Celtic Sister (10 page)

“So?” he asked. “What’s up?”

Amy placed her iced tea on the counter. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“No thank you. Just tell me already. I can tell it’s good.” He smiled. “Oh, and before I forget. I called Detective O’Hara. He said he’d call me back before noon. He also gave me the number of a female police officer at the nearest station to your home. He said you should report your crime there.”

Amy braced herself. She just convinced Brent to give her a quick-and-quiet divorce. She didn’t want to start the drama of an investigation. After talking with Brent, she believed he really didn’t know where Emma Foster was. It’s not that he wasn’t a smooth liar. It was gut instinct. Maybe it was wishful thinking on her part. She just wanted to move forward into a world without Brent Richardson.

“Let’s focus on Emma,” she said. Perhaps they could address the
nail-that-son-of-a-bitch
issue another time.

“We can do both. I’m still waiting for the detective to get back to me.”

“Did she like poetry?” Amy asked, steering the conversation.

“Weird question. I don’t know. Don’t all girls like poetry?”

Amy rolled her eyes. “Did she write poetry?”

“Not that I saw.”

“Did she keep a journal, perhaps? Or a sketchbook?”

Sam sat up straight in his chair. He seemed to take a whole new interest in Amy’s words. “Do you know something?” he whispered.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Does someone have a journal that belonged to Emma?”

“No. But
you
might.”

His shoulders slumped. “That’s all you got? A maybe-there’s-a-diary?”

Amy nodded hopefully.

“No. I’m sorry. Emma had a white writing desk filled with books. I went through every drawer and every book, page by page.” He licked his finger and turned imaginary pages in the air. “Page by page. Didn’t find anything.”

“But he said it was the size of a passport. Perhaps you missed something.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Who said?”

“Brent.” Amy shrank back. All the charm and bravado dissipated as she said his name.

“You saw him?”

She nodded. “Right before I called you.”

Sam took a deep breath, gently took her hand, and looked her squarely in the face. “Tell me what he said. Word for word.”

“He said they paid her off.”

“What?”

“He said his family paid Emma a shitload of money, that
this thing
was supposed to go away. He actually said that. ‘This thing was supposed to go away.’ And he swore she left of her own free will, that he never hurt her.”

“Oh, well if Brent swore he didn’t hurt her then that settles everything, doesn’t it? Cause we all know what an upstanding citizen old Brent is.” Sam slammed his hands against the counter. The bartender looked in his direction. Sam subtly shook his head. Then he changed his mind.

“Diet Coke please.”

“Wait, Sam. You weren’t there.”

The bartender placed a glass on the counter.

Sam took a sip. “Okay, I’m game. If I were there what would I have seen? Angels singing his praises? A bright aura of love and truth?”

“No. It was just the way he got flustered.”

“The way he got flustered?”

“When he’s lying, he’s smooth. But this morning, he came completely unglued.”

Sam snorted. “I’ll bet he did. We’re on to him.”

“No, Sam, listen.”

Sam set the glass down and stared at her. “So you really think this paying her off and left of her own free will thing is for real?”

She nodded eagerly. “And that’s not the best part—”

“Are you referring to the phantom notebook?”

“Yeah. There was a passport-sized notebook. She asked him to give it to you, and he wouldn’t.”

“Really?”

“He said it was full of poems and drawings, but you know what I’ve been thinking—?”

“It wasn’t just poems,” Sam whispered, coming to the same conclusion Amy had arrived at an hour ago. “She was a clever girl.”

“I’ll bet she was.”

“What were they
paying her off
for?” Sam asked.

“Precisely. What was
this thing
that was supposed to have gotten all tidied up by a payoff?”

“Maybe—”

“I think she knew something about that family,” Amy said.

“Of course she did. They wanted her to go away. But her conscience is too pure. She wouldn’t hush up for money.”

Amy nodded and raised her eyebrows. “So maybe she wrote it down disguised in a little poetry-esque notebook.”

“Kind of like Nostradamus?”

Amy laughed. “Yeah. Exactly like that. She could pass it off right under Brent’s nose, and he wouldn’t be the wiser.”

Sam grinned. “And she’d be cocky enough to do that. That’s my Emma.” He bounced in his seat and performed a little victory dance.

“So we find the notebook, we find the secret.”

“We find the secret, we back that family into a corner.”

“And then we find the girl.”

Sam suddenly seemed wistful, almost ashamed. He looked at his hands.

“What?” Amy asked. “I thought you’d love that
find the girl
part.”

“I did. Very much.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“If she did leave me a notebook, she wanted me to solve this fifteen years ago, Amy.”

Amy’s face softened. “You didn’t know.”

“And why hasn’t she checked back?”

“Don’t go there now. Let’s take this one piece of the puzzle at a time. Maybe she’s afraid of them. Hell, I’m afraid of them. Maybe she’s got a new life somewhere. A peaceful life.”
What I would do for a peaceful life.

He nodded. “I hope so.” Then he smiled. “In the meantime, let’s get these bastards.”

“Do you know where we should look?”

“Let’s start with her desk.”

“You still have it?”

“Yeah. I have all her books too. In boxes. It’s kind of stupid. I live in such a small apartment. I just couldn’t get rid of them, and I wasn’t sure if my parents would keep them any longer if I left them over there.”

“They wouldn’t?”

“They’ve kept things that had meaning to them, but eventually they gave away clothing to a good charity. That kind of thing. While I buried myself in a hole, they properly grieved and continued to live.”

“Maybe you just got a late start on the healthy grieving part.”

“I guess. But I don’t really need to hang on to a girly desk and boxes of books.”

“Sam, I’m so glad you have them.”

He smiled. “Maybe it was divine intervention. My inability to toss them.”

“If you say so. Let’s go through the boxes… And take the desk apart. Maybe there’s a secret compartment.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

She smiled. “This actually sounds fun.”

He nodded slowly. “Positively.”

Chapter Eleven

Sam’s cell phone rang while they were driving.

“Detective O’Hara. Thank you for returning my call.”

Amy heard someone speaking quickly on the other end of the line, rattling off information.

“I see. He didn’t have to be physically present to be responsible… I see.” Sam paused. “Listen, Brent actually said they paid her money to leave. He all but admitted they forced her to disappear.” Another pause. “I have it from a reliable source.”

A long silence on Sam’s end followed. His expression faded from hope to sadness to anger.

“I see, detective,” he said curtly. “Thank you for your time.” Sam practically threw the phone aside after he hung up. “Bastards.” He hit the steering wheel.

“What did he say?”

“First, the case, which was closed fourteen years ago, has been officially deemed a
runaway
. Second, Brent was interviewed but he had an alibi. He was with a friend’s family in a cabin in the mountains all weekend.”

“Of course he was. But that doesn’t mean the family didn’t threaten her to leave.”

“Yeah. As soon as I ventured into that territory, the quality of O’Hara’s voice changed. He seemed to be afraid, an old fear, as if they had been warned long ago not to touch the Richardsons. Instead, he told me to question the validity of my reliable source. Then he got testy and told me I’d be better off to avoid going
down that road
.”

“He doesn’t want trouble. And, truth be told, your
reliable source
is an angry, abused wife. I’m the only one who heard Brent’s confession. They’d laugh in your face.”

Sam sighed. “You’re right. We just need more evidence.”

Twenty minutes later, he pulled into an attractive apartment complex bordering a park. The two-story white buildings were older but freshly painted.

A dog barked as they approached the first floor apartment. When Sam jiggled the key in the door, the barking sounded almost like joyful anticipation.

“Sit,” Sam commanded as he opened the door. “I have a guest today.” He turned to Amy. “I don’t have many of those.”

The dog looked from Sam to Amy and back again. It appeared eager to greet the newcomer.

“This is Roxy. Do you like dogs?”

“I’ve never had a dog,” Amy admitted. “But she’s beautiful.”

“Go ahead,” Sam said to Roxy. “Easy.”

Roxy, a German shepherd mix, carefully approached Amy, sniffing and wagging her tail. Her sleek black snout found Amy’s hands and calves but, thankfully, seemed polite enough not to sniff her private parts. Amy scratched the back of the dog’s head, taken aback by how soft she was.

Sam fumbled through a pile of mail and plastic grocery bags to find a leash.

“I need to take her for a quick walk before we search.”

Amy nodded. She would have preferred to check out the desk, but she didn’t want to be impatient. Sam grabbed a plastic bag and they were out the door.

Just beyond the parking lot, an open space bordered the property. It didn’t take long for Roxy to do her business, but she seemed intent on sniffing every bush and seemingly random places in the grass. They continued on the path and Amy took a deep breath to quiet her mania.

“How long have you had Roxy?”

“Since shortly after the
epiphany,
as you like to call it.”

Amy smiled.

“She’s been my best friend. All my half friends slipped away one by one when I announced I was going back to school. The girlfriends were long gone by then. I had really deteriorated. I needed a friend, and my mom suggested I go to the animal shelter. It was love at first sight.”

They turned a corner and appeared to be heading back to the apartment.

“She’s another reason I was hesitant to take on medical school. It’s one thing to be studying for a B.S. in biology, but even if I found a school I liked and I could bring her, I wouldn’t be home. Those med students keep ridiculous hours.”

“I’ll bet.”

“My parents travel a lot, so they couldn’t really take her.”

“So you decided you’d try a CSI course and think about it?”

“Something like that. As I said, I’m thirty-four, and I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life.”

“You know, she looks kind of like a K9. You could be partners fighting crime.”

Sam laughed.

“K9. Canine,” Amy mumbled. “Oh, I get it. Kay-Nine.”

Sam stopped. Roxy sat immediately, and Sam looked at Amy incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You didn’t get the connection?”

Amy shrugged and laughed. “I didn’t hear it until I said it out loud.”

Sam turned to Roxy. “She’s weird. Huh, girl?”

There was something about Sam’s playful tone of voice that warmed Amy’s heart. She found herself grateful such a revelation didn’t slip while she was with Brent. He would have made her feel like a complete idiot loser. Instead, she felt like laughing at herself in a fun, healthy way.

I could like a life like this.

They continued walking and were about to reach the parking lot when a man walked toward them. He was looking beyond them, busy in his mind, but Sam came to a halt and whispered, “Sit. Lie down.”

Roxy complied and the man passed them and went on his way. Then Sam continued walking and Roxy followed as if nothing happened.

“What was that?” Amy asked him.

“What?”

“Why did she have to lie down when that man passed?”

“Oh, she didn’t like him. I could tell.”

“Do you know him?”

“Nope. But something in her manner changed. I felt it. She has a lot of shepherd in her. I just want to be careful.”

“You don’t want her to go all Kay-Nine on you.” Amy giggled, amused by herself.

Sam touched her shoulder. “I guess your sudden comprehension of the meaning behind K9 will keep you entertained for the rest of the day.”

After another fit of giggles, Amy quieted down. “No. I’ll stop. I’m looking forward to finding a little notebook.”

They reached the door.

“Me too. Let’s get on it. What should we do first? Desk or books?”

“I’m leaning toward the secret compartment in the desk. Feeling a little Nancy Drew-ish today.”

Sam smiled. “Sounds like a great idea.”

***

After Roxy had her treat and Sam produced a couple of glasses of water for himself and Amy, they settled down in Sam’s den, the second bedroom of the very small, very cluttered apartment.

Sam began moving papers off a white desk – Emma’s desk, Amy presumed. He actually used it for his own studies. Amy glanced at the papers Sam had stacked into a pile, and she realized they were applications for medical schools, a dozen or more.

“You didn’t even mail them?”

Sam hustled, trying to move the paperwork as quickly as possible.

“No. I didn’t. I told you. I’m conflicted.”

“Okay. No worries. CSI would be a really nice career too.”

“If I could focus on the material.”

“Why is that?” Amy asked. “You can get through tons of math and science classes to get a bachelor’s in biology, but when you get to your CSI textbook you start doodling.”

Sam shook his head. By now he had fully cleaned off the top of the desk. He proceeded to tap in random places, looking for loose spots. Amy joined him and explored whether or not the glossy top could be removed.

“The course material just made me think of Emma. I started wondering if I could have done something way back when to, I don’t know, keep the trail from getting cold. Was there something I missed that I could have told the police? That sort of thing.”