Missing (16 page)

It's the first time anyone has called for Marion. I wonder if I'm speaking to someone in London (the only place I can think of in England), although the connection is so clear the woman could be in the next room. I hesitate. I'm pretty sure this woman is calling long distance, but Marion made it clear that she wanted to be left alone.

“She doesn't want to be disturbed,” I say. “She's not feeling well. Maybe I could take a message.”

The woman is insistent. “It's important that I talk to her.”

“Well…”

“It's about her sister.” There is a pause and then she says, “It's about Esta.”

T
wenty

Of course I get Marion. She takes the call in the office. She has thrown a long red poncho over her dressing gown and she's wearing a pair of gumboots. We've both left pools of water on the floor. Trembling, I wipe them up with an old towel. Marion has shut the office door. I can hear the murmur of her voice, but I can't make out what she is saying.

I am reeling with shock. Esta is not a common name. Except for Esta Willard, I have never heard of anyone called Esta. So for one crazy second, when the woman on the phone said Marion's sister was Esta, I thought that Marion was Livia. I don't believe in ghosts but maybe—
somehow
—Livia miraculously survived whatever it was that happened almost sixty years ago.

I don't really believe that. I believe that Livia is dead. So there is only one other thing that makes sense. Marion must be Iris.

I'm trembling with confusion and something that feels like anger or even betrayal. What is Marion (the name is a lie, but I can't think of her as Iris—not yet) doing here? What does she want?

I'm staring out the window, watching the rain lash the gray lake, my thoughts spinning around in circles, when I hear her put the phone down.

“That was my friend in England,” she says, coming out of the office. “It's my sister. She hasn't been well, but she's much worse now. I'll have to go back to England right away.”

I turn around. “You mean Esta,” I say. “Your sister Esta.”

Something flickers through Marion's eyes, almost as if she is afraid.

She knows I know.

My heart starts to race. “You're Iris Willard,” I blurt out.

Marion is silent but her face has drained of color. I know I am right.

The back of my neck feels icy. “I don't understand. Why did you lie? Why did you say your name was Marion Wilson?”

When Marion finally speaks, her voice is calm. “I didn't know if there was anyone here who would remember the Willard case. It was so long ago I figured it was unlikely, but I thought it was better to remain anonymous. So I used a different name. And I told my friend Louise—that's the woman who called—that she was to ask for Marion Wilson if she needed to contact me.”

“You said you had friends who stayed here ten years ago,” I say. “Did you make that up too?”

“I had to give Tully some reason why I wanted to come to the ranch. He was so adamant that he wasn't open for business yet. So, yes, I invented the story of my friends loving it here. I told him that I probably wouldn't be back in Canada again and that this was my only chance to stay here.”

Marion presses her fingers against her forehead. She looks gray. “I can't talk about this anymore right now, Thea. My head is splitting. This is going to have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Just tell me one thing,” I say. “Why
are
you here?”

“I'm looking for Livia,” she says simply.

Van and I talk on the phone late into the night. Van is excited because he thinks we are closer to clearing his grandfather's name. We go over and over the possible scenarios. It always comes back to one thing: the wasps.

We know that Marion has been looking up anaphylactic shock and wasp stings on the Internet. We know that there was a wasp nest at the old cabin and that something or someone had knocked it down. We know that Esta and Iris used to play there. The fact that they were forbidden to go there that summer means nothing, Van and I agree. Kids always do what they're not supposed to do.

Just suppose Esta had taken Iris and Livia to the cabin that day. Just suppose Livia had been stung…

If Livia died of anaphylactic shock, someone must have known. Someone must have hidden her body. There is only one possible person: Esta. But why did she do it?

And Iris—how much did Iris know?

T
wenty-
O
ne

Marion (I don't think I will ever be able to call her Iris) looks much older the next day. Her face is gray and her eyes are shadowed with black circles. She finds me with Renegade. I have just fed him, and for a few minutes we lean against the fence and watch him eat.

“I'm leaving this afternoon,” she says. “I'm driving back to Vancouver and flying to England tomorrow morning.”

“Is it serious? Esta, I mean?” I ask.

“Very. She has cancer. She only has a few weeks left to live. I want to be there with her.” Marion turns and looks at the barn. “This isn't the barn that was here when I was a child,” she says. “It was much bigger and it had an enormous hay loft. I don't remember much about our holidays here but I do remember the barn. I used to practically live in it. I wonder if they tore it down, or perhaps it burned down.”

Marion does something unexpected then. She reaches out and grips my hand. Her fingers are icy. “This isn't easy for me.”

“It isn't easy for Heb and May either,” I blurt out.

Marion drops my hand. “Heb and May?” She sounds uncertain.

“My friend Van's grandparents. They were working at the ranch when Livia disappeared.”

“I remember,” says Marion slowly. “May was the cook. We loved her. And her husband Heb. He was wonderful with us kids.”

“Esta said that she saw Livia riding in Heb's truck the afternoon she disappeared.”

“Yes,” says Marion softly. “Yes, that's what she said.”

I take a deep breath. “Van and I know about the wasp nest at the old cabin. We think Livia died from wasp stings.”

Marion doesn't look surprised. Just tired. “All these years that I've thought about it, I didn't remember going to the cabin that day,” she says. “They say you block out memories that are too painful. Maybe that's what I did. Oh, I had a vague picture of a cabin where we used to play. I don't think I liked it, but I didn't like most of the things Esta made me do. I didn't remember going there on the day Livia disappeared. But on Saturday, when I went back to look at the cabin, after all this time, I did remember.”

So I
had
seen Marion in the cabin. My heart starts to beat hard. “What did you remember?”

“There was a huge wasp nest over the back door,” says Marion slowly. “We had been forbidden to play there that summer because of it. I wonder now if my stepmother was allergic to wasps and was afraid that Livia might be allergic too. Or if she knew how dangerous a wasp sting could be for an asthmatic.”

Marion is silent for a moment, her face etched with pain.

Then she says quietly, “I remember Esta throwing the rock.”

Marion's words stun me. An icy chill settles over my back and neck. I stare at her in horror.

“Livia was standing under the nest. I was down by the lake. Perhaps I had stood up for myself for once and refused to go in the cabin. I don't know. Maybe Esta told Livia there was a surprise for her inside. This is all conjecture. I don't remember. But for some reason Livia was under the nest—I do remember that—and Esta threw a rock and the nest fell down.”

“Livia was stung,” I say.

“Many many times, I expect,” says Marion. She adds softly, “I'm sure Esta never thought the nest would fall. She might have thought Livia would get stung once. She hated Livia, you see. She was so jealous of her. But I can't believe that she ever wanted her to die.”

I don't know what to say. I wish Van were here. A chilly wind is blowing and I hug my arms to my chest. Renegade walks over to the fence, a wisp of hay hanging from his mouth. I stroke his face.

“That's all I can tell you, Thea,” says Marion. “I don't know what happened after that. I remember nothing between that and my aunt coming from England. Why didn't I tell anyone what I saw? I don't know. I was so young. And afraid of my sister.”

“May says they found you in your cabin, asleep. She says you cried and cried and were hysterical when the police talked to you.”

“I expect I was afraid to tell. Maybe I was confused. When I was little, I was so frightened of Esta.”

I remember May saying
It's a terrible thing, to be
afraid of your own sister
.

The sky, heavy and gray, bursts open all of a sudden, showering us with rain, and we dash for the barn. We stand in the doorway, watching the rain drench the ground, forming puddles almost instantly. Renegade has disappeared inside his shelter.

“There's something that doesn't makes sense,” I say. “Why didn't Esta go for help? Why did she just let Livia die?”

“I think Livia probably stopped breathing within minutes. Esta must have panicked. In a sense, she had killed Livia, even though she didn't mean to. Maybe she thought she would be charged with murder.

I don't know.” Marion sighs. “It all happened such a long, long time ago. In some ways it doesn't matter now.”

I think of Heb's and May's suffering and I feel angry again. “If you really believe that, then why are you here?” I say.

“I want to find Livia's body,” says Marion. “I want her to have a proper burial.”

“But why now? It's been almost sixty years. Why did you come back now? And what if we're wrong? What if Esta had nothing to do with it?”

At first I don't think Marion is going to answer me. And then she says, “Let's go back to my cabin. There's something I'd like to show you.”

It's Livia's gold necklace. She takes it out of the box and puts it in my hand. My cheeks flush. I can't tell Marion that I've already seen it.

“Where did you get it?” I say.

“I found it a few weeks ago,” says Marion. “In Esta's house.”

I stare at Marion, trying to figure out what that means.

“I didn't even know Esta was sick,” says Marion. “Esta left my aunt and uncle's when she turned eighteen. We never stayed in touch. I wasn't afraid of her anymore but we were never close. I lived with my aunt and uncle even after I grew up. When they died, the training stable became mine. I never married, never wanted a family. I had lots of friends and, of course, my horses. I made a good life for myself. But Esta just disappeared.”

“Did you ever see her?”

“Once, in the distance, on a busy street in London. I thought of calling out to her but I didn't. I heard bits from time to time from an old friend of Esta's who still lived in our village. Nothing very good. Esta became an alcoholic and was in and out of rehab clinics for years. And then my friend Louise went to visit a cousin who was in the hospital. Her cousin was sharing a room with a woman who has cancer. A nurse came in and called the woman Esta. Louise knew that I have a sister named Esta and that we're estranged. Because it's an unusual name, she looked at the chart at the end of her bed. It said
Esta Willard
.”