Twenty-Five Years Ago Today (24 page)

"What did this man look like, honey?" Sandra
asked.

"He was young and blond. A heartthrob, I
believe you young girls would call him. He looked like my neighbor,
who I suspect robbed a bank in Boston, except this man was taller.
The day after the robbery was reported, my neighbor came home with
a brand new Cadillac. What do you make of that? The police blew
that one."

"Getting back to Diana," Kris said. "Did you
tell the police about this man you saw?"

"Of course. After that poor child's picture
was in the paper. I knew she was the girl who used to help me pick
out shampoo, even though I hadn't seen her in awhile. I think she
left the store because that man kept bothering her."

"Do you know which officer you talked
to?"

"That nice boy, Detective Gerry Frank. I
talked to him all the time. I told him about the kidnapping, too.
The new people in my neighborhood had a little girl who looked
nothing like them."

"What made you call Mrs. Ferguson when you
read the most recent article?" Sandra asked. "Why didn't you call
the police?"

"I don't remember a recent article. Are you
sure I saw it?" Mae gawked out the window, craning her neck, as
brittle as chicken bone. "Do you see a blue car? Betsy is supposed
to visit."

Betsy. Her dead sister. Kris didn't know who
she felt sorrier for, Mae or Irene.

Sandra gestured to the circle. "Maybe you
should go over with the others. I think they're reading trivia
cards. Won't that be fun, Mae?"

"I asked Diana who the man was, you know,"
Mae said.

Kris peered into Mae's bright blue eyes.
"What did she say?"

"That he was a mistake. Hey, has anyone seen
Betsy? It's not like her to be late."

"I think she's getting tired," Sandra said.
"I hope this was at least somewhat helpful. Feel free to get your
bearings, and have some cookies if you'd like." She wheeled Mae
back to the group, and accepted a deck of Trivial Pursuit cards
from her assistant.

Irene held her head in her hands, as
exhausted as Kris felt. Listening to Mae stumble in and out of the
past had made Kris remember how little sleep she'd gotten after the
late night phone calls.

"I don't know what to make of this," Irene
said. "Who could this man be?"

If he existed at all. Kris had to talk with
Lieutenant Frank.

But Mae had been so specific. She had known
Diana, no question, and she'd used the same term as Raquel --
"mistake." If the man was real, it couldn't have been Vince or
Jared. Diana hadn't dated them till later, and besides, both had
dark hair.

He was young and blond. A heartthrob, I
believe you girls would call him. Kris gasped.

Alex Thaddeus and Michael Soares fit that
description.

It couldn't be Michael. He was Cheryl's
husband. He had treated Diana like a sister. He'd raised Eric.

Wait a minute. Michael had an alibi. He'd
been working at the appliance store, then gone home. The police had
investigated the family as standard procedure.

But no one had checked out Alex Thaddeus.

Kris turned away from Irene and the
Alzheimer's patients. She needed to think.

The dream. It rushed back: a girl sprinting
through the forest, escaping her pursuer. Her lean body
transforming into a tree.

Now Kris knew why that image sounded
familiar. Alex Thaddeus had the painting on his wall. Daphne and
Apollo.

"Her paintings were dark for someone so
young," Jared had said. "I remember she was working on sketches
about a terrified young girl turning into a tree."

Alex Thaddeus claimed Diana gave him the
painting in high school, but Jared observed her with the sketches
years later. Kris frowned, fishing her keys out of her purse. If he
was right, then Alex might have lied.

He may have seen Diana shortly before she was
murdered.

And he had been on campus the night she
disappeared.

"Kris? What is it?" Irene asked as an elderly
man yelled a trivia answer about the 1955 World Series.

Absorbed in her thoughts, Kris buttoned her
coat. Irene slipped on a hat, and an aide let them out an alarmed
door.

"How long did Diana work at MacDougall's?"
Kris asked as they walked toward her car. She hooked her arm
through Irene's, guiding her across an icy patch.

"Three years," Irene said. "Kris? Do you
think this man was real?"

Kris unlocked the car doors. She adjusted the
heater, wondering what she should say, how much Irene could handle.
They sat in silence.

"Please," Irene said. "Everyone wants to
protect me, but I'm Diana's mother. I lived with her."

"This man might've been a figment of Mae's
imagination," Kris said after a long pause. "But if he wasn't, then
I have an idea who it could've been. I need to ask you some
questions before I tell you, though."

Irene nodded. "Okay."

"Raquel thinks Diana fell into a depression
during her last few months at the drugstore, before Vince entered
the picture. She suspected it might have been over a guy. Do you
recall Diana being upset?"

"I don't know. I was used to her mood swings.
Sometimes she'd think of her father, and her grief would come
pouring back. I guess she did seem more withdrawn than usual."

"Is it possible she was dating someone
without your knowledge? Or that someone may have been harassing
her?"

"I ... I suppose so. Diana worked nights, and
I worked days, so we only saw each other for a quick dinner. On
weekends, she went out with Raquel."

"Did Diana ever explain why she took the job
at Rossi's?" Kris asked. "I'm sure you tried to talk her out of
it."

Irene shuddered and tucked her hat around her
clipped gray tufts. She looked shrunken in her bulky coat, a waif
dwarfed in layers of wool. Kris glanced toward the nursing home
with its white doilies and red construction paper hearts taped to
the windows. Irene was as vulnerable as the patients behind those
alarmed doors.

"Diana insisted she wanted to be with Raquel
and kids her own age," Irene said. "She didn’t have much in common
with the employees at MacDougalls'. Please tell me what you know. I
always assumed Jared killed her, but you're asking about things
that happened before Jared."

Kris leaned against the headrest and decided
to just blurt it out. "It’s possible that Diana and her high school
teacher, Alex Thaddeus, were romantically involved while she was
his student."

"What?"

Kris told her about Raquel’s revelation, the
painting and how Alex had been at Fremont State the night Diana was
killed.

"And he was a blond heartthrob, which matches
Mae's description," she said. "But I don't understand why he'd kill
her. Unless Diana threatened to tell people he'd seduced her."

Irene pressed a hand against her head, the
heater blowing warm air in her face. "I can't imagine Diana doing
something like that. Taking up with a teacher? While she was a
student?"

"Maybe she was devastated by her father's
death and needed someone to help her through the grief."

Pink spots flushed Irene's cheeks. "He took
advantage of her! Her own teacher? He came to the funeral, saying
how sorry he was for my loss. My little girl ..."

Maybe Kris shouldn't have told her. "Irene,
it's just speculation. It might not have happened."

"Was she ashamed about the affair? If she had
trusted me with the truth, would she be alive?"

"Even if there was something between her and
Alex, even if he was Mae's mystery man, that doesn't mean he killed
her. We just found out yesterday that Vince Rossi's alibi fell
apart. He had at least two hours when he was alone. And there's
still Jared and those phone calls."

The phone calls. Funny, how Diana had been
stalked over the phone, and now Kris was dealing with the same
problem.

She checked the clock. Eric would finish band
practice soon, and then she had to call Lieutenant Frank.

"Come on, Irene, let's pick up Eric and get
some coffee. He and I will figure out what to do next."

"I'm sorry. I'm glad you told me everything,
I ... I really am."

Kris held Irene while she sobbed.

***

A little while later, Kris and Eric ushered
his grandmother into the Soares’ house. Cheryl typed on her laptop
at the kitchen table. She looked up, her finger poised on the
keyboard. "Kris. I'm so sorry. Eric told me you lost your job over
all this. Is there anything I can do?"

Irene pivoted, her eyes glassy. "You lost
your job? Why didn't anyone tell me? Oh, Kris."

"I didn't like my editor anyway," Kris said.
"Don't worry."

"But what will you do?"

She forced lightness into her voice. "I'll
have time off for a change. I haven't had a break in ages."

Irene groped into her bulky pocketbook. "You
need money. I should pay you for your hard work."

Kris laid a restraining hand on Irene's arm.
"Don't be silly."

"Come on, Gram, why don't you watch TV while
Kris and I call Lieutenant Frank?" Eric said. "Kris will be on her
feet again in no time. I'll make sure of it."

"It's nice you kids are hitting it off,"
Irene murmured. "I'm sure Diana would've been pleased."

"Let's go in the other room, Mom. My work can
wait." Cheryl touched Kris's shoulder. "We'll talk later, okay?
Maybe I can help you find another job. Lots of writers and editors
come into the bookstore."

"Thank you," Kris said. "I appreciate
it."

Cheryl smiled at her son. "Take care of
her."

Two minutes later, Kris had Lieutenant Frank
on the line. Eric shared the receiver.

"Here's what you do," the lieutenant said.
"Next time, press *57 and it'll forward a record to the phone
company. If they get two or three traces to the same number, we'll
look into it. It's pretty successful, but sometimes a cell phone
screws it up."

"I'll do that. There's also something else
..." She told him about Mae Schaffer's allegation.

Lieutenant Frank laughed. "Mae Schaffer? I
didn't know the old lady was still kicking. Let me tell you
something about Mae Schaffer. She was as paranoid as hell, and
lonely to boot. She must've called us 200 times. Whenever we sent
officers over, she'd stuff them with coffee cake."

"Do you remember her calling about Diana?"
Kris asked.

"After 200 times, they all blur
together."

"If she did call about the murder, would you
have investigated?"

"We would've checked it out, but given the
source, we would've taken it with a grain of salt."

Eric edged the phone closer to his ear.
"Look, Lieutenant, she has Alzheimer's Disease, so this could be
her imagination. But if she did report this twenty-five years ago,
it might be worth checking into again. Maybe 200 of her calls were
bull, but what if this was the one that had something to it?"

"I think it's a waste of time, but I'll look
in the case book and get back to you."

Kris disconnected and asked, "Why do I get
the feeling he doesn't take us seriously?"

"I get the same feeling," Eric said. "I guess
it's time to pay another visit to the professor."

Chapter 22

25 Years Ago Today

For the first time, the Fremont 4-H will have
its own horsemanship group.

K
ris climbed the
creaking steps to the Fremont State College history department,
hoping they caught Alex Thaddeus before he left for the weekend.
Eric released a deep sigh at her heels and she shot him a worried
look. He'd been quiet on the ride over, reminding her of the drive
to Hyde Park.

Impulsively, Kris kissed his cheek. "If he's
there, don't put him on defense right away. We've got to surprise
him."

"It ticks me off that he might have gotten
away with it all these years," Eric said. "He wasn't even a
suspect."

"We don't know if it was him."

"If he murdered Diana, I'll kill him." Eric
patted Kris's hand, grabbed the railing and pushed past her. She
stared at the back of his leather jacket, her stomach
nose-diving.

They found the door to Alex's office ajar.
"Hi," she said with false cheeriness. "It's me again."

Alex smiled, but not the relaxed half-grin
from before. His lips pressed into a thin line as he rocked forward
in his swivel chair. "Kris, isn't it? I didn't expect to see you
again."

Kris stepped into his office. His glance
traveled past her to Eric. "This is Eric Soares," she said.
"Diana's nephew."

Alex's smile turned into a slight frown. He
closed a leather-bound book and ran his finger down the cracked
spine. "Pleasure to meet you," he told Eric, then returned his
attention to Kris. "I saw the newspaper article. I didn't realize
you'd be back."

"We had a few more questions," she said.

"I'm afraid I can't be much help. I've told
you everything I could remember."

"You sure about that?" Eric asked. "Maybe you
should think again."

"I don't know what you mean." The craggy
lines etching Alex's face deepened. He shuffled the neat piles of
papers on his desk.

Kris pointed toward the framed canvas in the
corner. "You told me Diana gave you that painting in high school. I
have it on good authority that she didn't do that scene until
later. Not long before she died."

"What are you implying?" Alex rustled
papers.

"That you saw Diana after she graduated, even
though you claimed you hadn't."

Long silence. Alex dropped his arms to his
sides. Kris heard all the sounds in the old building: water surging
through heating pipes, floorboards squeaking as secretaries left
their desks, the pattering of her own heart.

Maybe she was wrong. It wasn’t impossible
that Diana worked on the same scene in high school and later when
she knew Jared. It could be coincidence ... or the key to the whole
puzzle.