Deeply, Desperately (18 page)

"There's a park near my house. The kids are dying to get out in the snow. It's a busy neighborhood. Plenty of people around."

"I, ah, thank you."

"I'm well aware of my reputation, Ms. Valentine. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. Like I said, I'm desperate. I need your help. You might just be the only person who can prove I had nothing to do with Sarah's disappearance."

Or the only one who could prove his guilt. "I'll see you soon."

"I look forward to it."

Empty swings were mounded with fluffy snow as a pack of small children scampered from the merry-go-round to the jungle gym, bundled against the cold. Red cheeks glowed, laughter carried, and I watched with a smile from the warmth of my car.

There was nothing quite like the happiness of a child.

I opened the folder propped against the steering wheel. I'd read every sheet in it multiple times. If I had to make a snap judgment based on that information, I'd label Scott Loehman guilty. He had motive, opportunity, and the know-how to make someone disappear without a trace.

Yet ... he agreed--he even seemed eager--to let me do a reading.

I decided to go into the meeting with an unbiased opinion. Let him talk, hear what he had to say. And of course, use my psychic abilities to try and find his wife.

I watched two small girls chase each other around a seesaw, giggling as pigtails bounced beneath knit caps. I guessed they were about three years old. The
same age Maddie Loehman had been when she sustained a broken arm after falling down the stairs at her house on the morning of her first day of preschool.

And poor Jake. On his first birthday, he'd spent most of the day in the ER. Turned out he'd had a tear in his intestine--from falling into the corner of a table, Sarah had said.

If Scott had been abusing the children, it was easy to see why Sarah would cover for him. She was scared too. And now she was missing ...

Not wanting to read any more, I closed the file. I hoped that after today I could close the file permanently.

My cell phone rang as I watched for Scott and the kids to show up. Was he calling to cancel? He was already late by five minutes, and I began to doubt that he would come. After all, if he was guilty I might be able to prove it. I might stand me up too, if I were him.

Or maybe it was Aiden with more information on the possible break in the Handmaiden case. I was almost afraid to hope that I could start living without fear again.

As I fished my phone out of my bag I saw it was neither. I smiled at the ID screen and answered. "Did you shave yet?"

Raphael laughed. "Not yet, but I'm beginning to itch. I don't know how much longer I can hold out."

"I'm sure Maggie will understand."

"I'm sure she wouldn't."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Don't mmm-hmm me, Uva. Spit it out."

"It's just that it's clear to me you know how much
Maggie likes the Grizzly Adams look, and you like Maggie, and you want her to keep liking you. But what you're not understanding is that Maggie will like you, furry or not."

"Mmm-hmm. It's clear, is it?"

"Crystal." My gaze scanned the park, across the playground to the far corners of the snow-covered fields, past the picnic shelters, naked maple trees, looking for Scott. No sign of him.

"Are you free tonight for dinner to discuss this theory further? If you get here soon, the roads won't be so bad."

Across the street I spotted a man walking hand in hand with two children. They were headed this way. "I can't. I'm going to Cutter McCutchan's showing at a fancy gallery downtown."

"I see. Actually, no I don't. Why? You don't even know Cutter McCutchan."

"I have a sudden interest in the arts?"

"Uva ..."

"All right. I'm curious about him. Preston Bailey lied about knowing him. Dad added him to Dovie's party guest list ... I just want to go. I feel like I'm being kept out of something and I don't like it."

"Mmm."

The man smiled as the little girl looked up at him, chattering a mile a minute. "No 'hmm' to go along with that?"

"I don't think this is a good idea," Raphael said sternly.

"Well, I do."

"Oscar's business is his own, Lucy."

I watched the man cross the street with the children. As soon as they were safely across, he released their hands and they took off running and laughing toward the slides. The father then glanced around as if looking for someone.

"Look, I've got to go, Pasa."

"Lucy, do not go tonight. Come here instead. I'll make your favorite. Belgian waffles ..."

Scott Loehman turned in a slow circle, hands in his pockets. I pushed open my car door. A frosty gust of air cut right through my peacoat.

The waffles tempted, but I held firm. "I've got to go, Pasa."

Stepping into the cold, I hung up and tossed my cell on the passenger seat. I didn't want to fight with Raphael. After his reaction, I was more curious than ever about Cutter McCutchan.

Closing the door behind me, I glanced Scott's way. He wasn't as tall as I imagined. Around five ten or so and stocky. Wide across the shoulders, thinner through the hips. He wore a green windbreaker over a plain white button-down shirt, jeans, and sneakers.

"Lucy?" he asked as I approached, my boots sinking into the deepening snow.

I nodded.

"Scott Loehman," he said, holding out his hand.

"If you don't mind, I'd rather wait on touching your palm."

His outstretched fingers slowly curled into a fist and he drew his hand away, tucking it back into his pocket. "Would you like to sit?" He motioned to a bench and swiped it clean of snow.

"Sure."

Across the playground, I noticed a group of mothers had stopped what they were doing to stare at us. And I noticed that none of the other children played with the Loehman kids.

"As if they're little pariahs," Scott muttered, following my gaze.

My outrage on the children's behalf must have shown on my face. "Why?"

"Because their father killed their mother. Maybe their kids are at risk."

I snapped my head to look at him.

"It's not a confession, if that's what you're thinking. It's simply what everyone believes. I'd be a fool not to know it."

"Why do you stay here?" I asked, watching Maddie and Jake climb the ladder of the slide. Maddie, at five, carefully watched over her brother, following behind him to make sure he made his way safely.

"What if we move? Will Sarah be able to find us again?"

I held his gaze. It was as though his blue eyes dared me to see his pain, laid out raw and bare, pulsing behind cool, calm irises.

I didn't know what to say, how to react. Finally, I said, "How did the two of you meet?"

"I pulled her over for speeding. She batted her eyelashes at me, said she'd rather have a dinner date with me than a date in court. I let her go. With my phone number. We were inseparable after that. She found out she was pregnant with Maddie about a year later and we flew to Vegas and got married. Sure, the elopement
was driven by the pregnancy, but it was the happiest day of my life. I couldn't believe how lucky I was."

The Loehman kids seemed used to playing by themselves. The monkey bars cleared of other children as they approached and started swinging bar to bar. "And your marriage? It was a happy one?"

"We had issues, like every other married couple."

"Such as?"

"Her family. They couldn't accept that she had wanted to marry me of her own free will. They thought I took advantage of her, then coerced her into marriage. Hardly. Sarah couldn't wait to get out of her house. Her mother practically kept her under lock and key, she was so controlling. Sarah tasted freedom with me, and liked it." His gaze veered from his kids, landed on me. "I suspect she got pregnant on purpose just so she had a reason to escape her mother."

His story was the complete opposite of Faye's. I felt myself believing him and gave myself a hard mental shake. What else was he going to say? He was an abusive husband who killed his wife? I hardly thought so. "Anything else?"

"Sarah had a lot of responsibility at home. I worked. A lot. I was often gone, pulling double shifts to make ends meet. We fought about it all the time. She wanted more help at home, and I wanted to be able to pay the bills and feed my family. She didn't understand that I hated every minute I missed of the kids' lives. That it broke my heart to miss first steps, first words, Jake's birthday, Halloween, Maddie's first day of school, Easter. She felt as though she'd lost her freedom all over again."

"Why won't you let the kids see Faye?"

"I've offered more than once for her to see them. She refused."

"That's not what I heard."

"I'm not surprised. She refused because I wouldn't let her see them without supervision, the kids' nanny. I don't trust Faye not to badmouth me or even to steal them."

"You think she'd go to that extreme?"

"Absolutely."

There was no question in my mind that Faye hated Scott. What remained was, did she have good reason?

"Daddy!" Maddie yelled, running across the grass. "Look what Jakey found!"

She reached our bench and launched herself into her father's arms. He easily scooped her up, holding her close. Jake barreled toward us, holding a feather in front of him as if it were a carrot and he was a rabbit.

Jake leaped at his father, who caught him and swung him onto his free knee. "It's a feather!" Jake yelled.

With reverence, Scott took the feather from his son's hand, examined it. "It's the most beautiful feather I've ever seen."

Jake's eyes glowed with pride. "You can have it."

"Thank you!"

Maddie wiggled free. "Let's go, Jake!"

" 'Kay!"

They skipped off, heading for the seesaw. Scott's gaze never wavered from their small forms.

It was as if I weren't there. The three only had
eyes for each other. Hard to believe he'd hurt those kids. And they hadn't shown any fear of him at all.

Then I remembered what Aiden had said. That Scott was now playing father of the year. The kids were young--could they have simply forgotten that he'd hurt them?

Too many questions. "Did Lieutenant Holliday explain how I work?"

"My hands, right?"

"I'd like to try and get a reading from Sarah's wedding band. So I need you to think about it, okay?"

"All right."

I held out my hand. He cradled it gently.

I pressed my palm against his, closed my eyes.

Images zipped by, blurring together. In an instant I crossed the border into New Hampshire, took back roads through Portsmouth, saw a neighborhood of rundown duplexes, cracked sidewalks, towering trees. Inside Jerry White's small yellow house, through the living room, past a kitchen, into a back bedroom. Inside a dresser drawer, tucked into a pair of old gym socks, sat Sarah Loehman's wedding band.

I drew my hand away, kept my eyes closed. When I finally opened them again, I was surprised by the tears I saw glistening on Scott Loehman's lashes.

"Did you see her?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I saw the wedding band. It wasn't with her."

"Where was it?"

"I'll give that information to the state police."

He nodded, causing a tear to spill over.

"Are you okay?"

"I just couldn't help but think about our wedding, placing that ring on her finger. Pledging for better or worse. I just can't believe she'd do this."

Squeals of laughter pierced the air. "What do you mean? Do what? Wait a minute. You don't think she met with foul play, do you?"

"No, Ms. Valentine, I don't. I think she ran away. From me, our kids, her responsibilities. But no one would listen to me when I tried to tell them. Are you listening?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"You really love her."

"I always have. And I want her back. I thought she would have come home by now. Please find her, Lucy. Bring her back to us."

I couldn't go to New Hampshire tonight. Not with this weather. As it was, I questioned whether going to Cutter McCutchan's showing was a good idea. Only pure stubbornness had me driving north.

As for Sarah Loehman ... I'd go tomorrow as soon as the snow stopped and the roads cleared.

I took precautions against the weather. I parked my car at my father's penthouse and would take the train home after meeting with Cutter McCutchan. I could walk home from the train station, something I was already looking forward to. I loved walking in the snow.

The only downside was that I'd have to skip and evade Raphael to avoid another lecture. I left a note for him on the kitchen countertop so he wouldn't wonder about my car and caught a cab to the gallery.

It was only a little after five, but I hoped the gallery would let me in. I had a ruse planned and everything in case I needed it. The only catch would be if Cutter wasn't there early, but I hardly knew an artist who wasn't prepping his work hours before an event. Hopefully Cutter was the same way.

The cab rolled slowly through the snowy streets. Total accumulation was at four inches at this point, with more to come in the overnight hours. The city was absolutely gorgeous covered in white. Like a scene from an old-fashioned Christmas card. Flakes clung to spindly trees, sat adrift on light posts and mailboxes.

The gallery was located on Newbury Street, sandwiched between two other swanky storefronts. Hoisting my tote bag onto my shoulder, I paid the cabbie and stepped into the snow. On an easel behind the glass of Fallon's Fine Arts an oil portrait of a Red Sox star shone under spotlights.

It wasn't until I realized I was shivering from the cold that I made a move for the door. I'd been captivated by the painting. Cutter would do well tonight, I was sure, despite the weather.

A delicate bell chimed when I entered the shop. A woman dressed impeccably in a black pencil skirt and pale blue cashmere sweater hurried toward me. "May I help you?"

"I hope so. I'm looking for a Christmas present for my father. He's a big Sox fan."

"You've come to the right place," she said with a smile. Her heels tapped on the polished stone floor as she showed me around. All Cutter's paintings were Red Sox players, and looked lifelike on canvas, yet ethereal at the same time. I couldn't quite figure out the technique, but it captivated me, and almost made me want to shell out the high four figures it would cost to bring a painting home.