Since You've Been Gone (16 page)

“He married her out of obligation?”

“Not entirely. But maybe a little.” She paused. “And that was extremely unkind. I can be a real bitch sometimes.”

Clay shook his head. “Don't I feel like a fool! All these years I've thought you were
a witch
. Don't you fly on a broom and dance naked under the full moon?”

He'd turned her dark mood into a joke and she laughed. “In Sinclair I indulge myself in these activities only on Halloween. New Orleans is a different story. They understand my kind down there and I just have a high old time.”

The waiter materialized to take their order, then vanished back to the kitchen. “And how was your day?” Rebecca asked, wanting to turn the conversation away from herself.

“Three broken legs in one day. That's a record. One vicious migraine. Food poisoning from ham salad left out too long on a Sunday picnic.” He grinned. “And a kid brought in his dog. Hit by a car. I'm not supposed to, but I did a little work on him before I talked one of the nurses who was going off duty into driving the kid and the dog to the veterinarian. I called the vet a couple of hours later and he said the dog would be fine.”

“I'm glad. I know you have a dog named Gypsy.”

He nodded, smiling. “Mixed breed, medium sized. Maybe a beagle and German shepherd mix. Maybe a dozen other things. Golden brown face with a black back. Looks like a horse from the front.”

“A
horse?
”

“Maybe that's just my perspective.”

Rebecca giggled. “I
hope
so. Good heavens!”

Clay laughed. “Her ears are probably burning and I'll be in trouble when I get home. Anyway, I found her, a lovable little vagabond. I'm usually too embarrassed to admit how much I like her.”

“So you took in a stray,” Rebecca said approvingly. “So did I, only mine is a purebred Australian shepherd—who's not from Australia like most people think. Strictly American breed. Fast and used for herding, although I believe Sean would be insulted to the core if I asked him to do chores. I took him to Happy Tracks Grooming Salon yesterday and they put a bow in his hair. Terrible for the macho image.”

“I should think so!” Clay laughed.

“I'll take it out tomorrow. He just looks so cute. Anyway, you probably didn't notice the other night, but his right eye is partly blue. It's not unusual for the breed. I did tell you he's skittish around men. So far the jury is out on Frank and he nipped Doug, but Sean's crazy about Walt Sykes, who's married to Betty. Do you remember Betty?”

“Sure I do. Fabulous cook. Great personality. Always seemed to like nothing better than a gang of boys in her kitchen to feed.”

“She hasn't changed. She should have had a dozen kids of her own. I'm so happy she got married. My family has been her whole life for too long.”

“Then I'm happy for her, too, as long as she hasn't given up her cooking. I still miss those Toll House cookies of hers.”

“Maybe I can talk her into making you a batch,” Rebecca said, then lost patience with herself once more. She sounded as if she was making any excuse to see Clay again.

She was grateful when their salad arrived at that moment and their conversation halted while they watched the waiter toss the contents. Rebecca had not eaten Caesar salad for a couple of years, and she found this one especially good. “Like it?” Clay asked with a faint smile, and she realized she'd been shoveling it in.

She swallowed. “I've lived alone too long and lost my manners. I also haven't eaten all day.”

“That's not good for you. Blood sugar and all that.”

“I know, but I've had a lot on my mind. Some people eat when they're nervous. My appetite abandons me.”

“Nervous nibblers would envy you, and frankly, picky eaters annoy me.” He looked at her solemnly. “But you've had every right to be nervous. Has Bill been able to find out anything about that CD you found in your car?”

“Not that I know of, but he hasn't had a lot of time to devote to it. I've been doing my own investigation, though.” She took a sip of wine. “First of all, my mother stored everything of my father's. Miraculously I found the original Procol Harum album. I also found Daddy's cassette tape with the song on it.”

“But no compact disc?”

“Remember, the car wreck was seventeen years ago, before most people had CDs.”

“But the stereo in the house isn't that old.”

“No, but I only found three CDs. They're Frank's—that generic easy-listening stuff.”

Clay finished his salad and wiped his mouth absently, frowning. “All right, this must have been a new compact disc.”

“I stopped by the two record stores in town. Neither carries the CD—the CD was from the original album dating from 1967—and neither place showed records of having ordered it within the last few months. The same with the two music stores at the mall. That leaves one resource—”

“The Internet.”

“And good luck trying to track down
that
order.”

Clay rolled his eyes. “Well, hell.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

Clay leaned nearer. “And now we come to the
really
important question: Who knew Jonnie loved that song?”

The waiter arrived with sherbet over which he poured champagne to cleanse the palate. They both ate in silence, their spoons clinking against the sides of the glass dishes. When they finished, Clay looked at her again. “Okay, people in the family knew about ‘Whiter Shade of Pale.' I'm sure Doug heard Jonnie play it.”

“
Doug?
” Rebecca echoed. “You don't think
he
took Todd and is now trying to scare me?”

“Absolutely not. But it's important to hit all the bases. Another person who knew Jonnie loved the song was Betty. Not that I suspect Betty, but she could have told Walt, who could have told God knows who. Innocently, of course, but they're still a source of information. So is your mother. She talks about Jonnie all the time, or so Doug says. Doug could have told Lynn, who could have told Larry. Larry could have told a girlfriend. And on and on.”

Rebecca looked at Clay closely, noting how his boyish smile could so easily distract one from the keenness of his blue-gray eyes, his joking manner mask the constant clicking away of a computerlike brain.

“I hadn't even thought of all those potential sources,” she said faintly. “Only immediate family. But there's another huge source. Jonnie played the song in a talent contest just months before he disappeared. He won. The news was in the paper along with the name of the selection he played.”

“I'd forgotten all about that,” Clay said. “Well, so much for tracking down a few leaks. The whole damn town could have known about the song. Hell, even old Skeeter Dobbs could have known.”

“If you try to convince me Skeeter ordered a Procol Harum CD from the Internet and sneaked it into my car, I'm going to completely lose faith in you.”

“Actually I don't think Skeeter was big on surfing the Net. I'm just trying to give you an indication of the number
and type of people who could have known about the song.”

Rebecca closed her eyes. “Poor old Skeeter. I remember when I was young and Bill would take me to the park. I used to talk to Skeeter. Then he grew afraid of me.”

“Afraid? Why?”

“My ESP,” Rebecca said wryly. “It terrified him.”

“Is that right?” Clay frowned. “And someone obviously put that CD in your car to frighten you. Probably to scare you out of town.”

“Not Skeeter. He never wandered more than two or three blocks from Klein Furniture. Even if someone had given him the CD and asked him to put it in the car—”

“He wouldn't have gone all the way to Molly's to do it. But you might have spooked someone else as much as you did Skeeter. You left town once before because of Jonnie. Maybe someone thought reminding you of him might send you away again.” He looked at her intensely. “Whoever took Todd doesn't want him found, and they'd have to be particularly afraid of you.”

“And it's probably the same person who murdered Skeeter,” she said reluctantly. “After all, Skeeter is the one who saw Todd's kidnapper at Klein's, even if he didn't recognize him.”

Clay lowered his voice and pinned her with his gaze. “Rebecca, you know whoever murdered Skeeter might go to the same lengths to get rid of you. Are you sure you want to face this kind of danger?”

Rebecca looked down to avoid his keen gaze. Yes, as much as she wanted to help Todd and Molly, a part of her remained timid, wanted to run away from the responsibility, the weight of another agonizing failure, the fear of danger to her own well-being. But the years had also changed her, hardened her more than she'd realized. “I am not leaving Sinclair,” she said quietly. “Not until we find out something about Todd, one way or another.”

Clay looked at her solemnly. “I admire that but I'm also worried about you. Aside from the possible danger you're in, I know what this situation is taking out of you.”

“A lot of emotion without much to show for it.” She forced herself to sound casual. “But enough about my mental state. I'm disappointed by my failure to track down the CD. Playing private detective isn't as easy as it looks on TV.”

Clay drew back with his cocky grin. “Nonsense, my girl! We've only scratched the surface.”

Rebecca couldn't help grinning back. Things didn't look nearly so bleak in his company. Maybe that was because he wasn't directly involved. Or maybe it was because he possessed an indomitable natural optimism.

Their food arrived and Rebecca was delighted with the large portions of shrimp with lobster sauce and lemon chicken. Clay was going to think she had the appetite of a horse, but she didn't care. She wasn't Scarlett O'Hara trying to fit her waist into a corset drawn to seventeen inches.

“No wonder this place has earned four stars,” she said. “I haven't tasted finer food even in New Orleans.”

“I do thank you for the compliment!”

Rebecca looked up to see a man in his fifties with impossibly blond, lacquered hair and a blue-and-red paisley ascot. She'd never met a man wearing an ascot. “Peter Dormaine, Ms. Ryan. So nice to meet you.”

“A pleasure to meet you, too, and I'm so sorry about your tree,” Rebecca said in a rush. “I'm usually not a reckless driver. I feel just awful—”

Dormaine held up a well-manicured hand bearing an ostentatious sapphire ring. “No need to apologize. I'm simply glad you're all right. And so is the tree. Mrs. Esther Hardison of Whispering Willows Nursery rushed right over with some foul-smelling potion she smeared all over the gash in the tree. She guarantees me the tree will not only live but thrive. And the lawn has been reseeded. All is well.”

After he'd left, Rebecca leaned toward Clay. “He's nice but a bit flowery. That accent! I can't quite place it.”

“Try a Berlitz course after spending his first eighteen years deep in a West Virginia hollow. He's a good guy.
He's just pompous. At least you got past your apology. Wasn't so bad, was it?”

“Not at all. I have a feeling the night it happened he wasn't quite so calm about the damage I'd done to his perfect lawn. I didn't know Aunt Esther had been called to the rescue.”

Clay frowned. “I always get this confused. She's not really your aunt, is she?”

“No. She's Frank's. She and her husband raised Frank after his parents died, and she's always felt like family to me.” The day when she'd flashed on someone telling a boy his family had blown the ransom drop and now he would die. A boy she knew was Jonnie.

“What's wrong?” Clay asked. “You wouldn't believe how your expression changed.”

“Oh, something happened out at the nursery. It was probably nothing.” Clay raised an eyebrow at her. “Okay, it was something weird and probably important.”

“Then let's hear it. I
am
your sounding board, remember?”

Briefly Rebecca told him about seeing into the mind of someone she'd first thought was Todd. Then the someone had mentioned the family bringing in the FBI and signing his death warrant. “It was Jonnie, Clay. The FBI isn't involved with Todd's abduction. And whoever was speaking to the victim broke his finger. Jonnie's finger was broken.”

Clay leaned back in his chair. “Have you had flashes about Jonnie before, since the kidnapping?”

“Never. Not one thing. When it happened yesterday, I was walking into the pond at the nursery. I can't swim but I was oblivious to the water. Doug stopped me.”

“Doug is close to Esther?”

“Very. She was always loving and supportive of him, even when he was going through that bad time a few years ago.”

” ‘Bad time.' That's a polite way to put it. We were a bunch of punks.”

“You? Clay, you were nothing like Doug and Lynn and Larry.”

“Well, I wasn't the clean-cut, all-American boy. I probably would have gotten in a lot more trouble if I hadn't had so many chores to do on the farm.” He frowned. “We were just an unhappy group and there was no reason for it. None of us had bad home lives.”

“Doug didn't want his father to marry Mother,” Rebecca said. “I never understood it. She was always kind to him. I think he had some idea his own mother would come back.”

“He was crazy about his mother. Didn't he ever talk about her to you?” Rebecca shook her head. “Well, to hear him tell it, she was an angel on earth and he couldn't accept her death or his father marrying anyone else. He also didn't feel comfortable in your house. He knew Jonnie didn't like him.”

“I don't think it was that Jonnie didn't like Doug. He just felt the way Doug did: He couldn't let go of Daddy and he didn't want Mother to remarry.”

“It's a shame they didn't understand each better,” Clay said. “But my point was that Larry, Lynn, Doug and I had okay lives—not perfect, but who does? But we chose to go around feeling misunderstood and abused by the world in general. We were all mad about something and we sort of kept each other fired up. It was stupid.”