The Three Beths

by Jeff Abbott

  Or someone else had. Someone who wanted to hide what Bethany had learned.

  The video. She felt sure that was what Bethany had given her mother. For safekeeping. And written her name on it so anyone who came looking for Bethany’s evidence would not be suspicious and it would never be mistaken for a blank DVD if Bethany needed it returned. If Mariah or her father had stumbled on the DVD and tried to load it, Mom could have just said it was a confidential project for work.

  And then maybe, somehow, someone had found this email on Bethany’s side of the conversation and…a target had been painted on Mom’s back.

  Mariah felt sick. She fought down the surge of bile in her throat. Think. Stay calm.

  She sat in the car and waited. She kept thinking someone would notice her loitering here, get suspicious, and call the Lakehaven police. Broussard knowing she was here was the last thing she needed. She kept checking the Faceplace page. No answer.

  Night fell. A man came to the house. He parked in the garage, the door slid closed.

  She waited a few minutes and then she knocked on the door. The man answered. Close up he was in his sixties, bleary-eyed. He had already put on sweatpants and a T-shirt. He wore a bathrobe and he held a drink in his hand.

  It was the man from Reveal’s missing persons support group. The one that had engendered a reaction from Sharon.

  He stared at Mariah. He recognizes me, she thought.

  “Hi, I was looking for Lizbeth Gonzales,” she said.

  “No one here by that name.” He spoke slowly, carefully, keeping an iron grip on the door.

  “Are you Bill Gonzales?”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name’s Mariah. Lizbeth and I were in a writing group together.” This was how she’d decided to play the angle. “Kind of like how you and I are in a support group together. Who are you missing?”

  His mouth worked. “My daughter Lizbeth.”

  “Really?” Her stomach sunk. A third Beth, gone. “When did she vanish? Did you report that to the police?” Mariah crossed her arms.

  “She takes off sometimes. For months. I…I get worried when I don’t hear from her. I heard about that meeting…”

  She didn’t believe him now. “Where is she, Mr. Gonzales? Where?”

  “I don’t care for your tone.” His voice wavered. “Now, leave, or I am going to call the police.”

  “Lizbeth might be in some trouble.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She felt the sharp rise of her temper and she pushed the rage down. “Sir. Please. Just tell me where she is.”

  His gaze darkened. “Get off my property.” He slammed the door in her face.

  She walked off, but then quickly cut back, sticking to the shadows. There were windows along the front of the house. She could hear him pacing the floor. She risked a glance through the window, hiding in the space between the bushes and the window. She could see him, on a cordless phone, pacing, saying, “You need to call me. Don’t come home. Just call first.” He hung up.

  So much for her being a third vanished Beth. Mariah ducked back. Listened. She heard footsteps, rattling of glass, a glug of something being poured. Bill Gonzales was probably right by the window. She tried not to breathe.

  She heard the front door open. Bill came out onto the lawn, looking up and down the street, holding a drink, maybe looking to see if she was there.

  The bushes hid her from his view, and he seemed more interested in the street, as if trying to see if she was sitting in a car.

  Then he went back inside as his phone began to ring. He slammed the door.

  “Some girl here asking questions,” he said. “Looking for Lizbeth Gonzales.” Silence while he listened. “Do what?” He listened again. “No. I won’t.”

  He listened again, for what seemed a longer time. Mariah peered through the window again. She had the baton in her boot. But all the other weapons were in her trunk.

  “I won’t,” he said again, but with a little less fire.

  She waited.

  “Fine, all right, stop yelling at me,” he said. He hung up. Through the window Mariah watched him sigh and close his eyes in apparent frustration. Then he went upstairs. She waited. Bill Gonzales returned, dressed in jeans and a pullover, his hair combed a bit better. He went outside. She crept to the corner of the house and watched him pull out in his SUV.

  She ran across the yards to her own car. He drove away from her, down the street. She followed, hanging back. He got onto the 360 Loop, headed south, then onto 71 east, heading toward the airport. Then past the airport, heading out of town toward Houston.

  She grabbed her phone, called Jake’s number, and hit the speaker.

  “Hi,” he said, and she didn’t want to think how nice it was to hear his voice.

  “Hey. I’m following Lizbeth’s father. He lives here in town. I think he’s driving to see her.”

  “Uh, all right.”

  “Why are you giving money to Andy?”

  Silence. “You know.”

  “I found it.”

  “To pay off Bethany’s…debt.”

  “She didn’t steal the money from Ahoy. He’s tricked you.”

  She waited; she could sense his frustration as he absorbed the news. “I knew that was a possibility, but I couldn’t let anything derail the company going public.”

  “You let him shake you down.” She couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice.

  “Yes. I couldn’t take the risk. Not just for me. For all the people who worked to launch the company…for most of them, their stock options represented a lot of potential wealth. I couldn’t let their hard work be ruined. I was willing to pay hush money.”

  “Penny Gladney. Does the name mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  “Lizbeth’s father’s name is Bill Gonzales. He lives on Whistledown Road in Lakehaven. I’m following him from his house; we’re already east of town. Almost past Bastrop. He called Lizbeth and seemed to be in a panic.”

  “I’m calling the police.”

  “No, don’t. I’ll call you when I know more.” She paused. “I’m glad of one thing. That I got to meet you. I’m grateful for that.”

  “Mariah…”

  She disconnected the call, focusing on hanging close to Bill Gonzales. But not too close.

  Mom, she thought. These people drew you into their scheme, and something went wrong, and they killed you. I’m going to shove them out in the sunlight. I’m going to turn around, like in the dream, and see the monster that took you from me.

  * * *

  “Mariah…Mariah!” he yelled. She had hung up. Jake pocketed his phone. He wanted to check Mariah’s claim. He went online, finding the property tax records for a William Gonzales on Whistledown Road. He had bought the house four years ago. Jake wondered if he could find out anything at that house while Bill Gonzales was gone. It was a risk. But Mariah had said they were nearly to Bastrop, which was in Bastrop County, just east of Austin. Maybe he owned other property. He jumped to Bastrop County’s property tax page and found another address owned by a William Gonzales. Off a rural road, not in Bastrop proper. The Google view showed mostly piney woods. This house was out in the middle of nowhere.

  He grabbed his car keys and headed for the garage.

  The doorbell rang.

  He answered it.

  Sharon stood there.

  “Hello,” he said, a bit surprised.

  She produced a pistol from behind her back and aimed it at his chest. He froze. “Where’s Mariah?” she demanded.

  “She’s not here. Sharon, put that away.” He had never had a gun pointed at him in his life.

  “Where is she?”

  He kept his voice steady. “I have no idea.”

  “Liar. You were just yelling her name. I heard it through the front door. You know where she is, and you’re going to take me to her.” She gestured with the gun. “I’ve thought this through. I can’t live like this. So. I’m go
ing to fix all this.”

  He kept staring at her and she said, quietly but firmly, “Now, Jake.”

  54

  W​HAT DOES THIS Jeffrey know? Craig asked himself. Why is he doing this? What does he hope to gain?

  How did he get into my house?

  Does he have Beth’s key? That was the thought he could not erase, that this man could have gotten Beth’s key, the one she must have had on her when she vanished, and used it against him. The thought was like a little poisonous seed. Craig could never have brought himself to change the locks. It felt like an admission that Beth would never need to come home. And he was afraid of what changing the locks would say to Mariah. She was simultaneously steely and fragile. He felt he walked on constant eggshells in dealing with her.

  And then he wondered if Jeffrey Marshall was connected to Broussard. Dennis was Craig’s most determined enemy. He could survive the averted gazes or the glares or the people turning around in grocery aisles so they didn’t have to come near him: the parents of kids who had started first grade with Mariah, the parents of the sports teams she’d played on, the parents who had worked backstage at the high school musicals. The vast parent network one forged when you went to a good school district and were in it for twelve years. They could hate him, but they couldn’t really do much to him.

  Broussard could. Broussard could hurt him and avenge Beth and every slight he’d suffered since Beth chose him all those years ago.

  “It’s OK,” Beth said. Craig looked up from the screen where he was watching the security camera feed. Beth was there, yet not there—he knew that—close to him, as if she’d come to his office to sit and tell him he’d been working too hard and Mariah needed him and she needed him and all life and love was giving each other our precious attention…and there, in the last year of his wife’s life, he had failed her completely.

  “Beth, is it?” he whispered. His words barely more than breath.

  “Just protect her…from whoever this is.” Her voice, soft like a whisper. She used to whisper to him in bed. Her soft words were like a spell on him when he was young. He loved her beyond reason.

  “Whoever this is,” Craig repeated. “Do you know?” he whispered. “Is it you?” The question he dared not to ask.

  But then she was gone, like she hadn’t been there, and of course she hadn’t. He blinked. So many movies and TV shows these days where the dead paid visits as mentors, prodding the characters into action or providing them with insights. Like being haunted was a great and helpful process. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She wasn’t there, and she hadn’t been there; he knew that. He just missed her more than he’d ever thought possible. She had emptied his heart. They were supposed to grow old together, stride together toward old age, learn from and comfort each other over the years. Beam at grandchildren, take pride in their daughter’s work and happiness, grow wiser together. Lean on each other and love each other and never hurt each other again. But that was all gone. All that was left was Mariah.

  “Just protect our daughter,” he heard Beth’s soft voice whisper.

  He would.

  * * *

  Craig left the rock, wrapped in paper like the ones left for him before, out in his own driveway. Just in case. If he was being watched, him leaving a rock would be like lighting a signal. His watchers would wonder what he was he doing. He was counting on the weakness of human curiosity.

  How would a guy who was used to leaving rocks react to seeing a rock left from him?

  He’d written on the note that wrapped the rock: I will leave but I need a guarantee you never come after my daughter.

  That, after all, had been what every message so far pointed at: a desire to see him and Mariah gone.

  Would he take the bait? Would he come to watch?

  In the dark, he waited.

  Soon…

  * * *

  The camera picked up the note being removed from the rock, a shadowy figure kneeling. It also picked up, emerging from the shadows of the oaks across the street, a hurrying figure dressed in black sweater and jeans. A swing of a sock filled with sand, once, then twice, then the first shadow collapsing into the second. Then the quick shuffle of someone being dragged down the driveway and through the open door of the house with the for sale sign.

  * * *

  “Where am I?” the man said, his voice thick and slurring.

  “To quote you, ‘I know what happened. Should I tell the last secret you know?’” Craig said. A single small light, from a lamp on a table, was on in the room. The light was pale.

  “Where…you…”

  “You were leaving rocks in my driveway,” Craig said. “And, I suspect, dropping them on my car.”

  “What did you do to me…I wasn’t…”

  “I have you on film in my front yard.”

  “It wasn’t me…”

  He produced the paper used to wrap the first rock. “I bet if I show this to the police, they’re going to find you have very similar wrapping paper in your house.”

  Jeffrey bit his lip and took a deep breath.

  “I have you on film, Jeffrey,” Craig repeated. “Now. I could call the police.”

  The man blinked at him. “How do you know my name?”

  “You were smart not to bring your wallet, but I spotted you following me. I figured it out from there.” Best to leave his stepson Sean out of this. He was an innocent kid.

  “Why were you even here, Jeffrey?” Craig asked, his voice quiet and reasonable.

  “I was just coming here to make an offer on your house, but you’ve kidnapped me…you’ve assaulted me…”

  “Or I could kill you.” And then he let Jeffrey see the knife in his hand.

  Jeffrey went silent. He began shivering.

  “This is so silly.” Jeffrey, his words slurring, tried to laugh. “I’ll make a good offer on your house. We can all be happy…”

  “An offer.”

  The man wouldn’t meet his gaze. “We want you gone.”

  “Gone.”

  “Sell your house. Move out. Go live somewhere else. Get a new start.”

  What would you do to protect someone you love? That question always got asked—in books, in movies, like the decision was a struggle. It had never been a struggle for him. Anyone who came at Mariah was to be dealt with, no matter what. She had lost too much already. She could not lose more. I would kill you and not blink. I would get rid of you and never worry for long about the loss your loved ones would feel, because my loved one is safe. He told himself this was true. He thought he believed it. That for Mariah he could turn his heart to steel.

  “This,” Craig said slowly, “was all about scaring me and my daughter out of our home so you could buy my house on the cheap, do a teardown, and turn a tidy profit.”

  Jeffrey finally nodded. “I own Platinum Homes. I buy houses, do teardowns, build a new and modern house to replace these old smaller ones. Look, I won’t tell the cops you attacked me…just sell me the house, I’ll give you a cut of the profits, we’ll both do well…”

  “You have one right next to your own house you’re redoing.” He remembered the sign when he spoke to Sean. He leaned down to Jeffrey. “Your work is beautiful.”

  Jeffrey didn’t speak.

  “I can’t imagine my little house was worth so much trouble to you.”

  “Your lot…you’re the highest point along this road, the top of the hill, you have the best view in the neighborhood. I already have gotten agreements from the houses on each side of you to sell. I was going to tear down all three houses. I got a buyer from California who wants to build a gated home here, a huge mansion. If I don’t get this property for him now, he’ll look elsewhere. I needed you to sell fast and cheap, and if I came to you, you might have asked the same deal as the others. I thought…you would be more willing to go cheap, given your situation. You were the final piece of the deal I had to have.” His voice broke. “Look, clearly I made a mistake, and I’m really sorry.
”

  “And the rock you dropped on my car? I could have died.”

  “I made sure it wouldn’t hit you.” Jeffrey Marshall tried to sound convincing. “I was so careful…”

  “And if I was dead, the cops here wouldn’t care, and my daughter would sell to you?”

  “I didn’t try to kill you, I swear, just prompt you into action.”

  “You taped the cell phone under my wife’s car.”

  Jeffrey had decided answering questions was the fastest way out of here. “Yes. It gave off a signal I could trace with an app on my phone. I’m remodeling another house right by the bridge. I got an alert you were headed that way in the app, and I picked up a rock and walked down there. No one saw me.”

  It was so shockingly petty. But that was the world now. But centered entirely on him being an outcast because of Beth’s disappearance.

  But he could have attacked Mariah. Attacked my child.

  “How did you get in my house?” Craig made his tone light, as if they’d moved past the unpleasantness.

  “You walk your dog around the same time every day. I watched you. Sometimes you don’t lock the front door if you’re taking a shorter walk. You walk him, and that gave me a few minutes to slip into your house and find your spare key ring and take an impression of the house key. I had one made.” Jeffrey tried to smile. “Look, we have to come to an understanding. You can profit from this, all right? Sell me the house. It’s got to be full of bad memories for you. You get out of this place where everyone hates you and you make some money and start over somewhere else, you and your daughter. Find a new home.”

  Craig’s grip tightened around the knife. “Speaking of homes, I have an idea.”

  55

  Andy pulled his car deep into the woods, off the road. He wanted to approach the house on foot, not be seen. He had a gun, loaded. He could put that gun on a truck to Arkansas or Louisiana or Utah tomorrow and never see it again. He had friends among the drivers, friends who’d long done him special favors.