Ready, Aim, Under Fire (Lexi Graves Mysteries, 10) Page 14

  Naturally, I knew some things. For instance, his parents died tragically so I was careful not to bring them up. I met and liked his sister. She and I chatted about her life, but we didn’t talk much about Solomon unless it happened to directly involve her. He was a good brother to her, and helped her financially and emotionally. He encouraged her to follow her dream and rewarded her progress. Those things all told me he was a good person, which rarely inspired me to delve any deeper. It didn’t occur to me until now that perhaps I made a mistake by not pushing him for more answers. Was I really marrying a man I didn’t fully know?

  That question replayed in my head all the way to the agency. By the time I sat behind my desk, I had to ignore it entirely so I could focus. Garrett was relying on me to help him verify Debby Patterson’s identity, real or not, and whether she was connected in any way to Fiona Queller’s murder. That had to be my only priority. Anything else had to wait.

  Lucas left the stack of emails on my desk. I checked the date of the top sheet, a month ago. I rifled through all of them to the last document. That date was ten years ago. For ten years, there weren’t a lot of emails. I was sure I could have read all of them in less than an hour.

  I picked up the desk phone and dialed Lucas’s extension. “Is this all you have?” I asked.

  “Can you be more specific?” he shot back.

  “Sorry,” I apologized, knowing my mind was elsewhere. I pushed myself to focus harder. “I just saw the emails you left on my desk and there aren’t many for ten years of correspondence.”

  “There were more. Mostly subscriptions, shopping websites, news blasts, that sort of thing. I figured you didn’t want those so I whittled them down to personal correspondence and those became family emails.”

  “No emails that looked like they were to friends or colleagues?”

  “Not in the last ten years. Not much before that either but I didn’t look too closely. I have a program that searches for me, based on the parameters I give it.”

  “Do you still have everything?”

  “Sure. I backed it up digitally on a thumb drive.”

  I paused, thinking. “Can you monitor her account now?”

  “Sure, but there hasn’t been any activity since you told me she returned home.”

  “I’m going to take a look at the family emails; then I might want to see the backup.”

  “I’ll bring it down if you have a coffee waiting for me.”

  When I first started at the agency, I would have been insulted if anyone asked me to make one of my colleagues a coffee, but those days are long gone. “Sure,” I agreed. I abandoned my last coffee at Maddox’s and I still craved the caffeine. I could get that and be in Lucas’s graces in one smooth, coffee-beaned move.

  Within a couple of minutes, we exchanged a coffee mug for a thumb drive and I was back at my desk. I turned the email stack upside down and grabbed the new top sheet, starting from the beginning, guessing Lucas had begun his search from the moment Debby was reported missing.

  I was right. There were a string of emails from her mother and father asking her to get in touch without any reply for several weeks. Then a short one from Debby in which she apologized for going away without saying anything but, she claimed, she realized her life in Montgomery wasn’t what she wanted so she decided to go overseas on a whim. She reassured them she was fine and found a renewed energy for life. Traveling the world opened her eyes in a way she never realized was possible. She assured them she would be in touch soon but she didn’t have consistent access to the internet. She signed it “Love, Debby xx.”

  I could imagine the torrent of words my mother would unleash on me if I gave an explanation like that to my parents. I turned the page, looking for the emailed reply. It came from her mother and was much longer. She wrote how they were a little worried but quite relieved to know that she was fine. They told her someone had reported her missing and admonished her for the trouble she caused. There was another rebuke for leaving her job “when she was an adult now and couldn’t behave like a teenager anymore.”

  The next email from Debby came two months later. She said she moved on from Australia too and was bartending in a pub run by an English-speaking couple in Hong Kong. She was learning a little bit of the language and talked about the food and the scenery. She ended it with how much she was looking forward to the next part of her travels. Her PS was a one-line apology for acting so rashly and how she hoped she hadn’t worried anyone. Despite the brevity of it, the words she wrote seemed sincere.

  Six more emails passed between Debby and her parents that year, with gaps of several weeks between them. They moved on to light gossip from her parents, and little curiosity about her travels. Debby had an ongoing commentary about the people she met or the strange things she saw. By that time, she was traveling through Europe and made a couple of references to teaching English, which her parents largely ignored in their replies.

  I finished the coffee and settled in to read the rest of the family emails. Fiona was mentioned a couple of times, too. Once, for winning the country club amateur tennis competition eight years prior to now; and another, much later one, where Debby’s mom mentioned Fiona and Jerry were vacationing in Italy and could Debby recommend any places they should see or go to?

  There were several remarks about things her parents were doing, but only one email, five years into her travels, when Debby’s dad wanted to know if she planned on returning home. After that question, and a gap of four months in emails, Debby emailed them about teaching English at night and her parents never asked her to come home again. I wondered if they thought she was ignoring them for pressuring her and didn’t want to scare her off. Perhaps they weren’t really interested in Debby coming home at all. Given Debby’s self-absorbed past behavior, I decided her absence might have been somewhat of a relief for them even if she did write very sweet emails about how much she loved them.

  Chapter Twelve

  Based on a tip from Debby’s emails, I parked outside Walnut View Retirement Home so I could watch the elderly residents through the windows. As far as stalking went, this stint definitely required patience. I never saw people move so slowly. They shuffled in short circles, swaying before stepping forwards and backwards in a slow rhythm. A helper in a white healthcare uniform wove her way between them. It looked like they were having fun at whatever they were doing, or attempting to do.

  Debby’s ailing grandmother lived there and I wanted to speak to her. From what I read in Garrett’s file, Grandma Patterson was the matriarch of the family, and the only one I had not yet interviewed. I wondered what she had to say, if anything, about her granddaughter’s lengthy trip abroad. Debby said she suffered from dementia and didn’t remember who she was anymore. With my suspicious hat on, that sounded rather convenient for a fake Debby. It wouldn’t be hard to convince an ailing old lady that her granddaughter had returned.

  I hopped out of the car and walked up the curved drive, entering through the main doors. Inside, someone had gone crazy with a plethora of wood paneling and baby blue walls, the expanse only broken up with framed landscapes. I looked closer. Every single picture was screwed into the wall and security alarms were discreetly interspersed amongst the wainscoting. I walked up to the reception desk and plastered a sunny smile on my face. “Hi, I’m here for Mrs. Patterson. How is she doing today?”

  The woman in scrubs winced. “It’s my first day,” she confessed. “I’m Denise. I don’t know all the residents’ names yet but I can find out for you?” She reached for a phone but I shook my head.

  “Oh, don’t worry one bit. I’ll find her.”

  “I can’t let you go in.”

  My heart thumped. So much for my luck holding out. “Oh?”

  “Not without signing the guest book!” Denise smiled apologetically before standing up and reaching for a big black book. She produced a pen and held it out. “I’m sure you know the drill,” she said.

  “I do,” I assured her as I looked do
wn. It looked simple enough. Sign my name, my check-in time and the identity of the resident whom I was visiting. I paused, wondering if I should sign in my own name, but decided not. I couldn’t risk the chance of Debby coming by and signing in and seeing my name. Instead, I swirled a squiggle with loops and flourishes that could have said anything, or, in this case, nothing at all.

  “I think everyone is in the rec room,” said Denise. “It’s work-out time.”

  So that’s what all the shuffling was about. I thanked her and made my way to the corridor, heading in the direction of the room I’d been watching when I arrived. The room’s occupants were divided in two. Half of them sat in comfortable wing chairs at the edges, their walkers by their sides, and the other half shuffled aimlessly in the large, cleared space in the center. All were watching the front where a middle-aged woman made slow movements, which they attempted to copy. Several nurses were assisting the less able, more feeble residents.

  The smell of roasted meat and cabbage drifted past my nostrils, making my stomach rumble. It had been a long time since I last ate. I was more than ready to go home, kick off my heels, and settle down for a meal in front of the television. But before I did that, I had to find Grandma.

  I tapped the nearest healthcare worker on the arm. “Do you know where I can find Gwen Patterson?” I asked.

  “By the window,” he said, pointing to an old lady parked beside the window, staring out at the street.

  “Thanks.” I crossed over, skirting around an ancient man’s cajoling to get me to join in the shuffle. After slipping away fast enough that he couldn’t catch me, I sat in the adjoining chair.

  “Hi,” I said. When she didn’t respond, I tried a little louder, “Hi!”

  This time, Gwen Patterson looked at me. “Hello, dear.”

  “How are you today?” I asked.

  “I’m going out today,” she told me, a smile lighting her face. “I’m catching a train.”

  “That’s nice. Where are you going?”

  “Going to visit my grandpa,” she said with a giggle. “We’re going to get ice cream.”

  I wasn’t sure how to reply. There was no way Grandma’s grandfather was still alive. A nurse stopped and delivered a lidded cup of juice, placing it on the table. “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “She was just telling me she’s catching a train today,” I told her. I wasn’t sure what was considered “okay” in the facility.

  “Oh.” The nurse nodded knowingly as Grandma’s attention turned back to the street. Softly, she said to me, “She’s not having the most lucid of days today.”

  “The dementia?”

  “That’s right. At breakfast, she told us she just became a mom. Then she reverted to being a little girl. You must be Debby?”

  “I, uh…” I stammered. Sneaking inside the home to question the old lady was one thing, but impersonating her granddaughter seemed duplicitous. Yet, I did come here to talk. I swallowed the moment of guilt and nodded.

  “It’s so sweet of you to visit. She talks about you often. I’ll leave you two to chat. Just remember to go with whatever she says. We don’t want to upset her. Oh, and we can’t find her glasses so she’s been struggling a little bit to see.”

  “Debby?” said Grandma, looking at me again. The nurse gave us a pleased smile and left, taking her tray of juice to the next resident. “You were gone such a long time.”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “Did you miss me?”

  “All the time,” I told her. Grandma seemed to like that; she reached out for me with a shaking hand. I took her hand in mine and folded my other hand over the top.

  “The postcards were sweet. I liked getting them.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Your writing got a little funny. It must be all them computers. No one writes nicely anymore.”

  “I’ll try harder.”

  Grandma squeezed my hand. “Did you change your hair?” she asked, squinting at me.

  “Just put it up a new way. Grandma, did you think it was strange when I went away?”

  “Strange? You’re a funny girl, Debby. Always taking off and coming back. Your mom used to worry a bit, but she knows that’s just how you are. Must be from your other mom.”

  “My other mom?”

  “Don’t act out anymore, okay, Debby?”

  “Okay.” I paused, wondering what she meant. “Did I act out a lot?”

  “You should know! You were always a troublemaker. I told your mom she should pay more attention to you but who listens to their mother-in-law?”

  “True.”

  “I’m glad you came home. It’s nice when you come to visit at Christmas every year.”

  I knew Debby had never visited so I lied, “I’m glad I came too.”

  “I put your present under the tree,” said Grandma.

  “Grandma, what did you mean about my other mom?” I asked.

  “I don’t know your mom,” said Grandma. “Did you just move here? I’m Gwen.”

  “Yes,” I said, knowing I lost her. “It’s lovely here.”

  “Smells like cabbages,” said Grandma, sliding her hand out from mine. “I’m not staying. I’m only visiting.”

  “I hope you have a lovely day,” I told her but her attention was again turned to the street.

  “We’re getting ice cream,” she said, smiling into the distance and I knew she was miles away.

  I eased up from the chair and walked quickly from the room, puzzled by Gwen’s comment. What did she mean about another mother? Was it simply the rambling of an elderly lady who didn’t fully live in this world anymore? I couldn’t be sure. After I signed out with another squiggle in the guest book, I retreated to my car. Coming there to visit had been a bust. Grandma clearly couldn’t keep her memories straight long enough to tell me anything about Debby. And seeing how easily she mistook me for Debby, I knew she could never identify her granddaughter now that the dementia had become so advanced. Had she found her glasses, and had her full eyesight, along with a lucid moment, perhaps she would have known the difference; but today, she was happy enough to think I was Debby although we looked nothing alike.

  Reluctantly conceding that there was nothing more I could do for the case this evening, I headed home, wishing I had something to tell Garrett.

  As I unlocked the door and stepped into the house, I wondered what more I could do. I interviewed Debby’s parents, located her former apartment, questioned her former colleague and boss, visited her grandma, followed her around town, broke into her hotel room, got the FBI to check into her travel history, and had her emails hacked. “What else am I supposed to do?” I asked the empty house. “There is no one else I can talk to in order to verify Debby’s identity and every one who is close to her says Debby is really Debby.” I paused. No, that wasn’t quite right. Only her parents were saying that. Unfortunately, they were also the only people who knew her. Debby didn’t contact her colleague or boss, two people who would have recognized her. From what I knew, she seemed to avoid contact with anyone who might have known her before she left. Even if she were introverted, that was strange.

  I recalled my meeting with her parents. There were some photos in Debby’s room, group shots with friends. Wouldn’t she have visited them? If only to renew old friendships? Surely they were worried about her too? Unless, she contacted them while she was still abroad?

  Lucas’s thumb drive was in my pocket so I pulled it out and headed to the office upstairs. I left my laptop at work but there was a computer I could use. I powered it up and pushed the thumb drive into the USB port. I opened it, finding one file. I clicked on DP-EMAIL and a screen opened up, looking exactly like an email program. My fingers hovered over the keys and I realized I couldn’t remember the names of her friends.

  I jogged downstairs and opened my purse but the file wasn’t inside. I dropped my forehead into my palm. Of course it wasn’t. I locked it inside my desk along with my laptop so I didn’t have to carry
them around. Grabbing my cell phone, I was glad the trip downstairs wasn’t for nothing and I called Garrett on my way upstairs. “Hey,” he said. “Feeling better?”

  “Feeling busy, so as good as,” I told him. “Can you help me fill in the blanks on something? I need the names of Debby’s friends but I left the file at the agency.”

  “Give me a minute,” said Garrett. I heard the clicking of keys and guessed he was still at the station. “There were two friends. Marley McFadden and Anna Colby. They were both interviewed after Debby disappeared.”

  “I don’t remember the interviews from the file you gave me. Can you email them?”

  “I can’t, due to the nature of this case,” he said cryptically so I figured someone was listening. Since this case wasn’t really official, and despite the promise of a tiny check to make it so, Garrett wasn’t about to announce it to his superiors.

  “Someone there?”

  “Gone now. Okay, let’s see. Marley McFadden was interviewed by phone. She said Debby was talking about traveling and that’s why she wasn’t worried about Debby’s disappearance. On record, she said, ‘looks like she’s finally done it, just like she said she would.’ She forwarded us an email Debby sent her. There’s a copy of it in here somewhere.”

  I frowned. “Why was she interviewed by phone?”

  “Because she was out of town when the investigation started.”

  “And the other friend?”

  “She lived here in town. We interviewed her. Anna Colby was in grad school and she said she’d been so busy she didn’t realize how much time had slipped by. At the date of the interview, she said it had already been a couple months since she last saw Debby. She said she tried calling Debby a couple of times but assumed Debby would call back whenever she could. She was pretty upset to find out Debby was missing. Says here: we interviewed her again after the first email from Debby arrived and she was surprised to hear Debby was traveling.”