Of course not. He was as fond of my sister as he was of nail fungus. She knew that.
Enough, Brennan. Back to the victims. They need you.
I turned my thoughts from my sister. Harry had gone off before. I had to assume she was all right.
I went back to the sofa and lay down. When I woke I was in my clothes, the portable phone ringing on my chest.
“Thanks for calling, Aunt Tempe. I—Maybe I’m jumping the gun, but my mother sounded very depressed the last time I talked to her. And now she’s disappeared. It’s not like Harry. To sound so down, I mean.”
“Kit, I’m sure she’s fine.”
“You’re probably right, but, well, we’d made these plans. She’s always complaining that we never spend time together anymore, so I promised to take her out on the boat next week. I’ve pretty much finished the renovations, so Harry and I were going to sail around the Gulf for a few days. If she’s changed her mind, she could at least call.”
I experienced the usual anger at my sister’s thoughtlessness.
“She’ll get in touch, Kit. When I left she was pretty caught up in her workshop. You know how your mother is.”
“Yeah.” He paused. “But that’s just it. She sounded so . . .” He searched for a word. “Flat. Not like Harry.”
I remembered my last evening with Harry.
“Maybe it’s part of the new persona. A lovely, exterior calm.” My words even sounded false to me.
“Yeah. I guess. Did she mention she was going someplace else?”
“No. Why?”
“Something she said made me think she might have a trip planned. But, like, it wasn’t her idea, or she didn’t want to? Oh hell, I don’t know.”
He let out a sigh. In my mind’s eye I saw my nephew run a hand backward through his hair, then rub the top of his head. Kit frustration.
“What did she say?” Despite my resolve, I felt the beginnings of anxiety.
“I don’t remember exactly, but get this. It wouldn’t matter what she wore or how she looked. Does that sound like my mother?”
No. It didn’t.
“Aunt Tempe, do you know anything about this outfit she’s hooked up with?”
“Just the name. Inner Life Empowerment, I think. Would you feel better if I made some inquiries?”
“Yeah.”
“And I’ll call my neighbors in Montreal and see if they’ve seen her. O.K.?”
“Yeah.”
“Kit. Remember when she met Striker?”
There was a pause.
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“She set off for a balloon rally, went missing for three days, then turned up married.”
“Remember how freaked you were?”
“Yeah. But she didn’t give up her curling iron. Just have her call me. I’ve left messages on the machine up there but, hell, maybe she’s pissed off about something. Who knows?”
I clicked off and looked at the clock. Twelve-fifteen. I tried Montreal. Harry didn’t answer, so I left another message. As I lay in the dark my mind positioned itself for cross-examination.
Why
Because there was no reason to do so. She took the course through a legitimate institution, and there was no cause for alarm. Besides, to research each of Harry’s schemes would take a full-time investigator.
Tomorrow. I’ll make some calls tomorrow. Not tonight. I shut down the inquisition.
I mounted the stairs, stripped, and slid under the covers. I needed sleep. I needed a respite from the turmoil that dominated my conscious thought.
Overhead, the ceiling fan hummed softly. I thought of Dom Owens’ parlor, and, though I fought them, the names drifted back.
Brian. Heidi. Brian and Heidi were students.
Jennifer Cannon was a student.
Anna Goyette.
My stomach turned over.
Harry.
