Revelations (15 page)

Oy vey
, Jane said to herself. The red string around the kid’s wrist—she was dabbling in the fashionable faith of the rich and famous. Mystic Judaism. Looked like Mollie decided to stick the Almighty cross in her parents’ back and twist it. “Why’d she choose Liora?”

Sara shook her head, one eyebrow arched. “It’s just so weird…” She seemed lost for a moment.

“Weird?”

“Oh, uh, I shouldn’t say
weird
. It’s just an…interesting
name to pick out of the blue.” Sara let out a hard breath. “It means
my light
and
I see
.”

“You checked that out online, huh?”

“No.” Sara quickly caught herself. “Well,
yeah
. Yeah. I checked it out. I wouldn’t know that offhand.”

The woman was becoming increasingly nervous in front of Jane’s eyes. It reminded Jane of the same vibe that oozed off guilty suspects across the table in the interrogation room. Her daughter’s decision to become a mystic Jew and change her name was having a nerve-wracking effect on Sara.

Jane was at a loss. “I guess it could have been worse. She could have called herself
Delilah
. Explain that name at Sunday service, right?”

Sara managed a smile. “Tell me about it!” she uttered with a wave of her hand. “I’ll let you go. I’m sure you want to change.”

Jane took a gander at her scruffy appearance and realized that Sara was essentially telling her to put on another shirt and pair of jeans. It was almost like this Christian woman had turned into the Jewish mother who insists she doesn’t want to get involved while she’s busy getting involved.

After signing the registration and finding out that she and Weyler were the sole guests—thanks to the
off season
timeframe—Jane climbed the paisley-carpeted stairs that led to a crisp white hallway. Lined with more historic photos from Midas and northern Colorado, the hallway led past two cheerful doors, each with a brass plaque and engraved flowery name instead of a number. One was
The Rose Room
and the other,
The Lilac Room.
Sara had told Jane that her room was at the end of the hallway. She had to pause momentarily when she saw the name on the brass plaque. It was
The Gardenia Room.

 

Jane crossed the threshold and found a sizeable space in which to spread out. The Gardenia Room featured a generous king-size bed with a gauzy canopy, an ornate writing desk, two overstuffed chairs, a wooden rocker by the window, a dark
wooden table and matching dresser along with two sizeable windows that allowed plenty of light into the dreamy setting. The bathroom had a black-and-white tiled floor, a clawfoot bathtub and Victorian-styled sink. A platter of pillar candles sat on a wicker table. Unlike the showy ones at the Van Gorden’s monolithic house, these candles had actually seen some activity. As Jane scanned the bathroom and then the main area, she realized this was most likely the
honeymoon suite
. She could almost hear the pillow talk and wet kisses on the conjugal bed and see the longing gazes between past lovers who had occupied the room. The thought crossed her mind that the only action this place was going to see with Jane Perry was late nights spent connecting the distorted dots of a confusing case.

Weyler knocked and Jane opened the door. He carried her duffel bag into the room. “You travel light, Jane.”

“I figured three days max.”

“And you packed accordingly?” He deposited her small bag on a nearby chair. “We’re going to be here longer than three days.”

Jane let out a sullen breath. “Yeah, I know that now.” Weyler handed her a paper bag with a sandwich inside. It was courtesy of Sara who was apparently concerned that Jane “looked hungry.” “You bring copies of the kidnapper’s clues?”

Weyler unzipped his briefcase. “No. I brought the originals.” He handed Jane the stack of clues, all sealed in their plastic evidence bags. “Vi typed transcriptions of the phone calls.”

Jane took them from Weyler. “What’d you have to tell Bo to get the originals?”

“Promise him we’ll solve the kidnapping.”

Jane carefully laid down the stack on the bureau. “Boss, this whole case has a sick stench. It’s got…” Jane tried to wrap her mind around what her gut was feeling.

“Contradictions,” Weyler stated.

“Exactly!” This is what Jane liked about Weyler. He was more than a sounding board; he was like having an analytical
twin that used careful logic and reasoning to solve crimes. “It’s JDLR,” Jane stated, realizing she sounded like his good buddy, Bo.

“’Just Doesn’t Look Right,’” he said with a smile. “It sure doesn’t.”

She unbuttoned her leather jacket and brought out the sketchpad she stole from Jake’s room. “Check this out!” With that, she flipped the pages to create the disturbing animation of the man hanging himself in a jail cell. Weyler was stunned that she jobbed the pad, but Jane assured him that his parents would never miss it. “Carol’s not allowed in his room,” she revealed. “And his ol’ man? I doubt he’s been able to pull himself away from a mirror long enough to remember he’s got a missing son.” Jane set the pad on the table. “When you go to the gym, do you wear your finest Colorado wannabe duds and pour half a tube of gel in your hair?”

“I don’t go to the gym and I don’t own a tube of gel,” Weyler stated dryly. “But I get your point.”

“And that dangling comment he made a couple times?
Little shit?
I don’t think he was talking about Jordan. I think he was talking about Jake.”

“Let’s not jump too fast here, Jane. There are a lot of random emotions going on right now. We can’t assume that every one of them creates another dot that we can connect.”

Like the fact that Bailey’s SUV had an odd, sweet and sour stench to it,
Jane thought. Or that she was certain Bailey lied when he said he hadn’t been out of the house in six days and that the last time was to go to the gym. And that trip was during the day, according to his own words. Why then was his rearview mirror flipped for driving at night? And the coup de grâce? Bailey wasn’t headed to the gym an hour ago. Why lie? Was it that he needed to get away and clear his head? If that was so, why dress up for the occasion? But Jane declined to mention any of these dots to Weyler. Right now, he was right. It was all premature assumptions. But that didn’t mean Jane wasn’t going
to hold them like a grudge in her back pocket and bring them out when the time was ripe.

 

 

It took Jane under two minutes to unpack. She removed the cigarette pack that held the single smoke and set it on the table against the wall so it could stand up and be seen from various angles in the room. Sure, it was unnecessary and masochistic, but when you look at life through tortured eyes, it makes sense to create a tapestry where suffering is sewn into the fabric. She changed her clothes, secured her Glock under her leather jacket, gobbled down her sandwich and then decided to attack the first clue sent to the Van Gordens—Thomas Wolfe’s,
You Can’t Go Home Again
. Jane wanted to take a closer look at the sympathy card and envelope that had accompanied the book. Pulling the card from protective plastic evidence bag, Jane noted the strange
BAWY
scribbled on the envelope in shaky writing. Jane’s first thought was that it looked like it was either a child’s unsteady hand or done to make it
look
like a child’s writing. She opened the saccharin-designed sympathy card and read the two short lines:
So sorry for your loss. JACKson sends his regards
. Jake went by his middle name so why was the kidnapper emphasizing the first four letters of his true first name? Could it be the kidnapper’s name? If so, why draw attention to it?

The card had been secured in the book on the dog-eared page of 243. Jane carried the book to the sunny window and scanned the page. The chapter was titled, “A Moment of Decision.” The narrative spoke about George Webber attending a social gathering and how uncomfortable it made him feel. Jane searched for anything on the page that could be construed as a clue. Obviously, the kidnapper dog-eared this page for a specific reason. But why? At the top of the page, the narrative read:
He had used the phrases as symbols of something real, something important that he had felt instinctively but had never put into words.
Certainly the bizarre clues were partly symbolic in nature. Jane
read further in that paragraph:
There was something else—something impersonal, something much bigger than himself, something that mattered greatly to him and would not be denied.
The sentence seemed to ring loudly for Jane.
Something that mattered greatly to him and would not be denied.
As Jane continued reading, it seemed that every few lines she’d find something that
might
be important. But there were thirty-six lines of type on page 243. Which lines, if any, were noteworthy and could lead her to Jake Van Gorden?

There was an interesting line in the middle of the page that caught her eye.
He watched their faces closely and tried to penetrate behind the social masks they wore, probing, boring, searching as for some clue that might lead him to an answer to his riddle.
Jane set down the book. The term
social masks
reminded her of the disincarnated visage of Carol Van Gorden. What secrets hid so well behind Carol’s well-worn mask? And what lurked behind the jutting jaw and perfectly coiffed mien of her husband?

As Jane turned back to the stack of clues, she realized that she needed to create a system in which she could absorb all the material in one fluid motion. She glanced outside and spotted the clothesline across the backyard of the B&B. Yes, this would work. Sneaking downstairs, she quietly exited the house and crept around to the backyard. Checking around to make sure nobody could see her, she untied one end of the clothesline, grabbed a good handful of clothespins and stealthily returned upstairs to her room. Jane secured the line on a window hook and pulled it just in front of the bank of windows in an attempt to create a taut line at eye level. However, she was shy about four feet from where she wanted to hook the other end. Looking down into the backyard again, she factored that another leg of the clothesline would be necessary. She trotted downstairs again, dodging any potential contact with the Greens, and returned to steal the second length of clothesline.

But just as she untied the line and started to twist it into a manageable clump, she smelled a smoky aroma that originated
from the stand of trees and bushes that separated the B&B from the next property. Moving guardedly toward the area, the strong smoky odor got stronger. The trail ended with the sullen face of Mollie Green seated against a tree, iPod earbuds in place, smoking a peculiar hand-rolled cigarette.

Mollie’s probing dark eyes showed no sign of fear. In fact, the look was more of indignation as Jane approached her. She removed her earbuds. “So, you’re a
ganef?
” she stated in a haughty tone. “A
thief
!”

Jane looked down at the clothesline. “I’m using this in the line of duty,” she responded, stone-faced. “Like when a cop borrows a car to chase a criminal. Same thing.”

Mollie regarded Jane with a curl of her lip. “You’re a
meshuggeneh
.”

“
I’m
crazy?” Jane retorted, undaunted. “I’m not the one sitting in a clump of dirt, smoking fake weed and pretending to be a Jew.”

“How’d you know it was fake?” Mollie stood up.

“What? The Jew part or the
doobie
?”

Mollie immediately took umbrage. “The Jew part is
not
fake!”

Jane took the bogus blunt out of Mollie’s hand and sniffed it. “What is this?”

Mollie spied Jane’s Glock under her jacket. “Catnip. If you drink the tea it’s supposed to calm you down. Same thing with smoking it.”

“Your parents know you smoke catnip?”

“I don’t know,” Mollie said with a sarcastic flip. “Do
your
parents know
you
smoke cigarettes?”

“I quit smoking.”

“Really?” she retorted in a quick snap. “Your jacket reeks.”

“I quit yesterday.” It wasn’t normal for Jane to be so forthcoming, especially with a bratty, self-involved teenager. But it was her attempt at baiting Mollie—make the kid trust her and maybe she’d glean information.

“Yesterday?
Oi
! You’re gonna need something to calm your ass down. Here…” Mollie handed the withered-looking catnip joint to Jane.

For a split second, Jane actually entertained the idea. “No. I’ll probably get hooked. Then I’d have to join C.A.”

“Catnip Anonymous,” Mollie chimed, without missing a beat.

“You’ve got a quick mind.”

Mollie eyed Jane carefully, still not sure of her motives. “Jews have quick minds. That’s why we run the entertainment business.”

“Do you always hide your pain behind sarcasm?”

“Pain?” Mollie tried her best to remain stoic.

“Your black nail polish is half chewed off. You’re smoking catnip to calm down. And your breathing is real shallow. I’d say you’re freaking out about your boyfriend.”

“We broke up. He wasn’t my boyfriend when he disappeared.”

“Kind of hostile, Mollie.”

“
Liora
!”

“
Mollie
.” Jane wasn’t going to play her game. “You just turn your love off like that?”

“He tried to kill himself. I have good reason for being
ferklempt
! Suicide is a serious sin.”

“According to what? Kabballah?”

 

“The Jewish Law is clear. Suicide is forbidden.
Life
is what’s important.
This
life!”

“I got news for you, kid. You got a red string around your
wrist. It doesn’t make you a Jew. Don’t act so fucking high and mighty and condemn others about suicide in the name of a religion you don’t even own.”

Mollie looked at Jane. “I hit a nerve with you. You know someone who committed suicide, don’t you?”