Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (114 page)

“Can I help you?” said a female voice from behind me.

I turned to see a woman in a yellow dress. A knitted shawl was wrapped around her arms. The wrinkles around her eyes gave the appearance of someone much older than me, even though I guessed she was young enough to be my own daughter. Almost.

“Hello,” I said. “You must be Olivia’s mother.”

She nodded.

“My name is Kris. Who are you?”

Across the street I could see an older woman peeking at us through a lifted slat in her mini blinds. I imagined she thought I hadn’t noticed, but the constant bobbing up and down of the two-inch slat was a clear indicator we were being watched. And I guessed she wasn’t the only one watching.

“I wondered if I could talk to you for a few minutes about your daughter,” I said, turning back to Kris.

“Are you a—”

“Reporter or a cop? No.”

“Then who are you?”

Kris’s next-door neighbor turned on the outside water, grabbed the hose, and started watering a patch of flowers right next to the spot Kris and I were standing. I wondered if the neighbor realized how odd she looked sprinkling water onto flowers that looked like no amount of resuscitation could ever bring them back to life. It was obvious they hadn’t seen a drop of moisture in weeks. This didn’t seem to deter the woman who stared down at the crop like she expected a full recovery at any moment.

Kris smiled at her neighbor, but it was one of those strained half-smiles, the kind one woman gives to another woman they’re trying to avoid.

“How are you today, Sylvia?” Kris said to her neighbor.

Sylvia glanced over, shocked to see us standing there. “I’m well. Who’s your friend?”

I couldn’t help myself.

“Kris and I went to high school together,” I said. “I was passing through town and thought I’d stop by and see what she’s been up to lately.” I looked at Kris. “Why don’t we go inside?”

Once the door was closed, Kris said, “I don’t know how I feel about you lying to my neighbor. I don’t even know you.”

“It doesn’t take much to understand the women on this street have nothing better to do with their lives than to keep their nose in yours.” I stuck my hand out. “My name is Sloane Monroe. I’m a private investigator hired by Noah Tate. I believe you know him?”

Kris stood there looking at my hand, stunned by my revelation.

“It’s okay. He told me he talked to you. And I know about what he received in the mail.”

Kris walked to the sofa and sat down.

“So you are—looking for his daughter?” she said. “He said he was going to hire someone before taking the paper to the police. To be honest, I didn’t believe him.”

“I am looking for his daughter. And yours.”

“Mine? I don’t know what he told you, but if you’ve come here for money, I can’t—”

“I’m not here for money,” I said. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”

“Why do you want to help me?”

“There’s a good chance we’re dealing with the same kidnapper.”

“You know, I told Mr. Tate he needed to keep working with the police. I’ve been conflicted about whether or not to tell the authorities myself—it would help them find both our daughters, don’t you think?”

“I do,” I said. “I’ll be meeting with him in the next day or two, and I’ll be sure the detective who’s working on the case is apprised of the recent development. You have nothing to worry about.”

Kris seemed relieved. “How can I help you?”

I spent the next few minutes asking her the same questions she’d probably heard a thousand times before. The answers rolled off her tongue, requiring little to no thought. I wanted to tell her about Todd, but I hesitated. The truth would come out soon enough.

Although two years had passed, it had taken a noticeable toll on her. Her voice was soft, so much so that I had to ask her to repeat herself a few times. Kris was running on fumes, tired and worn out while the search persevered. She said she wrote a letter to Olivia every day, even though she didn’t know if she’d ever see her again. If she ever did, Kris wanted to make sure her daughter heard all the things she might have missed.

When Kris finished, I asked her if I could take a look at Olivia’s room. She rubbed the top of her fingernail so hard with the edge of her thumbnail; I thought she’d scratch the polish off.

“Is there something wrong?” I said. “If it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to show it to me.”

“It’s just—her room doesn’t look like it used to, before the, well before.” She stood up. “Let me show you.”

I followed Kris to the bedroom expecting to find the things one normally does in a child’s room, but what I saw alarmed me. It looked a lot more like a hunting storage room than anything else. “This was Olivia’s room?”

From the looks of things, someone must have decided Olivia wasn’t coming back.

“Olivia’s dad has a lot of hunting stuff,” I said.

“Step-dad.”

“For how long?”

“Terrence and I married when Olivia was five, a year before she was taken.”

“But you and Olivia share the same last name,” I said.

She nodded.

“I didn’t take on Terrence’s last name when I married. I thought it would be confusing for Olivia, and he didn’t seem to mind.”

“What was their relationship like?”

She shrugged.

“It was all right.”

Her voice said all right, but her face said something else.

“So they got along?” I said.

“Olivia’s biological father never had much to do with her. It was hard on Terrence at first. He’s never had any children. But he tolerated her. They got along.”

Tolerated her? She was a child, not a dog.

“So the last name Hathaway. Is that—”

“My maiden name.”

“When did Terrence decide to turn Olivia’s room into a man cave?” I said.

“We didn’t have much room and—it wasn’t my idea. I wanted to keep it the same, just the way she left it.”

“And Terrence didn’t agree with you?”

“He said Olivia wasn’t coming back, and at some point, I had to accept it and move on. I guess this is his way of helping me.”

What a cold-blooded way to “help” someone.

“Where does Olivia’s father live now—her real one?”

Kris teared up for a moment, but then regained her composure. “I don’t know.”

“You said he wasn’t in her life much, but did she ever see him?” I said. “Are you sure he didn’t have anything to do with her disappearance?”

“That’s not possible.”

“But you just said you don’t know where he is. Have the police tried to find him?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?” I said.

“I don’t know where he is because I don’t know who he is.”

Kris braced her hand against the wall, steadying herself.

“Do you need to sit down?” I said.

She nodded. We returned to the living room.

“It was spring break,” she said. “I was in California with several of my girlfriends. It was crazy. I hung out with a few different guys while I was there, but I never knew any of their last names, only their first. A couple months after, I found out I was pregnant with Olivia.”

“I imagine you were shocked,” I said.

“I have a lot of regrets in my life, but Olivia wasn’t one of them.”

“How did your family react to the news?”

“My dad was upset at first, but once he got used to the idea, both of my parents were supportive. I lived with them until I met Terrence. I didn’t think anyone would marry me since I’d had a child under those circumstances, but then Terrence came along. He said he would marry me, but he didn’t want any kids. Of course, I already had Olivia, so he said that was fine, as long as we didn’t have any children together.”

“What about you—did you want more kids?” I said.

“When I was younger, I thought I’d have several kids. But at least I had one.”

“Did Terrence know how you felt?”

“I tried talking to him once. All he said was, ‘we made a deal.’”

A picture was forming in my mind of the type of guy Terrence was—it wasn’t pleasant. I didn’t know how she didn’t see it. But women with Kris’s meek personality rarely did. She talked about him like he was some kind of super-hero who showed up when she needed rescuing.

I asked Kris a few more questions, but learned nothing I didn’t already know. I stood up to leave, promising to get in touch with her if I found out anything new. Outside a black Dodge Ram drove by. It looked just like the one I’d seen in Evanston and then again at my hotel. The next time I saw it, I’d be ready.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Pssst, over here,” a voice called from the bushes.

I had exited Kris’s home and was on my way to my car when I heard it. I walked “over here” and came face to face with Sylvia and another woman I guessed to be the one staring through the blinds. They were revved up but doe-eyed at the same time. Something pressing was on their minds—I could tell by their rapid breathing. It was fast and intense, like the words they had prepared to say were getting ready to explode all over everything.

“What can I do for you two?” I said.

Sylvia wagged her finger at me. “We know you didn’t go to school with Kris.”

“Yeah, we’ve known Kris since she was this tall,” Mini-Blind Lady gestured with her outstretched, flattened hand.

“What I’m doing here doesn’t concern either of you, and it’s not polite to linger outside Kris’s home.”

They looked at each other, contemplating their next move.

“Are you a cop or something?” Sylvia said. “Because we’ve seen everyone who’s come in and out of this place, but we’ve never seen you before.”

I nodded. I may not have been a cop, but I had no problem putting myself into the “or something” category.

Sylvia elbowed her friend. “See, Mildred, I told you.” She then looked at me. “If you’re looking into what happened to Olivia, you’ll want to hear what we have to say.”

I pointed to my car. “Get in.”

They exchanged looks again.

“Look,” I said, “whatever it is, I’m not going to discuss it here. We can go to the end of the street and talk there. And if you two don’t trust me, fine. But I’m leaving.”

One minute later we were parked in front of a vacant lot on the next street. Sylvia spoke up first. “That evil man killed our Judith.”

“You mean Olivia?”

It seemed entirely possible that at least one of them was battling Alzheimer’s.

Sylvia shook her head.

“I mean Judith Schroeder.”

“The woman the kidnapper ran over in the Maybelle’s Market parking lot?”

Both women nodded in unison.

“Do you know something about the kidnapping?”

Their smiles told me they did, or they thought they did.

“We know who did it,” Sylvia said, eyes glimmering.

“Who?”

“Terrence.”

“Olivia’s stepdad?”

“Oh, we don’t believe Terrence did it himself,” Sylvia said.

“No, no. He wouldn’t do that,” Mildred said. “We think he hired someone.”

“To do what?”

“Get rid of the girl, of course,” Sylvia said.

Things were starting to get interesting.

“Terrence hated Olivia,” Sylvia said.

“How do you know?”

“Well—” Sylvia said, “I was picking some tomatoes in my garden one evening, and I overheard Terrence tell Kris that he’d never agreed to raise Olivia, and if she wouldn’t send the child to live with her parents, he was leaving.”

“What did Kris say?”

“She didn’t say anything,” Sylvia said, “unless it was under her breath.”

Mildred looked at Sylvia. “It’s possible.”

“Entirely,” Sylvia replied. “I hadn’t thought of that. My hearing isn’t what it used to be. Still, I believe I would have at least heard Kris if she’d said something.”

The problem with their theory was the connection to the second missing child; there was none. Not that I knew of, anyway. I started to think they’d been watching too many episodes of 48 Hours. But a lead was a lead, nonetheless.

“Have you spoken to anyone about this?” I said.

Sylvia nodded. “Oh yes. Detective Whittaker. He’s been trying to find out what happened to Olivia since the day she disappeared. He’s a good man.”

Mildred blushed when Sylvia mentioned his name.

“What did the detective say?”

“Nothing,” Sylvia said.

“Not one word?”

“Now that I think of it, Sylvia, he did say one thing,” Mildred said. “He said, ‘I see.’”

“And we’ve been waiting to hear back from him ever since,” Sylvia said.

‘I see’ was the polite way of letting them know he didn’t take anything they said seriously. So…should I?