Dana Ivins took off her glasses and chewed thoughtfully on one earpiece, still looking toward the window. “I knew your husband’s first wife. Julie was a wonderful person; in spite of her health problems, she did a lot for the community. After she died, I was sure Hy was done for-the environmental protesting with a nasty edge, being thrown into one jail after another. Then, because of another special woman, he settled down. That, apparently, was you.”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m inclined to trust you. And I will tell you about Amy Perez.”
Amy, Dana Ivins said, was highly intelligent but struggled with low self-esteem. “Her home life is chaotic-it’s not easy being the daughter of the town slut. I know, because that’s what my own mother was. Amy’s response was the same as mine: she dropped out of school and set about creating the kind of life she thought she deserved, which included alcohol, drugs, and bad choices when it came to boyfriends. She was arrested once for underage drinking and put in an alcohol education program, which did no good whatsoever. There was another arrest for possession of marijuana, but the charges were dismissed because the quantity was so small and Amy claimed it must have been her mother’s.”
“Great family dynamics working there.”
“I’m inclined to think she was telling the truth: the jacket she was wearing belonged to Miri. Anyway, the home situation became intolerable. Amy stopped living there, began moving from one boyfriend’s place to another’s. She had two abortions in as many years. The boyfriends invariably abused her and then threw her out. When she came to us, she was squatting in one of the cabins at Willow Grove Lodge.”
“And how did she come to you?”
Dana Ivins smiled. “Very directly, if unintentionally. I went to my car one morning and found her passed out in the backseat. If there was ever a candidate for Friends Helping Friends, Amy was the prototype. I woke her and took her into the house. Got her cleaned up-she’d thrown up on herself-and loaned her a pair of my sweats. We talked.”
“And then…?”
“I found her a place to stay with a friend who rents out rooms. Talked the manager of Food Mart into taking her on part time as a shelf stocker. And she began to work on getting her GED. She stayed clean and sober and didn’t see any of her old boyfriends. But then she started to backslide.”
“When?”
“It’s difficult to pinpoint, because it was subtle at first. A month ago? Maybe even six weeks. At first she’d miss scheduled appointments, but she always had a good excuse. Then she slacked off on her work for the GED. She kept working at Food Mart, but the manager told me her attitude wasn’t good. And finally she moved out of her room at my friend’s house without giving any notice.”
“To go where?”
Ivins shook her head. “My friend didn’t know. When I asked Amy, she said she’d moved home because her mother needed her. But she never would have done that; she hates Miri.”
“People like Miri are good at emotional blackmail. Maybe-”
“No. Amy had come too far for that. I know; I’ve been there. Besides, I could tell she was lying. When she lies she gives it away by letting her eyes slide away from yours so they’re looking at your left earlobe.”
Everybody, except for the most accomplished sociopath, has some mannerism that gives him or her away in a lie. Not every lie, but if the stress level is high enough, it’ll manifest itself. I’ve seen it thousands of times: eye movement, facial tics, changes in vocal pitch, tapping fingers, crossing and recrossing of legs-you name it. Once you pinpoint it, you have a better tool than a lie detector.
“When was the last time you saw Amy?” I asked.
“At least a week ago.”
“And how did she seem?”
“I didn’t really speak with her. She was stocking the bins in the produce area at Food Mart, and I was in the checkout line.”
“This was someone you’d been counseling and had cause to be concerned about, and you-”
“One of the philosophies of our organization is that the clients must be motivated to come to
I wasn’t so sure that was such a good approach, but then, I had no real background in their brand of therapy. Look at how miserably my own recent attempt had failed. “Okay, the time before that…?”
“Weeks before. Amy came here, and we talked in the parlor. She was having trouble with one of her GED courses-algebra-and it was frustrating her. I’m no whiz at math myself, so I advised her to reread the materials and go slowly. I told her if she was still having trouble, I’d locate someone who could tutor her.”
“And did you?”
“Yes. I referred her to Bud Smith. Anyone who can figure out insurance-rate tables should be able to explain algebra.”
But Smith hadn’t mentioned that to me when he spoke of Amy.
“Did she contact him?”
“I don’t know. I never heard from her again.”
Bud Smith’s office was closed. A sign on the inside of the door said he wouldn’t return till two. I considered my options, then headed for Zelda’s for a burger and a beer, where the owner, Bob Zelda, and I caught up on our personal current events. Afterward I went back to Smith’s office. The sign still said back at two, but he wasn’t there.
The provisions I’d bought for the Perezes’ casserole had been sitting in the Land Rover too long; I drove back to the ranch and cooked. The process of grating cheese, slicing ham and mushrooms, and blending a sauce soothed me. I put the casserole in the oven along with a smaller one for my own dinner, set the timer, and went to the living room to read. After a few pages I dozed off in the comfy oversized chair. It was almost time for the casserole to come out when the phone woke me.
Sara. “Sharon, how are you?”
“Doing splendidly, thanks to you. How’s Miri?”
“Going through the d.t.’s. The seventy-two-hour hold is still on; they want to evaluate her and recommend treatment.”
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”
“It’s happened before, and nothing’s worked.” She paused. “Ramon wants to talk to you.”
Ramon sounded weary. “You’re all right?”
“Yes. Did you talk with the sheriff’s deputy about Hayley while you were up there?”
“Yeah. There’s somebody new in charge of the case-Kristen Lark.”
“So she’s still with the department. How come I didn’t see her at the scene the other night?”
“You know her?”
“From a long time ago.”
“Well, she was on vacation. Got handed the case this morning.”
“If you like, I can contact her and try to find out more about the investigation.”
“Sharon, you’re up here for a vacation-”
“It’s no problem. I just fell asleep reading. I think I’m getting bored.”
“Well, then…”
“Ramon, have you heard from Amy?”
“Uh-uh. Don’t know where she’s gone off to and, frankly, I’m worried. Her sister’s murder has been all over the news; she should’ve called us by now.”
“Did Lark ask you about her?”
“No. Why?”
“She probably will.” I explained about the life-insurance policy.
Ramon groaned. “Little Amy. She couldn’t’ve-”
“No, I don’t think so. But I’m worried about her, too.” To change the subject, I told him about the casserole I’d made and said I’d bring it over.
“Sharon, thank you. Sara’s in the kitchen trying to defrost some chicken in the microwave, but it’s not going so good. But don’t bother to bring the casserole over; I’ll come get it when I feed Lear Jet.”
