Eli shook his head. 'No, nobody sent me.'
'Well, what do you want?' she asked. 'Why are you asking me about these things?'
Eli didn't know what to say. 'I'm sorry,' he said, backing away from her a bit. 'I just--I only wanted to find out about Earl Sayers and his mother. Me and my mom, we recently moved into the town house where they both died--'
Francesca was shaking her head at him. 'I don't have to listen to this,' she said under her breath. 'I had to put up with enough questions and accusations about those two back when I was in high school. It ruined my father, who never hurt a soul. And my brother, he couldn't handle it--all the gossip and suspicion. He hanged himself in his dormitory at school. Did you know that? The police said Loretta murdered Earl in his sleep and then killed herself. Why can't people just leave it at that? Who put you up to this?'
'Nobody, I swear.'
She grabbed his arm and led him toward the door. 'I don't know who sent you here, but you're leaving-- now!' She opened the door and pushed him outside.
Eli almost collided with his uncle, who was heading into the store.
'If you come back here again,' Francesca growled. 'I'll call the police and have you arrested for trespassing.'
'I'm sorry!' Eli called to her. 'I didn't mean to--'
But she'd already ducked back into the shop.
'What the hell was that about?' his Uncle Kyle asked.
Eli walked away from the shop's window. He felt awful for making Francesca so angry, and he didn't want her calling the cops because he was hanging around. Up ahead, the door to another clothing store was propped open. Through the glass, Eli spotted a man with a dark complexion, sunglasses, and a green sports shirt. He halted in his tracks.
His uncle hesitated in back of him. 'Eli, what's going on?'
Frozen, Eli watched the dark-skinned man step out from behind the glass door. He was talking on a cell phone. It wasn't the man with the weird eye.
Eli let out a sigh, but then glanced around the mini-mall area to make sure the guy wasn't anywhere around. If he was, Eli didn't see him.
'Eli...' his uncle said. 'For the third and final time, what in God's name is going on?'
Sheepishly he looked back at his uncle, then reached into the pocket of his cargo shorts. 'That was Earl's stepsister.'
Uncle Kyle squinted at him. 'Your friend, Earl, has a stepsister who's that old?'
Biting his lip, Eli pulled out the article he'd copied at the library the day before and showed it to his uncle. 'Earl's been dead since 1974. Someone slit his throat--in my bedroom.'
Her cell phone rang just as they announced that her flight to Chicago was ready for boarding.
Sydney's friend, Judy, at the news office was calling. She'd only been able to come up with one of the three unlisted Seattle-area numbers: Phillip and Hannah Gerrard. Sydney copied it down, thanked Judy, and told her that she was about to board the plane.
Gathering up her purse and carry-on, Sydney watched several people head for the VIP lounge exit. She stepped back against the wall with the Boeing 707 diagram on it. She switched her cell on again and dialed the Gerrards' number.
A machine answered after two rings.
'Hi,' Sydney said. 'I hope I have the right Hannah and Phillip Gerrard. My name is Sydney Jordan, and I work for the TV newsmagazine
That much was true. In that seven-month-old newspaper article, both the Gerrards and the Travinos were still hoping to bring their daughters' killer to justice. It had occurred to Sydney that a segment on the unsolved murders of Molly and Erin was the kind of edgy story the network wanted from her now. Moreover, the national attention might help give police investigators more incentive to solve the case. Finally--and selfishly--it was a story she could cover without having to leave town. So even if this had nothing to do with the
'I'd only do the story with your permission, of course,' she continued. 'And your participation, I hope. Let me leave you my phone number and--'
There was a click on the other end of the line. 'Hello?' the woman said. 'Is this really Sydney Jordan?'
'Yes,' she said. 'Do I have the right Mrs. Gerrard?'
'Yes, I'm Hannah, Molly's mother,' she replied.
'I don't know if you heard any of what I was saying just now--'
'Yes, I did. Listen, my husband and I would be grateful for anything that would light a fire under those police investigators. I'm sure the Travinos feel the same way. Plus I've seen your work, Sydney, and I've always thought you'd handle Molly's and Erin's story in a very dignified, compassionate way.'
'Well, thank you very much,' Sydney murmured. She was surprised at how quickly Molly's mother seemed to embrace the idea.
'Frankly, I wasn't sure I'd ever hear from you again,' Hannah Gerrard continued. 'I was going to write to you, Sydney, but I didn't have your address. It was a bit of a surprise, but I must say, my husband and I were very touched when you sent that beautiful flower arrangement after Molly's death. Thank you, Sydney.'
For a moment, she couldn't speak.
'Sydney?'
'You--you're welcome,' she murmured, numbly.
She'd found his first duet.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
'I can't believe I let you talk me into this,' his Uncle Kyle whispered. 'I'm supposed to be keeping you
They rode up to the twenty-seventh floor in a shiny-brass-paneled elevator with a trio of men in ties and business suits. Eli's uncle had said earlier that in their casual shirts and shorts, they'd look like a couple of bums wandering into the law offices of Rayburn, Demick, and Gill. But Eli had been in a hurry. And, of course, his uncle had been right.
His uncle had said a lot of things earlier--in the car, as they'd driven back from Kirkland, across the 520 floating bridge. 'I can't understand why you didn't share any of this murder-suicide stuff with your mother or me. Sneaking off and lying to the two of us about where you were half the time, it doesn't make sense.'
His uncle had been right about that too. Eli had done his best to explain how it had started out with the Ouija board, and then eavesdropping on his mom and their neighbor. After that, it had just snowballed. Besides, his mom had known about the murder-suicide, and had kept it a secret from
'Oh, God, you two are so much alike, it's scary,' his uncle had muttered. 'She just didn't want to worry you.'
'Well, I didn't want to worry her,' Eli replied.
'I just don't get it,' his uncle had said. 'I don't understand what you hope to accomplish by digging into this old business from thirty-four years ago and bothering these people connected to the case. What did you think the lady back there was going to tell you?'
Eli had to admit he'd screwed that one up. He still felt bad he'd gotten Francesca Landau so upset. At the same time, he'd learned her brother, Jonathan, had hung himself a year after the deaths of Loretta and Earl. Francesca's father hadn't been the only suspect in the case; clouds of suspicion had hovered over her college-age brother as well.
Eli felt he could learn more from Earl's friend, Burt Demick. In the article Eli had copied, Burt had said:
