“Is there anything you don’t know?” Laurel asked, chuckling.
Scott glanced over at her, his gaze holding hers for a heady second. Then his grin faded. “Plenty,” he said, turning his attention back to the road.
Laurel wondered what had brought about the sudden change of mood.
But that was one question she didn’t feel free to ask.
CHAPTER TEN
THE NEIGHBORHOOD WAS NEW. Middle class. The homes were based on three or four models, and the yards were large enough to play tag on, freshly mown and green. Leslie lived about halfway down the block in a cozy bungalow with black shutters and a white picket fence. The house was rimmed with flower beds blooming with riotous color.
Crossing her fingers as Scott pulled up in front of the house, Laurel opened her door.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” Scott said.
She didn’t want to think that. “Her car’s probably in the garage. And you don’t need lights this early in the day.”
Of course, the morning papers still on the mat by the front door were a little harder to ignore.
Scott picked them up. “The last few days’ are here.”
His eyes met Laurel’s above the stack in his arms and her blood ran cold.
“You think we’re going to find out that she’s missing, too, don’t you?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“But you’re thinking it.”
The papers in his arms said what he wouldn’t. They’d found a similar pile at Cecilia’s house. He knocked, anyway.
And then knocked a second time.
“Leslie could just be gone on vacation,” he said after the third knock.
“Then why didn’t she cancel the newspaper? Isn’t that what people normally do when they go out of town? Or at least ask a neighbor to pick them up?”
“Usually, but not everyone’s that organized.”
Laurel nodded, though she wasn’t buying a word of it. She suspected he was only saying those things for her benefit, trying to leave her a little bit of the optimism she’d started with four days before. But while she appreciated the effort, she knew the situation didn’t look good.
She was almost afraid to continue. Was every clue going to lead to another missing person? Where would it end?
“Let’s take a look around,” Scott said, heading back down the steps and around the side of the house. He searched under every window for footprints and checked for any sign of forced entry. Laurel chose to be encouraged when he found nothing.
And then Scott walked over to the garage and peered in the window.
“I’ll be damned,” he said.
Heart in her throat, Laurel stood up on her toes to see what he’d found.
There, parked by itself in the middle of a two-car garage, was Cecilia’s Crown Victoria.
* * *
IT DIDN’T LOOK GOOD. Spinning through the facts in his mind, Scott tried to find a positive explanation for the seemingly unplanned disappearances of every key player he came across in this case that wasn’t a case. And found none. Something bad was afoot, he was certain of it.
“Maybe they all decided to visit Leslie’s adopted parents and took her car instead of Cecilia’s,” Laurel said as she walked briskly beside him down the sidewalk to the neighbor’s front door.
She was trying to find that happy ending, too. “The Renwicks are dead. Have been for several years.”
“Oh.”
They walked silently for a couple of steps, then Laurel asked, “Do you think Leslie could be the culprit, somehow? Or is she another victim?”
He’d been wondering the same thing. “My hunch is she’s a victim—a culprit probably wouldn’t leave the victim’s car in her garage—but I’m keeping my mind open to any possibility.”
They found a total of three people home on Leslie’s block. The third of the three, a woman about their age who lived directly across the street, seemed to know Leslie the best.
“We do dinner and a movie at least once a week,” the woman told them when they asked if she knew Leslie. “It’s my date night out away from the kids,” she added. “I’m a stay-at-home mom with two little ones still in diapers, and my husband makes certain he’s home early at least one night a week to watch them for me so I can play with the big kids.”
The pretty blond woman smiled, and Scott noticed how naturally Laurel smiled back. It amazed him how she seemed able to sympathize with anyone in any situation.
Laurel looked beyond the woman to the quiet house behind her. “Do you need to check on your kids?” she asked.
“They’re both asleep,” the woman said. “I’m Katy Miller, by the way. So what’s up with Leslie? You two friends of hers?”
“Not exactly.” Scott took his notebook out of his pocket. His badge was attached. “I’m with the Massachusetts State Police, though I’m here unofficially.”
Katy’s easy demeanor changed instantly to one of concern. “Did something happen to Leslie?” she asked, clutching the front door with both hands as if bracing for bad news.
“We aren’t certain,” Scott told her. “We hope not. We just wanted to ask you a few questions, hoping you’d be able to help clear things up for us.”
“Is she in some kind of trouble?” Katy’s face was shuttered.
“Again, we hope not,” Scott sighed. “I need to reiterate that I’m not here in any official capacity. My superiors know that I’m working on this case, but I’m doing it as a favor to a friend.”
Katy seemed to sink even lower, and Scott was suddenly more glad than ever to have Laurel there with him. She’d know what to do if the woman became emotional. “Leslie’s missing?” Katy whispered.
“Maybe,” Scott said. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Late Saturday afternoon. She was over here for lunch but left before we started the movie we’d rented.”
“Did you find that odd?”
“No,” Katy said, shaking her head. “She’s a workaholic and heads home early a lot.”
As quickly and succinctly as he could, Scott filled Katy in on the bits of the case he felt free to tell her, ending with the fact that Cecilia’s car was in Leslie’s garage and there were several days’ worth of papers on Leslie’s doorstep. He didn’t, however, mention that Leslie was adopted or that they suspected Cecilia was her birth mother.
“So, at this point, we’re just looking for any clues that might tell us where she’s gone,” he concluded. “Does she live alone? Can you tell us anything about her friends? Where she works?”
Katy was willing to tell them whatever she could to help them find her friend. She said Leslie lived alone, and had for the five years she’d been here.
“What does she do for a living?” Laurel asked softly, her expression warm. Scott could see why she was so good at her job. One of those looks directed at him and he’d have told her anything she wanted to know.
“She’s a writer,” Leslie said, looking from one to the other. “She does freelance technical writing for people all over the United States.”
“So she works at home?”
Katy nodded. “She comes over here for lunch sometimes to give us both a chance at conversation.”
Leslie had a lot of friends, she told them, though only two really close ones—Katy and a woman Leslie had known since grade school. That woman now lived in Ohio.
“Do you think Leslie would have gone there if she was on the run from something?” Scott asked.
“Maybe.” Katy leaned her head against the door. “Except that she and her husband are in Europe for a month.”
Jotting everything down, Scott stopped for a moment, sheer frustration preventing him from carrying on with his questioning.
There had to
be something he was missing. A clue that was staring him in the face...
“She does have a new boyfriend, though,” Katy added, almost as an afterthought.
Or a player he wasn’t aware of.
Scott looked up. “How new?”
“I don’t know. A month, maybe.” Katy straightened, though she didn’t loosen her grip on the door.
Laurel gave her a gentle smile. “Have you met him?”
Katy’s expression turned pensive as she shook her head. “Leslie doesn’t talk much about him. I don’t even know his name. I’ve just seen him coming and going a couple of times. I suspected she was keeping quiet about him because he’s so much older than her.”
“Older?” Scott and Laurel exchanged a glance. “How much older?”
“I don’t know, since I didn’t actually meet him.” Katy looked worried as her glance swept from one of them to the other. “Ten, fifteen years, maybe.”
“Can you tell us what he looked like?” At that moment, Scott felt like hugging the pretty housewife. Finally, a real clue.
“Tall, a classic California beachboy type except older. There was definite gray in his dark hair. He was really handsome, though.”
“Do you remember what kind of car he drove?”
“No.” Katy frowned. “He never seemed to drive. He was in Leslie’s car the times I saw him.”
That fact was awarded its own page in Scott’s little notebook.
Though he and Laurel visited with Katy for another ten minutes, they didn’t learn anything else that was useful. But they’d gained an ally. If Katy noticed anyone anywhere near Leslie’s house, she was going to call Scott’s cell phone immediately.
Along with everyone else he’d talked to in the last couple of days.
Scott just hoped the damn thing would start ringing.
* * *
“YOU WANT TO head back to Cooper’s Corner?” he asked as they returned to the Blazer, buckling their seat belts.
“There doesn’t seem to be much point in hanging around here.” She and Scott were both frustrated and tired.
And spending far too much time together for Laurel’s peace of mind.
Within moments, they had a plan. They’d return to Cooper’s Corner. Scott was going to visit a few people and see how many more favors he could cash in on. He wanted to find out more about both Cecilia and William, like what kind of purchases they’d made recently on their credit cards. That sort of thing.
Laurel thought she’d spend a little more time downtown. Maybe there was someone who had overheard the couple talking during their time at the diner Saturday afternoon.
“Didn’t you have plans for this vacation of yours?” she asked Scott after several minutes of silent driving.
He looked at her for a long moment. “No.”
“But it’s your free time,” Laurel said, frowning, slipping her feet out of her sandals. “Surely you had something in mind.”
He didn’t say anything, just pulled into the fast lane to pass a semi.
With both feet up on the dash, Laurel ran her hands along the white slacks that had been ironed and crisp that morning. “What do you do in your free time?” she asked. Scott had said so little about his life. The only thing she really knew was that the woman he loved didn’t return his feelings—didn’t even know about them.
That was still gnawing at her.
“I don’t have a lot of free time.”
“You have to have days off.”
He shrugged.
“You still ski every chance you get?”
“Not really.”
“When was the last time you went up?”
“I don’t remember.”
Frowning, Laurel got a queer feeling in her stomach. “Approximately.”
“A year or two, maybe more.”
“How many times have you been up since Paul died?”
“I don’t know.” He shifted in his seat and glanced over at her. “Maybe none.”
Something was wrong.
“More like, for sure none,” she said.
“Maybe.”
“What about your bike?” she asked. “You still riding in marathons?”
“Not lately.”
“When was the last time you did that?”
“I don’t know,” Scott said, his voice edgy. “Why the inquisition all of a sudden?”
“I don’t know.” She deliberately repeated what he’d been telling her. “What about skydiving? You been up anytime in the last three years?”
“Not that I can remember.”
“How about climbing? Canoeing? Camping?”
“No.” His jaw tight, he slouched back, one hand on the wheel, as though trying to appear relaxed.
“Scott?”
“Yeah?”
She waited until he glanced over at her. “Do you do anything you love to do anymore?”
“I love my job.”
She believed that. “But work isn’t enough.”
“It is for me.”
“There’s more to life than work!” That had been a hard lesson for her to learn, but she’d mastered it almost two years ago.
He didn’t answer her.
What was going on here?
“So you’re telling me that when Paul died you gave up every interest you’d ever had?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“I guess I didn’t notice.”
“Bullshit.”
He shot her a sharp glance. “I’m not the first man to bury myself in work and get comfortable there.”
Probably not. So why did she have a very strong feeling that there was more to his withdrawal than a man forgetting to come up for air?
“I’m a detective now, Laurel.” He spoke with confidence. “More times than not, I’m helping to save lives. It’s hard not to let that take priority.”
She studied him, wishing she could see inside his mind—or better, his heart. “You’re sure that’s all it is?”
“I’m sure.”
She might have let him convince her—if he’d only looked her in the eye when he’d lied to her.
* * *
THEY STOPPED ONCE for gas, about halfway between Worcester and Cooper’s Corner. As much as she needed some time away from Scott, time to collect her thoughts, to remember who she was, and who she wasn’t, Laurel was sad that their trip was almost at an end. After several days in Scott’s company, she wasn’t looking forward to going their separate ways that afternoon.
And because of that, she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
Scott’s cell phone rang just as they were pulling back onto the highway. As she listened to the one-sided conversation, Laurel’s adrenaline pumped quickly, making it hard for her to sit still. She couldn’t wait for him to hang up and explain his hard-hitting “How much?” followed by “You’re sure?”
“More than a million dollars has been transferred from Cecilia’s accounts,” he said as soon as she clicked off the phone. “An electronic transfer first thing Sunday morning.”
He changed lanes, allowing a speeding Mustang to pass them.
“That’s three days ago.”
“The day after she and William first went missing.”
“He was blackmailing her, then.”
“It looks that way.”
Laurel was surprised at the depth of the disappointment that shot through her. She’d really been hoping that they’d been wrong about the older gentleman.
“Did she turn it into cash?”
Scott shook his head. “It was a straight transfer, but I don’t know where it was transferred to. My source wouldn’t give me that much. He could lose his job for telling me
as much as he did.”
Laurel nodded, though she wished Scott had pushed a little harder. They really needed a break soon or she feared their chances of finding the women alive were going to be slim.
“So.” She frowned, turning sideways in her seat so she could watch him. “If that’s the case, and William got his money, why were they visiting Leslie? And what happened to them?”
“Maybe only Cecilia came here.”
“Then where’s William? Why wouldn’t he have returned to Twin Oaks for his stuff?”
Scott was silent for a moment. Laurel loved the intensity she read on his features as he worked over the facts. “He’s probably still with Cecilia,” he finally said. “And Leslie. And beyond that, I haven’t got any ideas, except that something in somebody’s plan went horribly wrong.”
“Or horribly right.”
At the next exit he slowed, took the ramp, and then rejoined the highway heading in the opposite direction.
“So where are we going now?”
“Cecilia’s office.”
“In Boston?”
His look was direct. “You have any better idea?”
“None.”
“We might not make it back to Twin Oaks tonight.”
“I’m okay with that.”
She needed to find Byrd as badly as he did. To know that the old man, blackmailer or not, was really okay. To know that her trip to Cooper’s Corner was not a failure. To get her story.
To be able to get back to the life she lived in New York. A life where she was successful. Content. Verging on happy. And alone.
* * *
HAMILTON LENDING OF New England had impressive offices housed in a smoke-windowed high-rise in the middle of downtown Boston. A glass-encased directory inside the marbled lobby told them that Hamilton’s executive offices were on the eighteenth floor.
“Nothing like living on the top,” Laurel said dryly as she followed Scott into the elevator.
He just hoped they made it to the top with few stops. Being alone with Laurel in that enclosed space had him thinking things he couldn’t afford to think. The emergency button was only a couple of inches away. He could stop the elevator, stop time and pretend that the world consisted of only the two of them.
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