Lye In Wait: A Home Crafting Mystery Part 27

THIRTY-FOUR.

AMBROSE RETRIEVED AN ENLARGED printout of Grace Thorson's driver's license photo. She looked awful; the harsh lighting revealed every meretricious skin-pull, gob of makeup, and strand of bra.s.sy red hair. I swore I'd never complain about my driver's license photo again.

Ambrose followed my little truck down Mrs. Gray's street and pulled to the curb behind me in front of her house. She answered the door wearing her usual gray sweatsuit and a black baseball cap that had "Girl Power" embroidered in royal purple across the front. I introduced Ambrose and asked if we could come in and ask her some questions about Walter. She agreed and offered tea. Ambrose accepted for both of us.

"We have some pictures we'd like you to look at," I said as I slid onto a red kitchen chair. Ambrose pursed his lips, and I shut up, mentally drumming my fingers as he chatted a bit about Walter in general. Mrs. Gray a.s.sembled cups and waited for the water to boil, and he asked questions about how long Walter had lived in the cottage and how long she'd known him, most of which elicited information I'd already told him. But Mrs. Gray seemed more at ease when the tea had brewed, and she sat down at the table with us, smiling at Ambrose in an almost flirtatious way. It felt more like a few old friends gossiping than an interrogation. I had to give the man credit.

"So what's this about pictures?" she asked.

"We have-"

Ambrose cut me off. "I'd like you to take a look at a couple of photos, just to see if you recognize anyone"

He moved the teapot to one side and opened his briefcase. First he laid the still-framed picture of Cherry and the Hanover boys on the table. Mrs. Gray drew it toward her, then shook her head. She got up and went to the kitchen counter to retrieve her reading gla.s.ses and perched them on the end of her nose. The half-moon frames matched the purple embroidery on her hat.

"That's better. Let's see what we can see, then." She c.o.c.ked her head to one side, perusing the faces. Pointing, she said, "That's Walter, there. And that's w.i.l.l.y, and there on the end, Wayne."

I realized I hadn't known the name of Walter's other brother. "Is he the one who died of cancer?"

"Yes, and w.i.l.l.y died when a crane down at the mill dropped a huge log on him."

Eeew.

She pointed at the picture again. "And that's probably that girl I told you about, Sophie Mae."

"Cherry?" I said.

Ambrose looked at the ceiling and then at me. I ignored him.

Mrs. Gray nodded. "That's right."

"Are you sure?" Ambrose asked.

"Well, it would be, wouldn't it? They look to be about the right age, sometime around the end of high school or the beginning of Walter's time in college. Who else would it be?"

"But do you actually recognize the face," he persisted.

"Oh. Well, it's hard to tell. If she weren't with the boys I might not think of her first thing, but why would I? I haven't seen her in over forty years. But I do think that's her in the picture."

"Do you happen to remember what Cherry's last name was?"

"Hanover," she said.

"Before she got married. Her maiden name."

"Oh. Um, Dodds, I believe. Yes, her father was Ethan Dodds. And her mother was Nellie Marston before she got married. I went to school with her. But I don't think I ever knew what Cherry's first name really was. Everyone always called her 'Cherry."'

"It wasn't her real name?" I asked.

"No, it was a nickname, from when she was just a baby. Because of her hair. If this were a color photograph I'd be able to tell you for certain if that's her. She had the most gorgeous red hair, bright but not carroty. Deeper than that."

"Is there anything else you can remember about her?" Ambrose asked.

"Not really." Her eyes took on a speculative gleam. "You don't think she had something to do with what happened to Walter, do you?"

"We're just trying to find out as much as we can about him," Ambrose said.

"Oh. Well, I haven't been much help."

"Now don't you worry about that. You've been able to tell us more about Walter than we've learned from anyone else," Ambrose said. Mrs. Gray looked pleased. He put the first picture back in his briefcase and pulled out the printout from Grace Thorson's driver's license. They had removed the license information and blown up the picture a little, but not so much as to lose any significant resolution. "Now, take a look at this one, and tell me if you've seen her before."

Again Mrs. Gray drew the picture toward her and c.o.c.ked her head to one side. "I think so," she said. "That poor dear needs to do something about her hair, doesn't she?"

"When you say, 'I think so,' do you mean you've seen her lately?" Ambrose asked.

"Oh. That could be it. But there's something else. Good heavens! Let me see that other picture again."

Ambrose removed it from the briefcase again, his face neutral. I took a sip of tea, shielding my face so Mrs. Gray wouldn't see my excitement.

Her gaze swung like a pendulum between the two images, now side by side in front of her. She looked up at Ambrose, then back down. "This older woman could be Cherry all grown up and weathered badly."

I put my hand over my mouth and waited for the urge to laugh to pa.s.s. I could just imagine how Grace would like hearing she'd "weathered badly."

"And her hair is close to the same shade of red. It's a dye-job, I know, but Cherry was so very proud of that fiery head of hair. I can see her trying to keep it after time robbed her of it."

The phone rang, and Mrs. Gray rose to answer it.

"What do you think?" I asked Ambrose.

"I don't know. I wish she could be more definite about Grace Bly being Cherry Hanover, or Dodds, or whatever, but at least she's being honest. And now that we know that 'Cherry' was a nickname we might have more luck tracking her down. Her name's probably always been Grace."

"Tootie would know."

"She didn't seem all that, uh, there, when I spoke with her."

"She's there. Let me take the pictures to her. Along with the others I'll be taking over there anyway."

Ambrose shrugged. "I'm going to give these pics to the state crime lab guys, let them do their thing with computers. Even if the subject has aged, they should be able to tell if they're the same woman.

"How long will that take?"

"Don't know. A few days, probably more like a week. But I'll do my best to light a fire under them."

"Yes, she's right here, dear," Mrs. Gray said as she entered the room. She held the cordless phone receiver out to me."

I took it and said, "h.e.l.lo?"

Meghan wasted no time with preliminaries. "Erin didn't come home from school with Zoe."

"You're over there now?"

"Yes. Zoe came home by herself. She doesn't know where Erin is. She went off by herself and didn't tell anyone where she was going." Her words tumbled over one another, fear raising the pitch of her voice. My stomach muscles clenched.

"Okay, Meghan, slow down. Zoe said Erin went off on her own? Not with anyone else?"

Ambrose's head jerked up, but I ignored him, trying to concentrate.

"They stayed late to help Mrs. Kreagle decorate the cla.s.sroom for Halloween. They helped for half an hour, but when they started to walk home, Erin told Zoe she'd meet her at Zoe's house, that she had something to do."

I tried to sooth her. "Well, she'll probably be there soon, then." Ambrose held out his hand for the phone.

"Listen, Detective Ambrose wants to talk to you."

"He's with you? Put him on." I handed the phone to him.

"Ms. Bly? What happened?" He was silent as Meghan told him.

"Is the mother there? ... Good. I'm coming over. What's the address? ... Okay, got it. I'll be right there." He pushed the disconnect b.u.t.ton and handed the phone back to Mrs. Gray, who had been watching with a worried expression.

"Thank you," he told her. "You've been very helpful. If I think of anything else I'll give you a call. That all right?"

"Of course, Detective," she said, then, "Is Meghan's little girl okay?"

"I'm sure she is. Kids'll wander off sometimes, by themselves. We'll track her down." He was already walking toward the door. But the look on his face, which I could see and Mrs. Gray couldn't, told me he was worried. I ran after him.

"Let me get my coat, and I'll ride with you."

He started to shake his head, then said in an irritated tone, "Hurry up."

I ran, I mean really ran, around the side of Mrs. Gray's house, skirted the stinking pile of soggy charcoal that had once been Walter Hanover's house and through our backyard, loping awkwardly as I approached the back door, trying to extract my keys from the front pocket of my jeans. The bruise in the fold of my hip screamed as I dragged them out. I fitted the key into the lock and turned, pushing the door too hard so that it banged open. Dashed up the stairs, through the kitchen and to the front hall where I grabbed the first thing that came to hand: a fleece vest. Good enough. I ran back downstairs and out the still open door, remembering at the last minute to close and relock it.

As I turned, Erin walked around the side of the house. Her backpack hung over one shoulder and tiny raindrops had collected in her curls. I stared for a moment, panting and hot, the fleece vest lying on the ground where it had landed after slipping through my fingers.

"What?" she said.

Five steps later, I had her wrapped in a tight hug. Only as relief flooded through me did I realize how scared I'd been, how certain that Richard and his mother had taken her.

"Mmmph," she said, wiggling in my clasp.

"What?"

"Lemme go. I can't breathe."

"Oh. Sorry." I loosened my hold and backed off a half step, one arm still around her shoulders.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

"Where have you been? We were all worried sick about you. Do you know how worried your mother was? Is. I have to go call her. C'mon-I'm not letting you out of my sight. You know, I'm sorry you have to stay at Zoe's for a while. I said I was sorry this morning. But you do have to. You can't come home yet, even though you miss us. We miss you, too, but it's just for a little longer. You have to go back."

"Jeez, Sophie Mae. I only came home to pick up a book I needed for school."

"Oh"

"But the key's gone, so I couldn't get in. So I was waiting for someone to come home. I thought I heard the back door bang open and came around to see if you'd parked in the alley.

"Oh. Well, you should have told someone where you were."

"Sorry." She didn't sound all that sorry to me.

"Or better yet, called your mom to have her bring the book to you." By now we were upstairs. I reached for the phone in the hallway.

Erin said, "What's the big deal? How come you don't want me here?"

"I... it's not that we don't want you here, Bug."

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No!"

"Is this about Grandma Bly? I mean, Grace," she said, remembering her grandmother's admonition to call her by her first name.

"What did your mom tell you?"

"She said to trust her and go to Zoe's. So she didn't tell me anything, and if I'm going to get yelled at-" She put her fists on her hips and glared at me. "-then I think I have the right to know why."

"Oh, G.o.d, Erin. I need to talk to your mom. Then-"

"Sophie Mae? Where the h.e.l.l are you?" Ambrose bellowed from downstairs.