paintings… Bad idea, for the same reason she couldn’t concentrate on the Hardiman Web site design. Her headache had worsened; she felt a little sick to her stomach.
Warm bath, she thought, that might help. In the bathroom again she drank a glass of Alka-Seltzer to relieve the queasy feeling. She was leaning into the tub to turn on the water taps when the doorbell rang.
Jake? He usually called before he came over… unless he had something new and important to tell her. She hurried out to the front door, unlocked it, and pulled it open without first looking through the peephole. And sucked in her breath and felt her body go rigid because it wasn’t Jake standing there in the glow of the porch light.
“Hello, Bryn,” Francine Whalen said through one of her bright, empty smiles.
“… What do you want here?”
“It’s about Bobby. Can I come in? I won’t stay long.”
“What about Bobby? Where is he?”
“Home with his father.”
“Is he all right?”
“Of course he’s all right. Well? Are you going to let me in?”
Reluctantly Bryn complied. Once Francine was inside with the door closed, the smile disappeared. She had a longish, narrow face framed by long, feathery blond hair-an expensive designer cut to go with the expensive leather jacket and tight slacks and Gucci boots she wore. All paid for by Robert, no doubt. Her eyes were her most striking feature, large gray eyes with irises so pale they were almost translucent. The kind that men would find warm and smoky, that to Bryn gave the exact opposite effect. Ice eyes.
“The reason I’m here,” the woman said, “is to tell you straight to your face-stop trying to turn Bobby against me.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Filling his head with nonsense, trying to convince him that I’m some sort of wicked witch.”
“That’s just what you are.”
“Oh? So now you admit that’s what you’ve been doing.”
“You’re the one who turned him against you, not me. And we both know the reason.”
“Yes? What reason?”
“You’ve been hitting him, hurting him. A little boy, for God’s sake.”
“That’s a damn lie,” Francine said. But nothing changed in her expression; no shock or surprise or outrage. The face of unrepentant guilt. “Why would I do something like that?”
“Yes, exactly. Why? Why did you fracture his arm? Why do you leave bruises all over his body?”
“I did no such things. He gets into fights with other boys his age and he’s accident-prone.”
“Like hell. You, you’re the one.”
“Did Bobby tell you I was hurting him?”
Bryn didn’t answer. Rage was like a probe moving through her; the dead side of her face burned as if it were on fire. She locked her fingers together at her waist to keep them still, keep herself under control.
“Well? Did he?”
“He didn’t have to.”
“I’ll bet he’s never said a bad word about me.”
“He hates you. He said that much.”
“Natural in a boy his age to have some hostile feelings toward the woman who replaces his mother in his father’s affection. Particularly when the mother reinforces it, stuffs his head with lies.”
“I’ve never lied to my son and I never will.”
“Bullshit.” The word sounded twice as ugly coming out of that angelic mouth. “You’ve done your damnedest to poison my relationship with Bobby. You’d better stop, Bryn, I’m warning you. I won’t stand for any more of it and neither will Robert.”
“And I’m warning you-hurt him again and you’ll be sorry.”
“Oh, really? And how are you going to make me sorry?”
“I’ll find a way.”
“No, you won’t. You’re as helpless as a baby. Not to mention paranoid and delusional-the stroke crippled your mind as well as your face. Robert says so; that’s why he left you. I say so, too.”
“And you’re a cold, sadistic cunt.”
“Call me any names you like to my face, but don’t put them in Bobby’s head anymore. If you do, Robert and I will see to it that you don’t have any more time with him.” The smile flashed on again, tight-lipped and humorless. “We can do that-Robert can-and I promise you, we will.”
An image flared up behind Bryn’s eyes: herself leaping forward, hands unclenching and hooking into claws that ripped furrows down the sides of that smug, smirking face. She struggled against the urge, fought it down. Felt herself shaking visibly now. The hot taste of bile filled her throat; the question she managed to push through it had a liquidy sound.
“Did Robert send you to tell me that?”
“No. He doesn’t know I’m here and I’ll deny it if you tell him. This is between you and me, Bryn. Robert’s mine now and so is Bobby. I took them away from you and I’m going to keep them and you’d better resign yourself to the fact and quit trying to cause trouble for us. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Bryn’s throat muscles worked, but she couldn’t get any more words out.
“I think you do. Good,” Francine said. And what she did then was so shocking Bryn was incapable of any reaction: she reached out, almost casually, and yanked the scarf off and dropped it fluttering to the floor. “I’ve always wanted to see what that side of your face looks like. My God, you’re even uglier than I thought. No wonder Robert couldn’t stand the sight of you.”
Francine opened the door, turned long enough to smile her poison-sweet smile again, and then vanished into the darkness.
11
I’d been at the agency just long enough on Thursday morning to pour a cup of coffee from the pot on the anteroom hot plate when Tamara came out of her office. “The call that just came in on line one,” she said, “I think you’d better pick up.”
“Who is it?”
“Judith LoPresti. David Virden’s fiancee.”
“What does she want?”
“She’ll tell you. I’ll listen in.”
I carried the coffee into my office. We still hadn’t heard from Virden and I figured he was nursing his grudge and wanted nothing more to do with us. But he hadn’t put stop payments on the two checks he’d written to the agency; Tamara had contacted the bank yesterday afternoon, late, and both of them had gone through.
Judith LoPresti had a low, well-rounded voice-an intelligent voice. It was also a worried voice, with an undertone of scare in it. “Have you seen or heard from David since Tuesday?”
“No, we haven’t. He was here about one o’clock to pick up our report and the Church papers.”
“Yes, I know about that. The last time I talked to him, he told me you’d found Roxanne McManus.”
“Well, there seems to be some question about that,” I said.
“Question?”
Tamara was still on the line. She said, “He called me later that afternoon, Ms. LoPresti, upset because he said the woman we located wasn’t his ex-wife.”
“… I don’t understand.”
“Neither do we. Everything we found out says that she is.”
I said, “I left a couple of messages for him later that day, but he hasn’t returned the calls.”
“He’s missing,” Judith LoPresti said.
“Missing?”
“Since sometime Tuesday. He didn’t show up to meet me that evening as we’d arranged. He hasn’t been to
