Sydney didn't respond or even smile. She watched him veer onto the turn-off for 188th and Orilla Road. From the interstate, it looked like the road wound through a forest area. Sydney still clutched the cell phone in her hand. She took a deep breath. 'So--was it hot in New York?' she heard herself ask.
He glanced at her and let out a stunned little laugh. 'How did you know I was in New York in May?'
'In May?' she repeated.
'Yeah, I was visiting my big brother. He's a widower with two really cute kids. Let me know if you ever want to be fixed up. He's a very well-to-do accountant.' He stopped at the light for 188th Street. Sydney saw a small sign with a right arrow that said AIRPORT. 'So how did you know I was in New York?' Dan asked. 'I don't remember mentioning it to Kyle.'
'I noticed the old destination tag on your suitcase,' she admitted.
He gave her a baffled grin, then steered the car to the right. 'Boy, you don't miss a thing.'
'It's a skill every reporter needs,' she said. 'Is the airport far?'
'About five more minutes if we get a break in the traffic lights.' He started to pick up speed.
Sydney told herself she could sit back and breathe easy--at least, for now.
'Mixed Bags,' the woman said on the other end of the line. 'Can I help you?'
'Yes, hello,' Eli whispered into the phone. He was in his uncle's TV room on the second floor, sitting on the sectional sofa that had doubled as his bed for a few weeks a while back. 'Is Francesca Landau working there today?'
'Yes, but she's running a little late. She'll be in sometime after 10:15. Can I take a message?'
'No, thanks,' Eli said. 'But could you, um....' He hesitated. His uncle was down in the kitchen. Eli wasn't sure if he just now heard him coming up the stairs. He'd paused the video game on the big-screen TV. At his side, a large picture window provided a sweeping view of downtown Seattle, Elliott Bay, and the Olympic Mountain range. But his uncle's town house was also close to the interstate, and the sound of traffic was almost like white noise. It drowned out a lot of sounds within the house.
'Yes?' the woman asked.
Eli figured it had been a false alarm. His uncle was still down in the kitchen. 'Um, I need to make sure I have the right Francesca Landau,' Eli said. 'Is she a lady in her early fifties?'
'Yes, but you better not ask Fran that,' the woman said.
'And you guys are in Kirkland, right?'
'Yes, sir, we're here on Lake Washington Boulevard.'
'Thank you very much,' Eli said. Then he hung up.
When he'd returned home from the library yesterday, Eli had used his mother's computer to check the Internet for information on Robert Landau, the estranged husband of Loretta Sayers and stepfather to Earl and, quite possibly, their killer. All he'd found was an obituary from the
Eli wondered why they'd mentioned the first wife, but not Loretta or Earl. And what had happened to the other son, Jonathan, dead at age twenty-one?
He hadn't found anything on line about a Mark Landau in Seattle after 1987. But when he googled
In & Around Seattle: Where To Shop
Mixed Bags Boutique...The owner of this fun find in downtown Kirkland is Francesca Landau, who has created a successful fusion of cosmopolitan and quaint...
www.theseattletimes/features/wheretoshop/041605-13k
The article, from three years ago, was a dull story about this gift shop Francesca owned, but it listed the address and phone number of the store, and even directions.
Earl's friend, Burt Demick, was now about fifty years old. Eli had found plenty of articles about him if it was the same Burt Demick. He was a big-shot attorney at a Seattle law firm, Rayburn, Demick, and Gill. Eli had called the law firm yesterday, but some snippy assistant had told him, 'Mr. Demick is unavailable right now. May I leave a message?'
'Um, it's kind of personal, but very important,' Eli had told her. 'When would be the best time to reach him?'
'I'm sorry. Mr. Demick may be tied up indefinitely.'
Eli had thanked her and hung up. To his further frustration, he hadn't been able to find a home listing in the phone book for Burt Demick.
Eli had really hoped to talk to Burt, but for now, it didn't look very likely. That left Earl's stepsister.
Eli wasn't certain how much Francesca knew or what she could tell him. He wasn't even sure what he would ask her. But he needed to meet this woman. He needed to find out more about Earl Sayers.
Eli still hadn't made any friends in Seattle. He didn't know anyone close to his own age--except one kid. Eli had never really seen him, but he'd felt the kid's presence in his bedroom for so many otherwise lonely nights this summer. It had taken a while for Eli to accept the fact that he was sharing his bedroom with someone else-- someone dead.
He wondered if his mother had noticed he'd stopped loudly banishing their ghost at bedtime not long ago. Somewhere along the line, he'd stopped being scared. And two days ago, he finally learned the identity of his
He had to know more.
Startled, Eli looked up at his uncle, who stood in the TV room entryway.
'Get bored with the video game?' Uncle Kyle asked. 'Not enough carnage and mutilation?'
'No, it's okay,' Eli grabbed the remote from the sofa and switched off the game and the TV. 'I was just thinking, I need to get my dad a birthday present sometime soon. And I heard there's this really cool store in Kirkland...'
'Hello, Mr. Bischoff?'
'Yes. Who is this?'
'I'm Sydney Jordan,' she said into her cell phone. On the wall behind her was a huge diagram of an old Boeing 707. Sydney sat at the end of a row of seats in the VIP lounge--as far away as possible from the noisy, crowded bar and a woman with a shrieking toddler. There were a lot of delays this morning, and Sydney's flight was one of them.
'I worked with Troy on a short video for television last October,' she went on. 'I just wanted to say that I'm terribly sorry for your loss.'
On the other end of the line, Troy's father said nothing.
'Um, I sent some flowers,' Sydney said. It was a lie, but she needed to find out if they'd gotten any. 'I'm wondering if they've arrived yet.'
'Yeah, my wife took your flowers down to the church,' he said coldly. 'I didn't want them in the house. I don't want anything around reminding me of him.'
Sydney winced. Troy's roommate had warned her about his parents.
And Troy's killer was repeating his pattern.
'Well, I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. Bischoff,' she said patiently. 'If I could please speak to your wife, I just have a question about the florist--'
'No,' he cut in. 'I don't want you or any of his other friends calling here. Understand?'
He didn't wait for her to respond. Sydney heard a click on the other end of the line.
Sydney stared at her cell and clicked it off. This was the second homophobic creep she'd dealt with this morning. And meanwhile no one was looking any further into the circumstances of Troy Bischoff's death.
The woman with the loud toddler had decided to move to the same row of seats. She was a pale redhead in a blue summer dress. Sydney wanted to gag the little brat, but she felt sorry for the mother and gave her a sympathetic smile.
The woman nodded tiredly at her. 'We're making a lot of friends here in the VIP lounge,' she said, over the
