Her Last Letter (17 page)

He came close and kissed me on the forehead, then on the mouth, lingering for a while. “You’re totally amazing,” he said. “And confusing. I swear I will never figure you out.”

“Don’t try.”

“I take it you’re feeling better?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well … you were depressed. That’s what you said. I was concerned, that’s all.”

I pulled back. “And you had to mention it.”

“Now wait, don’t beat me up if I say the wrong thing. I’m not good at this.”

“Not good at what?”

“Gwyn, don’t. I didn’t mean anything bad.”

“But somehow you managed to remind me again that I’m the one with a problem.”

He held my shoulders. “Gwyn, don’t. I didn’t mean it that way. I didn’t. Okay?”

I tried to let the anger slide away, not sure where it had come from. I closed my eyes along with my lips, determined not to spoil the romantic evening I’d envisioned. “I’m sorry,” I said finally. “I guess I’m a little oversensitive. I’m tired of everyone seeing me as the recovering manic-depressive.”

He hugged me. “I don’t see you like that.” Then kissed me. “Not at all. Will dinner burn if we leave it in the oven for a while?”

“No, I guess not.”

He continued to hold me and the tension gradually eased away, my body relaxing, responding to his kisses. We made love on the floor, there before the fire, as I’d hoped we would, and I enjoyed myself more than I had in a very long time, and wondered if it were possible for a man to make a woman feel this loved, this special, and still be a cheat. At the moment, I didn’t care to guess, but hoped that it wasn’t possible, and that I was wrong about him.

Finally, we unwound ourselves from each other, and I moved to get up. But Trevor stopped me, placing his hand on my arm.

“I’m glad you came by today, that you found me in town.”

“I probably shouldn’t have interrupted you.”

“Didn’t hurt.”

“She probably didn’t like it.”

“I doubt it, but it wouldn’t matter.”

I waited for him to continue. He rolled over and gazed down at me. “You were jealous, weren’t you?”

“No,” I said, suppressing a laugh.

“You were right to be. She is hot for me.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Why? Is that so hard to believe?”

“No, but it’s hard to believe you’d tell me about it. Especially now.”

“I just didn’t want you to get the wrong impression. If that’s why you’re mad. I’m not interested in her.”

I looked away, then back into his eyes.

“But,” he said, “I am interested in her business, and I have to pretend a little.”

“Why?”

“Because women like Sylvia want to feel attractive and powerful. She likes to think she’s irresistible, that if she truly wanted me, she could have me. But she knows I’m married.”

“So why would that make any difference to her?”

“It might not…. I think you are jealous.”

“Not at all.”

“Liar.”

I tried to get up, but his weight pinned me down.

“I have to take the potatoes out,” I said, “or they’ll burn.”

“You don’t have to worry about Sylvia. I told you. I’m not interested.”

And the question just sort of dangled there at the tip of my tongue, ready to slip out.
But what if you were interested? What would you do then?

I let the subject drop and served Trevor dinner in the dining room, poured his wine, and spoiled him with attention for the rest of the meal.

Later that night, I watched as he relaxed in his favorite chair and checked stock quotes in
The Wall Street Journal
, while I pretended to read a book. I thought again of the lie he’d told police about the night Kelly died, how he’d misrepresented the time he’d returned home by a full two hours, and never given me a good reason for it. I assumed he’d worried it would make him look bad, that he might come under suspicion if no one could corroborate his whereabouts. I’d understood, I thought, and said nothing. But
was
he alone, as he claimed, catching up on some work?

Back then, he was employed by Sun Realty. It wasn’t until later, when we married, that Trevor was able to open his own office. I’d provided the up-front money. I’d wanted to do it. He was so enthusiastic, so eager, and so obviously ready for the move. He had a lot of contacts, and was sick and tired of working his butt off and making money that didn’t end up in his pocket, but that of Sun Realty. And he had been right to do it. He’d made the business a success.

He looked up from his paper and noticed me staring at him. “Thinking about me?”

“Of course.”

“I didn’t wear you out?”

“You wore me out.”

“Good-though if you’re interested, I’m up for another round.”

“As nice as that sounds, I’ll pass. I’m tired.”

“Me too.” He folded his newspaper and set it aside.

I had to ask him, before he got up to leave. “Do you think they’ll ever catch him?”

He frowned, then looked at the floor. “Sure, they’ll catch him.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. Eventually they will. You’ll feel better when that happens, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

He rose from his chair and walked over. “You coming up?”

“In a little while.”

“Don’t stay up too late,” he said, caressing my shoulder.

“I’m just going to read a little more.”

“Fine.”

I remembered one time coming into the kitchen. It was during the housewarming party I’d given a month after moving in, and seeing Trevor and Kelly alone talking quietly at the counter. I’d felt an odd kind of jolt, seeing them together, Kelly looking so absolutely gorgeous, showing just a little too much cleavage, her eyes overly made-up, heavy on the mascara, lids drooping alluringly, then lifting, gazing up at Trevor so intently. She was leaning in a bit too close, the way she did when she was attracted to a man, and it was apparent she was already on her way to being drunk, or maybe it was more than just the alcohol. Trevor had spotted me first, and stepped back.

It was only the one time, and I hadn’t thought about it since. After all, Kelly was a born flirt, but I’d always believed she meant nothing by it. It was just her way. She’d never step over the line. She had flirted with Wolfgang too, and Josh, yes, lots of times, and he had good naturedly put up with it, but never gave me any reason to doubt his loyalty. Besides, Kelly had Craig, a guy she seemed pretty taken with. Why would she go after anyone else’s boyfriend?

I had met Craig only a few times, usually when I stopped over to the house to visit Kelly. The two weren’t living together. Craig had his own place. Kelly hadn’t known him long, maybe four or five months, but he was often there when I came by. He seemed okay, friendly enough, but I hadn’t tried to get to know him. Kelly might have a new guy by the next week, though she did seem to have a thing for Craig. With his long blond ponytail, rock-star good looks, and “whatever-baby” attitude, he seemed to have a lock on what Kelly was all about.

I’d been certain he’d murdered my sister, and so it appeared had the police. He didn’t have an alibi, and a young woman at a party store thought she’d spotted him earlier in the evening with Kelly, though the girl wouldn’t swear to it. The police had questioned Craig later. Shortly after that, he’d left town in a big hurry, leaving most of his possessions behind. No one had seen him since. Possibly no one ever would.

But now that I’d found Kelly’s letter, I wished I could talk to him and find out what he knew. Maybe there’d been a good reason why he’d left town in such a hurry. Maybe he knew who’d actually killed Kelly, and was afraid he would be next.

“Gwyn, is Trevor home yet?”

It was Tuesday afternoon and Linda was on the phone, speaking slightly above a whisper.

“No.”

“I’ve got it.”

“The report?”

“You guessed it.”

“What’s it say?”

“I can’t read it to you now. Wolfgang could walk in here at any second. I’m upstairs. I’m not even sure-he might be out of the bathroom already.”

“He could also pick up the phone. Are you sure he’s not listening in?”

“I’m on my cell. He can’t listen in on that.”

“Come over to the house,” I said. “No, let’s meet somewhere. I’d be too nervous looking at it here. Can’t you tell me anything?”

“I’d rather you look at it yourself.”

At that, my stomach flipped over. “Why, is it bad?”

“Don’t start second-guessing. Where should we meet?”

“Not in a public place, someone might overhear us. What about in a parking lot? How about behind the library?”

“Okay, way in the back. For sure, no one
I know
will be there.”

“What time?”

“As soon as you can.”

“What about Wolfgang?”

“Oh, I’ll tell him I’m going to the drugstore, that I need cotton balls or something. He’s in the middle of his workout. He won’t even care.”

“Okay, I’m leaving now.”

I could barely keep my mind on my driving. In the space of a few hours I would know more of Trevor’s history than in the whole two and a half years I’d known him. He didn’t talk much about his past, mostly about current things, the business, friends he’d made in the business, his hopes for the future, and things we could do in our free time, ski trips, vacations we could plan.

He also talked very little about his family, who lived in Sacramento, California. I had met his mother, Ester, a petite shy lady, at the wedding here in Glenwood more than a year ago. And he had a sister, Laurel, whom I didn’t meet, who had apologized over the phone for not being able to attend. She was in the hospital for surgery, a torn ligament in her shoulder, as I remembered. His older brother, Joseph, was at the ceremony and was pleasant enough, but came alone. I’d talked to him at the reception and learned he’d never been married, though according to Trevor, his brother had a sometime girlfriend, but for whatever reason, didn’t invite her along. Trevor’s old childhood friend, Stan, a prominent lawyer with extensive land holdings in California and a lot of influential political friends, showed up for the wedding and stayed for part of the reception. Trevor had shown more animation and spent more time with him than with anyone else.

Trevor’s father did not attend. Trevor had shrugged, said his dad didn’t want to upset his mother. Though still legally married, his parents had separated years ago at his mother’s request. Trevor didn’t seem too upset about it, or surprised that his parents had not taken the final step and divorced. I wasn’t sure if Trevor ever contacted his father. He never said so. At times when I mentioned his dad, Trevor changed the subject-jokingly, but still he changed it. He did phone his mother fairly often, but he hadn’t seen her since the wedding, and he didn’t have any future plans to visit as far as I knew. Not exactly a close-knit bunch.

Linda’s Audi wasn’t in the library parking lot when I arrived, so I cruised the last row, surprisingly full of cars, and realized that parking was becoming scarce the closer it got to Christmas. I found an empty space and pulled in. A few minutes later, Linda pulled up behind me. She waved her arm, beckoning, and I hopped out and got into her car.

“Do you believe this?” she said. “How many of these people are really in the library?”

“Drive around,” I said, glancing around the car for the background check.

“In the backseat.”

I reached over and grabbed the manila envelope. “Are they both in here?”

“No, just yours.”

I frowned at her. “Where’s yours?”

“At home, where I left it.”

I noticed that though the envelope was glued closed and clasped, it wasn’t anything Linda couldn’t buy at an office supply store. But if I asked if she’d looked at the contents and transferred them to a new envelope, Linda would freak-and it wouldn’t change a thing. “How come you didn’t bring yours?”

“Because it’s private, and certainly I’d tell you if there were anything that needed telling.”

I held the envelope and silently counted to ten-very, very slowly. “I thought the idea was to share information.”

“Yes, but only if it might lend some light on Kelly’s death. I thought you might want to keep Trevor’s matters private also. Are you going to open it?”

“Give me a minute.”

“I agree. It’s scary.”

Linda located a narrow parking space and edged in.

I slowly released the clasp and pried the envelope open, then reached in for the papers. I held them at an angle so Linda wouldn’t be able to see. I saw my husband’s name, Trevor Taylor Sanders, first, then our home address, his business address, and Trevor’s social security number. No aliases. I took that as a good sign.

It listed previous addresses, and I briefly perused those. Several were in California, but one was in Denver, and I calculated that it must have been shortly before I met Trevor, before he came to Glenwood. I thought he had told me he’d moved directly from Sacramento to Glenwood, or at least that’s what I remembered.

It listed relatives: mother, father, brother, sister, aunts and uncles, many more than Trevor had ever mentioned, and their last known addresses and telephone numbers. It listed our current neighbors and their addresses and phones also.

I looked up, but Linda was staring absently out the window. “You can drive,” I said. “I can’t study all of this here.”

“I know. It’s a lot of stuff.”

I brought the papers into my lap. “So there wasn’t anything questionable in Wolfgang’s background?”

“No, it was almost boring there was so little of interest.”

“He was telling the truth about his parents dying in an avalanche?”

“Yes.”

“I’m only asking, you know. It’s not like you’re volunteering anything here.”

“It was just such a waste of time.” She turned her face toward me. “Unless there’s something in yours you haven’t told me about.”

“No, but I’ve barely read it.”
But I bet you have.
I’d even be willing to bet that Linda had been studying it for several days, since she’d called on Sunday.

I turned back to the papers, flipped through the pages, skimming information, then stopped-and focused. The word, “incarceration,” brought me to an immediate halt.