Chapter 24
Rebecca Watson, undaunted by the downpour, walked straight to the driver’s side of Jack’s rental car and rapped on the window.
Lowering it required starting the motor, which took all of five or six seconds, but the delay seemed to make her even angrier. The window came down. Rain blew in. She practically hissed at him.
“Special Agent Connell.”
“I didn’t know if you would remember me.”
Her glower dismissed that statement as ludicrous. “If you had come to notify me that my brother is dead, you would have been straightforward and rung the front doorbell. You wouldn’t have been hunkered down here half the night or spent all day spying on me. So what brings you here?”
The fact that she knew about his surveillance told him that she kept vigil herself. She watched for people watching her. He said, “Can we talk?”
“Fuck off.”
“Good. You’re willing to cooperate.”
She gave him a drop dead look.
“I’ve come all this way. Please?”
She remained unmoved.
He glanced in the direction of the house. “Is he living with you?”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Is he in this region? Residing nearby? On the next block?”
She didn’t say anything.
“If he’s not around, then what’s the risk in talking to me?”
She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no, and she didn’t tell him to fuck off again, so when she turned and walked away, he cut the car engine, got out, and followed her back to the house.
She didn’t offer to share her umbrella. He covered his head with his jacket again. When they reached the porch, he shook off what rain he could. She went in ahead of him, but not before getting her mail out of the box.
“There’s nothing here for you to get excited about, but knock yourself out.” She thrust the handful of mail at him. He caught it against his wet jacket. Without looking at any of it, he neatly stacked it on the foyer table.
She folded her arms across her midriff. “Okay, you’re here. What did you come all this way for?”
“Can I use your bathroom?”
She studied him for a moment, as though trying to figure out whether or not he was joking. Deciding he wasn’t, she said, “Sure,” and motioned for him to follow her down a central hallway to a tiny powder room tucked beneath the staircase.
Going in ahead of him, she lifted the lid off the toilet tank. “See? Nothing in there but the balls and cock, or whatever they’re called.”
“Ballcock. One word.”
She replaced the lid with a clatter of porcelain and pointed to the framed mirror above the basin. “No medicine cabinet for you to inspect. You’re free to tear out the plumbing underneath the sink, but if you do, you’ll have to put it back together or reimburse me for a plumber.”
“You’ve made your point, Rebecca.”
“Be sure to wash your hands.” As she went out, she pulled the door closed with a bang.
He not only washed his hands, but after drying them he used the hand towel to blot rainwater off his face and neck. He straightened his tie and finger-combed his wet hair.
A few minutes later, bladder relieved and feeling presentable, he walked into her living room. She’d switched on the table lamps and was sitting in the corner of the sofa, feet tucked under her. The black, high-heeled pumps she’d kicked off lay beneath the coffee table. Ungraciously, she pointed him toward a chair that looked far less cozy and comfy than the sofa.
They faced off. He was the first to speak. “I like the new hairdo.”
“Pink copied it.”
“She knows her stuff.”
“Enough with the flattery bullshit. How did you find me?”
“Your friend Eleanor.”
“Oh.” That took her aback. A sadness crept into her expression. “How is she?”
“Good. Expecting her first child in a few months.”
“So she married Tim?”
“Last name Gaskin?”
She nodded, and when he confirmed that was Eleanor’s married name, she said, “When I last saw her, they were getting serious. Is she happy?”
“Glowing. The baby is a girl.” He told her about his visit to the brownstone and described it to her. “Eleanor called me after spotting you in the national news story about the protest in Olympia.”
She drew a deep breath. “I saw it, too. I never would have participated in the march if I’d thought I’d be caught on camera.”
“You stood out.”
She touched her cropped hair. “I didn’t think anyone would recognize me.”
“Eleanor did. She was certain it was you. I wasn’t. Not until yesterday when I saw you come out and get your mail.”
“After all these years, you’re still looking.”
He shrugged. “I haven’t found him yet. You’re my only link.”
“Lucky me.”
“I’m not so bad.”
She said nothing to that.
He looked around the pleasant room. He didn’t know anything about home interiors, what was quality, what was junk, what was current. His apartment was functional, and that was its only boast. But to his unpracticed eye, this room looked tastefully done. Despite Wes Greer’s description of the things sold in her shop, the room wasn’t cluttered.
Neither was she. She wore a simple black sweater and slender black pants. Jewelry consisted of a wristwatch with a black leather strap and a long single strand of pearls. They were the same color as her hair. On her, the stark contrast worked. The only spot of color, her eyes.
He said, “Your daughter, Sarah, has grown up a lot.”
“She’s in the school orchestra.”
“What instrument?”
“Cello. She’s at rehearsal. Another parent is driving car pool today. She’ll be home by six fifteen.” She looked at her sensible wristwatch. “I want you out of here before then.”
“Does she remember Westboro?”
“Of course.”
“Does she talk about him?”
“All the time.”
“What does she say?”
“That she misses her uncle.”
“What do you say back to her?”
“That I miss him, too.”
He held her gaze for a moment, then said, “Rebecca—”
“It’s Grace now.”
He tilted his head to one side. “Why Grace Kent?”
“It was suggested by the forger who made all my false documents. I didn’t have another name picked, so I went with his choice.”
In spite of her confession to a federal crime, he smiled. “I thought maybe you’d remarried a guy named Kent.”
“I don’t want another husband.”
“After the one you had, I can’t say that I blame you.”
“Did you tell him where we are?”
Jack was already shaking his head. “And I don’t plan to. I’m not here to cause you any grief. Although I could have you arrested for living under an assumed name.”
“Some big, bad FBI agent you are,” she scoffed. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“Oh, I’m busy. I’m presently following up on a strange incident that occurred in Utah. Before that, I looked into a curious happening in Wichita Falls, Texas, that to this day, after two years, remains unexplained. First one that captured my interest took place in Kentucky.”
Her face became a mask.
“What do you know about a soccer coach in Salt Lake?” he asked.
“That chances are good he’s Mormon?”
“He’s not. He moved there from Virginia.”
“They don’t have Mormons in Virginia?”