Her Sister (Search For Love series) (5 page)

When
her gaze locked to his, the sensation she experienced was as if the hot, gooey
syrup from the sticky buns was running through her, making her feel all melty
and weak.

Her
father, a short balding man who was getting heftier each year, gave his wife
and daughter a grin.  "Just wanted to introduce you to my new help.  Max
Thaddeus, meet my wife, Mrs. Fogelsmith and my daughter, Amanda.  Do you two
know each other from school?"

"Yes,
sir," Max answered without hesitation.  "Amanda and I had a couple of
classes together."

"Well,
good, because you two will be working side by side some of the summer.  Amanda
helps with everything around here, including spearing the tobacco leaves on the
laths.  I don't let her have anything to do with hanging them up to dry, but
she works beside me whenever she can."

Amanda
felt like an idiot, standing there staring at Max, as if she didn't have a brain
in her head.  "Are you going to be working here today?" she asked,
then realized maybe she shouldn't have.  Maybe she shouldn't have sounded as if
she'd be glad if he was.

"If
I do a good job this morning, your dad might keep me on for the afternoon."

George
Fogelsmith chuckled.  "Ain't that the truth?  You come with good
references, boy.  I don't think we'll have a problem.  First I'll show you
around the barn, then we'll head for the turkey pen."

Quickly,
Amanda tore off a large piece of aluminum wrap, slipped three of the already
baked sticky buns onto it and folded up each end until she had a small
package.  Then she crossed to Max and held it out to him.  "For your lunch
break."

George
planted his hands on his hips.  "Don't I get any?"

Amanda
felt her cheeks go red.  "Sure you do, Dad.  I'll wrap yours up
separately."  She did that quickly and gave her dad a small package, too.

He
winked at her and suggested, "Come find us when you're done helping your
mom with the buns.  You can teach Max the fine points of mucking out
stalls."  Her dad's eyes twinkled at her and she knew
he
knew she'd
be glad just to be around Max.

If her
dad got busy and they'd have to do chores alone, maybe she'd find out which
rumors were true about Max and which weren't.

The phone
rang.

Amanda
came crashing back to the present.  Returning to the kitchen, still holding the
candle in her hand, she picked up the receiver.

"Amanda,
it's Max."

She
closed her eyes and saw the boy he used to be...the girl she used to be. 
"I wish you hadn't left so...abruptly."

He
didn't reply right away, but then he said, "I'm flying to Dallas as soon
as I can arrange it."

"Does
Detective Grove know?"

"No. 
I'm going to see what I can find out."

"Max."

"Don't
worry, Amanda.  I'll be discreet.  I have to do all that I can to get to the
truth, sooner rather than later."

"Good
luck," she whispered, her voice catching.  Old memories always did that to
her...made her wish for a time she could never have back again.

When
Max said "goodbye," she closed the lid on the candle.

****

"Finally,"
Shara muttered as she sat at her computer late Monday night.  A reply to her
e-mail had finally come in.  She read it greedily, so grateful she had this one
friend she could count on.

Shara—I'm
so sorry to hear about what happened.  You must have been so embarrassed, not
only by your mother, but by your boyfriend.  If he's still your boyfriend.  You
told me that you love him, but do you?  Do you really?  Can you love someone
who's
so cavalier about you and your feelings and what's good for you?

Shara
had no idea what "cavalier" meant.  She could look it up on the dictionary
app.  But it didn't really matter.  She read on...

I know
you're a beautiful girl.  Anyone seeing your pictures on Branches knows that. 
If Brad can't see your beauty then he doesn't deserve you.

If you
were here with me I'd take you for a cable car ride to the top of Sandia Peak. 
You could look down onto the whole world and maybe put it all in perspective. 
Since you can't be here, I'll put a couple of pictures up on my page and you
can take a virtual trip.

Why
don't you come to the chat room and have a little fun?  We'll talk about
everything that doesn't matter.

Justin

Justin
was so different from Brad.  She could tell him anything.  She could tell him everything. 
He seemed to understand it all, from cutting classes to wanting to wear trendy
clothes, to hating how her mother kept tabs on her.  His profile said he was a
year older than Brad.  Nineteen.

She
typed in,
Let's go to the chat room,
and hit SEND.  At least
there
she could be herself.  At least
there
, her mother couldn't tell her what
to say, do or feel.

****

Chapter
Three

"Yes,
I'm Mark Hansen, but if you're selling something—"

Clare
squared her shoulders, ready to take on Brad's father Wednesday evening.  She'd
been leaving phone messages for him for two days and he hadn't bothered to
answer them.  She hadn't gone into detail, not wanting to put him on the
defensive.

Now,
he'd finally picked up his phone and she was going to make sure he knew what
had happened.  "I'm not selling anything.  Your son is dating my
daughter."

The
silence that followed was rife with all the questions he wasn't asking.  He
finally settled on, "Is there a problem?"

"Yes,
there is.  Your son is eighteen.  Correct?"

"Yes,
he is."  Hansen sounded wary.

"My
daughter, Shara, is sixteen.  When I came home early on Monday, she'd cut
classes and they were having sex in her bedroom.  I walked in on them."

"Maybe
you should have knocked," he wisecracked.

Clare
counted to fifteen.  She knew people often said strange things when they were
surprised or upset.  She didn't know which Mr. Hansen was.  She didn't care. 
All she cared about was protecting her daughter—the daughter who still wasn't
speaking to her.

"As
I said, Mr. Hansen, your son's eighteen, my daughter's sixteen.  What he was
doing to her was grounds for statutory rape."

"Hey! 
Wait a minute.  They're two teenagers having some fun."

"Unprotected
fun."  Unfortunately she hadn't been able to get Shara an appointment with
her gynecologist for another two weeks.

"What
was your name again?  I didn't catch it on the machine."

"My
name is Clare Thaddeus.  Your son isn't a good influence on Shara and I'd like
you to talk to him."

"You
work at the hospital, don't you?  Brad pointed you out to me last month.  He'd
had an accident on his bike and needed X-rays."

"I
don't remember seeing him there—"

"Oh,
you didn't take care of him.  You came running through looking for a
patient."

She
didn't know what any of this had to do with anything.  Certainly not Shara. 
"Mr. Hansen—"

He
interrupted her again.  "Call me Mark."

"All
right.  Mark.  Do you think you could have a talk with Brad?  I really believe
he's too old for her.  At the least, he needs to respect the rules she lives
under.  I don't want her cutting classes to be with him."  She didn't want
Shara spending time with Brad Hansen at all, but she couldn't just come right
out and say that, could she?

"I
think we should talk about this.  Are you busy this weekend?  We could catch a
bite to eat somewhere."

Her
hesitation was obvious.

"Look,
Clare, Brad's not a bad kid and I'm sure your daughter isn't, either."

"Of
course, she's not!"

"Right. 
Well, maybe we could give each other a little support.  Think about meeting me
somewhere this weekend.  You have my number."

"Will
you talk to Brad? "

"We
had the birds and bees talk a long time ago," he said tersely.  "What
else would you like me to tell him?"

"Tell
him Shara is off limits."

She
hung up.  Her instincts told her speaking to Mark Hansen longer or meeting him
somewhere would serve no earthly purpose.

****

"Soda
water do it for you?"  Frank Grey, a law school buddy of Max's from
Dickinson, slipped onto the stool next to him at a Tex-Mex bar in Dallas,
Texas, Thursday at lunchtime.

"Soda
water
has
to do it," Max said agreeably, greeting his old friend.

"Then
why did you want to meet here?  We could have picked any restaurant."

"I
hear the chili verde and the tortillas are the best in the state.  Besides,
every once in a while I have to remind myself how stupid I was twenty-whatever
years ago.  It helps to keep me on track now."

He
extended his hand to Frank and they shook.  "You look good."  Max
hadn't seen Frank for five years.  "I think more hair dropped from the top
of your head to your face, though."

Frank's
beard had grown fuller and a little longer as the hair on top of his head had
thinned.  But in a tan suit and a brown-striped tie, his cream shirt not having
lost all its starch, he was a pretty good specimen after having lived over half
a century.

Frank
shrugged.  "Ellie seems to like it.  After thirty years, I still try to
keep her happy."  Shifting on the stool, he faced Max more squarely. 
"You said on the phone you got to town on Tuesday.  You also sounded
frustrated.  What can I do?"

Frank's
corporate law practice had nothing to do with the kinds of cases Max now
tackled in the arena of juvenile law.  But Max often tapped into lawyer friends
across the country when he was testifying before Congress, helping
representatives write new legislation, keeping tabs on the child abduction
network and organizations for missing children.  Frank had donated generously
to a couple of Max's causes and helped him with contacts in Texas.

"I
don't think there's anything you can do."  Max had filled in Frank on the
phone with everything Grove and the FBI had told him.  "Just keep your ear
to the network.  I know you hear things.  When I met with the FBI here
yesterday, the agent was understanding and empathetic.  But he didn't have new
information.  Apparently their office in Pittsburgh has been working closely
with Grove.  He found all this but they're putting their resources behind him. 
I thought since Brown's journal was unearthed in Texas, I could find out other
details here.  But either no one knows any more or they're just not telling
because it's an ongoing investigation.  You know how that goes.  I even had an
appointment with the Dallas D.A. yesterday, but he's as closemouthed as the
rest of them."

"Their
secrecy might have more to do with the families of the girls listed in Brown's
book than with Brown himself.  After all, he's on death row.  What more can
they do to him except execute him?"

"Yeah. 
What more can they do to him?"  Max knew his fury and bitterness were in
his voice, but there was nothing he could do about that.  Both had settled in
his gut and become old friends.

"Is
the soda water really going to get you through this?"  Frank's steady
brown eyes wanted to know the truth.

"You
mean waiting to find out whether my daughter's dead or alive?"

"That
and dredging it all up again."

By
all
,
Max knew exactly what Frank meant.  Besides the abduction, there had been the
disintegration of his life—the disintegration of his marriage and his family as
he'd known it.  He'd been powerless to stop it.  He didn't cope well with being
powerless.  Never had, never would.  That's why he'd come to Dallas while
Amanda sat in her antique shop waiting for the call she hoped would come. 
Those were the kind of differences that had torn them apart.  She'd chosen
antiques.  He'd chosen child advocacy.

"How's
Amanda?" Frank asked quietly as if he'd read Max's thought process.

At that
moment the bartender strolled up the bar from the group he'd been serving at
the other end and nodded to Frank.  Frank glanced at Max with an unspoken
question—
If he ordered liquor, would it bother his friend?

"Order
whatever you want," Max insisted.  Not long after he'd joined AA, he'd
learned how to be around booze and other people drinking it.  It was never a
cakewalk, but he'd become detached from it.  He'd just made everything else in
his life matter more.

Frank
opted for the easy way out.  "Just give me whatever's on tap."

The
bartender, with a spring of youth in his step, gave him a thumbs up sign and
went to fetch the beer.

Frank's
gaze met Max's and Max knew he'd have to answer his friend's question about his
ex-wife.  "Amanda and I don't talk much.  She's all emotion right now.  I
can't deal with that."