Girl With a Past (22 page)

My brother and I laughed. Our parents
famously talked––that is, fought out all of their differences of
opinions until they agreed or agreed to disagree. It was never a
quiet process after Dad taught Mom to yell.

“Regardless of what Mrs. Mac said, I still
think that farm and what went on there in 1969 has something to do
with this whole thing.” I said.

Should I mention to Steven the memory that
came to me while Mrs. Mac spoke? An overheard conversation that
made no sense to me at the time. Would he think I was nuts if I
said the conversation took place in 1969?

Instead I said, “Let’s work our way down the
list. Who’s closest to here?”

“Tom’s law office is in Napa.” Steven
answered.

Tom’s address went into the GPS and off we
went, grabbing sandwiches to eat in the car on the way. We arrived
at a Craftsman bungalow an hour later.

“We need to see Mr. O’Connor.” I told the
receptionist.

“Appointment?”

“No.” I shook my head. “We’ll just take a
few minutes of his time.” I gave her our names confident that he
would see us. We’d spent time with him on several occasions.

She asked us to have a seat and went through
a door. A few minutes late she returned. “Mr. O’Connor would be
happy to see you now. He has a few minutes before his next
appointment.”

“Good to see you kids.” Tom turned to me.
His grin brought twinkles to his eyes. “Especially good to see you
lookin’ healthy. What’s up?”

We shook hands over his oak desk. The oak
paneling, sisal carpet, and leather chairs went well with his
jeans, cashmere V-neck over a polo shirt, and beat up cowboy boots.
Other than deep lines around his mouth and warm brown eyes, and the
shorter graying hair, he looked much like he had in Carol’s
photo.

“Have a seat.” Tom gestured at the Stickley
oak chairs.

“We’re trying to get information about the
summer and fall of 1969 that you spent at the Gregg’s farmhouse.” I
was surprised to see Tom’s face pale under his sailing tan, but I
continued. “We just came from seeing Mrs. Mac. She told us who,
including you, lived there; Uncle Dave said it was a year of drugs,
sex and rock’n roll. Our parents, just so you don’t worry about
what you say to us, have always been honest about their wild
youth.”

“Why do you ask?” Tom asked with a forced
smile. “Are you writin’ a thesis?”

I really did need to prepare a speech for
these guys. What do I say? I’m trying to figure if one of you
kidnapped my mother? Or shot at me?

“Our mother’s missing. I was shot.”

“Well, I know about you bein’ shot. And your
Dad called me to recommend a PI firm.” Tom frowned. “But what the
hell does this have to do with the farm in 1969?”

“I don’t know, maybe nothing. But we feel
like we have to look into every possibility and this is such a long
shot, well, the police aren’t gonna . . ."

“What kind of possibilities are you
thinkin’?” Tom asked.

“Mrs. Mac said you had house parties with
like thirty people. Any of them connected to like, I don’t know,
Weathermen? Or Black Panthers, or . . .? Well––it was Berkeley in
the sixties.”

“That was the whole point of the ranch; it
wasn’t Berkeley, no tear gas, no National Guard; just peace and
quiet, music and love. We weren’t political––other than avoidin’
the draft, but hell, that was more self-preservation. No radical
groups. We weren’t into that shit. Every one of us went to law
school. We expected bright futures. Sure didn’t want to fuck them
up.”

“What about the drugs?” Steven asked.

“We avoided any that would really get us
into trouble, and certainly didn’t deal. It was also part of the
reason why we kept pretty much to our own group of friends. Never
wide open parties.”

“Ever any strangers come around there?” I
asked.

“Chicks, not men. No one threatenin’.”

“What chicks?”

“I don’t know.” He grinned. “They were
strangers. Seriously,
I
never got involved with any
strangers.”

“Did anybody have anything against
Lexi?”

“We had nothin’ to do with her murder. That
was the Zodiac guy,” he snapped at me, then caught himself and
smiled. “Sorry kids, but my one o’clock appointment.” He pointed at
his watch.

“Just one more thing. What did you think of
Lexi?” I couldn’t help myself, I mean how many times do you get the
chance to hear the truth of what others think of you? I know I’m
not Lexi now, but I was.

“Oh hell, hate to speak ill of the dead.
But. She was a selfish bitch. Terribly talented, but a typical
artist. Only cared about her work.”

“Did she shut you down?”

His face went red. “No.”

Liar.

44

We headed to Oakland.

I called Carol as we drove south across the
Carquinez Bridge.

“Hi Carol.” Would I ever be able to tell her
just how long we’d known each other?

“Al, you sound good. Thank God. I was
freaked. Any word from Lauren?”

“No.”

“O-oh,” Carol sighed. “I’m glad you’re okay.
I stopped by your parent’s house to check on you today. I was
surprised you weren’t there.”

“We’re looking for Mom.”

“Let the police and Jeff’s investigators do
that, please,” Carol said.

“I can’t do that. No way I’m going to lie in
bed waiting to hear,” I said.

“Please be careful. You should be resting.
I’m amazed Steven let you––”

“His choices were to come with or stay
behind.”

“I see.” Carol sighed again. “Well, I left
food in the fridge and on the kitchen counter. Goodies from Citizen
Cake.”

My favorite bakery. The thought reminded me
we hadn’t eaten much since breakfast, but I was too anxious to have
an appetite. My stomach flip-flopped every time I thought of
Mom.

“Thanks. Your thoughtfulness is much
appreciated.” I paused for a second between subjects. “You said
you’ve done some research about serial killers?”

“Ye-a-h,” Carol said guardedly.

“So, what do you think is going on
here?”

“I don’t . . . why do you think this has
anything to do with serial killers?

“It seems like this all started when I got
interested in Jeff’s, uh, Dad’s file on Lexi’s murder. Do you think
she was killed by the Zodiac?”

“That’s what we were told by the police. I
didn’t have any real evidence otherwise.”

“What about Lexi’s concern that someone was
trying to harm, maybe kill
you
?”

“Whaaat? How did you––? I’d forgotten about
that.” She let out a deep sigh. “Who the hell brought that up?”

“Is there a connection?” I asked.

“No. That had to ’ve been nonsense. After
all, I’m still here. I haven’t had a serious accident since . . .
hmm, 1969.”

“So not since Lexi died?”

“Yeah. What’s your point?” Carol’s annoyance
came through the phone line loud and clear. “Lexi had nothing to do
with my accident-prone days.”

“I don’t know. Is it possible that Lexi was
the intended victim all along?” As soon as I said it I realized
that that theory didn’t really fit all the facts.

“There was one time. A car Lexi and I were
both in lost its brakes. But that was the only time that any of the
accidents I had could’ve threatened Lexi,” Carol said. “No, it
makes no sense. It was just Lexi’s imagination running away with
her sense.”

“What about the mugger?” I asked.

“How the hell––? Who have you been talking
to?”

“Unless the killer was just working his way
up to a more overt kill, and the two of you were convenient
targets,” I theorized aloud.

“What are you saying? That the killer was
someone Lexi and I knew?”

“What do you think?”

“Look, from what I know of serial killers,
it’s true that sometimes they work their way up to actual killing
with lesser acts of violence like torturing animals, roughing
people up. So-called accidentally hurting other children . . .
stuff like that. So it’s not entirely out of the question that the
accidents I had were some how connected. But––and this is a big
but
in my head––that would have to mean that Lexi was killed
by someone we knew. Or at least, that’s what I think you’re
saying?”

“And?”

“That doesn’t make sense. Think about it Al.
We still know all the same people who were Lexi’s friends then, and
as far as I can tell, no one has been killing anyone in the last
few decades.”

“As far as you can tell,” I emphasized.

Carol was silent so long I thought I’d lost
the connection.

“Where are you now?” she finally asked

“On our way to Elliott’s office, or maybe
his and Nancy’s house in Piedmont.”

“Stay there. Let Nancy take care of you. Or
head home. You really should get a good night’s rest,” Carol said.
“God, I can’t believe you left the hospital. Let me speak with your
brother. He needs to take you home.”

“Bye, Carol. Thanks for the info.” I hung
up.

“Do you think we can catch Elliott in his
office?” I asked Steven just as his phone rang. He answered via the
Bluetooth in the car, so I heard Carol insisting he take me
straight back to our parents’ and put me back to bed.

“Got it Aunt Carol,” he said.

Steven indicated the line of slow moving,
stop-and-go traffic ahead of us.

“I’m taking you home.” His face was set in
that stubborn look that I knew well.

45

We stood at the kitchen counter so ravenous
that we bolted down the food Carol had left for us without
sitting.

The drive through rush hour traffic had kept
us on the road well past dark. I felt lightheaded, my pain only
slightly relieved by the pills Steven had handed me.

“Go to bed, Al,” Steven ordered.

“Can we get started early tomorrow?”

“Elliott probably doesn’t get into his
office much before nine. Do you want to show up at their house for
breakfast?” Steven asked. He was sweeping the take out containers
into the trash, washing out the recyclables.

“I’m thinking maybe he won’t be as
forthcoming with his wife there.” I lifted an eyebrow at my
brother. “Tom lied about a couple things, BTW.”

“Like what?”

“Mrs. Mac said he had a different girl there
every week until he hooked up with Linda. Some of them had to ’ve
been strangers.” I thought about Tom. Not only had he definitely
come on to me when I was Lexi, he also was infamous for his pickup
lines and his promiscuity. “He took every advantage of that free
love shit.”

Steven glanced away from the sink and gave
me a look. “You gonna explain anything to me sometime soon?”

“What do ya mean?”

“You seem to have a train of thought that
I’m not following.”

“Humph.” Maybe I would have to at least talk
to Steven about my new understanding of life . . . and death, but I
wasn’t ready for that yet. “I’m gonna head to bed.”

“Good.” Steven nodded. “Good night.”

I drifted off as soon as my head hit the
pillow. Those pain pills really knocked me out every time. When I
came to, the bedside clock said ten twenty. I lay still, hoping to
fall back asleep. When that proved futile, I listened to hear if
Steven, or Dad were still up, if they were in the house.

I opened my bedroom door, thinking I would
hear the ten o’clock news on the television in the den. But the
house was quiet except for the breezes off the ocean rattling a
window or two. I pulled on sweats, a jacket, and sneakers, and
quietly let myself out of the side door slipping past the security
guards. I needed fresh air, a walk to shake the restlessness.

Lights were starting to go off in the
surrounding houses. There was something liberating about being out
in the night by myself, with no destination, free to wander.

I planned to walk until I felt relaxed,
tired enough to go back to sleep. My feet carried me through the
Presidio and up into the hills of Pacific Heights. I realized I had
walked a very long way when I found myself in Derek’s neighborhood.
I decided to walk by his house.

I was across the street, trying not to look
like a stalker when a small SUV pulled into his driveway. Lian got
out of the driver’s door. He walked around to the back of the house
and disappeared from view. He returned, opened the rear door, and
loaded a long, narrow case.

I had walked another five feet when he
reappeared with a bicycle, mounted the bike to a rack on the rear
of the SUV, and climbed into the driver’s seat. I continued to
walk, hoping he wouldn’t notice me. He backed out of the drive and
zoomed down the street away from me.

The porch lights came on, front door opened
and Derek stepped out. He stood in the courtyard, and looked after
the car. He shook his head. The way his shoulders fell in a
dejected stance rushed sympathy to my heart.

Without thinking, I crossed the street and
called his name.

His surprise at the sight of me was obvious
in his voice. “Miss Nichols, is that you?”

I reached out to touch his hand and felt the
sparks when my fingers grazed his. What was I doing? I jammed my
hands into my sweatshirt pockets. “Yes, I’m sorry, I was having
trouble sleeping, so I’m trying to walk off my restlessness. I
don’t know how I ended up here . . .” OMG, now I was compounding my
idiocy by blabbering like a nervous teenager. And to top it off, I
shivered.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked. “Didn’t you
just get out of the hospital?” He looked at the bandage on my
head.

“I’m fine.” I turned away, anxious to get
out of this awkward moment. I stumbled.

Derek’s arm shot across the gate and grabbed
my elbow. “I think you should come in. Have some warm milk, and
then I’ll drive you home. It’s a bad idea to wander around the city
late at night by yourself.”