Heart of Ice

Tell me, tell me. Something’s wrong. What, baby, what do I need to know to make it better?

Later, when Michael fell asleep, Olivia went downstairs to the office and logged on to his laptop. She knew the password because he’d called her from the road one time when his laptop had failed and he needed to retrieve some client data from his backup computer, a Sony desktop.

“Sorry, honey,” he said, “But I’m in a bind. Do you mind?’

“Of course not.” They chitchatted for a moment about his trip as the computer warmed up and she asked for his password when the log-on prompt came up on the screen.

“OLIVIAMYLOVE,” he said.

She typed it in, smiling as she went.

“Nice password. I thought you might have used the cat’s name like everyone else.”

“I’ve used this password or a variation thereof from nearly the day that I met you.”

It was a sweet memory. But as she sat waiting for the screen to light up, she wasn’t sure how far she was willing to go to find out what it was that was troubling the man that she loved so much. Maybe some secrets, she thought, are best hidden?

Her heart rate accelerated a little when she heard the creak of the stairs, but it was a false alarm. No one was coming. With the light of the computer screen as the room’s only source of illumination, it took three times to get the password correct. She’d almost given up, thinking that he might have changed it.

The desktop picture was a familiar image, taken by a Japanese tourist at the Santa Monica pier as the sun started its dip toward the Pacific. The family stood in front of the carousel, their features washed with the golden light of the hour. It was captioned: The Bartons Get the Runaround. The image brought a quick smile, but it was rueful rather than joyful. Their perfect family was at stake.

Olivia dug in to his e-mail first, but found nothing of interest—though some sexually related e-mails from spammers gave her brief pause. She pulled down his list of favorite websites. Amid the stock report sites, the news sites, a half-dozen tech sites, and even a gardening web page, one caught her eye.

It was a blog written by a young woman from Washington State. It was out of the ordinary, for sure. Olivia couldn’t readily see why her husband would “favorite” something so far removed from any interest. For a second, she wondered if it was a porn site.

…the national office sent out an advisory, that I’m sure you have already read. I’m going to put it up on my blog anyway. It really bears special attention. OK? Click here and read the message.

Olivia moved her cursor and clicked. A pop-up window opened up with the following message.

The brutal murder of our Beta Zeta sister Sheraton Wilkes has devastated our chapter at Dixon University, Dixon, Tenn. Along with the heartache of a life taken from us too soon, we must also implore each of you to maintain a watchful eye over each other. We have four tips [4 Safety!] that we urge you to take to heart. Your continued safety will be a tribute to Sheraton Wilkes.

Always travel in pairs.

Always make sure that several people know where you are going and when you will return.

Always heed the midnight curfew.

Never be afraid to call campus security or 911 when you feel threatened in any way.

There was an explanation for her husband being on Jenna’s website, of course. Olivia remembered how the murder of the sorority girl had been on the news when he returned from Tennessee. She and Michael had discussed it. He seemed somewhat interested because he’d been there. It was the same connection she felt when she learned that a jetliner had crashed in the mountains of the Cascades—not far from where she’d grown up.

Sometimes you want to know everything when evil or tragedy comes so close.

Olivia looked at the time. Once again, the Internet had sucked away another hour. It was almost 2:00 A.M. She powered down and went back upstairs.

Whatever she was looking to find wasn’t there.

He could feel the covers move and the mattress give way as Olivia crawled back into bed. He looked at the clock. She’d been downstairs for more than an hour. He pretended to sleep as she settled herself back down.

What had she been doing?

Chapter Fifty-four

It felt like a small betrayal, but Olivia Barton had good reason for it. As the highway to Acton unrolled in front of her in a seemingly endless belt of blacktop and skid marks, she told herself that Michael would see that she loved him—if he ever found out what she had done. She planned to be careful, of course, so that they’d never have that conversation.

She couldn’t come up with any other way to ferret out her troubled husband’s past. State records for juveniles were sealed. She’d tried the “I’m a family member desperate to find my brother” ploy on a records clerk who snapped gum and told her that “they’re sealed for a reason and the reason is they don’t want anyone in those records.” She tried talking to Michael about his past, but he was evasive. Sometimes even dismissive, as if there was nothing there to really tell. He’d told her time and again that he’d moved on. She knew that to find out about his past, the time to do so was when they were first together.

Only in the beginning of a relationship, she thought, can a woman make a stand and rummage around, gently of course, in the past of the man she loves.

When you marry him, you unwittingly shut the book and you accept him for all that he is. All that comes with him. His past. His family.

Two days before the drive from Garden Grove, she found Gwen Trexler’s phone number on an online phone directory. She took a deep breath and made the call.

“Ms. Trexler?”

“Yes. Who’s calling?”

“Did you used to be a reporter for the Sea Breeze?”

There was a short silence. Olivia could hear Etta James wailing “At Last” in the background.

“Yes, I was.”

“I’m calling about my husband, Michael Barton.”

“Come again? Barton? The name doesn’t ring a bell. I haven’t been down in Orange County for years. Finally wised up and got into PR.”

“He was the little boy you wrote about. They found him at Disneyland with his sister.”

Another short silence came from Gwen Trexler’s side of the line, but this one had more to do with instant recognition of the sad story of the two little kids, dumped by their mother.

“I’ve thought of those children forever. I wish I could have done more for them. Especially the boy, he was so messed up. I wish I could have helped more.”

Olivia wondered what the former reporter meant by that, but she let it slide. Over the phone wasn’t the venue for what she was after.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to talk to me?” Olivia asked. “You might be able to help now. I think he’s having problems. It might be related to what happened to him back then.”

“All right. I’m up in Acton. Got a pencil? I’ll give you an address.”

Olivia looked at the computer screen. “You still on Antelope Way?”

“Yes, I am. Nice work. You should be a reporter. That is if you want to give up your life for meetings, breathe in everyone’s smoke, have no money, get no respect…don’t I sound bitter?”