Family Ties (Flesh & Blood Trilogy Book 2) (10 page)

“Oh…I see. Yes, that is very bizarre. Can’t be a coincidence.”

“And the Larsons seem to be living a very meager existence. They have one vehicle between the two of them. A 1999 Cadillac. Mrs. Larson appears to be suffering some sort of medical crisis, because they are drowning in debt, mostly from medical bills. From what I can tell, they live on her disability and Mr. Larson’s retirement fund from IBM. He retired in 1989. Kind of an early retirement.”

“Yeah, but my grampa also retired from IBM around the same time. If I recall, they forced a lot of their executives out around that time period. Forced retirement is retirement nonetheless, though. He probably got a substantial amount.”

“At least enough to support the two of them and pay at least some of her medical treatment. I bet it’s cancer. It’s always cancer.”

“Harper, you’ve done an amazing job. Have I told you lately how glad I am that I met you?”

“Yes, but I never tire of hearing it.”

I motioned for the waitress and when she fluttered over, I whispered for her to bring me a box for my burger.

“Okay, give me that address one more time.”

She repeated it. “Again, that’s down near the river. Pretty far out there. Are you going to go talk to them?”

I wrote down the address. “Yes. I’ll put the address in my GPS.”

“If your GPS works that far out.”

“True,” I said.

“I’ll send a picture of the house to your phone.”

“Thanks, Harper.”

“Oh, and Libby?”

“Yes, Harper?”

“Please be careful.”

“Harper, it’s just an old couple who live out in the country. How dangerous could it be?”

“Have you seen
Deliverance
?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her paranoia and movie reference. Yes, everyone in Kentucky and Virginia had seen the movie
Deliverance
and no one who lived in Appalachia would ever live down the stereotype. Even I couldn’t help but hear banjos playing in the back of my mind.

“All right, I’ll be careful. I’ll call you as soon as I’m back in town.”

“If you haven’t called me in two hours, I’m calling the police.” When I laughed, she said seriously, “I’m not kidding, Libby!”

“Okay, okay. Two hours. I’ll call you back.”

I hung up the phone, slid it in my back pocket, grabbed my to-go box, and headed back out to my car.

Chapter 10

True to her word, Harper texted me a picture of the Larsons’ house. It was a two-story, all-white, vinyl-sided house with green shutters, green front door, and a green tin roof. Probably a picture she downloaded from Google Earth. I referred to my notes and entered the address into my phone’s GPS, mentally crossing my fingers my cell would maintain reception that far out in the country.

I was somewhat familiar with Irvine, as it was my parents’ home town and the place where both sets of my grandparents lived until they died. So I knew the general direction in which I was headed. I pulled my car onto the roadway and headed north on Main Street until my GPS told me to take a left onto Irvine Road. This brought me all the way into Irvine. Once I crossed the county line, I made a left onto KY 1457. I followed this route for several miles until I reached Sand Hill and took another left. The houses grew fewer and farther between the further out I drove. Beautiful orange, red, and yellow leaves covered the trees on both sides of the road. I always loved Kentucky in autumn.

Amazingly, my GPS was still working and I found the Larsons’ house, nearly at the end of the road, down by the river, just as Harper had said. Their Cadillac was in the driveway, so they were home. I pulled into the long gravel driveway and suddenly regretted not calling ahead. But then again, they may have refused to meet with me. This way, I could catch them unaware. Most Kentuckians were good, honest, decent people with good Southern manners and I couldn’t imagine them rudely turning me away.

I nervously got out of my car and walked along the sidewalk up to the front door and rang the doorbell. For a long time, no one answered. I couldn’t hear anything through the door, either. Just when I was about to give up and leave, the door slowly opened about three inches. What I thought might be a man’s nose poked through the opening.

“Who’s there?” the man’s voice said, not too kindly.

“My name is Libby Carter. Are you Harold Larson?”

The man opened the door a smidge more, just enough to reveal more of his face. He was gaunt with hollow cheeks and a protruding brow with bushy white eyebrows that looked like a pair of caterpillars. “Depends. What do you want? ’Cuz I’m not buyin’ nuthin’!”

“No, no, Mr. Larson,” I said as sweetly as I could. I struggled with what I could possibly say to get inside that house. Then I said the only thing I could think of, without lying. “I’m an investigator and I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about a murder case.”

This got his attention. He opened the door the rest of the way and I was able to see how hunched over he was with age, and scrawny too. I instantly felt bad for intruding into their quiet lives, but not enough to turn around and leave. I had a job to do.

“Murder case? I don’t know nuthin’ about no murder case.”

“Yes, sir. Have you heard of the I-75 Strangler?”

His face changed instantly as if a magician had waved a magic wand over him. “Why, yes. I know who you’re talking about. What’s he got to do with us?”

“With all due respect, Mr. Larson, I think you know quite a bit about Randall McLanahan. May I please come in and speak with you and your wife? Is she here?”

“Yes, she’s here,” he admitted. “But she’s not feeling too great. Let me see if she’s up for visitors. Betty Sue!” He turned and left me standing in the doorway. I let the screen door shut behind me and took a step into their home. While it wasn’t necessarily a candidate for an episode of
Hoarders
, it wasn’t in great shape, either. Walls and shelves were cluttered with ceramic figurines, porcelain bells, and other knickknacks. Books were stacked three feet deep in several different areas around the living room and there were half a dozen dried flower arrangements displayed throughout. And the smell was none too pleasant. It was a mix of moth balls, mildew, and lemon-scented disinfectant. I had to steady my hand to resist the urge to cover my nose.

Mr. Larson appeared around the corner with Mrs. Larson scooting down the hallway behind him, holding his hand. I thought it was sweet that they were still holding hands in their eighties. Either that or Mrs. Larson couldn’t walk without the support of her husband, which seemed to be a distinct possibility.

Betty Sue Larson was, despite her obvious poor health, plumper than her husband. She had wide hips, a very large bum, and an abundant bosom. But her face was drawn and sallow with dark blue circles under her puffy eyes. Her hair was thinning but a long silver braid hung over her right shoulder.

“Betty Sue’s not feeling so well, but we rarely get visitors out this way and she wanted to see what all the fuss is about. Ain’t that right, Betty Sue?”

Betty Sue just nodded and smiled politely at me. Harold helped her down into a tattered light blue recliner and asked her if she needed a glass of water. She nodded and he turned and asked me if I would like one as well. I politely declined—I never drink tap water—but thanked him and he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Betty Sue and me alone in the living room.

“Please,” she said, gesturing toward the matching blue sofa. “Have a seat.” Her voice was shaky and thick as my Granny’s sweet tea.

I did as she suggested and sat down on the middle cushion. I could feel the poky springs as I sat down and wondered if this was the same couch they’d picked out over fifty years ago when they first bought this house.

Harold returned with Betty Sue’s water, which he set down on a white lace doily that rested on top of the end table to her left side. He leaned in toward his wife and spoke loudly and clearly. “This young lady is an investigator. She’s here to talk to us about Randy McLanahan.”

Betty Sue’s face went even whiter, if that’s possible, and gone was the sweet old lady look I had thought so charming. “What do you want from us?”

I cleared my throat and scooted toward the edge of the couch. I interlocked my fingers in my lap and began. “First, let me say thank you for inviting me into your home unannounced. My parents are also from Estill County and I was raised to believe in Southern hospitality. It’s nice to know it still exists. Second, yes, I’m an investigator. I’m working on a case involving Randall McLanahan. In the course of my investigation, your daughter’s name came up. Annie, I believe?”

“What about her?” Harold asked curtly.

“Well, I was kind of hoping you could tell me where she is.”

“Why would we do that? What does our daughter have to do with Randy McLanahan’s case? From what I’ve heard, he’s in prison for killing all those poor women. And good riddance to him, I say. That boy was nothing but trouble from the start.” Harold looked at me, waiting for an answer.

I stood my ground. “Like I said, your daughter’s name came up and it’s very important that I speak with her. Does she live here?”

Harold looked at Betty Sue, who looked back at him earnestly. The pair seemed to have an unspoken conversation with their eyes and then Betty Sue turned to face me again. “We don’t know where our daughter is. We haven’t seen or heard from her in many, many years.”

“Is she…alive?”

“Far as we know,” Harold answered. “Last we heard from her was about five years ago. She wouldn’t tell us where she was. Just told us she was alive and doing well. Then she hung up and we haven’t heard from her since.”

“She’s alive? Well, that’s great news.” Now this threw a wrench in my theory about her disappearance. But it begged the question, where did she go back in 1972? “Mr. and Mrs. Larson, can you tell me what happened Annie’s freshman year of school? From all accounts, something happened to her and she never returned to school and was never heard from again. Many people thought Randy had something to do with her disappearance. But if she’s alive, then what happened to her all those years ago?”

Again the couple looked at each other for a drawn-out period of time. Long enough for me to begin to feel extremely uncomfortable.

It was Betty Sue who spoke up first. “Honey, there are some things that are best left alone. This is something we prefer to keep in the family. No offense, but I don’t see what any of this has to do with you.”

“I understand where you’re coming from. I do. But as I said before, a lot of people think that Randy had something to do with your daughter’s disappearance. If we can prove that Annie is alive, it would do wonders to clear his name. At least, as far as she’s concerned.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Mr. Larson said calmly. “Why exactly are you interested in what happened to our daughter? It was over forty years ago. And Randy McLanahan went to prison over twenty years ago. Why now? What’s in this for you?”

I had only a split second to decide my course of action. I could either continue to be elusive about my role in all this, or I could come clean about my identity and relationship to Randy. Ultimately, I decided I had nothing to lose. Go big or go home, as they say.

“Randy McLanahan is my father,” I said matter-of-factly.

Both of them looked like I had just revealed Elvis in the flesh to them. Their jaws dropped and their eyes went wide as saucers. No one spoke for another awkward few seconds.

“Well,” Betty Sue finally said. “That changes everything.”

“Betty Sue,” Harold admonished.

She swatted his words away like an annoying gnat. “No, Harold. If this really is Randy’s daughter, then she has a right to know.”

“Know what?” Now I was extremely nervous. I had assumed my relationship to Randy would cause them to throw me out on my ear, but this reaction was not one I had anticipated.

“Betty Sue!’ Harold tried again.

“Hush, Harold. It’s time we told the truth for once in our lives. If anyone has a right to know, it’s this young lady.”

“Bah!” Harold grumbled under his breath. He folded his arms across his chest like a petulant child. “Nothing good can come from this, Betty Sue.”

“Quiet, Harold. This is my decision. She’s my daughter too, and I’ve kept quiet for far too many years. The secret is eating me up inside. It’s worse than the cancer. Plus, she’s not here anymore. She chose to stay gone all these years. That was
her
decision, not ours. If she has a problem, she can come home and tell me all about it.”

“Mrs. Larson, please. What happened to Annie? What does any of this have to do with me?”

“Well, if Randy McLanahan really is your father…”

“He really is.”

“Then I think you should know what happened to Annie all those years ago. Are you sure you don’t want a glass of water?”

Now I was growing frustrated.
Just tell me, goddamn it! Spit it out!

Betty Sue melted into her recliner. Harold, obviously not pleased with his wife’s decision to tell all, waved her off and then disappeared from the living room, leaving Betty Sue and me all alone.

“Let’s see…where do I begin?”

“At the beginning, please,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound as impatient as I felt.

“Okay, then. It was the fall of 1971. Annie was a freshman at Estill County High School. She was so excited about starting high school. I remember I had made her a dress for her first day. It was red with white piping, I think. Anyway, one night, Annie begged us to let her attend the first football game of the year. Harold didn’t want her to go…thought she was too young, but I remembered what it was like to want to be part of the crowd, so I talked Harold into dropping her off. When we picked her up a couple hours later, she was floating like an angel on a cloud. She wouldn’t say at first what put her in such a good mood, but she confided in me when we got home that she had met a boy and fallen in love. He was the star football player, she said. He’d talked to her after the game and she felt so giddy that he would pay attention to her. You see, Annie wasn’t the most beautiful girl in the crowd, I hate to admit. And she was a little on the shy side. So it surprised me too, that the star football player would be flirting with my little Annie…”

“And that player was my father. Randy.”

“Yes. She told me his name was Randy McLanahan. I knew his parents from church and they seemed like decent people, so I approved and encouraged her to follow her heart. Oh, how I regret those words now. If I had only known.” Betty Sue looked down at her house slippers and picked at a thread hanging from the hem of her gown. I could tell she was in a time and place far, far way.

“So what went wrong?”

She seemed to snap back to the present. “Well, nothing at first. Annie would come home and tell me almost daily about her and Randy. She was so in love. I was happy for her. I didn’t think there was any reason to be worried. She seemed to come out of her shell. I was just happy that a boy was paying her any attention, shy as she was. One night, she went to a party at a friend’s house after one of the big football games. When she came home that night, she confided in me that Randy had kissed her.”

I knew, from Jo and my mother, Randy had done much more than kiss Annie that night. But it was not my story, and I didn’t want to shatter any illusions Betty Sue may still be harboring about her little girl. So I listened on without interrupting.

“I was so happy for my baby girl. Of course, I was a little worried. She was only fifteen, after all, but then again, Harold and I kissed for the first time when I was about her age, so I didn’t give her too much grief. She begged me not to tell Harold, so I didn’t. She floated on clouds for the next few weeks until one day, the sky fell.”