, it closely resembled the other homes on the block.
Craig pulled into the driveway. She unbuckled her seat belt. “I’d pictured his house differently.”
“How so?”
“My memories of Uncle Bob are almost all unpleasant. I thought he would live in a bare, dank apartment.”
They strode to the door, maintaining a clear-cut space between them. Except when he’d had to rely on her due to his injury, Craig hadn’t touched her since he’d discovered her real last name.
She wouldn’t lie to herself. Their relationship wasn’t better this way. Although they’d been together practically every moment, his withdrawal hurt. Once again, the sting of self-doubt tortured her. Had she been selfish?
He was a good guy.
Even now in his remoteness, he treated her politely, which almost made the pain worse. She missed imparting her thoughts, missed the warmth in his eyes when he gazed at her, missed his caresses. Craig had unstintingly set time aside to assist her. He had held her and told her he enjoyed their lovemaking. He had protected her, never letting her out of shouting-for-help distance. They had shared so much. Whatever she’d meant to him—and she was never really sure what he saw in her besides the children—she’d ruined by lies she’d put in motion before she’d known him.
Even now, Craig was still there for her, keeping her focused on finding the stalker, paying attention to her ideas and helping her face the danger. But the emo
tional distance he kept between them made her uncomfortable. Still, she welcomed his company. Facing Uncle Bob wouldn’t be easy. Having Craig with her gave her courage.
She rang the bell. In her nervousness, she reached for Craig’s hand without thinking. Before they touched, she caught herself and dispiritedly dropped her arm to her side.
She rang the bell again. Craig banged with the knocker.
They waited. She tried not to hold her breath. “Maybe he’s not home.”
Craig pounded with his fist.
“I’m coming,” Bob shouted grumpily from the other side of the door.
The longer he took, the tighter her nerves rolled up. What was taking him so long?
Finally, a dead bolt clicked. The door opened soundlessly.
Bob ran a hand over his unshaven jaw, prickly with a mixture of white and gray bristles. Wearing a cream polo shirt and navy slacks, shoes but no socks, he stepped back and squinted against the bright light.
Craig’s voice was neutral. “Good morning.”
“Could we talk?” Bianca asked hesitantly.
Bob swung the door wide. “Come in, and I’ll make some coffee.”
His gracious welcome settled her frazzled nerves but heightened her suspicions. She glanced over at Craig as she entered the neatly kept house. If he was surprised, he was doing a good job of hiding it.
Bob led them into a faded but spotless yellow kitchen that looked onto a patio. A bird feeder hung from the limb of an orange tree. A chess set sat on a table between two iron chairs with soft yellow cushions.
Bianca and Craig seated themselves in swivel chairs at the breakfast bar while Bob heated water, measured coffee and turned on the percolator. Without looking at them, he took out a sugar bowl from a cabinet, poured milk into a creamer and set black cups and saucers on the white counter.
He peered into the freezer. “I’ve got some coffee cake in here somewhere.”
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