My Sister's Keeper (14 page)

“
What about my car? Do they keep it or is there a way I can get it back? I need it for work.”

Scott fingered a Rolodex, dialed a number, and talked with someone that seemed to know him. After a short exchange, he hung up and told me how and where to pick it up. Finally, a positive feeling about Scott. Then he told me he needed five thousand dollars cash to continue on the case.

A few minutes later I picked up the Suburban. Planning to come back for the bike, I drove to the office to load up equipment. I was scheduled to shoot digital images for the Coastline Convention Center, but Lizzy said the agency handling the project had called and canceled. I called the agent and he was up-front and honest saying he couldn’t take a chance on anything going wrong that could cost him his customer. I understood his position, but it hurt nonetheless.

I was still getting work out, but these were projects that had begun before Ashleigh disappeared, and when Lizzy called to tell clients their orders were ready, they weren’t bothering to pick them up.

Being at the office was fruitless and demoralizing so I called Martha and asked if she was up to going out to Paddy’s Hollow for lunch. It had been her favorite place before the accident. She said she’d be ready in thirty minutes.

I cashed a check for five grand and dropped it by Scott’s. Thirty minutes later, while waiting for Martha, I stood at the door leading to the living room watching Dad sleep in a chair wondering what could have ever attracted my mother to him. He just didn’t seem the right type for her.

Paddy’s Hollow is in a revitalized section of the historic district known as the Cotton Exchange and has the look and feel of an authentic Irish pub. The hostess recognized Martha immediately and set us up at her favorite booth where she leaned forward and confided. “I don’t miss my legs nearly as much as the places they used to take me.”

Although she never meant for it to, the comment hurt. I’d give anything to be able to fix her. I’d even trade places with her if I could. “Anywhere you want to go, Babe, just tell me.”

She smiled, “You’re too good to me.”

“
I mean it.”

Our server recognized Martha, slid in the booth next to her, and with lots of hugs, laughter, and tears, the two of them enjoyed a boisterous reunion. With her wheelchair stowed away and her legs hidden under the table, Martha looked like the same spontaneous, fun-loving, vibrant, outgoing person she was before the accident.

After the waitress took our drink orders and retreated, Martha reached across the table and touched my hand. “Thanks. This is great.”

“
I’m sorry we haven’t done it sooner.”

“
Oh, stop it. You’re too busy. Besides, you do enough for me.”

“
I’m certainly not busy with photography anymore.”

She studied me for a moment. “You okay?”

“
Oh, sure. I’m under suspicion of murder, friends I’ve known my whole life won’t speak to me anymore, and Dad had an attack that Mom blames on me.”

“
No she doesn’t.”

“
Somebody broke into my house, knocked me in the head, and I spent the night on the floor.”

“
What?”

“
Oh, yeah! About the only good thing that happened to me this week was running into Sydney Deagan again after all these years.”

“
Somebody broke into your house and hit you in the head?”

“
He wanted the hundred fifty thousand dollars back that Ashleigh had stolen from him.”

“
What?”

“
I told him I didn’t know anything about any money.”

“
Rich, there’s something else going on here. Something big. And I think we’re just seeing the tip of the iceberg.”

Our drinks came and Martha ordered a shrimp Po-Boy. I ordered a corned beef on rye. She lifted her soda. “Did you call the police?”

“
No. Do you think this changes anything?”

“
Well…” She sipped from her frosted glass. “If she
did
steal that money, then there’s somebody out there who definitely had a
motive
to kill her.”

“
And
who now believes that I took it from her and so has a motive to kill
me.
Hell yes…” I lifted my beer. “…it definitely changes things.”

Martha stared at the table thinking as she pushed her fingers through her hair. “What I don’t understand is…what was all that about night before last?”

“
They found Ashleigh’s blood on the shirt I was wearing that night.”

Her hand moved from her hair to her mouth and her voice quietened. “Are they sure?”

“
Well, her
type
anyway
.
O-negative.”

“
But how could that be?” Martha asked.

“
I was hoping you could figure it out.” I took a sip and caught sight of two women across the room whispering with their eyes cocked toward me. I tilted the mug and guzzled the rest of my beer.

Martha leaned closer. “Ashleigh has a brother. His name is David.”

“
How did you find that out?”

“
I…did a little investigating on my own.”

“
Martha!” My voice carried and heads turned toward us. Leaning forward, I lowered my voice. “Are you crazy? These people are dangerous. Just look at my head. I got eleven stitches in it this morning.”

“
What? You didn’t tell me you had stitches.”

“
You can’t see them?” I turned my head to the side.

She examined the back of my head. “Well, now that you mention it.”

“
Listen to me. If something happened to you, I’d never forgive myself and Dad would absolutely kill me.” I exhaled sharply, then considered what she’d said. “So how’d you find out about the brother anyway?”

“
I googled her name on-line and this story popped up about how her parents died.”

“
What did it say?”

“
Just that there had been an explosion on their yacht, that her mother and father had been killed, and that her brother had been severely burned.”

“
When was that?”

“
About six years ago.”

“
So how can the brother help?”

“
He might know who could have killed her.”

“
Don’t you think the police would have looked into that?”

“
If they can find him.”

The waitress brought our sandwiches and by the time she stopped gabbing with Martha, I was nearly finished. Martha lifted her sandwich. “Thank you, Richie. I really needed this. It’s great!”

I smiled, winked, and took a sip of her soda to wash down the last of my sandwich. “Any information on where David is now?”

“
He was at the Burn Center back then, but I doubt he’d still be there. We might need to find someone that has stayed in touch with them. Like his doctor.”

“
Ashleigh used to take dance. I saw a photograph of her the other day at Sydney Deagan’s studio.”

“
Oh, yes. You mentioned seeing her again. How’d that go?”

“
It was interesting and—in a way—strange.”

“
Well, at least it’s someplace to start.”

“
Start what?”

“
Start looking for Ashleigh.”

“
Oh. Yes.”

Martha visited with more of the staff while I paid the tab then, on the way home, asked me to take a detour by the abandoned warehouse. I pulled up near it, stopped, and turned the engine off.

“
It looks pretty much the same, Babe.”

She sat for a long time without saying anything. Finally, she took a deep breath and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “It’s like there’s something in there drawing me back, something I missed. And lately, it seems to be calling me all the time.”

“
There’s nothing in there, Babe. I’ve looked. Nothing but a bunch of old railroad cars and scrap steel.”

“
I know that if I could go back in there, I’d find something the police overlooked. None of those cases have ever been solved, you know.”

“
I know.”

“
A few weeks ago, when I was feeling pretty good, I rolled down here and just sat and watched the place.”

“
Martha! Don’t you ever do that again. You hear me?”

“
Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

The last thing I wanted to do was to make her feel she couldn’t do things on her own. “What the hell do you think you’re going to see down here?”

“
I’m hoping to see that light in the window again.”

“
Those guys are long gone, Babe. Too much attention has been focused on it.”

“
Not anymore. No one ever mentions it anymore.”

“
Well, if you feel like you have to come here, let me know. I’ll come with you. It’s just not safe to be down here alone. Especially at night.” I started the car and pulled away.

She sighed. “I wish they’d bulldoze the place so I could get it out of my head.”

I knew how she felt. I’d been thinking about getting another look inside Ashleigh’s house. I dropped her off and headed home.

18

A
FTER DARK, I slipped into the laundry room and lifted a slat in the blind to get a look at Ashleigh’s house. The place was dark. I visualized the inside and tried to recall anything she’d said that might be a clue, but nothing came to mind. I located another flashlight, slipped into a dark windbreaker, and stepped out into the night. It was cave black.

The darkness was alive with a thousand sounds. Endless rhythms and patterns of drumming, chirping, buzzing, rustling. Nature’s symphony. The sounds of life. Sounds one would rarely hear locked away in prison.

I squeezed into the row of bushes at the back of the lot and emerged about thirty feet from Ashleigh’s steps. There was a large seal on the door that hadn’t been there Sunday night. Otherwise, it looked exactly the same; potted plants hanging along the edges of the porch and a pair of dirty tennis shoes sitting by the entrance.

I moved forward, lifted the police tape, and started to step under it when the backyard floodlights burst on around me. My heart leapt into my throat and I dove back into the bushes from where I saw Mrs. Hardesty at her kitchen window looking left and right. She disappeared briefly, then reappeared at the sliding door. The outside lights went off and she stepped out onto her back porch.

Holding her robe off the ground with one hand and carrying a flashlight in the other, she tiptoed across the yard to the pool house and under the police tape. Inching farther back into the shrubs, I watched her peel back the seal on the door and—with a key—enter the house.

Jumping the police tape, I crept around to the back of the house and, through a window, saw Mrs. Hardesty standing at the foot of Ashleigh’s bed, her light slowly moving over the blood-splattered walls. It looked like someone had poured a bucket of red paint on the bed and tried to stir it with a chainsaw.

Suddenly her light shined directly into my eyes. I tore from the window, leaped the barrier tape, and smashed through the shrubs. The screen door banged behind me and I heard Mrs. Hardesty call “Who’s there?” as I ran into Mrs. Winslow’s backyard.

From behind a rotting shed, I watched Mrs. Hardesty search the bushes with the light. My neck pulsed with the beat of my heart as I watched her cross into my yard and aim her light at my back door.

“
Mr. Baimbridge?” she called, her voice quivering.

She moved her light in a slow circle and shined it along the line of bushes separating our houses before heading back to Ashleigh’s house.

I sat up and had just leaned back against Mrs. Winslow’s shed when her back porch light blasted on in my face. Lurching forward, I dived into the shadows under her deck as her door opened and she stepped out ten feet from me. Lugging a weighted plastic bag, she crossed to a rubber garbage caddy, lifted the lid, and dropped the bag in. Edging to the back of the deck, she leaned and gazed through the trees toward the Hardesty’s.

“
What in blazes you s’pose that woman is doing in that girl’s house?” she asked. Holding my breath, I cowered against the deck siding. “What was it you was seein’ over there just now, Mr. Baimbridge?” Not sure I’d actually heard what I thought I’d heard, I lay perfectly still and didn’t answer. “I know you’s there,” she said. “I seen you. I seen you when you snuck over to that girl’s house, too.”

I sighed and stood up. “You don’t miss a thing, do you, Mrs. Winslow?”

She lifted the apron hanging from her waist and wiped her hands on it. “I gener’ly try to keep an eye on what’s going on ‘round here.”

“
I’ve noticed you do.”

“
Yes, I do. And I seen you jest now lookin’ in the window of that girl’s house, too.”

I looked toward Ashleigh’s. I could hardly see the house. “How’d you know it was me?”

“
I just knew. That’s all.”

“
Do you know who’s in there right now?”

She leaned forward clutching the front of her robe and whispered, “’T’is that uppity Mrs. Hardesty.”