Here We Come (Aggie's Inheritance) (131 page)

Dread
began
to
fill
her
heart.
“What?”

“You
look
wonderful
.
I
love
you
in
that
green.”

Aggie
stared
at
the
empty
doorway
for
the
second
time
in
less
than
a
minute.
“He’s
lost
it.
We’re
all
going
crazy.”

~*~*~*~

A
man
carried
three
suitcases
and
an
overnight
bag
past
William
as
he
stood
in
the
foyer
of
Geraldine
Stuart’s
imposing
home.
“Do
you
remember
the
flight
number?”

“Six
thirty-seven.
Continental.”
She
placed
her
purse
on
a
small
table
and
pulled
out
a
wallet.
From
inside
,
she
passed
him
her
passport,
printouts
of
internet
tickets
,
and
a
receipt
from
a
hotel
in
Willemstad.

“Willemstad?”

“Curacao.
Beautiful
Dutch
island
in
the
Caribbean.
All
the
beauty
of
Dutch
architecture
in
a
tropical
paradise
and
below
the
hurricane
belt.”

“You
sound
like
a
travel
agent.”

“I’ve
heard
those
words
a
few
dozen
times
over
the
years.”
Geraldine
laced
her
fingers
together
and
faced
William,
her
eyes
cold.
“Now,
will
you
please
tell
me
why
you
are
here?
I
have
not
violated
that
restraining
order.
”

“I
came
to
ask
where
you’ve
been.
We’ve
tried
to
co
ntact
you
for
the
last
few
days,
but
no
one
has
answered
the
door.”

“I
usually
give
George
and
Pilar
a
vacation
while
I’m
out
of
the
country.
”
She
held
out
her
hand
for
her
passport
and
paperwork.
“However,
that
does
not
answer
my
question,
Deputy
Markenson.”

William,
not
inclined
to
answer
and
give
the
woman
fuel
for
her
easily
roused
rage,
reached
for
the
door
handle.
“I
think
you
should
know
that
your
husband
misses
you.
He’s
very
confused,
scared,
and
lonely.”

“What
business
is
that
of
yours?”

“None
whatsoever.
Good
afternoon,
Mrs.
Stuart.”

“But—”

He
pulled
the
door
shut
behind
him
and
ignored
her
irate
demands
for
information
as
Geraldine
Stuart
stormed
after
him.
Once
inside
his
cruiser,
he
started
the
engine
and
slowly
eased
it
away
from
her
house
until
he
was
sure
she
wouldn’t
get
in
its
path.
She
was
just
the
kind
of
woman
who
would
allow
herself
to
be
injured
to
prove
some
sick
point
or
another.

Frustrated,
William
sped
toward
Brant’s
Corners.
The
road
past
Fairbury
was
slick
with
ice,
forcing
him
to
slow
down
while
a
truck
salted
the
roads.
His
fingers
tapped
the
steering
wheel
impatiently
while
his
mind
whirled
miles
ahead
of
his
tires.
She’d
been
gone.
She
wasn’t
even
in
the
country.

He
punched
a
number
on
his
phone
and
waited
imp
atiently
for
the
station
to
answer.
“Markenson
here.
Got
a
question.
Can
you
check
Geraldine
Stuart’s
financials
for
the
past
few
years.
See
if
she
goes
to
Curacao
every
winter?
I
just
talked
to
her.
Saw
her
passport
,
but it only goes back a couple of years
.
She’s
been
out
of
the
country.”