CLOSE TO YOU: Enhanced (Lost Hearts) (38 page)

             
Teague could stop him, but first, Kate would give him all the information he needed.

             
She attracted quite a bit of attention while she maneuvered her car into a parallel parking spot. Apparently BMWs were rare in Hobart.

             
She attracted as much attention when she stepped out, and she was glad she'd dressed modestly in black slacks, a black sweater, and a forest-green jacket. As a matter of fact, she'd dressed for possible combat— yesterday had taught her the disadvantages of fighting in a skirt. And she wore comfortable flats—the soles of her feet were still sore, and, until Oberlin had been arrested, she wanted to be able to flee.

             
Inside, the RoeAnn had the look of a fifties diner, with red vinyl and chrome chairs and matching tables, and a long bar with red vinyl and chrome stools. A jukebox flashing with fluorescent pink and green lights played a medley of Elvis songs. Best of all, the place looked clean and smelled great, like hamburgers and homemade pie. Almost every table was full, and every head turned to survey her.

             
She smiled; she needed to talk to people here, and people naturally warmed to someone who smiled.

             
A few of the younger people smiled back. Some of the older ones looked shocked and glanced away. One waitress stared at her, wide-eyed, and when Kate said, "Can I sit anywhere?" she broke and ran toward the back.

             
Kate thought the restaurant must employ the mentally challenged, which was a good thing unless you were a stranger and wanted to eat lunch.

             
But with her pencil, the other waitress indicated a booth.

             
Kate nodded and slid in.

             
Sitting there, she considered the situation with Teague. How he had said he wouldn't interfere with her reporting. How angry she was at him for lying . . . How she had promised to check in with him.

             
It had been more than four hours since she'd left him. He'd tried to call her once, and she'd turned off her phone. Sadly, she hoped he was worried about her. She wanted him to learn a lesson. But she knew she was being harsh; she was being stalked by a murderer.

             
George Oberlin lurked in Austin, waiting to touch her, to say horrible words that insinuated that she would trade her soul for his money, his influence. He scared her for more than his murderous tendencies. He scared her because he seemed to think he was a typical man.

             
Teague had every reason to be frantic with her silence. So, grudgingly, Kate pulled out her cell phone and called him.

             
He didn't answer, and his message cut in and out. She glanced at the display. The signal here was weak; this town was a hole where cell waves sank without a trace. But she left a message anyway: that way he couldn't gripe at her for not keeping her word. "Teague, it's Kate. I'm in Hobart. I'm doing my research. I'm fine. I'll be back in Austin tonight." Taking a breath, she said, "I know what you said to Brad. Don't ever try to control me again, or I swear to God, I'll leave you and never look back."

             
She hung up, stared at the phone in her hand, and realized the shoe was actually on the other foot. She had hoped Teague would be worried about her. But now she was worried about Teague.

             
She dialed Teague again. He still didn't pick up; when she heard his message, she said, "Call me back and tell me you're okay. I'm, um, concerned."

             
The skinniest little old lady in the world sat facing her at a table across the restaurant. Her stooped shoulders and white hair showed the burden of her age, her ebony-skinned face sagged, but she smiled cheerfully at Kate.

             
Kate smiled back.

             
The old woman's companion turned to glance at Kate, then shook her head. Kate glanced at the menu and figured she'd better stick with something basic to go with her milk shake.

             
The waitress who'd pointed out this booth to her and wore a name tag that said CATHY, stopped by and asked, "What can I get you?"

             
"A French dip sandwich with fries and a chocolate shake."

             
"That shake in the window gets 'em every time." Cathy grinned as she scribbled down the order. "It's made with Bluebell ice cream, you know."

             
"I should just plaster it to my thighs," Kate told her. "That's where it's going to end up anyway."

             
"It's more fun going in the top." Cathy winked.

             
The old lady still smiled at Kate, and, when Kate caught her eye, she waved.

             
Kate waved back.

             
The old woman's smile grew.

             
The waitress glanced over. "That's Mrs. Parker. Sweet thing, but she's slipped a few gears, if you know what I mean. Her daughter was living in California. She moved back to take care of Mrs. Parker at home, but Maureen is no spring chicken herself. I don't know what they're going to do." Cathy shook her head. "It's a shame when the mind goes first."

             
"She seems happy," Kate said.

             
"She was my second-grade teacher. It's . . . hard when she doesn't recognize me." Cathy cocked her head and studied Kate. "You look familiar, yourself."

             
Kate saw Mrs. Parker get to her feet and reach for her walker. "Does KTTV out of Austin reach this far?" Kate asked. "I'm a reporter there."

             
"No, most of our stations are out of San Antone, but maybe that's it. Last year we went to Austin for our anniversary." Before Kate could explain she hadn't been there last year, Cathy went to pick up an order and to yell at the other waitress for malingering.

             
With a helpless, apologetic glance at Kate, Maureen helped her mother make a slow progress across the floor. They reached Kate's table, and the daughter said, "Mama's a little confused today. She thinks she knows you."

             
"I do know her." The old lady sank down in the booth and reached across the table.               Taking Kate's hands in her fragile, crippled fingers, she asked, "Where have you been keeping yourself? I've missed you."

             
"I'm glad to see you, too." Mrs. Parker had made a harmless mistake, and Kate didn't try to correct her.

             
"How are the children? Last time I saw Hope, she had gotten so big! Why, I remember when she was just a baby and the sweetest thing I ever laid eyes on. And driven! Not like that rascal Pepper."

             
Kate played along. "No, not like Pepper at all."

             
"I warned you about naming a child Pepper, didn't I? That little girl is as smart as a whip, but she'd rather run and chatter with her friends than do math. She's a trial, that one." Mrs. Parker laughed a long, clear laugh. "I can't quite remember. How old are the girls now?"

             
Kate didn't know how to answer. As she dawdled, Mrs. Parker's merriment faded. Tears filled her eyes.

             
"Who would have thought those children would disappear like that? One minute they were here, the next minute they were gone, and everything in Hobart changed."

             
"Oh, Mama." Maureen handed her mother a handkerchief.

             
Except for the whir of the milk shake machine, the restaurant was unusually quiet.

             
Kate glanced around. Everyone in the restaurant observed them.

             
"Even the foster boy vanished, and you had really gentled him." A tear dropped off Mrs. Parker's wrinkled cheek.

             
"But the girls are fine." Gently, Kate squeezed Mrs. Parker's fingers.

             
"Are they? Well, good. Good. I was worried about them, I can tell you." Mrs. Parker dabbed her eyes.

             
The other waitress—the odd, frightened one—ventured out of the kitchen and stood behind the counter, filling coffee cups and staring at Kate as if she'd grown a second head. Kate began to feel as if she'd fallen into the
Twilight Zone
.

             
"You had a baby, too. What was that child's name? Caitlin. Caitlin Prescott. Such a pretty child. I always said she would grow up to look like you." Mrs. Parker scrutinized Kate. "My goodness, I don't know how you do it, but you are looking younger every day. You haven't gone off and had one of those extreme makeovers, have you? So foolish to meddle with God's work. But no, you're the minister's wife. You wouldn't do that."

             
"Mama, here comes Cathy with this lady's order." Maureen touched her mother's shoulder. "We'd better go back to our table and let her eat."

             
"Of course." With the help of her walker, Mrs. Parker hefted herself to her feet. "Don't be such a stranger! I get lonely since I've quit work. Come for a visit. I'll make you a pear pie. You know, Lana, you've always loved my pear pie."

             
Lana.

             
"Thank you," Kate faltered. "It was wonderful to see you, too."

             
Lana
. Evelyn Oberlin had looked into space, called Lana's name, said she was sorry. . . .

             
As the mother and daughter walked away, Kate wiped her suddenly sweaty palms on her napkin.

             
Mrs. Parker had given details, names. She had insisted Kate was Lana, a minister's wife . . . and she had suffered that moment of sadness.

             
What was it she said?
Who would have thought those children would disappear . .
.

             
Cathy slid a huge platter with the French dip and the fries onto the table, then returned with a glassful of milk shake and the rest in the metal shake container. "It's as good as it looks," she advised, and whipped off to pour coffee at the next table.

             
Who would have thought those children would disappear . . .

             
Kate stared at the food. She glanced around the diner. The people now hunched over their plates and examined her out of the corners of their eyes.

             
Who would have thought those children would disappear . . .

             
Dear God. Kate's whole life had changed today. This minute. Now.

             
She picked up her phone and dialed Teague. "Damn it!" she whispered when he didn't answer. The signal still cut out, so she left the message three times. "I found my family. I found my family. I found my family. Come to Hobart, Teague. I think he killed them all."

             
Someone stepped up to the table. "He didn't kill them all."

             
Kate glanced up.

             
A woman of maybe forty stood there. She had an hourglass figure with a little too much sand in the bottom, hair dyed flame red, and wore a Hawaiian shirt, pink shorts, and running shoes without socks.

             
"He didn't?" Should Kate get in her car and drive away as fast as she could, or stay to find out who she was and what had happened?

             
How could she walk away from her past when she'd found it?

             
"I'm Melissa Cunningham." The woman smiled and stuck out her hand. "I was wondering when one of you all would come back."

             
Kate shook hands. "So you recognize me?"

             
"Of course I do." Melissa leaned across the table and looked into Kate's eyes. "You're one of the minister's kids. You're Lana Prescott's baby daughter."

TWENTY-TWO

              As he drove toward Hobart, the phone rang in George's car. He glanced at the number.

             
Jason Urbano.

             
Today, George had his revenge, his money . . . and when he got to Hobart, he would have his woman. One way or another, he would have Kate.

             
With absolute composure, he opened the connection. "It's about time."

             
"Senator Oberlin?" It was a woman's voice. It contained the faintest hint of Texas in its accent.

             
George frowned. Urbano should not have had his secretary call. "Yes?"