An Accidental Woman (38 page)

Griffin turned to the second photo. “Here's Heather with the girls. That's Missy on the left and Star on the right. Missy's seven, Star is five, like your Thomas. The girls aren't Heather's by birth. Their biological mother died when Star was two months old. Heather came into their lives a few months after that, and at this point she's the only mother they know. They're sweet little girls,
vulnerable
little girls.
They're
worried right now, because they don't know why Heather's in jail or when she'll be back. Having lost their biological mother, you can bet they're wondering whether there's something about them that makes mothers leave. Heather's a good mother, Aidan.”

“I don't know Heather,” Aidan said, but more weary now than wary.

Griffin brought up the last photo. “She's a gentle, quiet sort. Here she is with her friends. They meet every Tuesday night.” He pointed. “Cassie's a lawyer, Marianne sells books, Sigrid's a weaver, and Poppy runs an answering service for the town. Poppy's my girl. She's been in a wheelchair since a snowmobile accident twelve years ago. Heather was a major source of support during her recovery. She's a major source of support for a lot of the town, and these four sophisticated, smart, successful women adore her. She's also an involved mom, always doing things with the girls, always upbeat, always smiling. She reminds me of your wife, which raises the issue of your relationship with Heather. She gave us your name. What were you to her?”

“I don't know Heather.”

“Lisa, then. Were you her lover?”

Aidan shook his head. “I was not involved with Lisa.”

“But Rob was, and you were his best friend. Tell me something, Aidan.”

The man sighed. With the expulsion of breath, the whole of him
seemed to sink inward. “Tell you what? That she didn't do it? I didn't see anything.”

“That's what you told the police. But then you left Sacramento and severed ties with the DiCenzas, and I'm thinking that you didn't want to have to remember them.”

“Didn't want to have to be
beholden
to them, is more like it,” Aidan scoffed. “Do you know what that family's like? Do you know the kind of power they wield? Charlie DiCenza can make you or break you, even today. One phone call, and he can get you fired from your job and blacklisted for sins you never considered, much less committed.”

“Is that what he did to Lisa?” Griffin asked.

“I don't know what he did to Lisa.”

“Do you know what Rob did to Lisa? Do you know that he beat her?” Aidan said nothing.

“We have doctors who'll testify to it,” Griffin said. “And people who'll tell us how dark it was that night, so dark that even if they'd been on that field where the cars were parked, they wouldn't have seen much. So the question becomes if it was so dark that they couldn't see, how could Lisa see Rob? Do you think she deliberately ran him down?”

“I have no idea.”

“Was she extorting him?”

Aidan snorted.

Griffin waited. When Aidan said nothing, he asked, “What does that mean?” Still nothing. “Did you know she was pregnant?” Still nothing. “Was it your baby?”

“No.”

“Then Rob's? Or even Charlie DiCenza's? A family tie can be proven. If we find the child, tests can be done. Heather put it up for adoption. Did you help her do that?”

“I told you. I wasn't involved. Listen, I gotta get to work.”

“I know. I got here as early as I could. By the way, I think it's pretty neat, what you do. Did you get the counseling degree after you left California?”

Aidan nodded.

“And before that, you worked for the DiCenza Foundation. Put those
two things together, and I'd say you're a decent person. I'm surprised that what happened with Rob and Lisa isn't eating you alive.”

Aidan suddenly looked like it was.

Griffin asked, “Was she the conniving little nasty thing they've made her out to be?”

Aidan looked away.

“Was it first-degree murder?” Griffin prodded. “Premeditated? No one will tell us. No one will talk. So here's a woman who has made something of her life, and all that is about to go down the tubes because a family wants revenge. When does it end? With her execution, for God's sake?”

“It wasn't premeditated,” Aidan said and closed his mouth.

“Don't stop there,” Griffin warned, “unless they have their claws in you still. Is that it? Did they get you your current job?”

“No.” He put a hand high on the edge of the door. Griffin saw a tremor there, but the rest of him—eyes, voice, back—was suddenly solid. Griffin had pushed the right button. It had PRIDE written all over it. “They have
nothing
to do with my job, or my home, or my wife or my kids or my car. Everything I have now I've earned myself, and I've done it even in spite of having to live with the memories of that night. Do you know how memories can haunt? I don't need a shrink to tell me that I became a school counselor to help kids because I couldn't help her. She got a raw deal.”

“You say it in the past tense,” Griffin said, grateful for an admission of sorts but needing far, far more. “It's not over. It may be just starting for her. We need a story, Aidan. She won't talk, possibly because she's even more frightened of the DiCenzas than you are, but we need to know what happened that night. Your name is the only piece of information she's given us. She hasn't even admitted to being Lisa. You're the connection. So here's your chance for redemption. Talk to me, Aidan.”

* * *

Granted, Aidan hadn't called the cops. He hadn't even threatened it after the first time. Rather, he waged a war of attrition, holding firm to his silence, letting Griffin make his case again and again, until he finally ran out of steam.

Griffin knew that Aidan could be subpoenaed. He could be questioned on the witness stand, under oath. But that would be at a trial. Griffin didn't want it to get that far.

Discouraged, he took an evening plane back to Manchester. Retrieving the Porsche, he drove back to the marina, retrieved the truck, and went directly back to Poppy's.

* * *

Poppy stared at him in the dark, cautious on several scores. There was sex. There was love. There was Aidan.

Griffin didn't give her a clue, simply stared back at her. After a minute, he whispered, “Your door wasn't locked.”

“It never is. What time is it?”

“Two.”

She waited, wondering which of the three biggies was foremost on his mind. When she couldn't bear the suspense, she asked, “How did it go?”

“Lousy. I'm exhausted, so if you want sex, babe, you're out of luck. It's been a long, totally frustrating day. I just want to sleep with you, Poppy. Can I do that?”

She did want sex. She had been thinking about it all day, wanting to know that what they'd done was real and not just another of her dreams, wanting to hear him
say
that he had been satisfied in spite of her limitations and that he wanted more.

But life was about more than sex, and he was clearly upset. The fact that he had come to her touched her. It touched her deeply. And he hadn't said those three words again. He was respecting her feelings on that point.

Feeling oddly satisfied, nearly as pleased as if he had fallen on her in lust, she maneuvered herself back and raised the quilt.

* * *

Leaving Poppy in bed, he plugged in his computer, accessed his e-mail, then ran a quick search of Cindy pseudonyms. He had last done it six days before, but with the approach of March, new publications would be posted.

His heart skipped a beat when a finding came up for one of the names on his list. Following the link with a shaky hand, he found a poem. It spoke of dreams as the first step in overcoming regret. There were barely a dozen lines, some of only one or two words, but the poem was powerful. As far as he was concerned, it had Cindy's fingerprints on it.

Hurriedly, he jotted down the name of the poem, the author, the publication and page. There was no clue as to the poet's whereabouts, but a call to the magazine's editorial department might help. Unfortunately, it was Saturday. His hands were tied until Monday.

Frustrated, he tore off the slip of paper and stuffed it in his pocket. By the time he logged off, he was more restless than ever. He needed to do something that was physical, practical, and positive.

He arrived at Micah's just as the girls were going off with Camille for the day. Micah was tapping. Griffin wanted in.

Billy Farraway was already there. He sat on the tailgate of Micah's truck with his hunter's cap perched on the back of his head and his legs hanging down, looking for all the world like he was going to work. Griffin might have asked about that, if another truck hadn't come down the drive. Pete Duffy emerged from its cab at the same time that Micah came out of the house.

Both men stopped. They stared at one another.

Micah said, “I thought I told you not to come.”

“That was last weekend,” Pete replied. “This is this weekend. Time's running short. My guess is the sap'll be running Monday or Tuesday.”

“Tuesday. It'll be running Tuesday.”

“Tuesday.” Billy echoed.

Pete said, “I'm off work for three days. I want to help.”

“Do the Feds know you're here?”

“No,” Pete snapped. “This is my business, not theirs. I don't work for them. I never did. The only reason I came here with them that morning was because Willie Jake told me to, and I do work for him.”

“Does he know you're here?” Micah asked.

Pete didn't blink. “Sure does. He has no problem with it. You're the only one who has a problem. So you can stand there and call me a traitor, or you can take me up on my offer. If you have Billy and Griffin, my being here makes four. That's two teams. It means twice as much work gets done.”

“How do I know you won't sabotage the operation?”

Pete looked away for an angry moment. When he looked back, he said, “I always liked you because you were smart. You knew what you wanted. You knew what you needed to do. You learned what you had to in order to broaden this operation—and you can say Heather did it all you want, but she wasn't the one going to maple school over in Vermont all the time to learn the newest this and that. You did it, Micah. She helped, but you did it, and you did it because you take pride in this place. So why are you going stupid now? Use me, man.
Use
me.”