A Wicked Snow

“Ted, this isn’t a good time,” she said a little too harshly when he asked if they could go over the Garcia interview report.

“Someone,” he said somewhat snidely, “got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Next, he paused and dropped a nugget of information that made her nearly jump from her chair.

“Now Joanne Garcia says Mimi killed her brother,” he said.

Hannah was stunned. “What?”

“I know you heard me, but I’ll say it again. Mimi Garcia is the one who drowned the baby. Joanne says that she and Berto covered it up to spare the girl from living with such a horrendous deed.”

Hannah set down her paperwork. “That’s complete bullshit.”

“I wish. I just got off the phone with her so-called lawyer—Deke Meyer. They want to work out a deal so that Mimi can be spared any emotional trauma.”

If it hadn’t been so serious, Hannah would have laughed out loud. Ripp had a lot of nerve casting aspersions on anyone. He was, she was sure, the world’s worst at what he did. Deke Meyer was merely in the bottom ten percentile of his profession.

“Joanne Garcia is the biggest idiot or bitch. Maybe both. We’re going to put her away for a long, long time. This is complete bullshit,” she repeated, raising her voice. “Using a little girl to bail them out—unbelievable!”

“I’m just the messenger,” Ripp said, faking a cringe while he dropped another file on her desk before exiting, “remember?”

Alone once more, Hannah felt the color drain from her face. The Garcias were not going to get away with what she was sure was the most outrageous defense a parent could fabricate. It disgusted her. Despite what she’d heard, she still couldn’t concentrate. She tried Deke Meyer’s office, but his secretary (his fourth wife, Sheila) said he was out “running errands or something.” Her mind was preoccupied, and she couldn’t focus on anything other than the conversation with the FBI agent. At 11:30, she looked at her watch and called Ethan. When he answered his phone, she told him about her conversation with Bauer.

“He’s going to see Marcus on Friday,” she said.

Ethan knew his wife better than anyone. He knew what she was going to say next and was already exasperated by her, so he said it out loud.

“You’re thinking of going up there, aren’t you?”

“I am,” she answered, her words surprising her a little. “I guess I am.”

“Hannah, haven’t you been through enough?” he asked. “Haven’t we all? Remember when you told me— promised us—that Orlando would be the last time you went chasing after your mother? I hate to say it. I hate to think it, but you’ve got to pull yourself in and stop this before we go through this over and over.”

“This isn’t about her,” she said, stiffening in her chair. “Someone out there knows who I am. Don’t you get it? This could ruin our lives.” Her voice started to crack. “It could destroy everything.”

Ethan was in a no-win situation, and he knew it. “You’ve made up your mind. I already know that. Let’s talk about it tonight,” he said. His voice was uncharacteristically flat. There was no talking about it. The absence of emotion had more to do with resignation than lack of genuine concern. Ethan had stood by his wife as she chased the memories that haunted her. She’d pursued four Claire Logan sightings since their marriage. She’d gone after her mother when news agencies reported appearances in Orlando, Pittsburgh, Tulsa, and Cabo San Lucas. And though Ethan knew this time could be like all the others—a literal dead end—it appeared a bit more promising. The shoes were either a prank or a taunt. He wondered if Claire Logan herself had sent them.

Hannah had already packed and Amber was reading at the kitchen table by the time Ethan came home that evening. She’d told her boss, DA Bill Gilliand, that she needed a couple days off for personal reasons. And she’d be back in the lab on Monday. After some characteristic browbeating—mostly for show—he acquiesced. Gilliand considered Hannah among the brightest and the most dedicated of the county employees—lawyers and lab rats—in his office. He did not know her family background, even though there had been a hundred times when she wanted to talk to him about it. There were times when she wanted to talk to anyone besides Ethan about it. But outside of her aunt and uncle and a cousin in Georgia, no one knew. Until, of course, an unknown someone had sent the package.

Hannah also double-checked the refrigerator to make sure Ethan would find something to eat, though she expected he’d take their daughter out to California Pizza Kitchen or another of the little girl’s favorite places. The last thing she did was to call a message in to Jeff Bauer. She knew he’d be at the office and he’d given her his home number. Voice mail picked up.

“Jeff, this is Hannah Griffin. I’ll meet you at Cutter’s Landing in the prison parking lot at nine thirty tomorrow morning. I’m leaving as soon as I hang up, and I won’t have my cell with me. See you there. I want to see Marcus Wheaton, too. Bye.”

When she hung up, she turned to find Ethan standing beside her. He knew what Hannah was going to say, so he spoke first.

“You’re going to see Wheaton. Do you want me to go with you? We could get a sitter.”

“No,” she said. She couldn’t do that to Amber. “I’ll be all right.”

Amber rushed to her mother and wrapped her arms around her.

“I’ll see you and Daddy on Saturday. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.” She made the motion across her breast.

“Be careful, babe,” Ethan said without looking at her.

“You know I will,” she said.

Amber hugged her a second time. “Love you, Mommy,” she said.

“Love you more.”

It was around 8 p.m, and the sky was blush with an impending sunset when Hannah started north to Oregon. She planned to drive until midnight, hopefully reaching Janesville, a speck just on the south side of the California/Oregon border. There was a truck stop with a small motel and cafe there. Coffee would fuel her; thoughts of Marcus, her mother, and Bauer would keep her going. Hannah loved the solitude and the strobe of the golden, then dusky, scenery that flashed by the wind-shield. She made decent time and arrived at the motel at 12:45. She’d driven almost 330 miles in four and a half hours. A woman with bird legs and a uni-brow checked her in and gave her a room key.

“Free pastries in the morning,” she said. “Just pay your bill and you can take some eats for the road.”

Hannah opted to prepay and gave the woman her Visa card and was charged $55. She’d try to get four hours of sleep before heading out for Cutter’s Landing and the penitentiary.

The last thing she thought of before drifting off to sleep were the faces of Mimi Garcia and her dead brother, Enrique. His was lifeless, chalky white. His sister’s was full of fear.

I’ll take care of you, she thought.

Then thoughts of Erik and Danny came to her mind, and she tried to force them back to the darkness of her memory. She started to cry. There was nothing she could do for them—not then, not now. Even so, the memories came. It was snowy. She was only thirteen.

“Hannah?”

Her eyes opened. Marcus Wheaton held his finger to his lips. His eyes were wild, and the sight of his mammoth frame hovering over her caused Hannah to cry out. She thought of how her mother and he’d been yelling out in the yard earlier. What time was it?

“Shhhhh. Don’t say a word. Not an utterance. Hannah, you understand? You must keep calm and be still.”

To make his point, he pressed the palm of his hand over Hannah’s mouth.

Fear seized her entire body. He’s going to mess with me, she thought. Mom warned me. He’s going to touch me in a way that is wrong. She wriggled and bit his hand. Wheaton winced.

Not you, she thought. Not you. Don’t do this to me.

“You don’t understand,” he said. “I’m here to help you.”

Her eyes pooled, and she trembled. She had reason to, of course. Wheaton was an intimidating figure,