Since You've Been Gone (15 page)

“
Stop.
” Douglas looked away. Lynn reached out and touched his palm. Her hand was thin and pale with long
nails painted scarlet. Doug made no move to close his own thick hand around hers.

“Well, I didn't think you'd take the news so hard,” Lynn said tartly. “You never treated Skeeter like a pet like so many people around here. He was just a half-loony, lazy drunk. He should have been shut up someplace.”

“I guess he was a pretty sorry specimen,” Doug said grudgingly.

“You
guess?
What did he ever do? Couldn't earn a living. He never helped anyone.”

“Helped?”

Lynn looked annoyed with his slowness. “Yeah. Like you teach. You contribute. He never
helped
anyone.”

“He might have,” Douglas said faintly.

“Oh yeah? You have something specific in mind?”

“Todd.”

Lynn stared at him. “I don't get it.”

“Skeeter is the one who told Bill about there being someone in the attic of Klein's.”

“They checked up there and found Todd's stuffed animal. That's all you told me last night.” Lynn's voice rose slightly. “You didn't say anything about Skeeter.”

“I'm telling you now. It was Skeeter who told Bill about someone in the attic. He thought it was his grandfather, but Bill decided to check it out.”

“Oh.” Lynn looked at him. “Well, what does that have to do with anything?”

“I wonder if the person he saw in the attic killed him.”

“But you said he thought he saw his grandfather.”

“Well, clearly he didn't, Lynn. Use your head. Skeeter saw the person who had Todd stashed up there. He looked right at Skeeter. He might have killed Skeeter as a witness.”

Lynn's gray gaze went flat. She drew two shallow breaths before she said, “But Skeeter didn't identify anyone, did he? You would have told me. Bill would have arrested him.”

“Like I said, Bill said Skeeter thought his grandfather was in the attic,” Doug said wearily. “Bill had a feeling if
Skeeter took some time, though, he might come up with more information about what the person looked like.”

“Skeeter? I don't think so.”

“We can't be sure of that. Sometimes Skeeter could surprise you.”

“Well, he won't now.”

“No, someone saw to that.”

They sat in silence. Lynn twisted her narrow wedding band. Douglas tapped his fingers on an end table. A boy rode by on a bicycle and yelled to a friend. The woman who lived beside them opened her front door and screamed for the family dog. Finally Lynn and Doug looked at each other, exchanging false smiles. “I'm going to the volunteer center,” Doug said. “Want to come with me?”

“There are a dozen things I could do around here with my day off,” Lynn said quickly. “Miss Vinson will probably make me work overtime to make up for this unexpected reprieve. She can think up more unnecessary work than anyone I ever knew. It's not like we're doing a landslide business.”

“Yeah, too bad for Vinson's,” Doug said vaguely. “I'll be on my way, then. Got a couple of errands to do, too. I'll be back for dinner.”

“We're having pork chops. Peas and mushrooms. I might make some biscuits—”

“Good. Fine.” He brushed her cheek with his lips. “See you later.”

Lynn couldn't manage a good-bye. She waited until she heard Doug start his seven-year-old car, then crept to a window and peeked out until she saw him clear the driveway, stop at the end of the, street, and make a right turn. When she turned away from the window, she felt dizzy, even nauseated. She clenched her hands and found them damp. Lynn had never been high-strung. She prided herself on rarely panicking in her life. But at the moment she felt as if she might pass out. Or scream.

Lynn's friendship with Molly had cooled years ago. Molly would not abide an unkind word about Rebecca, and
Lynn couldn't help taking potshots at her on every opportunity. She also resented Molly's loyalty to Rebecca instead of to her and Larry. They had all been friends. Nevertheless, Molly had always been kind to her. And she'd been through a hard time having and keeping her baby. Lynn had even liked the kid the few times she was around him. No one knew who his father was, although everyone had opinions.

But one man Lynn knew could
not
be Todd's father was her brother Larry, who had been in prison when Molly got pregnant. Larry had no affection, no gentle feelings, for Todd or any child. Larry, always burning with anger, had been a powder keg lately. And he needed money. She didn't know for what, but he needed it. And now Todd had been taken.

Lynn had considered, rejected, considered again, then feared he'd kidnapped the child for ransom, inspired by the abduction of Jonnie Ryan. But Larry wouldn't kill the kid. He wouldn't kill anyone. This had been the one certainty that had comforted her.

Now someone had murdered Skeeter Dobbs, who had seen the person who kept Todd prisoner in the Klein building. Maybe whoever took Todd killed Skeeter. Or maybe not. And maybe Larry had nothing to do with Todd's abduction. Would he actually attempt such a dangerous scheme? No, he had too much sense.

Except when he was drinking, which he'd been doing to excess for a month.

“Oh God,” Lynn moaned, thinking she might throw up. She'd always adored her older brother and felt guilty for his being shot and sent to prison. She and Doug hadn't been in on the robberies, but Larry was right—they'd been there to accept part of the spoils. And Larry was the only one who'd paid. He'd never been the same since he'd been shot and gone to prison. She didn't really know him anymore.

Lynn took a deep breath, fighting for control. Nothing was ever gained by going into a tailspin, she told herself. You didn't think clearly, you didn't act effectively, and
Larry might need her help more than ever. If so, this time she intended to be there for him.

She went to the phone and called Larry's apartment. No answer. That was good. It meant he was at work. She picked up her purse and car keys and headed to Maloney's Garage.

MONDAY, 6:45 P.M.

Rebecca took one last look in the mirror, smoothed her pale green dress, gave Sean another chew bone to occupy him for the evening, then shut her bedroom door and went downstairs. As she passed Frank's study, he called out to her. She paused in the doorway.

“You look lovely. I like that dress.”

Rebecca pirouetted for him the way she used to when she was a teenager dressed for a special occasion. “Thank you, sir.”

“We'll miss you at dinner.”

Rebecca doubted this. Her mother had bitten and snapped all day, first at Walt for mowing too early and awakening her, then at Betty for trying to cajole her into eating, and finally at Rebecca for everything. After their third encounter she'd flung off to her bedroom with a headache. “Well she's a breath of fresh air,” Rebecca said to Betty. She'd tried for cool disdain and failed. Hurt had vibrated in her voice.

“Honey, it's four in the afternoon and your mother hasn't had a drink since yesterday,” Betty had said gently.

“How do you know?”

“She told me. She said I was to ignore her if she got mean-tempered. You do the same. It's hard on her but she's trying.”

Now Frank seemed to be expecting a pleasant dinner with Suzanne. Rebecca felt pity for him, although she knew pity was the last thing this proud man would want. “It feels
strange to be going out on the town,” she said lightly.

“You need an evening out.” The fading evening light shone on his black and silver hair. “This hasn't been a pleasant trip.”

“I haven't been much help so far. I shouldn't be going out to dinner.”

“Nonsense. A change of scene might give you fresh perspective.” Frank leaned back in his chair, smiling. “Why don't you go upstairs and when young Bellamy calls, I'll answer the door. That way you can make an entrance.”

Rebecca tried to look starry-eyed. “That sounds
fabulous!
And can I stay out an hour later than usual?”

“You're not that grown-up. At least not in my eyes.”

The doorbell rang. “Hark! That must be young Bellamy now!” Rebecca trilled.

Frank laughed softly. “I have missed you, Rebecca. Have a good time tonight.”

Ten minutes later she sat in Clay's car looking at him with reluctance. “Dormaine's? Clay, I can't gô to Dormaine's for dinner. I nearly knocked down the place Saturday night.”

“You didn't nearly knock down the restaurant. Just the ancient, prized tree on the lawn.”

“Oh, that's different. What do I have to be embarrassed about?”

“That's what I'd like to know.” Clay grinned. “Look, you had an accident in a pouring rainstorm. It's not like you were gunning for the place. This will give you a chance to apologize to Peter Dormaine.”

“And assure him that my insurance will cover all damages, although I'm sure Frank has already done that. Still, a personal appearance might look more sincere.” She sighed. “All right, Dr. Bellamy, Dormaine's it is.”

Rebecca had been nervous all day about the date and chided herself, both for being silly and for being shallow. After all, Todd was still missing. How could she care about anything else? How could she even want to go out to dinner? Then she reminded herself that this wasn't an ordinary
date. Clay had presented himself as possibly the only really objective sounding board in her circle. She needed to talk to someone who could be less emotional than the family.

When Peter Dormaine built his Art Deco-style restaurant on the corner of First Avenue and Grove Street two years ago, most people in town predicted failure. Even Frank had told her he feared Peter would be closing the elegant doors in a year. He had therefore dined at the restaurant once a month with Suzanne, held the Grace Healthcare holiday luncheon in the banquet room, and recommended the place to all his friends. “We must support local business,” he'd told Rebecca. “Sinclair is a beautiful city. We want it to flourish.”

“Do you eat here often?” Rebecca asked as they walked toward the front door, then could have bitten her tongue. She might as well have asked Clay how many other women he'd brought here. Her cheeks grew hot.

“I've been here twice,” Clay said offhandedly, clearly pretending not to notice her gaffe. “I'm ashamed of myself for not coming more often this last year since I've been back in Sinclair because I've known Peter for ages. But my schedule has been pretty tough.”

They entered the double doors and crossed gleaming black-and-white tiles that looked like marble. Against one wall sat a pale apricot couch; four lush chairs upholstered in amethyst satin surrounded a geometric-style glass table. Above the couch hung a framed poster for the movie
The Thin Man
and a beautiful chandelier sent down a prism of color.

The next few minutes were taken up with confirming reservations and being seated. “This place is beautiful,” Rebecca murmured as the hostess left them with their menus and drifted back to her post.

“I think it's pretty impressive.”

They both looked around at the clean lines of the large room with its continued color scheme of apricot and amethyst. Purple gladioli stood in tall fluted crystal vases. A large, white brick fireplace dominated one end of the room
and above it a long silver-framed mirror reflected the tables and well-dressed guests. The song “Someone to Watch Over Me” completed the elegant ambience.

“I just might move in here,” Rebecca said.

Clay smiled. “Sure beats McDonald's.”

The waiter came and took their wine order. “Have I told you how pretty you look?” Clay said after the waiter disappeared into the back.

“Thank you. I didn't bring many clothes with me.”

“The green of your dress brings out your eyes. I don't think I ever noticed just how green they are.”

Rebecca laughed. “I loved my father dearly but when I was young I was devastated that I had his auburn hair and green eyes, not my mother's pale blond hair and blue eyes. But I've accepted what nature bestowed.”

“I never knew your father.”

“I think you would have liked him. Everyone did.” She smiled. “He was fun-loving and outgoing. That's why people were so surprised that he was such a successful CEO of Grace Healthcare. At least that's what my mother has told me. I guess there was never any question of his taking over when his father died because his older brother had made plain his complete uninterest. But Grandfather was worried. He didn't think Dad had what it took.”

“He proved him wrong.”

“Yes. He loved the business.” She grew solemn. “What a shame he died so young.”

“I, remember there was a wreck. I don't recall what caused it.”

“We were driving down a hill in a wooded area. It was autumn—hunting season. Apparently someone was a poor shot and hit our tire.”

“Good God!” Clay exclaimed. “That bad a marksman didn't deserve a hunting license. Who was it?”

“They never found out, although some people had seen a couple of young guys in the area carrying shotguns. They acted drunk, but no one was able to identify them. I hate hunting to this day.”

“No wonder, but at least you weren't killed in the car accident, too. Your mother must have been grateful for that.”

“I guess.” Rebecca was glad the waiter brought their wine. Hers was Chablis, deeply chilled the way she liked. “Anyway, after the wreck my mother was so devastated by Daddy's loss I'm not sure I really existed for her for a while. She also might have been a little resentful that I lived and Daddy didn't, although she'd never admit it. Everything was chaos. Thank goodness Frank was around to step in. Daddy had always been closer to him than to his brother. He was an executive at Grace and knew everything about the business. Mother trusted him, too. She depended on him for everything. Sometimes I think Frank married her because she was so helpless and he was so loyal to my father.”