Shadow of Doubt (12 page)

“I don't know yet.”

“
Yet?
”

“What about the flowers?” I said. “You said Mornov arrived in town two weeks ago. The flowers arrived right after that.”

My mother turned to me. “What flowers?”

I filled her in.

“Well, what about them?” she said to my father.

“I checked out the florist that Robyn said they came from. Garden of Eden, right?”

I nodded. “And?”

“Well, there's no such place anywhere near town that I could find,” my father said. “And the flowers were left in the school office at a time when it just happened that no one was there. So whoever sent them obviously took pains to make sure they couldn't be traced.”

“Anyone like, say, a stalker?” my mother said.

“It's possible.”

“
Possible?
” My mother threw up her arms.

“Look. Something doesn't add up. Call it a hunch. But from everything that Vern has found out, it's clear Melissa has a history of unpredictable behavior. I thought Ted should be aware of that. There's no question that she's afraid of this man. But given what Vern has been able to find out, it's possible that her fear is irrational. Based on her mom's experience. And it's possible she thinks that by accusing Mornov of stalking her, she can make him go away.”

My mom kept shaking her head.

“The two of them were going out,” my dad continued. “Then, according to what he told the police, she suddenly dumped him. He had no idea why. When he tried to find out what the problem was, she started accusing him of harassment. But the only accusations that were ever substantiated, the only charges that were ever laid, have to do with
her
harassing
him
.”

“If you ask me,” my mother said, “the whole problem would be solved if he simply took the hint and left her alone.”

Maybe my dad was right. Maybe Ms. Denholm had been affected by her mother's experience. It was hard to imagine that she hadn't been. But that didn't mean she was wrong about Mikhail Mornov.

“I saw her when she got those flowers, Dad,” I said. “She really looked scared.”

My father nodded, but he didn't seem convinced.

“Have you told Ted everything you've just told me?” my mother asked.

He nodded again.

“What did he say?”

“He said he didn't want me meddling in his daughter's life.”

“Maybe you should listen to him, Mac.”

“There's something about this that isn't right.”

“Maybe,” my mother said. “But Ted is a sensible man. Maybe we should just let him get to know his daughter in his own way, in his own time. If you're right, if she has problems, Ted will figure it out. And if his daughter needs help, Ted will make sure she gets it.”

My father looked doubtful.

. . .

If he had been anyone else but my father, I wouldn't have given a moment's thought to what he had said. But he
was
my father. And something was clearly bothering him. That night, after he'd left, I thought back to everything I'd seen or heard in person.

Like the flowers. Ms. Denholm barely knew me when I brought them to her classroom. But she had made me open them right there in front of her rather than opening them herself. I tried to think whether any other teacher would have asked me to do something like that. And if she was as scared as she looked, why hadn't she called the police? On the other hand, she had shown them to Ms. Rachlis, so that made two people who had seen how upset she'd been—and could tell other people about it.

Then there was the car. My dad was right—I had seen the car when Billy and I arrived at Ms. Denholm's house, and there had been nothing wrong with it then. But there had been a lot wrong with it an hour later, when Ms. Denholm insisted on driving us home. And the look on her face...If she hadn't been truly frightened, she had put on a good act.

I remembered the performance she had given in the auditorium, when she had transformed herself from a sweet English teacher into a convincing gang leader. She had a flair for drama, that was for sure.

Was there something to what my dad had said? Did Ms. Denholm have problems? Had she been damaged by witnessing her mother's terror? And what about the information that Vern had unearthed? There was a police record on Ms. Denholm, but none on Mikhail Mornov. Did that mean that he was a cunning stalker who knew how to avoid detection? Or were my dad's doubts justified? If that was the case, I felt sorry for Ted.

. . .

Later that evening I took the small box out of my purse and looked at the intertwined hearts.
Where are you, Nick?
I wondered.
Why don't you call again?
I dug out the phone book and looked up Nick's aunt's phone number. She sounded surprised to hear from me. She sounded more surprised by my question.

“I haven't heard from him in over a month,” she said. “Actually, longer than that. I assumed he was still angry at me because of Glen.” Glen was her boyfriend. He and Nick didn't like each other, which was why Nick hadn't moved in with his aunt like he'd originally planned. “What happened, Robyn? Did you and Nick break up?”

I looked down at the hearts.

“Something like that, I guess,” I said.

“Well, if I hear from him, I'll let you know.”

“Ask him to call me,” I said.

She said she would. I put down my phone and picked up the hearts. I stared at them for a few moments. Then I fastened the chain around my neck.

I

should have spent Saturday night at my dad's place—it was my weekend to be with him. But my mom had been worried about Ted, and because of that I was worried about her. So I stayed at her place instead. But I felt bad for my dad, too, so I went over to his place the next morning. He had just finished packing a suitcase when I got there.

“Robbie!” he said. “I was just going to call you.”

“Are you going somewhere, Dad?”

“Zurich.”

“
Zurich?
” He hadn't said a word about a trip to Zurich. “Since when? And . . . what's that smell?”

“What smell?”

“You're wearing aftershave.”

“I always wear aftershave, Robbie.”

“Yeah, but isn't that the stuff—” I sneezed. “—Mom gave you the Christmas before you two separated?”

My dad looked embarrassed.

“Seemed a shame to waste it,” he said. I think seeing my mother with Ted might've triggered old memories. Which was fine with me, except: “Dad, I'm allergic to it, remember?” I sneezed again, twice.

“I'll wash it off,” he said, his face flushed. He handed me a tissue.

“Too late,” I said. “I'll be sneezing for an hour now.”

But he washed it off anyway, even changed his shirt.

“Sorry, Robbie,” he said. “I forgot.”

“How come you're going to Zurich all of a sudden?” I said. “Is it Hal-related?”

Hal was an old friend of my father's from high school. He was also the manager of an old but still-famous rock band whose members had houses in Switzerland and the Caribbean and, I think, Manhattan.

“Sort of. And it's not really all that sudden. Mitch is getting married.” Mitch, the drummer. “Again,” he added. “An actress. I was invited. He even arranged for a plane ticket. And Hal invited me to come over ahead of time, make a vacation out of it. At first I didn't think I'd be able to get away, but with everything that's been happening, maybe it's a good idea for me to get out of town for a while.” He meant until Ted sorted things out with his daughter—and with my mom. He was probably right. “I called Hal last night and said I was on my way.”

“That's great, Dad.” I sneezed again. This time he passed me a handful of tissues.

“
Gesundheit
,” he said.

“How long will you be gone?”

He shrugged. “Two weeks.”

The buzzer sounded.

My dad glanced at his watch before pushing the intercom button.

“It's me,” a voice said. “It's Ted.”

He pushed another button to release the downstairs door. I heard Ted's footsteps as he climbed steadily to the third floor where we were. My father moved to the apartment door.

“Ted,” he said. “Good to see you. I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a rush—”

Ted pushed his way into the foyer, his face red, his glasses fogged up now that he was inside where it was warm.

“I asked you for your help, and what do you do?” he said, standing so close to my father that he had to tilt his head back to look him in the eyes. “You launch an investigation into my daughter, without any authorization from me. You question her landlady?”

My dad had said he was going to talk to Ms. Denholm's landlady. He must have done it last night, despite agreeing with my mom to leave the matter alone. My dad doesn't like loose ends.

“I thought it would be wise to have all the facts,” he said.

“What you mean is, you don't believe my daughter,” Ted countered. “Patricia said that you think she damaged her own car.”

My father remained remarkably calm.

“I'm just trying to get things straight in my own mind,” he said. “The fact is, Ted, Melissa was out of her apartment for fifteen minutes the night her car was vandalized. But her landlady said that she was downstairs for just a minute to help her open a jar of—”

Ted cut him off. “The woman is old and deaf and forgetful,” he said. He was practically shouting. “You're spreading rumors about my daughter and making unsubstantiated accusations. Thanks to you, the police aren't taking her seriously.”

“Ted, it was never my intention—”

Ted cut him off again. “To make matters worse,” he said, sputtering, “you went behind my back and reported this all to Patricia. I should have listened to her from the start. She always wanted to keep a distance from you. Now I see why. You just can't stand that she's happy with me, can you?”

My father waited until Ted ran out of steam. “I don't make accusations, Ted. That's not my style. But I am concerned. There's something about this that just isn't right.”

“I came to tell you this face-to-face, Mac, so there'd be no misunderstanding. Keep your nose out of my business from now on. I don't want your help and I don't need your concern. Understand? I can take care of this myself.”

My father glanced at his watch again. I could tell he wanted to argue with Ted. He doesn't like to be told he's wrong when he believes that he's right, even if nobody else thinks so. He also hates to walk away from a misunderstanding without first clearing things up. But to my surprise, all he said was, “I understand how you feel. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a plane to catch.”

Ted stood his ground for a few seconds, blocking my father's way. He'd been all wound up for a fight. Now that there wasn't going to be one, he seemed almost disappointed.

“Lock up for me, will you, Robbie?” my father said.

Ted spun around like he was on fire.

“Robyn.” His face turned crimson. “I didn't see you.”

I had guessed as much. He wouldn't have spoken to my dad that way if he'd known I was listening. His shoulders slumped. My dad picked up his suitcase and kissed me on the cheek. Ted moved aside to let him pass.

Ted watched him go before he turned back to me. “I guess if I offered to drive you home, you'd say no, huh?” he said.

I didn't particularly want to go home. But if I declined Ted's offer, he would think I was mad at him, and I wasn't. I was sorry he was angry with my father. I also sympathized with him. It was like my mom had said. Finding his daughter was supposed to have made Ted happy. Instead it had created a whole new set of problems.

“You could drop me at Morgan's,” I said.

Ted attempted a smile. He looked exhausted.

I locked my father's door and we went downstairs. Ted had just opened the car door for me when his phone rang.

“Excuse me for a second, Robyn,” he said. He stepped away a few paces to have his conversation in private—well, as private as a downtown street can be. I got into the car.

My nose started to tickle again. I dug in my bag for some tissues. Nope. I dipped into my coat pockets. There were no tissues there, either. The tickling got worse. I reached for Ted's glove compartment. Ted is one of those people who don't take any chances. He always travels with a GPS, a first-aid kit, an emergency roadside kit (complete with flares and reflector signs), and a supply of tissues. I popped the compartment, expecting to find a pristine box. And I did.

It was sitting right next to the gun.

. . .

My father used to carry a gun. He had to. He was a police officer. My mother never liked it. She never got used to the fact that he was armed. When my dad came home from work, he was supposed to lock the gun in a special box, and I was “never, ever, do you hear me, Robyn, I'm not kidding” to even think about touching it.