Pretty Wanted (11 page)

“I grew up skiing every winter. And I still love it.”

Tre laughed, though not his usual gleeful, full-throated laugh. “Just so you know: Detroit and the Alps, not quite the same thing.”

They were joking, I knew that, but a small alarm went off inside my head. This bickering was bad for all of us. No doubt it was a difficult situation we were in, one that could bring out the worst in anyone, but we couldn’t let any more bad blood tear us apart now.

No, I needed them to be on the same page. Mediating was going to have to be my job, I realized.

“It’s probably right around this bend,” I said, trying to call their attention back to the matter at hand.

The road wound around into a traffic rotary with a turnoff on the left-hand side for Manderleigh. Finally. The snow was falling faster and thicker now, a soft carpet of it muffling our footsteps.

When I saw what was ahead of us, I drew in a breath. Impossibly large, sprawling houses emerged on both sides of the pavement, colonial mansions and black-shuttered Federal-style homes. It was a neighborhood, but the homes were set back behind long driveways and there was at least a half mile of snow-covered lawn between them.

“We’re looking for 11208,” I said.

“Do you think we should have maybe called first?” Aidan asked.

I didn’t. I’d thought about this and decided it would be harder to explain the whole situation over the phone. If we showed up at her door, she’d have a tougher time pushing us away.

“What if she’s not there?” Tre said.

I could not even entertain that possibility. “Then we wait.”

“She better be there and she better have cocoa,” he said. “The good kind. None of that Swiss Miss BS.”

“I’ll put in an order as soon as we get there,” I muttered.

We found the house, an ochre three-story structure with French-style wrought-iron balconies and plantation shutters. A mailbox that was an amazingly detailed miniature version of the house stood guard at the end of the driveway. Out front, the walls of hedges on either side of the driveway were spun with Christmas lights and a dusting of snow.

“Whoa,” Tre said. “Pretty sick.”

“C’mon,” I said, urging them up the walk. I thought it was nice, too, but we weren’t here to shoot an episode of
Cribs.

“Can’t we wait here?” Aidan asked. “Seems kind of shady for the three of us to show up at her door. We might intimidate her.”

“No,” I said. “Waiting and lurking around would be infinitely more shady.”

Also, I couldn’t admit it out loud, but I wanted their backup.

Hand trembling, I reached up and rapped on the brass pineapple-shaped knocker.

“Pineapple’s good. It stands for hospitality, right?” Aidan said, clearly rattled.

“Why are
you
so nervous?” I asked. “We just did this.”

“I know. But this time, it’s a bigger deal, don’t you think?”

It was. I was plenty nervous myself, and Aidan’s nervousness was not canceling it out. It was kind of amplifying it.

I didn’t have time to answer before the door opened to a petite woman with frosted hair, coiffed into a wedge shape. She looked like a mom. A real mom, I mean. Not like Leslie. She had wrinkles around her eyes, a teal-colored, blousy, tunic-y type of top, and the kind of sensible shoes I’d seen at the walking store at the mall. But she also had a gigantic round rock on her left ring finger, a diamond set in platinum. Maybe it was the thief in me, but I couldn’t help noticing that.

“Are you Toni?” I asked.

She frowned, eyeing the three of us. “Are you with Greenpeace or something?”

“No,” I said, noticing the coffered ceiling and long gallery hallway framing her. The place looked like an art gallery, with rows of original paintings lit by tiny brass lamps. I thought of Leslie, how much she would love it. “We’re here for something else. I think you knew my mother? Her name was Brianna Siebert.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” Her head turned a few degrees away from us, as she prepared to walk away.

No, no, no. Don’t shut the door on us. Not when we’ve come this far.

“You might have known her as Angela Chambers,” I added quickly, remembering.

Then it must have clicked, because she took in a sudden gasp of breath.

She looked at me again and I could practically feel her scanning the image in her mind and computing the information. Her eyes filled with recognition. Her voice, though, was flat, almost disbelieving. “Angela’s daughter.”

“We wanted to ask you a few questions and find out a little about her.”

I leaned in slightly and glimpsed a curving, carved wooden staircase and Persian carpet behind her. Two large urns sat on either side of the stairs, each filled with gigantic bunches of orchids. A Christmas tree towered over the room to our left, filling the air with its piney scent. Whoever she was, this Toni Cumberland lived the sweet life.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. That was a long time ago.”

“But you knew her,” I said quickly, sensing she was about to turn away.

She put her palm on the door frame. “Look, I didn’t want to get involved in whatever trouble she was mixed up in then, and I certainly don’t want to now. Talk to the police.”

“But
you
never did, did you?” I tried. Her name hadn’t been on the witness list.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I’m very busy and I need to be somewhere.”

She shut the door, then. Leaving us on the step.

I turned back to Aidan and Tre.

“Now what?” Tre asked.

Aidan put his hand on the pineapple. “We could try again.”

“No,” I said, walking down the driveway and they followed me. I circled back behind the large hedge wall as I made my way to the left side of the house. I crouched down into a squat, making a place for myself on the frost-crunchy lawn.

“Seriously, Willa. What are you doing?” Aidan hissed.

“Waiting for her to go do whatever she’s supposed to do,” I whispered. There was no way I was leaving now, not when we’d finally found somebody who knew her. Maybe Toni wasn’t going to talk to us but that didn’t mean we couldn’t get some more information. The thought occurred to me then. What if Toni somehow knew more than she was letting on? She’d definitely blown us off.

They looked at each other, exchanging what were probably skeptical glances but they knelt down next to me, anyway. We watched through the window as Toni’s receding back disappeared across the hallway into what looked like her living room, though it had to be the size of half of a football field. Then she came into view again, right in front of us in an office of sorts, with a massive mahogany desk. Tre threw an arm across our bodies, signaling for us to get lower. But she seemed to be too preoccupied to notice us.

From the ground, I craned my neck up to keep watching. She sat down at the desk chair and leaned over to open a drawer on her right. She fished out a small black book, set it down on the desk and flipped through the pages, shaking her head.

What was she looking for?

She picked up the book again, hugged it close to her chest, and then left the room.

“Where’s she going with that?” I asked. I could no longer see her.

Aidan was up on his feet, following her along the length of the house.

“Looks like she went upstairs,” he whisper-called to us. “I can’t see up there.”

We stayed where we were, the snowflakes dampening our skin and clothes. I put my hand in my pocket and nervously stroked the little museum tag. That book. The way she was holding it. It had to be something important. I knew there was more we could get here.

“You’re planning on going in, aren’t you?” Tre asked.

I nodded. He looked away, shaking his head. But he knew he couldn’t stop me or make me feel guilty. A couple of locks stood between me and my mom. If I had to break them, then so be it.

A few moments later, we heard the garage door sliding up with a creak. A white Beamer pulled out with Toni behind the wheel. She reversed down the driveway, pivoted left, and then drove down to the end of her street, signaling a right turn.

Time for us to get in there. I got up and circled around the back of the house. There was a long, covered pool out back surrounded by a maze of hedges, marble sculptures, and a stone patio—and even better, I saw, sliding glass doors. That was something I’d never tried in any of my previous break-ins, but it was a useful method—Tre had told me about it himself. I leaned up against the glass to check for bars or rods. None.

I took a quick look behind me—the fresh snow was already filling in my footprints. Nature’s own forensic foe.

I grasped the handle with my right hand and used my left to apply pressure to the frame. Aidan came behind me and added his weight. We leaned forward, pushing. Nothing.

“If we do it your way, we’ll never get in.” Tre quickly looked in both directions behind us. Then he pushed up to the door. “Did you learn anything? Look. Let me just show you.”

He stretched out his arms along the length of the glass and grunted. Within seconds, the door was off its track. He was able to lift it up completely, making an opening, and we stepped into what looked like a morning room, a little seating area with a leather banquette, lush plants, and a wall of stocked bookshelves filled with cookbooks. A chandelier dripped its crystals from the ceiling overhead and there were oil paintings of fruit on the walls, a built-in espresso machine, and a juice bar. This is where they had their Cheerios or whatever? Jeez.

“That was too easy,” Aidan said.

“When you know what you’re doing,” Tre said, breathing hard. He set the door back on the track, popping it into place.

“Thanks,” I said to Tre. Obviously, we were better off with his help.

“Let’s make this quick, a’ight?” he said. He found a kitchen towel and wiped our prints off the door. “We have no idea when she’ll be back. And since she didn’t set the alarm, I’m assuming it’ll be soon.”

“I don’t want to spend a lot of time here,” I said, taking off my shoes, and motioning for them to do the same. We couldn’t go leaving a bunch of tracks in her house. “I just want to find that book.”

“I’m giving you ten minutes,” Tre said. “Starting now.”

I walked through the kitchen and into the hallway, carrying my sneakers in my hand, crossing over to the office where Toni had been sitting. There were several photos on the wall of weddings and parties, awards for the Belles Nuits catering company. That must have been Toni’s business. No pictures of my mom or anything that I could see, not that I was expecting that. But there was the still-ajar file drawer. I knelt down and thumbed through some of the hanging folders. Looked like bills, some tax paperwork, receipts. Actual work stuff. Nothing of interest to us.

“I’ll look around here,” Aidan said. “You can go upstairs.”

Careful to leave everything the way it was, I crept back out into the hallway and found the stairway. There were a few smaller bedrooms at the top—and by smaller, I mean about fifteen times the size of the one I had in Paradise Valley—their doors open to reveal perfectly neat and tidy beds, carpets, shelving. If Toni had any kids, none of them were living here now.

The master bedroom was at the end of the landing. I made my way in there. The beige carpet was endless and plush and soothing underneath my socks. Here, too, the bed was tightly made with a taupe satiny bedspread pulled smooth across it, tempting me with its jumpability. I tried her night table first, looking into the drawers. An e-reader, some glasses, cough drops, spare pens. No black book.

A giant, gilt-framed, probably antique mirror hung from the wall across the bed. I caught my reflection, thin and stealthy as a shadow, as I crossed the room toward the master bath with its white porcelain stand-alone tub and marble floor. Next to it was a huge shower stall, the kind that could fit more than one person, with spa jets and tiny, blue-glass mosaic tiles. A vanity table was covered with enough fancy perfumes and creams to stock a Sephora store. Toni definitely had good taste.

The closet doors were on either side of the bathroom. I tried the handle of the one on the right. Closed but not locked. I walked down the center aisle between enormous spans of shelving that would have made even Kellie jealous. Judging by the dresses and scarves and the wall of heels, this was definitely a hers and not a his.

I knelt down on the floor, where there was a row of matching white fabric bins, the kind Leslie used to store things that didn’t fit anywhere else. Same thing here. A pair of Rollerblades. A wooden box. I reached over to dig it out. Inside was a collection of random keepsakes: a few kid’s drawings, pressed flowers, a wartime medal. Also, tucked in the middle—a small black book.

My breath pumped hot and fast in my lungs. On closer inspection, I saw that it was a day planner, with a spiral binding and calendar pages for putting in appointments.

The year, stamped on gold in the front, was 1997.

I started flipping though. The first few pages, the first few days of January, appeared to be empty. On the fourth page was written
Leslie—back to school
.
Shift at BH 5
P
.
M
.

Blueberry Hill. Leslie. Could this really be my mom’s book? Why did Toni have it? I got up and hurried downstairs, taking my discovery with me.

“I think I have what I need,” I called to Tre and Aidan who were assembled in the office. I looked at the clock on the wall. I’d made it in eight minutes.

How you like me now?

Just then, a distant rumbling. Couldn’t be thunder. . . . It took a few seconds to register and then we knew. The garage door was opening. She was back already. She must have gone out for milk or a paper. Or maybe she’d forgotten something. Or—and I didn’t want to think about this possibility—she was testing us all along. What if she was in cahoots with Chet and Bailey?

When you Sly Foxed enough, you started to see everyone as a sneak, every action as a scheme, the whole world as a conspiracy theory.

“Perfect timing,” Tre said, though of course he was being sarcastic.

We looked around, quickly assessing our options. Tre’s rule of thumb had always been to leave the way you came. That put us in a bind now. We were closer to the front door than the slider, but the front door was only feet away from the garage and we risked running into her in the hall before we got there. I could hear a car door echoing shut. Wherever we were going, we had about thirty seconds to get there.