The Hiding Place (31 page)

“It’s really hard to grasp the Lohans until you see their houses,” Nick said, staring wide-eyed at Laird’s home as they made the second pass. “They say you can’t take it with you, but Laird probably thinks having a son and heir is the next best thing—like King Henry VIII who moved heaven and earth to have a son, divorcing one wife after another.”

“And beheading a couple of them. Look!” she said, pointing, as Nick slowed the truck in front of the yard next to the Lohans’. “Their gardener’s even working in the rain.”

“You said that Jordan’s gardener, Jim, is totally dedicated. Maybe that’s what it takes to work for the Lohans.”

“Tell me about it. Nick, stop here. I have an idea. Can I take Beamer out in the rain for a minute? I’m going to find out who’s home.”

“Sure, but be caref—”

She had the dog’s leash attached to his collar and was out of the truck in a flash, ignoring the fact she should have grabbed the umbrella. “Beamer, heel,” she said, and he did. It always gratified her when the Lab took commands from her.

“Hi!” she called to the man as she strolled up to the Lohan fence. Then louder, “Hello!”

He looked up and turned her way. Would he think she was just a neighborhood woman walking her dog? He was quite young, with a Seattle Mariners cap on his head. He studied her as he walked toward the fence. It had been a long time since she had used her looks to get information. She wished she wasn’t so exhausted and strung out. She forced a smile. He had big hedge clippers in his hands, not electric ones but an old-fashioned-looking pair.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“I hope so. I’m from the dog breeding company, Pets for Kids, and I need to check out the yard and house before one of our golden Labrador retrievers—not this one—is allowed to be adopted by the Lohans. It’s a gift from the little Lohan boy’s grandfather in Denver, so it’s a bit of a secret. We just can’t allow our puppies to be taken in unless a sort of adoption check is made, you know.” Too much information, she told herself, but sometimes what just came out sounded better than a rehearsed script.

“Oh, for little Jordie? Man, he’s got everything else, so why not, huh?”

Jordie, she thought. For Jordan? Of course, Laird would have named him after his father. He’d even said once that if he had a son he’d name him that, but that he wouldn’t name a girl something as old-fashioned as Veronica, because he wouldn’t want people calling her Ronnie. No, he’d said, he’d name a daughter Alexandra, so she was glad she’d named her Sarah instead. The way Laird had handled her death, Sarah was more her child than his!

“The thing is,” the gardener went on, “they’re not here right now. They gave the housemaid the day off, too.”

Her insides cartwheeled. All this distance and they weren’t here, not even Jen.

“Do you know when they’ll be back? I must have mixed up my scheduling.”

“I could let you walk around the yard, but I don’t have house keys. It’s a great yard for a dog, as you can see,” he said with a sweep of his hand. “Hope he won’t be burying bones, though. The Lohans are at the other house in the woods, up by Robe Valley. That’s ’bout ten miles past Granite Falls off the Mountain Loop Highway, if you need to talk to them.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize they had a getaway. That might give a dog even more room to run.”

“Yeah, their hiding place, Mr. Lohan calls it,” he said, looking her over intently. “I do have the keys for there. I look after it when they can’t get up there.”

Smiling up into his face, she leaned on the fence and flipped her hair back. She was wet, but the sprinkles of cool rain had turned to a fine mist. At least, she thought, if she started to cry in disappointment, he might not be able to tell. “You are being so helpful,” she said. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Todd Lawrence, groundskeeper here. Yeah, well, they like to head up there now and then when he takes a few days away from the office, and I think Mrs. Lohan’s been feeling a little sick lately, so it may help her. Still, if I had this spread—” he thrust his arm out again to encompass the grounds he was obviously proud of “—I’d be set for life.”

“You sure do great landscaping. You know, I really should check out that getaway residence, too. It isn’t set in a place where a puppy could fall down a cliff or ravine, is it?”

“It’s pretty rough territory up there, but breathtaking.” He smiled down into her eyes. “They’re on Pine Crest Lane, which backs up to the Mount Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest. If you don’t know the area, it’s a little ways past the Pillaguamish Country Club, where Mr. Lohan plays golf. I love to camp and hike around there, and I did the grounds for their place there. Fantastic view of the Cascades. It’s probably raining up there, just like here. That’s why they call them the Cascades, of course.”

She forced a laugh at what must be a stale joke around here. But he’d told her where to find the Lohans. And if Laird’s so-called hiding place was out in the wilds, maybe it wouldn’t have a gate and fence.

Tara managed to get rid of Todd by telling him she’d just reschedule the visit and hoped to see him then. When he pressed her for a phone number, she made one up on the spot and hurried back to the truck, parked down the road.

“So?” Nick said when she got in. He added, “You should let Beamer shake himself outsi—” as the dog sprayed them and the inside of the truck with water.

Ignoring that and hugging the dog, she said, “They’re not here, but I know where they are. And we’re going to get close enough to question them. I’ll call Carla to tell her where we’ll be. Head for the hills, driver.”

She felt suddenly hopeful, stronger. Though Laird called the other house his hiding place, no way could he escape her now.

“T
his is going to work. I can just feel it,” Tara told Nick as they drove into the small, historic town of Robe Valley. “It’s not raining here, and the sun’s peeking through. Things are finally going to go well,” she added, sounding more confident than she felt.

He frowned, but as he took the truck around another turn, he conceded, “At least I’m used to Colorado driving, and this increasing altitude’s not going to bother either of us.”

Her heart beat harder, not from the thinning air but from finally getting close to facing Laird. She’d still like to confront Jen first, but she would take whatever chance she got. Considering that most of the homes tucked back up in these foothills of the Cascades looked accessible to someone driving or walking in, Tara was becoming more confident there would be no barriers to the Lohans. Surely that was another good sign.

But the thing she had been silently steeling herself for was not as much facing Jen and even Laird as seeing their son in the flesh. Sarah had died, and Jordie lived. He was a beautiful child. Yes, she was envious, but she had loved to look at him in the photos, to study his little face, those blue-green eyes and bright blond, curly hair. He must be even more appealing in person. She’d like a son just like that someday, with Nick.

“Okay,” Nick said, jolting her from her agonizing, “there’s the country club you said the gardener mentioned, but this town looks really small. I’d better get gas. I’ve only seen two stations here, and the road’s got to be even wilder the farther we go.”

While he filled their tank, Tara phoned Carla again as she watched Nick chat up the guy in the adjoining gas station bay.

“Pine Crest Lane is only a couple of miles farther,” he told Tara when he got back in. “He said you can’t miss it, which usually means you can. And I got the phone number of the local police—unfortunately, not in Robe Valley but in Granite Falls.” He recited it, and she punched it into both their cells. “But the bad news is,” he went on, “the guy says cell phones often don’t work up here because of the mountains and the lack of cell phone towers, just like at home. On a nicer note, how’s Claire?”

“Carla says the girls had a great time at the aquarium. Their favorite animals were the seahorses at the Myth, Magic & Mystery exhibit, but they thought the sharks were ‘awesome and way scary.’”

“Good that they enjoyed themselves.”

Just past a sign pointing to Mount Pilchuck, which seemed to hover over the valley, lending a stark, snow-tipped backdrop, they came to a fork in the road. One way headed up into the deep, dense forest fringing the foothills; the other was marked by a carved signpost for Pine Crest Lane. Nick slowed and turned onto it.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked.

“Never been more determined.”

“Don’t let them get to you.”

“One way or the other,
I’m
going to get them.”

When they approached the first house on the winding lane, Nick pulled off to the side and killed the engine. “That’s got to be it up ahead,” he told her, pointing at a chalet-style house peeking through the pines. “I don’t see a car, but it could be around the other side or in the garage.”

A jagged memory flashed through Tara’s mind. Parked at the bottom of a driveway, she was looking for Clay’s house, trying to find Alex. Grateful for the camouflage of trees, she crept onto Clay’s property. No, she told herself. Stop remembering that now. This isn’t like the day of that tragedy at all.

“Are you going to stay with the car?” she asked as she got out. Her legs were trembling.

“I know we agreed I wouldn’t get in the way of your speaking to either of them. But I’m going to try to find a location where I can see you, or at least be in earshot if you need me.” He got out the other side and put Beamer on his leash.

With the Lab sniffing at everything, they crunched through the crisp leaves along the roadside. Bare-limbed deciduous trees as well as pines rattled and shifted in the brisk breeze. On the drive, she’d seen the foliage change from a rain-forest mix to subalpine. See, she told herself again. This isn’t like that day Clay went berserk, when Alex died and I almost did. Nick and Beamer are here with me, so I can put that memory out of my mind. After all, what’s more important, the past or the future? Or, in this case, just surviving the present.

As they walked up the curving gravel driveway—for the Lohans, this A-frame cedar building was really roughing it—Claire glimpsed a swing set and sandbox out back. “I hope they keep a good eye on Jordie when he plays outside,” she whispered. “I’ll bet all kinds of wild animals are in these parts.”

“Including the human kind,” Nick muttered, but she forced herself to keep walking.

They started toward the front door, then stopped. The house had huge glass windows, front and back, so that they could see into the main living area. A woman sat within, slumped over a kitchen counter or bar. Despite some reflection on the glass, her silhouette was stark against the trees out in back.

“Is that her?” he asked. “Can you tell?”

Tara grabbed his wrist. “I think so. And alone, I hope.”

“If you get in, stay in that area of the house so I can watch. I think I’m going to go around back. If you need the cavalry to rush in, just wave an arm over your head or shout.”

She nodded, but she was thinking that was the way Marcie had watched them. They had become the stalkers.

Nick squeezed her shoulder, then he and Beamer moved quickly to the side of the house as Tara forced herself to walk up to the front door. She felt suddenly alone and afraid. The day she’d gone looking for Alex, the day her coma had begun, she’d looked in the kitchen window and seen her friend slumped over, tied in a chair and now Jen…

Standing directly in front of the door to avoid appearing to be staring in, she rapped hard on the wood with her knuckles.

No sound at first. Nothing. Hadn’t Jen heard? What was taking her so long? Had she spotted them and was refusing to answer the door? Or was Laird here? Would he be standing there if the door opened? Dear God, what if, just like Alex, Jen was dead?

Then movement, a shuffling sound inside. Jen looked out through the glass. Her eyes went wide; her lower jaw dropped. To Tara’s relief, the door opened, but so wide and fast it banged into the inside wall.

“A ghost early for Hall’ween or a blasht from the pasht?” Jen asked and hooted a shrill laugh.

Of all the greetings Tara could have fathomed, this was not one of them. Her former friend looked like a ghost herself: pale, hair wild, her slender body almost gaunt. Tara smelled liquor on her breath; she must be drunk, and in mid-afternoon. Her blouse was rumpled, her usually immaculate mane of white-blond hair looked flattened, her eyes bloodshot. With shaking hands, she hugged herself as if to keep warm.

“’Mon in,” she said. “I can use some comp’ny, true confessions and all that.” She almost fell over from the momentum of sweeping her arm in a welcoming gesture. “Guessed you’d show up sooner, later.”

Tara followed her in and closed the door, resisting the urge to help Jen walk. She couldn’t stand to touch her. “Where are Laird and your son?” she managed, still astounded. Jen had liked a social drink as well as anyone, but she’d always seemed to handle her liquor. The curse of the Lohans, Tara thought, first Veronica’s abusing drink and pills and now this.

“Laird out for a golf lesson at the club, gone wi’ the wind,” she said, and plopped back onto the high bar stool where she had been before. “Took Jordie ’long, give me a break for once.”

Amazed that anyone could resent one moment of taking care of the little boy, Tara sat on the metal-and-leather stool beside her. If Jen really was inebriated—she’d learned to trust almost no one—maybe she’d tell her things she needed to know. And since she had no idea when Laird would return, she had to get Jen talking. But she looked so bad. Surely Laird didn’t allow this, especially not when she had a son to care for.

“I didn’t know you drank, Jen. The question is, why?”

Jen turned to her, leaning one arm on the bar and bending over it as if she would go to sleep on the polished wooden bar. “You, of all people, certainly don’ have to ask why,” Jen said. “Wanna hear a good one? Yeah, you’ll like this. I don’t care if he gets mad or gets another wife.”

She took another gulp of whatever amber liquor she had in the cut-glass tumbler. Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes and tracked down her cheeks, but she made no move to wipe them away. “Crying in my beer…” she whispered, “but this stuff’s harder than beer, harder than…than I ever thought it could be…” Her voice and gaze drifted off into vacancy.