Half Past Mourning (4 page)

Sinbad was waiting by his bowl as she came back to the kitchen. “I know,” she told him. “Cat food now. My dinner can wait.” She fed the old tyrant, heated soup to go with a sandwich, and started coffee for herself. The sun had dropped low in the sky and the afternoon was slipping away as she finished her solitary dinner.
Saturday evening with a cat and a stack of papers to grade. What an exciting life I have.

Nina carried her half-empty coffee cup to the living room, where a folder of loose pages waited on the table. A slanted ray of late sun cut across the polished wood, and she reached up to drop the curtains across the window beside her. A car poking along the street caught her eye. A Mercury, not a recent model, bearing slightly faded blue paint, paused at the house up the street.

“Bet somebody doesn’t know an address,” she told the cat twining around her feet. She had barely settled into her corrections when the doorbell rang.

“Looking for me?” She pushed the papers away. “More likely needs directions and I’m the only one on the block who’s home,” she told Sinbad.

Nina opened the door to find a nameless but familiar man on her doorstep. The last rays of sun caught the foxy red sheen of his hair, but the grey eyes didn’t seem as distant as she’d remembered.

“Nina? Peter Shayne from the gymkhana. You went off before the judges could give you the trophy you won. I thought I’d better bring it myself.” He held out a small plaque with a gold car mounted in the center. “And I’d like to talk to you about the car, the T-Bird, and what you told me about its history. I think I have something that belongs to you. Do you have time?”

Chapter 3

“Something that belongs to me?” Nina was certain she misunderstood. “I don’t think…”

A touch of color swept the man’s face. “I believe so.” He glanced around the quiet neighborhood. “I’d like to explain, and I want to hear more of Danny Wilson’s story, if you don’t mind talking about it. But perhaps this isn’t a good time?”

Nina stepped back. This man had Danny’s car; he might have information he didn’t understand, a clue, to Danny. After all this time she wouldn’t turn away anything that might bring her answers. “No, no, I’m not doing anything that can’t wait.” She gestured to the living room. “Please, come in, Mr....? Dr....?” She stopped in confusion, not remembering the name he’d given.

“Peter,” he answered. “Peter Shayne. I teach over at San Felipe, and formally it’s Dr. Shayne. Peter is fine.”

Nina held the door a moment after he’d entered the room, still dazed by his arrival. Shaking off her perplexity, she closed the door and followed him into the small living room.

“Please, won’t you sit down and tell me what brought you here? I don’t even know how you found me.” Nina sank into a small club chair, and Peter took the larger one beside it.

“Your address was on the registration form from the gymkhana,” he reminded her. “Once I found Jasmine Street, the rest was easy. And I did want you to have this.” He put the gold-trimmed plaque into her hands. “You earned it, and I think winning that event must have meant a lot to you.”

Nina ran a tentative finger over the small gold car mounted in the center. “It does…and it doesn’t.” She looked up to find him watching her, one russet eyebrow cocked above slate grey eyes. “That doesn’t make much sense to you, I guess.”

A shrug and a rueful smile met her glance. “No, but if you want to talk about it, I’ll try to understand.”

“Danny and I, well, we used to go to a lot of those events. We had a running bet about which of us could rack up more trophies before our wedding. It was a game, but we put our hearts into it. And since we both drove the T-Bird, it was a contest of skill. Was he a better driver or was I, that was the bet. Driving at the gymkhana last week was like going back, trying to win the bet one more time. Somehow I almost believed that when I got to the finish line Danny would be there to meet me. Wishful thinking, maybe, but just for a second I fooled myself that it could happen. For that minute I believed it, thought winning mattered.” Her foolish fancy sounded absurd in her own ears, but Peter Shayne just nodded. “He wasn’t there, of course, so, well, it didn’t matter after all, did it?”

Head cocked, the late sun coming through the window glinting on copper hints in his hair, her visitor seemed the model of a grave professor. “I see.” He sat back, his lean frame a darker grey shadow in the leather chair. “Whatever motivated you to make the run, I’m glad you did. I took a lot of pleasure in watching you. Hope I can handle that car half as well one of these days.”

Nina studied the small trophy, then put it on the coffee table in front of her. “You said you had something of mine? Did I leave something in the car? I haven’t noticed anything missing.”

Hesitating a fraction of a second, Peter Shayne reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I guess you’d be the most likely person. I don’t know who I’d give it to except you.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket, slipped the flap open, and took a card from it. “You’ll recognize it, of course.”

Nina stared a long time at the small rectangle he handed to her. She swallowed hard, her eyes filming over as she looked up at him. “It’s...Danny’s. His driver’s license.” Nina touched the crease that marred one corner. “How…where…where did you find it?”

“In the car,” he answered. The stiff professor image vanished as a boyish grin lit his face. “I was fooling around with the car, looking it over inside and out when I got home. I noticed the liner in the trunk had pulled loose. That stuff from the factory was pretty bad about doing that, and I wanted to replace it. I was messing around with it, trying to see how much trouble it was going to be to take it out and if I could do it myself, when I found a perfectly straight slit in one side, up near the driver’s side corner. When I poked a finger inside, I found the license. I guess I hadn’t put much stock in what you said, about knowing that the car was Danny’s. When I found that license, I realized you were right. It was your husband’s car.” Peter hooked a long finger inside the envelope again and pulled out a small pocket knife. “I’d guess this is what made the cut in the liner. Is it his, too?”

With dreadful certainty Nina took the red-and-silver knife from Peter. She knew what she’d find even before she held it up to catch the evening sun. “See the engraving there at the tip of the handle?” She pointed to a minute set of marks in the metal. “Those are Danny’s initials. You can’t read it without a magnifying glass, but it’s DSW for Daniel Stuart Wilson. I gave him that knife for his birthday two weeks before our wedding.” Nina bit hard on her lower lip to keep back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. “Those are Danny’s, the knife and the license, but...” She pushed away a tear that wanted to form. “But how did they get inside the lining of the trunk? Could Danny have put them there? And if he did, why? Why would he do something so bizarre?”

In the silence, the brush of oleander leaves against the window seemed loud. An evening breeze rose in the waning moments of the day, stirring the limbs to peck at the casement and glass.

At last Peter broke the stillness. “I don’t have any idea, Nina.” His voice was low, almost apologetic. “I wish I could answer that.”

She looked away from the objects in her limp hand. “There isn’t any answer. No more answer to that than to any of the questions about Danny Wilson and what happened that beautiful June day almost two years ago.”

Peter’s hand touched hers. His eyes, softer now, the grey of a summer morning, forced her attention. “No answers for you then, Nina, but now you have something you’ve never had before. You have his license, his pocket knife, and then there’s the car. That’s enough for a fresh start.” He paused, a hesitant quality to his voice, then went on. “And there’s help here, if you’ll accept it. I like puzzles and untangling knots. If another pair of hands, a fresh set of eyes, one more brain turning over the facts will help, I’ll contribute time and effort to finding some trace of Danny Wilson.” A half-smile pulled at his lips. “I have a vested interest, you know. I want to know how that T-Bird got to me.”

Nina looked into his steady grey eyes. “Could you do anything that hasn’t been done before?” In spite of herself she felt some stir of hope in her heart. “Do you see something no one else has?”

“Well, no, but then I have an advantage no one else has had. I have the car and I have a connection with the woman whose husband bought it. I think I can contact her and find out more about how he came to buy it. Another thing in my favor: I haven’t been carrying the burden of loss you have for the last two years. I might hear or see something in a new light.”

Afraid to hope, fearing another disappointment yet unwilling to let the chance pass, Nina turned the pocket knife over and over between her hands. “You’d do that, Dr. Shayne? Go back to the woman who sold you the car? You might be wasting a lot of time, going down a dead-end road. She might not know anything more than she’s already told you.” Nina drew a shaky breath. “Or she might not want to get mixed up in this thing.”

“It’s Peter,” he insisted. “If we’re going to work on this together, let’s forget formality.” He took the knife from her and held her slender fingers in his wider hand. “I’ll take the chance, Nina, if you will. How badly do you want those answers?”

His question hung in the air as darker shadows filled the room. “I want to know,” she answered at last. “I want to stop living in limbo. I don’t know if you can help, but if you’re willing to spend the time, I’m grateful. Where do we start?” She touched the two items on the coffee table between them. “This doesn’t look like much of a sign post.”

“It’s more than you had before we met at that parking lot, and yet you were still looking. You had even less to guide you.” Peter sat back in his chair, crossed one ankle over his knee, and made a tent of his fingers. “I don’t know anything about Danny, but I’d guess whatever happened to him is somehow rooted in who he is and who he knew. Why don’t we start with you telling me about the man you married? Where did you meet, how long had you known him, why did you fall in love with him? Let me see him through your eyes. And then tell me what was done to find him. At least I’ll feel like I’m looking for someone real. Right now he’s just the guy on that driver’s license.”

Go back over it all again? Can I do it, relive it all once more?
Nina sighed.
What other choice do I have? Just give up and pretend Danny never existed? Keep living half a life?
“Let me make some fresh coffee,” she suggested, buying herself time to brace before facing his questions. “I bought some brownies at the bakery this morning, too.”

“A notepad or tablet would be good, if you have one handy. Making notes will save me from having to ask the same questions over and over.” Peter quirked an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t want to trust my memory,” he confessed.

“One thing a schoolteacher always has is notepaper.” Nina opened the drawer of the coffee table and handed him a steno pad and two pencils.

“Schoolteacher, are you?” Peter’s voice had a tone of surprise. “I thought you were a student at San Felipe.”

Nina smothered a chuckle. “Thanks, but I’ve been teaching fourth grade for four years. I can still run to the playground with my kids, but every year it gets harder to keep up with them.” She turned toward the kitchen. “If you turn on that lamp behind your chair, you should be able to see to write. I’ll be back with the coffee in just a minute.”

Steeling herself to deal with Peter Shayne’s questions, Nina returned from the kitchen with coffee and a plate of moist, dark brownies. Peter had turned on the lamp and was writing in short focused bursts across the lined paper. Pushing aside her reluctance, Nina took the chair beside him.

“How do you take your coffee?” she asked as he continued to make notes. “Sugar, cream?”

“Drop of cream, no sugar,” he answered and looked up from the page. “Oh, brownies! My grandmother must have made a batch a day when my brothers and I were at home. She put walnuts in hers.”

“Sorry, no walnuts, but our bakery is pretty good.”

Peter bit into one and grinned, suddenly looking more like ten than thirty. “It is, indeed. I’ll have to get acquainted with the cook.”

His appreciation and delighted grin took away some of Nina’s reluctance. Instead of reliving those first days after Danny disappeared, she was telling one friend about another one, one who shared his fascination with sports cars. Peter, with a bit of chocolate on his chin and a boyish smile warming his face, wasn’t the same stern man she’d met in the college parking lot. That also made it easier to talk to him.

“All right, the last time I saw Danny was right after our wedding. I told you that.” Trying to cover the facts with as little emotion as possible, she put her coffee cup aside. “There really isn’t much more than that to say. Danny and I were married at a little church outside of town. We had cake and punch with the wedding guests in the church parlor. He’d left the car behind the pastor’s house and went to get it. He never came back, and no one ever saw a sign of the car again until I noticed it in the parking lot that day I met you. That’s the whole story.”

Peter wrote for a minute, then looked up. “Remember, I don’t know you and I never met Danny. Tell me about your time together. What was Danny like? Will that be too hard for you?”

Hard? Yes, it would be hard to think back to those days, Nina admitted, but Peter was right. He didn’t know them, had no knowledge of their history. If he was to be any help, he’d have to know everything she remembered.

“I can do that,” Nina answered but even as she spoke she thought of a way to give him a better understanding. “I have my scrapbook with pictures; that might help more.”

“Do you mind showing it to me? Pictures can make clear what words never will.”

Nina didn’t answer, just went to the bookcase in the corner and pulled down the red plaid book that held her memories and took it back to him. She opened the cover to the last photograph in the book. “This was our wedding picture, taken right after the ceremony and about an hour before Danny vanished. It’s how he looked the last time I saw him.”