‘Yeah, that’s hers.’
Shep hit
Shep hung up. Heat crept into Mike’s face. The notion that they had even her recorded voice in their possession made him angry. He pictured her cell phone in William’s sweaty hand, in Dodge’s oversize pocket, riding on the dash of that dingy white van.
‘Tell her not to report her phone missing,’ Shep said. ‘We want to keep it active.’
‘Why?’ Mike asked.
He was punching buttons, so Mike crossed and looked over his shoulder. He’d typed a text message: WHAT DO U WANT?
He looked at Mike. Mike nodded. Shep clicked ‘send’, pulled out a pad, and jotted down the time. He set the cell on the glass surface of the table.
‘They’re only turning on her phone at intervals,’ he said. ‘Harder to track.’
‘Impossible?’ Mike asked.
‘Harder.’
They sat. Shep, never one for small talk on a job, stared straight ahead. Mike did his best not to fiddle with his hands. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. Pretty soon they’d have to start thinking about heading out to that cafe. Mike checked his watch, cleared his throat, about to suggest they get moving.
The clatter of the cell phone against the glass made his breath catch in his chest. It was loud enough for him to feel in his teeth, but Shep barely blinked.
Mike leaned over and picked it up, his hands shaking slightly as he read the new text.
U REALLY GOT NO IDEA, DO U?
A chill did a slow crawl up Mike’s back. He started to say something, but Shep ticked his finger once to silence him. Shep checked his watch, jotted down the time, then pointed at the phone.
Mike keyed in, NO.
He set the phone back on the table and leaned back. Both men stared at it for what seemed a very long time, Mike bracing for the ring this time. The anticipation only made him start worse when it finally did sound.
He pried open the cell. His hands were trembling even more, but he no longer cared what Shep might think. The message stilled them instantly – it seemed his whole body, his heart, was frozen in a moment of suspended alarm.
JUST WAIT.
Chapter 23
Driving through his neighborhood, Mike was struck by its suburban genericness. This was not Hollywood of the palm trees and starred sidewalks, Venice Beach of the hippie conspiracists and incense burners, Beverly Hills of the Sunday Bentley and nine-dollar cupcake. Lost Hills was built, block after block, of ranch-style family homes, a community of gleaming mailboxes and bright yellow play structures. It was for folks who craved Southern California’s endless summer, who could not afford Malibu real estate but wanted to live a short drive from the Pacific, who didn’t need the paparazzi glare of Los Angeles but enjoyed the bright-light glow from a distance. Neighborhood Watch signs, hammered into every third street corner and front lawn, served as amulets against shadowy men with sinister hats and white slits for eyes. Bad things weren’t supposed to happen here.
He could not see Shep anywhere on the road, impressive given the Mustang’s conspicuousness. He got to the cafe five minutes early and took an outside table, as planned. Sipping an orange juice, he waited, his nerves frayed. Two women in their fifties dressed like they were in their twenties sashayed in, rat dogs peeping from their handbags. A well-dressed man carried on a domestic dispute through a Bluetooth earpiece. Glancing around the parking lot and surrounding buildings, Mike looked for some sign of Shep, but still nothing.
He turned at the clop of her heels. A middle-aged woman approached, clutching a tatty leather briefcase and wearing a short-sleeved silk blouse and a bark-colored skirt. Librarian’s spectacles with a beaded chain offset a soft, jowly face. Frizzy brown hair spilled to her shoulders. Her big arms had once held muscle. Whatever Mike was expecting, it was not her.
‘Michael?’
‘Mike’s fine.’
She sat. ‘I’ll cut right to it, as I imagine you’re fairly eager after all these years to know what this is about.’
Her curt, businesslike manner was something you’d encounter at a customer-service desk.
‘I think you may have me confused with someone else,’ Mike said.
‘Your father passed a few years ago. John. John Trenley.’
Hearing the first name, he felt a flare of excitement. But
‘Your mother’s been gone about a decade now.’
That didn’t square with the blood on his father’s sleeve. But then again, with everything going on, he didn’t know what he knew anymore.
Riverton unsnapped her briefcase and laid it open. ‘Danielle.’
Mike could see only the raised lid and the hinges of the briefcase. His mind raced, but he kept his mouth pressed closed.
‘I was appointed the executor of their estate.’ She smiled self-effacingly. ‘I’m a paralegal. I lived next door to you, was close to your parents. I remember when your mother brought you home from the hospital. I was eleven. I fed you a bottle once.’
Mike’s throat was dry. ‘Your maiden name?’ he asked.
‘Gage.’
The name sailed through three decades to strike a cord, setting his insides on vibration. The Gages next door. Mint green trim on a white house. Where the Doberman had bitten the Sears repairman.
He kept his face impassive, though she was still rustling through her paperwork and not looking at him. He reminded himself that this had to be another play in the scheme they were running on him. Even so, the temptation to respond, inquire, react burned in him like a calm rage.
‘There’s some money, a good amount of money, that’s due you. And, obviously, an explanation of epic proportion. But I need to ascertain that you are who I think you are.’
And there it was.
Her arms wobbling, Riverton withdrew a file from her briefcase, ‘
He tried to still his hand but it reached of its own accord and plucked up the top photo. The steps were wider than he recalled and the roof lower, but it tripped a memory.
His childhood house.
The first concrete evidence of his past life. He felt the blood leave his face, but fortunately she was still digging through papers, focused on them. He struggled to show minimal interest, to choke back the horde of questions crowding his throat.
He dropped the photo casually on the cafe table as Riverton perused the folder. The waiter came by – ‘Hi, take your order?’ – and Mike said, ‘Give us a minute, please.’ He waited until the man had retreated, then said, ‘I’m confused. Why do you think I’m related to these people?’
‘Well, you’ll see it was
