Searching for Yesterday (12 page)

“Not exactly,” I said.

“Well, let's see. It was a Thursday when she left. I remember that because it was always her day off. She liked to be off on paydays so she could do her grocery shopping and such.”

“So, it was payday when she left?”

“Yes. And she got that pay cheque all right, but I don't think she ever got paid for the days she worked in the week she left.”

“Oh!” I said, realizing that the pay cheque we needed to know about wasn't the
last
one she'd have been due, but the one for the previous week. That was the one that would have been paid on the day she left. “So, the cheque for the week before she left ... she got that okay?”

“Well, yes, she got that one,” Bea said.

“That's what I was curious about,” I told her. “What you said before made me think that you hadn't seen her at all, after her final shift here. Didn't she come in for her pay cheque the next day?”

“Oh, I see.” Bea frowned slightly. “You were thinking that I would have seen her the day she left. But I didn't, because
Gina
didn't come in for her cheque. She sent that boyfriend of hers for it.”

Beside me, Annie gasped and reached for the table to steady herself.

Annie moaned softly, her head on the table, resting in her hands.

“It's true,” she said. “You're right. I know you are.”

Bea looked back and forth at us. “Is something wrong?” she asked, alarm growing on her kindly face.

“It gets to be a lot for her to handle sometimes,” I said quickly. Little River is a small enough town that if you told one person a secret, it could be all over town before dark that night. I was pretty sure we could trust Bea, but there was no need to risk it unless we had to. If Lenny heard about our suspicions, then our chance of ever proving anything would go way down.

“Of course it does,” Bea said. “Let me make you girls a cup of tea.” She hurried to the counter.

“Was it unusual for Gina to send Lenny for her pay cheque?” I asked while Bea plugged in the kettle and rinsed the teapot with hot water.

“Well, not that unusual,” she answered. “He'd picked it up a few times before. I can't think offhand exactly how many, but I'd have her notes in the payroll book so I can check, if you think it's important.”

“Her
notes
?” I could hardly believe my ears!

“Mmm hmmm. I have a strict policy when it comes to giving any employee's cheque to someone other than that person. Something in writing — that's what I insist on. I figure that covers me if there's ever a problem.”

“And you keep all of the notes?”

“Absolutely. I staple them right into the payroll book. It's easier than filing them, and then they're right there if I ever need something to back me up.”

“Would it be possible to see the note Lenny brought in that day?” I asked.

“Well, sure. The payroll books are right in the filing cabinet in my office. I can have it for you in two shakes of a dog's tail. I'll go get it now.”

Annie was just starting to compose herself when Bea returned with a couple of long, green payroll books. She laid them on the table and then picked up the one that was for the year Annie's mother had supposedly left town.

Bea opened it and flipped through the pages until she came to the one where Gina's details were recorded. At the top of the page were several pieces of paper, folded and stapled in a section of columns that weren't being used. She pried at the staples that held them in
place, then tugged them out, loosing the notes they were holding in place. There were three slips of paper there. Bea picked up the one on top and opened it.

“Yes, here we are.” She turned it to face us and we both leaned forward to read it.

Bea,

Give my pay to Lenny because I don't have time to come for it today.

Thank you.
Gina

“Can we see the other notes, too?”

I asked. “I don't see why not.” Bea passed those over without looking at them and we each took one, read it, and then swapped. The last note had been printed neatly (like the note that was left for Annie) while the other two were written in longhand.

The contents of all three were similar. Each started off “Dear Bea,” followed by a simple line. The signatures looked like they had been written by the same person, but the style was simple enough that I thought it would be easy enough to duplicate.

“The last one's printed,” Annie said.

Bea was looking at them with us now, comparing the three. She had realized at once that we were trying to
confirm if Gina Berkley had indeed written the last note that Lenny had given her.

“Oh!” she said.

Annie and I both turned toward her. Her hand was over her mouth and her eyes were wide with shock.

“Gina didn't write this,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I never noticed before, but Gina had her own little way of writing “thank you.' She always wrote it as “thanx.'
Always
.”

So! I thought, even without being able to tell if the signature was forged, we had something to back up our theory.

“What's going on, girls?” Bea asked.

I hesitated, trying to think of something convincing that wouldn't tell her more than we wanted her to know. But before I could think of anything, she was speaking again.

“You wanted to see the notes because you already suspected that someone other than Gina had written the last one, didn't you?” I was still working on an answer when she went on. “You think that Lenny wrote it,” she said. When she said his name, it was in the same tone she might have used if she was talking about a hair clog in the drain.

This time I just nodded. We were going to have to tell her the whole story, and hope she could keep it to herself. So many people just
have
to tell
someone
, and then they're upset if the person they told does the same thing.

“I never trusted him,” she said. “Too smooth, for one thing. And he was always bossing Gina around. I don't know what that girl saw in him.”

She wasn't going to get any argument from us about that.

“So, I guess the real question is
why
,” Bea said. Annie and I looked at each other, and then at Bea. Annie started to sob quietly, which nearly made me cry, too. Bea crossed the room and put her arms around Annie, saying things like, “There, there, love,” and “I know, I know.” I thought both were an improvement from the usual “it will be all right,” which most people say at a time like that ... but which is hardly ever true.

I watched Bea as she soothed Annie. I had a feeling she was just going to figure the whole thing out without even trying. Sure enough, within a few minutes I could see it in her eyes — that kind of startled look that comes just as something hits you.

Bea gave Annie another weak pat and sank slowly onto a chair, her face registering the thoughts as clearly as if she were saying them out loud. I stayed quiet, letting her process it all, waiting to see what she'd say.

“If you girls are thinking what I suspect, then you're treading on some pretty dangerous ground,” she said at last. “I'd sure appreciate it if you'd fill me in.”

“You've obviously guessed what we think might have happened,” I said.

Bea nodded solemnly. “You don't think Gina wrote that last note because she couldn't write it.”

We said nothing.

“It makes sense,” Bea said after a moment had ticked by. “In fact, it makes so much sense that I can't believe I never thought of it before.”

She turned to Annie and went on. “Gina wasn't the kind of woman to leave you, and even if that creep had somehow persuaded her to, she'd have been back for you in a flash. I should have realized that the only reason there could have been for her not coming for you would have been if she
couldn't
.”

A tear slid down Annie's cheek. I watched her take a deep breath and struggle to compose herself.

“Shelby put it together,” she said, “but I didn't want to believe it. Now I know I have to.”

“Suspecting something and proving it are very different things,” Bea said. “Are you going to the police?”

“With what? The fact that Lenny lied about Gina picking up her pay cheque? He'll just say she didn't want to face Annie that morning so he said that to cover for her. Or the note? Another one he can easily explain away by saying he wrote it for her because she was busy packing. We don't have enough evidence, and the police aren't going to make an arrest without something solid.”

“Well, no, but it's their job to find evidence,” Bea said, “and they
do
know what they're doing.”

“I know that,” I said, “but the first thing they'd do is talk to Lenny and that might scare him off. Besides, how do we know they'll even take it seriously? We don't have anything that would convince anyone that there was a murder in Little River eight years ago.”

“I'm convinced,” Bea said.

“Because you knew Gina. It's easier for you to see it because it fits what you knew about her. But the police didn't.”

“Well, if you're not going to the police,” Bea said, “what
are
you planning to do?”

“I'm sure you can understand how important it is that this doesn't get out,” I said.

“Of course. You don't have to worry about me,” Bea said, “unless I think you're doing something that could put you in danger. In that case, I'd have no choice. And by the way, do your parents know what you girls are doing?”

We hedged a bit, but finally admitted that, while our folks knew we were trying to find out where Gina went, they had no idea that there were any sinister possibilities.

“That's what I thought.”

“You're not going to call our folks, are you?” I asked, struck by a sudden fear that she might be planning to do exactly that. “We're honestly not going to do anything dangerous!”

Bea looked pretty sceptical. “I
hope
not,” she said, “but just to put my mind at rest, why don't you tell me
what you're planning and then I won't lie awake at night wondering and worrying about it.”

“We haven't really gotten that far,” I told her, quite truthfully. “See, the idea that maybe Lenny had done something to Gina just occurred to us. We'd just started to look into whether or not there was anything to back that up.”

Bea hesitated, then nodded and told us that as soon as we figured out our next move, we were to let her know.

“I hope you understand that, as an adult, I have a responsibility just by knowing about this,” she said. “If I didn't do the right thing and anything happened to either of you, I couldn't live with myself. Now, promise you'll call me.”

We agreed. (Like we had a choice.) And then we left, walking slowly back to my place. On the way, Annie was pretty quiet. She did, however, come up with one thing to say.

“So,” she asked, “what are we going to do next?”

I hated to tell her that I had absolutely no idea.

In addition to wondering what to do next in the search for Gina Berkley, I'd been driving myself crazy trying to figure out what to do about Betts. Then, quite unexpectedly, that particular problem solved itself. Sort of. It was Thursday evening and, for the first time that week, I had nothing to do. Greg was working and Annie was training at her new job. Since Betts wasn't speaking to me, I had no idea what she was doing. I thought about calling someone else, but in the end I decided an evening alone appealed to me more than anything.

I was curled up with a copy of a cool book Annie had loaned me, a novel by kc dyer called
Ms. Zephyr's Notebook
. I was just getting into it when Mom interrupted by tapping on my door.

“Phone,” she said. Her tone told me it wasn't one of my friends. I've never quite figured out how I know that from her saying one word, but I always do.

My curiosity turned to alarm when I took the call and discovered it was Betts's mother.

“Shelby, is Betts at your place yet?”

Yet?

“Uh, no, Betts isn't here,” I said.

“Hmm. Well, I need to speak with her as soon as possible,” she said. “Would you get her to call home as soon as she gets there?”

“Did she say she was coming here?” I felt trapped!

There was a pause before Mrs. Thompson spoke again. “You're not expecting her?”

“Uh, not really,” I said, “unless
maybe
she mentioned she was coming and I forgot.”

“Since half an hour ago?”

“Oh. Well, I don't think my memory's quite that bad,” I said. I followed up with a weak laugh and wondered what Betts had been thinking — telling her mother she was going to my place when it would be so easy for her mother to find out she'd lied.

“Shelby, what's going on?”

“I don't know what you mean.” Well, not
exactly
, but I had a pretty good idea.

“Betts has been acting oddly the last few days, and this isn't the first time she's lied about where she was going. This morning she looked, well, I can't quite explain it, but
different
somehow.”

I thought about pretending I had a beep, but the thought of lying to Betts's mother bothered me too
much. Besides, she could just call back later, or, even worse, come over.

“Shelby?”

“Yes?”

“If you know anything about what's going on with Betts, I'd sure appreciate hearing what it is.”

Every rule of friendship told me that the only option I had was to keep my mouth shut, deny that I knew anything, try to cover for Betts, and hope for the best. A stabbing pain hit me in the stomach as I tried to sort out what to say and how to say it.