“Oh, that’s great!” I raised my face to his, tasted his lips, his tongue, felt his hands cupping my face.
“Missed me, did you?” he asked.
“Missed you-most definitely. But the jet, that’s wonderful.”
“Why?”
“Because later this morning you and I are going to fly up to Crescent City.”
After our wake-up call came at eight, Hy looked up Jack McNamara Field at Crescent City on AirNav.com while I showered, dressed, and packed. “Runways’re in good condition,” he said, “and they can handle the Citation. I’ll check on the weather while you pay the bill.”
“I’ve got to make a call first.” Since he had his laptop hooked into the room phone-even though it was a relatively new hotel, they offered only dial-up service-I took out my cellular, saw it had lost its charge.
Damn, I was definitely going to have to spring for a new model; they held their charge longer, were smaller and lighter. This unit that a short time ago I had thought so sleek and high-tech now seemed clunky and primitive. And if I let that thought lead me to contemplate the built-in obsolescence and disposability of the products we Americans snap up so eagerly, I’d fall into a daylong funk. So I simply asked Hy, “Use your phone?” and when he nodded, took it from the bedside table and dialed Sally Timmerman’s number.
“A question for you,” I said after we exchanged greetings. “Terry Wyatt told me about finding a gift tucked in bed with her on her first birthday after Laurel disappeared-a stuffed toy called the Littlest Lamb. She said she could smell Laurel’s perfume, the Passionelle that both of you used, and thought the lamb had been left during the night by her mother. But it was you who put it there, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Those little girls were hurting so much, and I wanted to do something to brighten Terry’s day, but Roy had made it plain he didn’t want me near them. I still had the key to the house that Laurel had given me years before, so I sneaked in at around five in the morning.”
“You gave her that particular toy because Laurel had been reading her the Littlest Lamb series just before she disappeared?”
“Right. The night after Laurel vanished, Terry begged me to read the next installment to her, and I did. I also read
“But you didn’t give Jennifer a
“No, I couldn’t. Roy figured out I was the one who had left the lamb. He called me and told me if I ever entered his house again without his permission he’d have me arrested-and to ensure I didn’t, he had the locks changed. I suppose he wanted to distance himself from me because I knew about his infidelity with Josie.”
“He might also have thought you were raising false hopes in Terry’s and Jennifer’s minds.”
Silence. Then: “You know, I never thought of that. All I wanted was for a little girl to wake up with a nice surprise on her birthday. But the perfume-of course Terry would think her mother had been there. I should’ve realized that! How could I have done that to her? And then for Jennifer not to receive a gift… She probably assumed her mother didn’t love her as much as Terry.”
Sally sounded so sad and self-reproachful that I was sorry I’d raised the possibility.
I said, “I think the lamb was a lovely gesture, and it probably comforted Terry.”
“But what about Jennifer?”
“She unloaded a lot of stuff on me about that time, but she didn’t mention the lamb or the lack of a birthday gift of her own. Maybe she didn’t believe it was from Laurel any more than Roy did, or maybe it didn’t make much of an impression on her.” I paused. “Here’s what you might do-call Terry and tell her the lamb was from you. It would mean a lot to her to know her Aunt Sally still cared and didn’t just drop out of her life like her mom did. And when you call, you can also talk with Jennifer; she went to stay with Terry yesterday.”
Another silence. “You know, during all the years Roy wouldn’t let me near those children, I hurt for them. But then they went away to college, and after a time I put my memories of them aside. Now I’d like to renew our friendship.”
“I think they’d welcome it. I’ll give you Terry’s number.”
Hy and I arrived in Crescent City around one that afternoon. The low-lying beach town, which once thrived on lumber and fishing, was years ago plunged into depression with the decline of those industries, but is now becoming a destination for outdoor recreationists visiting the Six Rivers National Forest. It also has the dubious distinction of being the site of a 1964 tsunami that claimed the lives of eleven people-the only killer wave that has ever struck the continental United States. Last June, the Crescent City tsunami siren-which the citizens are used to hearing tested at ten a.m. on the first Tuesday of every month-was activated one evening when the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration issued a warning after a 7.2 offshore earthquake. Four thousand people rushed to higher ground, while their more foolish brethren headed to the seaside to await the show. Fortunately, the alarm was false, and Crescent City and the idiot thrill-seekers remained unscathed.
An hour after our arrival, Patrick, Hy, and I sat in a booth in a coffee shop not far from the Crescent City Econo Lodge. Hy was consuming a huge cheeseburger with all the trimmings; piloting the Cessna Citation-a fast, easily maneuverable aircraft-had given him a natural rush that apparently needed to be fed. Patrick was excited, but in a different way: his bowl of chili sat barely touched. I was grimly plowing my way through a Cobb salad; after days of eating hit-or-miss and mostly fast food, something quasi-healthy had sounded good. Trouble was, I’d ordered it at the wrong restaurant: the lettuce was suspiciously brown around the edges, as was the avocado; the bacon was limp and greasy; the chicken was underdone; and for all I knew, there was something wrong with the blue cheese. A note on the menu had said, “Health Advisory: This dish contains bacon.” In my opinion, the warning should have read: “This dish may offend your taste buds.”
I reached out for one of Hy’s French fries, and he grinned at me.
“Okay,” Patrick said, “here’s where I’m at so far. When Rae told me that Greenwood was Smith’s heir and executor, I thought back to when I was executor of an elderly aunt’s estate. One of the things I had to do was notify Social Security of her death, so her monthly payments could be discontinued, but with a younger person who wasn’t receiving benefits, that wouldn’t be necessary. So that would leave Greenwood in possession of a legitimate social security card, a birth certificate, a driver’s license, any credit cards and bank accounts, maybe a passport, Smith’s nursing credentials-and a substantial inheritance.”
I nodded. “Prescription for a new life.”
“Right. But there’s one snag. As you told me before, Laurel got the driver’s license picture replaced with her own, but when it came time to renew it, wouldn’t the DMV have noticed something was wrong?”
“Renewing it might’ve been tricky.” I thought back to the eighties, trying to remember the DMV requirements at that time. “In those days, I think the DMV made you come in to have a new picture taken every time your license was up for renewal, rather than extend it by mail, as they do now for good drivers. But they’ve always been understaffed and overworked; when Laurel had to renew Josie’s license the clerk probably wouldn’t have questioned its authenticity. The pictures never look like you, anyway, and there was no reason for anyone to cross-check DMV records.”
“But what about the discrepancy in fingerprints? Or did fingerprinting drivers start after that?”
“Don’t know.”
I glanced at Hy; he seemed more interested in his burger than our conversation. “When was the first time you had to be fingerprinted for a driver’s license?” I asked.
He frowned. “I’m not sure.”
I looked back at Patrick. “Well, let’s forget that issue for now. Even if they had both sets of fingerprints on file, there’s a good chance they wouldn’t cross-check unless Laurel was picked up on a moving violation. Maybe not even then, unless it was a DUI, manslaughter, something like that.”
“Right.”
“So,” I went on, “you thought about the fact that Greenwood and Smith had both been nurses, and talked to your friend.”
“Yeah. She’s also a nurse, and a member of California Nurses Association. She told me the union doesn’t require any sort of photo identification, and dues are paid either by the individual or deducted from their payroll checks. I asked if there was any way I could find out if Smith’s dues were current. She said yes, provided I was smart enough and a good liar. I was smart enough to ask her what questions I should ask the union, and I guess
