“You have something else, Laurel, or have you forgotten why I’m here?”
“What? Oh, my daughters.”
“Yes, your daughters.”
“… Do they want to see me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you talk with them? Ask? At least do that for me before you go to the authorities.”
“All right, if that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I want. When will you do it?”
“I’ll make a verbal report to Jennifer tomorrow. If they agree to a meeting, probably my office in San Francisco would be the best place.”
She considered. “No. Not down there. Please. Ask them to come to Klamath Falls, to my house.”
“Why?”
“Because maybe a visit there will explain a few things to them. Maybe it will be a new beginning for the three of us.”
“You’d better not be using this as a delaying tactic so you can run again. Because I guarantee I’ll find you.”
Her eyes grew bleak and she looked away at the lake. “Run? How could I? I have no place left to go.”
After I’d promised again-against my better instincts-to ask Jennifer and Terry to meet with their mother, Laurel went inside to her room. I remained on the veranda, staring out across the lake at the fiery sunset.
Given her character as I understood it, Laurel’s demeanor had seemed natural throughout our talk. None of it had been scripted; it couldn’t have been, given the circumstances.
But I wondered.
Her involvement in the death of Josie Smith. Her alleged mistake that had cost Bruce Collingsworth his life. Her desertion of her daughters.
I was the one who had had to prompt her to ask about those now grown children, and suddenly she wanted to see them.
I feared for Jennifer and Terry, should they decide to reconnect, but they were adults, and it was their prerogative to say yes or no to a meeting with their mother.
Momentarily I banished the investigation from my mind. Accepted the glass of wine I’d ordered from a passing waiter. Above the towering outcroppings on the far side of the lake, the sky blossomed with the last violent protests of the dying sun; purple clouds outlined in pink and gold billowed above them.
The end of a day for me.
The end of a reconstructed life for Laurel Greenwood.
Wednesday
“I am
From the sofa where she and I sat, Jennifer watched, wary of her sister’s anger. I kept my expression noncommital; I was the messenger, bearing bad tidings.
But Terry’s rage wasn’t directed at me. It was aimed at her mother, and she vented it with full force. “What she did is unforgivable! And now she wants a
Jennifer cleared her throat and said in a tentative tone, “Terry, I think we should give her a chance, hear her out.”
“No, we should not! For years I’ve believed she’s dead, and as far as I’m concerned, she can stay dead.”
“But she had her reasons-”
“Oh, yeah, she had her reasons. She killed Cousin Josie and was afraid she’d get caught.”
“She told Sharon it was an accident.”
“I don’t believe that for one minute. And neither should you. This is all your fault, you know. You should’ve left well enough alone.”
“But Terry, just think-we could be a family again!”
I studied Jennifer, frowning. She certainly was cutting her mother a lot of slack. Of course, her life had been torn apart in the wake of her father’s death and my investigation; it was natural that she’d cling to what shreds were left-one of them being her image of Laurel as a flawed but good person. It was an image with which she deeply identified, as evidenced by last week’s journey back and forth across the territory where her mother had vanished.
“Jesus Christ!” Terry exclaimed. “
I stood up. Time for the messenger to depart before she became a target. “This should be a private discussion,” I told them. “When you come to a decision, let me know.”
I’d flown down to Sacramento that morning from Klamath Falls, rented a car, and gone directly to Terry’s house. Now I got onto Interstate 80 and drove south. I’d drop off the rental at Oakland, where my MG was parked at North Field. It seemed like years since I’d left it there and flown for the second time to Paso Robles.
I was tired, mildly depressed, and looking forward to getting home, taking a long, relaxing bath, and going to bed. One of the downsides of my work is the toll other people’s emotions take on me.
Ralph and Alice were waiting in the front hall when I got home. They gave me surprised looks; obviously they were expecting Michelle to show up and feed them. I took my travel bag to the bedroom, then spooned out some of the evil-smelling food they so loved, and told Ralph, “You’ll get your shot when ’Chelle comes over.” Giving insulin shots was not my forte.
Multiple messages on the answering machine. I pressed the play button.
Jim Whitmore of the SLO County Sheriff’s Department. “The DA down here’ll be in touch with you next week. Kev Daniel’s hired top legal talent, and the state’ll need your testimony to make its case. By the way, he wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t kill the dog; apparently it went looking for someone to help its master. Didn’t stay around to fight because it had two broken ribs. Hung around a restaurant near the pier, whining and trying to lead people out there. One of the busboys took it to a vet, and the vet called the guide-dog association number that was engraved on the plate on its halter.”
Hy. “I’m flying back to the city tomorrow. Hope your case is going well. See you at home.”
Ma. “Why are you never there or at the office? You’d better not be out getting in trouble again.”
Patrick. “I’m still in Crescent City. My piece-of-shit car died. I’ll try to make it in on Friday.”
Saskia. “It was so good seeing you, dear, and meeting your lovely family. Please call me when you have time.”
Ted. “Your cell’s not on, and I don’t know how to get hold of you. Things’re really piling up here, and I’m working overtime. Call me when you get this.”
