32.
Riley
“What are you two doing here?” Tom Kyle said when Verniece let us into the stifling hot RV. Verniece had that jittery look that I’d seen in her a couple of times. I imagined life wasn’t pleasant for her when her husband was upset and I hated being part of the cause. They didn’t ask us to sit down, and the four of us stood awkwardly in the small kitchen. I was next to the door, one hand on the doorknob, nervous about my brother and his unpredictable anger. Already, I couldn’t wait for this to be over.
“We have a few questions,” Danny said. “You laid some news on my sister and you owe us an explanation.”
“About what?” Tom nodded in my direction. “What’s she been telling you?”
Verniece reached toward the refrigerator. “Would you like—” she began, but Tom put his arm out to stop her from opening the door. I was disappointed. I would have loved some of that cool refrigerator air to seep into the RV.
“We don’t need to entertain them,” he said to Verniece. He looked at Danny. “Get to the point, all right? It’s going to rain this afternoon and I want to get some fishing in before the downpour.”
“We’re supposed to get an inch or more,” I said, like this was a pleasant visit between neighbors.
“How did you know there was a second set of footprints at that marina where our sister’s car was found?” Danny asked.
Tom couldn’t seem to look my brother in the eye. He fiddled with a pill bottle that sat on the counter. “Why are you dredging up that old nonsense?” he asked. “It’s like I told her.” He nodded toward me as if he’d forgotten my name. “I read it somewhere.”
“But that information was withheld from the media, Tom,” I said. “You couldn’t have read it.”
“Really?” Verniece looked puzzled. “I remember reading about it, too. At least I think I did. It was so long ago.”
I wondered if Danny could be wrong. Maybe the information had made it to one of the papers after all.
“You couldn’t have,” Danny said to Verniece. “So, come on. Out with it. How did you know?”
“Please think back, both of you,” I said, almost gently, trying to counter my brother’s harsh tone. “Try to remember how you heard about it.”
They fell silent. Tom folded his beefy arms across his chest and looked into space, like he was considering the question. Verniece gave him a stubborn glance as she reached for the refrigerator door again. She opened it and took two bottles of orange soda from inside the door, then handed them to Danny and me.
“Here, Riley,” she said. “You look like you need to cool off.”
My phone rang as I took the bottle from her, and I pulled it from my pocket to check the caller ID. Christine. No surprise there. She’d be annoyed when I didn’t pick up. I set the phone on the counter and twisted the cap off the bottle. I took a long swallow, then pressed the cool bottle against my neck. Did they have any air-conditioning blowing in this trailer at all? How did they stand it?
“You know what I bet it was?” Tom said finally, as though he’d thought the question through and come to a conclusion. “I was with the U.S. Marshals Service back then. I knew people. The state police got involved with that case. FBI, too. I had a few buddies in both places, so maybe I didn’t read it. Maybe I heard it from one of them.”
“And then you probably told me sometime over the years,” Verniece added. She looked relieved to have an answer.
“And what did your buddies make of those two sets of footprints?” Danny asked.
Tom shrugged. “That maybe it was some kind of setup. You know. Like the second person got her out of there somehow.”
“Why would they … your buddies … jump to that conclusion?” Danny asked.
“How the hell would I know?” Tom snapped. He leaned forward to look out the window above the sink. “Clouds coming in,” he said impatiently. He pushed between us to open the door, clearly showing us the way out. “We’re done here,” he added.
Danny hesitated, and I tensed, unsure what he was going to do or say. Finally, he turned toward the door. “For the moment,” he said, and I was relieved he was letting this go, at least for now.
I held my soda bottle in the air as I followed him out of the RV. “Thanks, Verniece,” I said. I hoped my smile conveyed an apology.
* * *
“He knows more than he’s saying,” Danny said once we were in his car. He had a faraway look in his eyes, as if he was trying to solve a puzzle.
“Well, he didn’t want to talk to us, that’s for sure.” I adjusted the air-conditioning vent so the cool air blew on my face. “But what could he possibly know? Don’t you think the police would have gone over any evidence with a fine-tooth comb twenty-three years ago?”
“Who knows?” Danny asked as he started driving down the gravel road. “Could’ve been a bunch of incompetents working on it. All I know is, something doesn’t add up, and I—”
“My phone!” I interrupted him, patting my shorts pocket. “I left it on the counter.”
He pressed the brake and I reached for the door handle. “Don’t back up,” I said. We’d only driven thirty yards or so from the Kyles’ RV. “I’ll just get out here.” I opened the door and got out. “Be right back,” I said.
I started toward the RV at a jog, annoyed with myself. The last thing I felt like doing was seeing Tom and Verniece again right now. I slowed to a walk as I neared the motor home and was circling the rear of it when I heard shouting. I stopped walking. The voice I heard wasn’t Tom’s or Verniece’s and I was suddenly afraid to move. Had someone else been hiding in the trailer? But then I realized it was Verniece’s voice I was hearing, although she sounded nothing like the Verniece I’d come to know and like.
“… might as well have gone straight to the police, you jerk!” she yelled. “He’s friends with Harry Washington! How are we supposed to—”
Tom shouted something unintelligible, and whatever Verniece said after that was muffled and lost … except for the word Riley. I rested my hand against the rear of the RV. Verniece was always so soft-spoken. So sweet and gentle. This was a side to her I hadn’t imagined existed. Beneath my palm, I felt the metal siding vibrate with their voices, but they spoke more quietly now, too softly for me to understand them.
I coughed loudly to give them a moment’s warning, then walked around the side of the RV and called out, “Verniece!” Their voices fell completely silent as I neared the steps to the door. “Verniece? I forgot my phone.”
I heard a scrabbling movement from inside, and in a moment Verniece opened the door, my phone in her hand. “Here you are, love.” She smiled and reached out to hand it to me. Her face was bright red and shiny with perspiration. “Wouldn’t want to forget that, now, would you?”
“No,” I said, unable to return her smile. “Thanks.”
I turned and walked back to Danny’s car, wanting to look over my shoulder to see if they were watching me. Might as well have gone straight to the police, you jerk! I didn’t know what she was talking about. All I knew was that, for now at least, I’d keep what I’d overheard to myself.
CHRISTMAS 1995
33.
Portland, Oregon
Jade
“A special toast!” Celia’s father, Paul, raised his wine glass high in the air above the broad dining room table, which nearly sagged under the weight of an enormous roast turkey and huge bowls of potatoes and vegetables and stuffing. “To Celia’s friend Jade,” he said. “We’re happy she could share Christmas dinner with us for the first time and we hope it won’t be the last.”
“Thank you,” Jade said from her seat next to Celia. She smiled across the table at Celia’s brother, Shane, and his wife, Ellen, a petite, very cute strawberry blonde, as they raised their glasses in the air.
She was in love. Deeply, wildly, passionately in love. She and Celia had spent that one week together in Ocean Beach before Celia had to go back to Portland to teach. Then Celia returned to San Diego for a few days after Thanksgiving, staying with Jade instead of Charlie that time, although they were careful to include Charlie in everything they did. Well, almost everything. He loved that Jade and Celia were together. He told them so a million times.
After that visit, Jade knew she wanted to tell her father about Celia. She needed to share the joy she felt with someone who’d care. Was it a “dire emergency”? Yes, she told herself. From an emotional perspective, it was. Maybe her father didn’t bother checking his post office box any longer, although she checked hers every month, hoping for a peek into the world of her family. But since the day three years ago when she’d received the money for her car along with his one-line note—you are loved and missed—there’d been no communication at all between them.
She wrote a carefully worded message:
Dear Fred,
Just to let you know, I’ve met someone I care deeply about. Be happy for me. I’d love to know how everyone is doing.
Ann
She mailed it, imagining the note languishing in her father’s dusty old post office box, never to be read. Maybe she should have risked adding her return address in case his box had been closed, but it was too late.
Only a week later, though, she had a reply.
Ann,
Be cautious. A friend can easily become a foe.
Yours,
Fred