Echoes (5 page)

"No," Tess answered. "I mean, I don't think he's ever shown the slightest interest in either one of them."

"When was the last time you saw your sister?"

Tess decided she should sit down before answering. Deputy Ochoa took a seat in the chair opposite her at the small dinette and pulled out a tablet and pen. Smith remained standing with his hands on his hips and his eyes narrowed. He made Tess feel like he was just waiting for an opportunity to whip out his weapon and take aim.

"I saw Tori in September. We went to Disneyland. She was still living in Los Angeles then."

"Have you spoken to her since she moved to Mountain Bend?"

"No. We played telephone tag last week, but we never hooked up."

"Why did she leave
L.A.?"

Tess stared at him, not liking his tone any more than the random vein of his pointed questions.

"Why are you asking?"

"These are standard questions ma'am," Deputy Ochoa interjected. "Your sister is still missing."

Missing. Not lost or late. Missing.

"Wait a minute. Who reported it to you?" Tess asked.

The deputy looked up in surprise and the sheriff stared at her blankly.

"As I understand it, Tori hasn't been missing twelve, let alone twenty-four hours. Why were you notified?"

Apparently the sheriff was not accustomed to being questioned himself. He frowned before finally answering. "We're investigating an accident. Your sister's employer was killed in it this afternoon."

"Oh God."

Caitlin stepped into the kitchen at that moment. "What happened?" she asked, her tension a live thing that drew Tess out of her chair. Tess took her hand and led her to the front room.

"They weren't talking about your mom, honey."

"Why are they here then?"

"Something happened to the person your mommy works for."

"Not mommy?"

Tess glanced over her shoulder at the sheriff. He gave a sharp shake of his head.

"No, not your mommy."

Caitlin peered into Tess's face for a long moment. Although her eyes still looked older and wiser than they should, the expression on her baby soft face was young, naïve and desperately vulnerable. Tess was swamped with the need to reassure her.

"Not your mommy, little one. I promise."

Caitlin let out her breath and nodded with acceptance.

Inside, Tess sighed with relief. "How about you watch some TV while I finish talking to the sheriff? Would that be okay?"

In answer, Caitlin settled herself on the couch and Tess turned on the TV, scanning through a few stations until Caitlin said, "Okay," at Scooby Doo.

When she returned to the kitchen, the sheriff picked up with his last question. "Why did your sister leave Los Angeles?"

As far as Tess knew, Tori left because she couldn't commit to anything for longer than a few minutes. Not even a place to live. But she'd be damned if she was going to tell this flaccid faced small town sheriff that.

"Tori enjoys traveling. Her job gives her the flexibility to do it. She moves a lot."

Deputy Ochoa scribbled something on his notepad. Smith cast him a disparaging glance.

"What about her current position?" Smith asked. "Do you know how she set that up?"

Tess shook her head. "I'm sorry. I don't even know where Tori works, just that she's keeping the books for someone here. I think she said a farmer or a rancher. But she gets most of her jobs by referral. She's very good at what she does."

In fact, numbers were the only thing Tori ever trusted enough to keep as a constant. They fascinated her, she'd said on more than one occasion, and they'd never betray her. Tori was consumed with the thought of betrayal. Ironically, she never managed to apply her fascination with numbers to her personal records. Tess couldn't count the times Tori had had her phone shut off for not paying the bill.

"You don't know where your sister works?" the sheriff asked with patent disbelief. He exchanged glances with the deputy.

Feeling as if she were being both interrogated and excluded, Tess stiffened her back defensively.

Smith said, "Ms. Carson, your sister works at the Weston Ranch."

"Weston? As in Caitlin's principal at the elementary school?"

"His father was killed today," the deputy said.

Dawning comprehension joined the murky undercurrent in the room. "I didn't realize—Lydia Hughes met us at Mr. Weston's house this evening. She mentioned that he'd had a family emergency. I just didn't put it together with Tori."

"Do you know why Tori tried to reach you last week?" Smith asked.

Tess shook her head, looking uncertainly from the deputy to the sheriff. "She didn't say there was a reason on her messages."

"You talk on a regular basis?"

"Yes. Every few weeks or so. No schedule. Just when we think about it. Sheriff Smith, I don't really understand how these questions relate to Mr. Weston's accident or Tori."

"We believe your sister was there when it happened."

"You think she witnessed it?"

"Possibly. We haven't determined what her role was yet."

It took a long, quiet moment for that one to sink in. "What does that mean?"

"Just that we want to speak to her. If she did witness the accident, she left the scene without calling it in. I'd like to know why."

"And if she didn't witness it?"

"Then she left suddenly and unexpectedly and hasn't been heard from since. Again, I'd like to know why."

"What kind of accident are we talking about here, Sheriff Smith?"

"The
kind
that ends with someone being dead. That's all I can tell you right now."

But that wasn't all he was saying, was it? Did he think Tori had caused this
accident
?

Smith adjusted his holster and leaned forward. "How are your sister's finances?" he asked.

"I'm not her banker."

"But she lives in rentals, moves around a lot. She's had her phone shut off in three different states. Not a great record for a highly recommended bookkeeper."

Smith had obviously done his homework this afternoon. Tess said, "Apparently she doesn't like to bring her work home with her."

"Apparently not. Frank Weston had a good deal of cash in his house before he died. It's gone now."

"Is that why you're asking me these questions? Because you think she robbed a dying man?"

"I'm just trying to piece together what might have happened, Ms. Carson."

"Tori wasn't hurting for money. If she'd been in need, she would have called me."

"But you said she did call you. You just never had the chance to speak."

Frustrated, Tess rubbed the point between her eyes. "Yes, that's true. But if she'd had an urgent situation, she would have made that clear. Perhaps I'd be better able to answer your questions, Sheriff, if you would shed some light on this accident for me."

"Sorry, ma'am, at this time that's not possible."

She wanted to demand that Smith tell her everything he knew, but he didn't look like the kind of man who would be swayed by demands. Tess smoothed her hair away from her face and tried for calm. She'd thought finding Tori here, untroubled by the turmoil she'd caused, was the worst thing that could happen. Clearly, she'd been wrong.

Even so, chances were that Tori would show up before morning. Maybe she'd seen this accident and freaked out. Tori didn't deal well with the unexpected. She never had. Squaring her shoulders, Tess stood. "Is that all, Sheriff?"

Smith rocked on his heels, looking for a moment as if he might say more. She raised her brows and gave him what she hoped was a haughty, "I'm in control of the situation" glare. It was hard to pull off when she was wrinkled from head to toe, had ketchup on her clothes and was more tired than she'd ever been, but somehow she managed. Frowning, he put on his hat.

Standing, the deputy asked, "Do you have a recent picture of your sister?"

Tess took one from her purse. "This was taken in the fall," she said, handing it over. The deputy stared at it for a moment, as if committing Tori's vibrant features to memory. Carefully he put the picture in his pocket with his notebook.

"We'll be in touch, Ms. Carson," Smith said. "And if we find your sister, we'll let you know immediately."

"Thank you." The tone of her voice could have frozen the balls off a polar bear, but she didn't care. Tess knew her sister was a flake, a pain in the ass, and at times downright disagreeable, but she didn't deserve the sheriff's unspoken suspicions. She was glad to hear the front door close behind him.

Chapter Seven

After their mother left—or more accurately, after she'd been institutionalized—their father had instigated a regiment of rules. Tori and Tess were to rise early, work diligently and productively throughout the day, and give thanks to the Lord for the privilege of being alive. When his young daughters had rebelled, the Colonel had resorted to discipline without hesitation. Work detail was among his favorite methods of punishment, second only to solitary confinement. Tess still feared basements in the same way others feared heights.

To this day, Tess could not sleep past six a.m. and on the rare occasion that her internal clock malfunctioned, she awoke in a panic. The morning after Tori disappeared was no exception. Her eyes opened as the digital display on the clock switched from five fifty-nine to six and she was awake, even though it had been after two before she'd finally managed to jam the receptor between her worry and exhaustion. When she did drift off, it was only to be haunted by strange dreams and terrifying nightmares. This morning she couldn't remember what the dreams had been about, only that they'd chased her relentlessly through the night.

She rolled over and looked at Caitlin who was curled into a ball beside her, stuffed kitty clutched tight even in slumber. Sleep had smoothed the anxiety from her face and revealed the baby softness of her features. Tess pressed a light kiss to her forehead and climbed out of bed.

Still wearing her grey flannel pajama pants and an oversized Dixie Chicks t-shirt, Tess went downstairs. She glanced in at Tori's room on the way, knowing it would be empty but hoping all the same that her sister might have slipped in during the night. Only the shadows of filtered sunlight moved about the room. Downstairs was equally still.

A small television sat in the corner on the kitchen counter and she switched it on while she searched for coffee and a coffee maker. Neither was where any logical person would keep them. Frustrated, she rifled through the few cupboards in the small kitchen and then forced herself to slow down and make a more determined search. Before coffee, Tess was useless and even this small task was overwhelming. Finally she spotted a jar with a green lid and promising brown contents tucked in the back with the spices. She pulled it out. Taster's Choice. Instant. Decaffeinated. But coffee.

She filled a mug with water and turned in circles looking for the microwave, feeling somehow betrayed when she realized there wasn't one of those either. At last she set a pot of water to boil. The local news was on the little TV and she listened to the tail end of a story on trash pick up in Mountain Bend while she waited. Apparently Mountain Bend not only depended on
Piney River for child care facilities, it also relied on them to dispose of their waste—a fact that Piney River resented.

She called the water hot enough when the first thin spiral of steam rose from the silvery surface. Scowling at the glittering crystals in the ground up mix, she scooped a healthy spoonful of the instant coffee into her cup.

"I can't believe you're related to me, Tori," she muttered as she stirred.

On the news, a plastic blonde reporter who spoke with a surprisingly pronounced speech impediment segued from trash to the latest controversy on a proposed expansion project which could give Mountain Bend some much needed financial independence. Operating on four hours sleep and decaf coffee, Tess couldn't grasp what the point of contention was before the blonde moved on to the traffic report.

She was about to switch the television off and take a shower when the lisping anchor woman launched into a segment about a tragic accident that claimed the life of Frank Weston.

At last Tess learned that the accident had involved his tractor exploding. Somehow that made her feel better—not that he had died that way, but that it hadn't been the "accidental discharge of a gun" or something equally suspicious. The program turned to national news and Tess switched it off.

As she stood staring at the blank screen a light tapping sounded on the front door. Startled, she spun around, her first thought—Tori. She raced to the door, only pausing at the last minute to peek out the window. Disappointment and trepidation hit her at once. Instead of Tori, a man in a conservative blue suit stood on the porch.

"Who is it?" she asked through the closed door.

"Ms. Carson? It's Craig Weston—from the elementary school."

Surprised, she opened the door. When she'd spoken to him on the phone, she'd unconsciously formed an image of an older, spectacled man with a balding head and a bulging waistline. That's what all principals looked like, wasn't it? But this man was in his mid-thirties, tall and fit with thick, black hair and eyes so blue they seemed to glow. He had an easy smile that crinkled his eyes at the corners and brought a small dimple to play in his cheek. Handsome enough to make her forget for a moment that she still wore her pajamas. His quick glance reminded her and brought a rush of embarrassed heat to her face. A whiff of cologne came in with the crisp morning air as he reached out to shake her hand.