Fortunate Harbor (25 page)

“Well, the others ought to be here in a minute.” When Tracy had called to announce a meeting, Wanda had suggested they do it at her house. Ken was in Georgia, and truth be told, her place felt lonely. Besides, having company gave her a good reason to clean the place up, something she didn’t do as thoroughly now that she was working so many hours at the shop. Ken was coming home tomorrow, and she wanted him to be able to find his way through the door.

“How are things at Wanda’s Wonderful Pies?” Tracy asked.

“They’d be a lot better if the Sunshine Bakery would just quit running specials. Today it was two big old chocolate chip cookies for a dollar. They got to be bringing them in from somewhere else. Nobody in that place could bake a decent cookie if her life depended on it.”

“I bet nobody buys pie there.”

“Their pie still doesn’t look good as mine, and that’s a fact. Dana stops in now and then to check.”

There was a tapping on the door, and Janya stepped in before Wanda had to answer. “I brought spiced nuts.”

“You are all trying to knock me off my diet.” Tracy reached for the coffeepot and poured more in her cup. “I finally admit I’ve gained weight, and you’re trying to make me gain more.”

Wanda sniffed. “The world spins around and around, and guess what, Ms. Deloche? It doesn’t spin around you.”

“It feels like it does. Maybe that’s just my head.”

“You can leave early, and we’ll eat after you go.”

“I’ve got to get used to saying no when there’s food sitting in front of me. I’ll just sit here and look sad.”

“Won’t bother me none.”

Alice knocked and let herself in, as Janya had done. She looked tired. The long bus trip and the emotional turmoil had taken their toll. She looked as if she needed a night of fun, not a night of problem solving.

“Alice, you sit,” Tracy said. “We’ll wait on you, or rather, Wanda will.”

The women questioned Alice, sympathizing as Wanda poured coffee and set out a frosty glass of iced tea for Alice. She also brought out blackberry pie, and Tracy admitted her mouth was watering, but she didn’t change her mind.

Alice waited until the sympathy had dwindled. “I don’t think…we’ll do it again.”

Nobody asked why. Wanda figured that had been Olivia’s decision, and she knew the other women figured the same thing.

“Olivia’s the reason I asked everybody to come,” Tracy said.

Wanda listened as Tracy recounted the conversation on the rec room sofa.

“I think that’s everything. She’s worried,” Tracy finished. “And honestly, so am I. Either something’s going on with Dana, or Lizzie has an imagination she can’t control.”

“How is Lizzie doing in youth camp?” Wanda asked.

“No problems at all. She seems to be a well-adjusted girl. She makes friends easily. She’s a fabulous volleyball player and an all-around good athlete. She and Olivia are best friends, but they don’t exclude other kids. I haven’t heard one complaint.”

“So whatever Dana’s been doing seems to be working out,” Wanda said.

“That’s true.”

Janya took a small bite of pie. She looked tired and preoccupied, a lot like Tracy. “This could be nothing. Olivia often talks to me, and this is the first I have heard of it.”

“I know, but I think seeing her father yesterday…” Tracy glanced at Alice. “Well, I think it convinced her she needs to make sure she’s open about things right when they happen.”

“You have any ideas?” Wanda asked. “Because this is all new to us.”

“I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon. Let’s say the asthma is just a cover story. Olivia claims Lizzie’s allergic to cats, but apparently not very. If Lizzie’s telling the truth, then asthma’s not the reason they move so frequently, because there are cats everywhere. So that’s the first thing we know. They move a lot, and Dana lies about the reason.”

“Wait a minute.” Wanda retreated, then came back with a yellow legal pad from Ken’s desk. “We’ll make ourselves a list.”

She wrote down what Tracy had said.

“This is much the way it was when we were trying to find Herb’s family,” Janya said. “We are detectives again.” Herb, who had lived in the house Dana occupied, had been a man of secrets, and the women had been forced together after his death to discover them.

“Never let it be said we slacked off.” Wanda poised the pen over the pad. “Okay, what else do we know?”

“Know for sure?” Tracy asked. “Well, we know Lizzie thinks her mother is afraid. We don’t know if it’s true, but we know Lizzie thinks it is.”

“Then that’s what I’ll put down.” Wanda did.

“And did you not say that when Lizzie asks about her father, Dana seems even more afraid?” Janya asked.

“That’ll be number three.” Wanda made sure it was, then she looked up.

“I’ve got something to add. I think Dana’s afraid of the police, you want the truth. Whenever a cop comes into the shop, and you better believe they do since I give ’em free coffee, she always comes back into the kitchen to tell me, so I’ll go out and say hi. Only she doesn’t come back out.”

“That’s kind of flimsy evidence,” Tracy said.

“She might want to give you…privacy,” Alice pointed out.

“No, it’s different. And Kenny’s noticed how standoffish she is with him. He told me she acts like a woman with something to hide.”

Everybody was quiet as Wanda wrote that down.

“There is something else….” Tracy looked at the others. “Dana pays me in cash. Never by check.”

Wanda added her piece. “She told me she doesn’t want to pay bank fees. She asked me to pay her right out of the till, said it was easier. Although now that you mention it, I’ve never seen her use a credit card, either. She does have a social security number.”

“What else do we know?” Tracy asked. “For sure.”

Nobody said anything until Alice spoke at last. “We know she is a good mother. Dana is…devoted.”

Everybody nodded, and Wanda added that to the list.

“And put down that Lizzie’s well-adjusted,” Tracy said.

Wanda wrote some more, then held up her list. “So here’s what we have. The devoted, frugal but restless mother of a well-adjusted girl lies about why she moves so much, is uncomfortable around cops and reported to be afraid when the daughter questions her about her father.” She looked at her friends. “That’s not very much to go on.”

“She’s divorced,” Alice said. “She told me. She is divorced from Lizzie’s father.”

“That’s right.” Wanda wrote that, too. “So now she’s the divorced, devoted, frugal but restless mother.”

“I have a theory,” Tracy said. “If you want to hear it. I’ve had all afternoon to think about this.”

“I’m all ears,” Wanda said. “Everybody else?”

Janya and Alice nodded.

“If Dana’s on the run, then she has to be running from
somebody
.”

“Do we know she is on the run?” Janya asked.

“No, but it’s an educated guess. She’s lying about the moves. Alice takes care of Lizzie when Dana works, and she’s never had an asthma attack, has she?”

Alice shook her head. “She seems healthy.”

“So why else would she move so often and lie about the reason? Why else would she avoid checks and credit cards unless she’s afraid somebody’s trying to find her?”

“If she is running,” Janya said, “who is she running from?”

Tracy poured herself yet another cup of coffee. “Lizzie doesn’t know anything about her father. Doesn’t that jump out at you? She’s old enough to know something. So maybe this is more than just a mother and father who didn’t get along, or a father with no interest in being one.”

“Or a father who refuses to admit a child is his,” Janya added.

Tracy fiddled with her spoon but didn’t take another sip. “Maybe Dana is trying to stay one step ahead of an abusive ex. Maybe she’s afraid he’s going to grab Lizzie and make off with her, so that’s why she moves so often and why she’s so protective.”

“Then why is she afraid of cops?” Wanda asked. “If I’m right
and she is. Because if her husband is trying to kidnap Lizzie, the cops would be her new best friends.”

“Not if she doesn’t have legal custody.”

The women all fell silent.

“That’s a stretch,” Wanda said at last.

“Maybe, but maybe not.” Tracy put down the spoon, as if she realized she was fidgeting—and no wonder, with all the caffeine in her system. “We’ve all heard stories. The powerful father gets custody because he has unlimited resources and can hire fabulous lawyers. The mother knows he’s abusive and dangerous to her child and tries to tell people, but somehow it’s all turned around, and she becomes the target.”

“That is sad,” Alice said.

Tracy patted her hand and went on. “Dana could be protecting Lizzie with all these moves. Maybe they’ve even changed their names. It seems possible, doesn’t it?”

“It’s a pack of assumptions.” Wanda put down her pen. “But darned if they don’t fit.”

Tracy continued. “She was very leery of Pete when he first started doing work here. We all noticed how rude she was, and how fast she pulled Lizzie out of sight. Could be she thought he’d been hired by her ex to find her.”

“She’s not leery now,” Wanda said. “He came into the shop this afternoon, and I could swear they were making eyes at each other.”

“Dana and Pete Knight? A Happiness Key romance. Weird,” Tracy said.

“You got your own romance on the key.”

“Not anymore.” Tracy looked down at her cup. “Marsh and I officially called things off yesterday.”

“That explains…” Janya fell silent.

“What does it explain?” Wanda demanded.

“It explains why I showed up at Janya’s door last night tipsy and keyless,” Tracy said.

“I missed a lot, it seems.” Wanda sniffed.

“I’m sorry, dear.” Now Alice patted Tracy’s hand.

“It’s hard to be in love with a man when another woman has all his attention and a room in his house.”

Wanda knew she had to do something or tears were going to flow. “We are all truly sorry, but we’ll leave that conversation for sometime when it’s not like pouring salt in the wound, okay? Let’s get back to Dana.”

Tracy looked grateful.

“We could just ask her,” Wanda said. “Tell Dana what we’ve figured out and offer to help any way we can.”

“Wouldn’t that send her running off again?” Alice asked.

“I think we need a bit of proof before we go off half-cocked,” Tracy said. “Shall we try to look into things first?”

“Ken could look into it in a jiffy, but if we’re right, she’s avoiding the police. So I can’t ask him to help us. If he found out she was really breaking the law, he’d have to report it.”

“Then don’t tell him.” Tracy picked up the spoon, put it down, then picked it up again and kept it clenched in her fist.

“So where do we start?” Wanda asked. “We know her name and that’s about all.”

“And that might not be her real one,” Janya reminded them. “Herb’s wasn’t. We know it is easier than people think to live under an assumed one.”

“Do you remember when we first tried to find out about Herb?” Tracy gestured, and the spoon fell out of her hand. “Sorry about that.”

“A little bit wired, aren’t we?” Once and for all, Wanda
moved the spoon out of Tracy’s reach. “So where did we start with Herb? I don’t remember.”

“We started with his references. I phoned the pastor of a church he’d attended years before, and that was the first step.”

“You have Dana’s references?”

“I have, but I never bothered to call anybody once I knew we all liked her. I’ll do that tomorrow. If they’re real we’ll be able to figure out some places she’s lived. Maybe we can go from there.”

“Does the youth camp require a birth certificate?” Janya asked.

“Yes, at the time the kids are registered.”

“Does someone make notes on what is on it?”

“I don’t know, but you better believe I’ll check. If that’s the case, we’ll know where Lizzie was born.”

“Smart thinking, Janya,” Wanda said. “You’re a good friend to have in a pickle.”

“Not if a swimming pool is involved.”

“I think that’s only one to a customer. You’re safe for the rest of your life.”

Janya smiled a little. “That is a very good thing.”

On Wednesday Tracy spent the evening searching the Internet, using what little information she knew about Dana to see if she could find more. Although it was a long shot, she started with Facebook and MySpace, hoping to find that Dana had set up her own chatty profile. When that proved useless, she tried Google, but for once the search engine was surprisingly unhelpful.

Almost everybody Dana’s age showed up someplace. A family member in an obituary. A list of attendees at a meeting or a party. Signers of petitions. Employee rosters. But the only Dana Turners that Tracy came across were too young or too old or too male. They played professional soccer or the violin in their small-town community orchestra. Those Danas had large families, or no children, or wrote blogs about last week’s sunset at Waikiki.

She had discovered little more from Dana’s references. Tracy had spoken to Dana’s most recent landlord in an Atlanta suburb, but the woman had contributed nothing significant. Dana was a good tenant. Lizzie was charming, wasn’t she? The woman,
who sounded just a bit ditzy, thought Dana had worked as a receptionist at a car wash, but she wasn’t certain.

She
had
said Dana always paid her rent on time and, oddly enough, in cash. That part, at least, was memorable. As was the length of Dana’s stay there. Short. Three months, or possibly only two.

Tracy had left voice mail messages at the other two numbers on Dana’s list, but she didn’t expect to learn anything more.

By eleven o’clock she gave up. She had ended her session by narrowing the search to Atlanta and the surrounding area, using Dana’s and Lizzie’s names as search terms. She’d checked out car washes, coin collecting, gardening, but she really knew so little about her tenant that no other terms had come to mind. In the end, she had a big nothing to show for an evening’s work.

She fell asleep with computerized images flashing behind her closed eyelids, complete with tinny sound tracks. She worked a loud ringing into her dreams, too, until it became too insistent. She opened her eyes to find herself in the dark, computer asleep for the night but phone bleating merrily.

With one uncoordinated sweep of her hand she knocked the phone off the bed table, but she managed to grab it just before it hit the floor. With no daylight barriers to self-pity, she wondered who cared enough to call at this time of night.

“H’lo?” she managed.

“Is CJ there with you?”

Tracy might be having trouble waking up, but that moved her up the ladder a rung. She sat upright and combed her hair back from her face. “What gives you the right to ask?”

“Don’t get on your high horse, Ms. Deloche, just answer the question!”

“Wanda, it’s past midnight.”

“Is he there or not?”

“No! He’s not here. He’s not sleeping with me, so now you can go back to bed with life’s biggest question answered.”

“Well, it’s a good thing. Because he’s probably going to get arrested in a little while.”

Tracy held the cordless phone in front of her and squinted at it, as if she might see an instant replay. She put it back to her ear. “That’s seriously bogus.”

“It is not bogus. And I’m not supposed to know, and you’re certainly not supposed to. But I got all worked up about you, considering what a mess you’ve been lately and all.”

Now Tracy was fully awake. “I have not been a mess.” She realized that her messiness was not the larger issue. “What exactly is going on?”

“I still think this recent bitchy mood could be early menopause, but we can tackle that later. Here’s the scoop.”

Tracy listened, her eyes growing wider until she wasn’t sure there was room for them in her face.

“We’re going over there,” she said, when Wanda finished.

“No way, girlfriend. Kenny will skin me alive.”

“You can move in with me if he tries. Wanda! We have to go now and see what’s up.”

Wanda sighed. “I’m already dressed. Get your butt out of bed and throw some clothes on it. I’ll drive.”

“Well, I can kiss all future orders from Sally Statler goodbye, that’s for sure,” Wanda said as she swung left to the bridge. “That is unless she wants to take an Elvis Surprise to old Ed, with a file baked in the middle.”

Tracy couldn’t summon up a sense of humor. “You know that dinner cruise?”

“I wouldn’t say I know it firsthand. We don’t exactly hang out in the same social circles, you and me.”

“Be glad. CJ was everybody’s new best friend. He practically salivated over the other passengers. I wondered what he was up to. It was nauseating.”

“I kinda don’t think CJ was the reason your stomach was upset. It had to do with all that liquor you drank.”

“Wanda!” Tracy stared out the window. Unlike Southern California, this part of Florida rolled up the sidewalks at night. There was never much activity in Palmetto Grove after Early Bird Specials ended. Ahead of them the city was dark and quiet, and not at all the kind of place one expected to encounter a police raid.

“Go over it again,” Tracy demanded. “I’m fully awake now.”

“Kenny and a bunch of folks—and not all from the local office, either—are going to arrest Edward Statler for all kinds of things. The list goes on and on and on….”

In California Tracy had seen a list like that with CJ’s name at the top. It was amazing how many charges law enforcement agencies could drum up when they wanted somebody in custody badly enough.

“Ken told you all this?”

Wanda didn’t answer right away. “Well, not exactly, if you want the truth. See, Kenny’s good about not giving stuff away, and I needed more than what he was telling me. So I more or less made friends with one of the dispatchers who drops by for pie, and, well, I’ve been listening closely when the cops are gabbing at my counter. Molly, the dispatcher, knows I baked for the Statlers’ reception, so when Kenny called to say he’d be real late coming home, I called Molly to see what was up. And she told me.”

Tracy was all admiration. “You’re something else. You were born to pry and then to gossip about it.”

“I don’t want to make it sound like too much fun. I know you’re not all that sure how you feel about your ex.”

Tracy would have denied that, had it not been true. She wasn’t sure how she felt, and she wasn’t sure why.

“You think he’s involved?” she asked.

“I found those papers in the pool house, where he’s living, remember? How can he not be?”

“I don’t even know what to hope for.”

“This is one of those gated communities,” Wanda said, as if she knew changing the subject was a good idea. “How come we don’t have a gate out at Happiness Key?”

“If we had a gate, it would be the kind you get out and loop to a post.”

“I’m not getting in and out of my car to open and close some gate.”

“Well, there’s your answer.”

Wanda slowed a little and began to search the side of the road. “We’re going to have to park somewhere and find our way in.”

Tracy had a bad feeling about that. “Isn’t the development fenced?”

“Not the beach side. We’ll find a way.” Wanda made a left, then another left, and parked on the side of the road. “It’s just ahead. We’ll go down to the water and walk along the shore.”

“It’s that easy?”

“Not all that much room to walk. Better take off your shoes.”

Tracy considered. Maybe she’d been crazy wanting to see the action up close. Maybe she’d been even crazier entrusting her safety to the woman at the wheel, but it was too late now to turn back.

“You mean we’re wading,” she said, sensing the truth.

“More or less.”

It turned out to be a lot “more” than “less.” Tracy rolled her capris way above her knees. About half a block from the gatehouse they sat on a seawall and slipped off their shoes, then lowered themselves to the narrow strip of sand below. Luckily the tide was out, although the occasional big wave still washed against the wall. The pungent salt water was tainted with something that smelled like refrigerator leftovers, abandoned over summer vacation.

“So much for all the security money can buy,” Tracy said, grimacing as the sand, which oozed like muck between her toes.

“Anybody asks, we’re beachcombers.”

“What are we looking for?”

“Stuff to sell at our flea market booth.”

“Get real. Do I look like somebody who has a booth at the flea market?”

“I’d advise you not to make a point of that, case we’re caught.”

“We don’t even have flashlights.”

“Don’t need ’em. We find stuff with our toes.”

Tracy snorted. Wanda started along the seawall, and Tracy followed behind her, squinting to see the seaweed-clotted sand at her feet in the moonlight. “Will you recognize the house from here?”

Now Wanda snorted. “It’ll be the one with the cop cars surrounding it.”

They fell silent. Tracy tried to focus on where to step. Barnacle-encrusted driftwood littered the “beach,” and once she nearly stepped on a horseshoe crab lying on its back. There were no shells to speak of, but there was far too much trash for her taste. She hoped she and Wanda didn’t encounter broken
glass or rusted hooks, although she knew that was the definition of optimism.

The gatehouse was way off to their right, but Tracy knew when they’d passed it because the scenery changed. Now they were slipping past houses set back from the seawall by patios or mondo swimming pools glowing like sapphires in illuminated display cases.

The first dock was a nasty surprise. She nearly collided with Wanda, who had stopped just in front of it.

“I didn’t think about this,” Wanda admitted.

Tracy could hardly criticize, since neither had she.

“Don’t get near the boat,” she whispered, inclining her head to the end where a behemoth cabin cruiser was moored. “It’s probably got a security guard cuddled up to an Uzi.”

“Over or under, name your poison.”

Tracy rolled up her pants legs one more turn. “Under, but yuck.”

“Yuck is right.”

They waded out into the water until they were deep enough to fit under the dock if they bent almost double. Tracy didn’t look above her for any number of reasons, primarily because she didn’t want to know what was dangling over her hair.

They got past that dock safely, and the next one, too, although Tracy felt something gouge her foot when she cleared the second.

“Ouch!”

Wanda stopped and held up her hand. Tracy stopped, too. Wanda pointed. The seawall was lower on the other side of the second dock, and Wanda crossed to it and hiked herself up, stooping once she was up on the wall.

She motioned, and Tracy joined her. She saw a line of flow
ering trees along what looked like a white gravel path around the side of the yard, ending at the road. Wanda pointed again. Both women rolled their pants legs down and put their shoes on. Then they quietly started walking along the path.

A dog came out of nowhere. One minute they were alone, their destination just ahead. The next a yapping ball of white fur was barreling toward them. Tracy liked dogs in their place, which was, in her opinion, in somebody else’s house. Chase, Wanda’s greyhound, was perfectly fine, because he belonged to Wanda, and besides, he looked fabulous in the black studded collar Janya had found at a garage sale. But the snarling little dog streaking toward her was not fine. Not fine at all.

Before she could shriek, Wanda stepped between her and the dog, and grabbed what turned out to be an unkempt poodle by the scruff of the neck, shaking him gently.

“You will not bark one more time,” Wanda said, holding the dog up to her face. “Do you understand?”

The dog quieted immediately.

“Now, I’m going to put you down, and you are going home the moment I do, and no mistake about it.”

The poodle moaned.

“Okay then, we’re set.” Wanda placed the dog on the ground and it took off running in the opposite direction.

Tracy had seen Wanda in poodle-bossing mode before. She had the same reaction now that she’d had the first time. “You ought to consider Special Forces instead of a pie shop,” she whispered.

“A woman learns what she needs to know.”

They finished their trip in silence and with no more complications. Wanda turned left, and Tracy caught up with her.

“Are we close?” she asked in a slightly louder tone, now that they were out of the yard.

“Another couple of blocks. You okay?”

“I think I cut my foot in the water.”

“You had a tetanus shot?”

“I’m up-to-date.”

“You can walk?”

“I can hobble.”

“Then hobble this way.”

Two blocks later Tracy was sure she’d cut her foot, because her sandal felt sticky with blood, and she was limping. Luckily the cut seemed to be in the instep and not where she put the heaviest pressure on it, but she was glad when Wanda pointed ahead.

“Lights, camera, action.” There were three police cars in a semi-circle in front of what looked like the largest house on the water.

“How are you going to explain our presence to Ken?” Tracy asked. It wasn’t the first time the question had occurred to her, but she hadn’t wanted to set Wanda thinking too hard about the answer.

“I’ll tell him you heard what was happening to CJ and wanted to come see what was up.”

“True, as far as it goes.”

“Let’s just not let it go any further, okay? If Kenny asks, I’ll do the talking.”

Ken Gray
would
ask, too. But Ken had lived with Wanda a long time, and he probably knew protest was futile.

They approached the scene warily, but they weren’t the only onlookers. Even in a prestigious gated community, a little evening drama was appreciated. And watching the mighty—in this case the residents of the community’s largest home—go down in flames was a real-life crowd-pleaser.

Tracy sidled up to an older couple, she in a royal blue cashmere robe that probably added ten degrees to an already
hot evening, he in Bermuda shorts and a saffron-colored golf shirt that was turned inside out.

Tracy smiled, as if she knew them. “Who’d have thought?” she said. “The Statlers.”

“Yes, who?” the woman said. “And to think they were vetted by the home owner’s association before they bought that house.”