The article also mentioned that the fire had destroyed volumes of records on file at the agency.
“It probably doesn’t have anything to do with my niece,” George said, still standing behind her. “But we should Google this Duane Savitt.”
“Duane,” Karen repeated, staring at the killer’s name in the news article. She could almost hear a four-year- old girl trying to pronounce it. “Dween.”
“What?” George asked. “What is it?”
“My God,” Karen whispered, her eyes still riveted to that name on the screen. “I think we might have just found Amelia’s other uncle.”
Chapter Eleven
“None of the women I met last week through that Internet service were worth a second date. Four women, and not one could hold a candle to you.”
Karen managed a patient, placid smile for the man seated across from her on the sofa in her study. He was a skinny 42-year-old divorce with receding strawberry-blond hair, fishlike eyes, and a huge Adam’s apple.
“Now, Laird, we’ve been over this before,” she said. “It’s called transference, and it’s perfectly normal to get a little crush on your therapist. But you need to move on from that. Now, tell me about these women, and why they didn’t measure up to your standards.”
“Well, for starters, none of them liked
“That’s not a good reason. Your ex-wife was a huge
Laird started listing the faults of date number one. She just wasn’t pretty enough for him-this from a guy who looked like a blond Don Knotts. Of course, she was in no position to criticize people for their fickle romantic notions, not when she had feelings for a man whose wife had just been murdered a week ago.
She and George McMillan had spent over an hour last night in front of his computer screen, checking search engine listings for Duane Lee Savitt. George had pulled up a chair and sat beside her. They hadn’t found much about the man who might have been Amelia’s Unca Dween. Apparently, the police never determined a motive behind his killing spree. There were no records of him ever working at Jamison Group, and as far as anyone could tell, he hadn’t known any of his victims. One article suggested Savitt might have been the birth father to a child adopted through the agency. But it was difficult to determine that, since he’d destroyed all their files. A thorough search of county and state records yielded nothing for investigators.
Karen was getting frustrated by what looked more and more like a dead end. But she had George at her side, occasionally touching her arm or shoulder as they found each new potential lead, even if it didn’t pan out. She wasn’t alone in her concern about Amelia; she had an ally.
She understood why he was a history professor. He seemed obsessed over getting every single fact about this tragedy from nearly fifteen years ago. He was doing it for Amelia, of course. But Karen liked to think he was doing it partly for her, too.
Before she left his house, he gave her a photo of Amelia, so she could post it at the nurses’ station at the convalescent home. He walked her to her car, and assured her that he’d keep digging for more information about Duane Lee Savitt.
Karen hesitated before climbing into the car. She couldn’t leave there without resolving something, though a sixth sense told her to leave it the hell alone. “Listen, I still feel bad about upsetting you last week. If I was out of line, I’m sorry-”
“What are you talking about?” George asked.
“When I told Amelia about her father and-and your wife,” Karen explained. “I meant well. But you’re right, it wasn’t my place to-”
“Karen, please,” he said, shaking his head. “It was a misunderstanding. You don’t have to apologize for anything. If I got curt with you, I’m sorry. I was half out of my mind that night. If it weren’t for you and Jessie, I don’t think I could have gotten through it.”
She shrugged. “Well, I didn’t do much.”
“Are you kidding? You broke the news to Amelia for me that her parents and Ina were dead. That was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. You drove her over here, and made sure she didn’t get herself in trouble with the police. Even after what happened to you today-at your dad’s rest home, and with Koehler-you’re still in Amelia’s corner. My niece is very lucky to have you for a friend. You’re selling yourself short, Karen. I think you’re terrific.”
“Well, thank you, George,” she said. She felt herself blushing. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
George shook her hand, then lingered as she backed out of the driveway. He threw her a little wave. Karen blinked her headlights, and then started down the street.
She thought about him while driving to Sandpoint View and, for a few minutes, she actually wasn’t scared. It didn’t even occur to her to check the rearview mirror for the old black Cadillac.
All it took to jolt Karen back to scary reality was a long walk down that cold, dark, stale-smelling corridor at the rest home. She posted the snapshot of Amelia on the bulletin board at the nurses’ station, along with a note: “If you see this young woman anywhere in or around here, please call me immediately. Many thanks, Karen Carlisle.” She wrote her home and cell phone numbers at the bottom of the note.
She checked in on her dad, who was asleep. “G’night, Poppy,” she whispered, kissing him on the forehead.
She chatted briefly with Rita, thanking her again for helping her earlier in the evening. Then she walked back out toward her car. The lot wasn’t very well lit, and her eyes scanned the bushes bordering the rest home for anyone who might be lurking there. She had her key out, and picked up her pace the last few steps to the car. She made sure to check the backseat before climbing behind the wheel. Then she quickly shut the door and locked it.
All the way home, she kept glancing in the rearview mirror. No one seemed to be following her. Once she stepped inside the house, Karen switched on several lights. She took Rufus on a room-to-room check. While in Sheila’s old room (now the guest room) she went into the closet. Her dad used to keep a gun under his bed, but when he’d started showing signs of depression and early Alzheimer’s, Jessie and Karen had decided to hide the gun and bullets in another part of the house. They were inside a shoebox on the guest room closet shelf. If her dad had noticed the gun was missing, he hadn’t said anything about it.
Karen dug the gun out of its hiding place. As far as she knew, her father had never fired the thing. The same clip had probably been inside the gun since 1987. She didn’t know much about guns, but after so many years without use or maintenance, this one probably didn’t work. Still, Karen felt better having it, especially when she crept down the basement stairs for the last round of her house check. She kept the gun pointed away from her toward the floor. The main part of the cellar had once been a recreation room for Karen’s older brother and sister, but now it was just a storage area. The cheaply paneled walls used to be covered with posters that had come down decades ago. It was impossible to see the top of the Ping-Pong table, now loaded down with her old dollhouse, her brother’s ancient 8-track tape player, and boxes of junk. Jessie kept the laundry room neat. But the latch was broken on the window above the big sink, and everyone at one time or another had used it to climb inside the house when they’d forgotten their keys. The furnace room was like something out of a horror movie. Even with a strong light, there were still dark areas behind the furnace, and a maze of pipes that cast shadows on the paint-chipped walls. Spider-webs stretched across those old pipes. Jessie admitted she never cleaned that room. “You have to be a contortionist to make your way around that furnace. God knows what’s back there; I don’t even want to think about it. That’s the creepiest room in this house.” Karen agreed with her. And once she’d checked it, she hurried back up the stairs, shut the basement door, and locked it.
She let Rufus do his business in the backyard, while she stood, shivering at the back door. Then Karen heated up a Healthy Choice pizza for her late-night dinner in front of the TV and a mediocre
She’d fallen asleep on that sofa, with her dad’s old robe over her and the gun beneath her. Rufus was curled
