The Memory Collector Part 29

"You sure?"

"Positive. Twenty minutes, tops."

Tina turned to go, and turned back. "At Ferd's house..." She half laughed and blinked back emotion. "You were going to rescue me with that humongous knife? Awesome."

Jo squeezed her hand. She felt herself smile.

Tina grabbed her in a rabid hug. "I was so scared."

"So was I."

"Thanks."

Jo smiled. "I love you, too."

Tina shot her a winsome grin and ran to the car. In a cloud of white exhaust, Dokie pulled away.

The Chevy Tahoe slowed, engine rumbling, and turned into the driveway. The driver's window came down.

Misty Kanan's eyes were wide and wary. "Is it Ian? Have you found him?"

"Afraid not. I came to warn you. Two men broke into my house and rifled my files. They may have obtained your name and address."

Misty turned off the engine and climbed out. Her face was tight. "You mean they grabbed the information you've gathered on Ian?"

"Possibly. And I don't know if they've been caught."

Misty gave her a strong look, unblinking. "You presume this break-in has something to do with Ian. With me. Us."

"I can think of no other reason two men would invade my house and rummage through my case notes and computer files."

Misty stormed to the porch. She unlocked the door, headed in ahead of Jo, and flipped on a light.

"Why do you have it in for us?" she said.

Jo stepped back mentally. She recognized a paranoid question when she heard one.

"I'm here to alert you, not to grill you. Some dangerous people may have obtained your name and address. I think you should get out. Take Seth and go someplace safe until these men are under arrest."

The house was cold. Only the single hall light was on. Misty stood between Jo and the rest of her home, arms crossed, keys clenched in her fist. Perhaps she was drawing into a sh.e.l.l to protect herself psychologically from chaos and fear. But with every second that pa.s.sed, Jo grew more suspicious.

"I know you're terribly worried about Ian. But people are dying."

"Dying? Who?"

"Two people who were aboard his flight yesterday have been killed, and at least one other pa.s.senger has the same brain damage as Ian. Whatever injured your husband may be contagious."

Misty drew back, frowning in disbelief. "No."

"And a man was stabbed to death in the marina this morning. They found him floating beside Somebody's Baby."

"What?"

"The police have issued a warrant for Ian's arrest."

"The police think Ian killed a man? No-that's... but he's sick. He can't be held responsible for his actions."

Wow, Jo thought. Misty didn't deny that her husband might have stabbed a man to death. She didn't even try to deny the possibility.

"If it was him," Jo said.

"Yeah. If it was him."

The odor of sour milk wafted from the kitchen. Misty's att.i.tude smelled every bit as bad.

"Who was the victim?" Misty said.

"Man named Ken Meiring. Ring any bells?"

Misty stared blankly for a moment. She blinked and tilted her head to one side as though trying to crack a balky vertebra. "No idea who that is."

"Really?" Jo said. "You sure? Ian stole his brother's Navigator this morning. It was spotted at the marina after that. And he chased me with it this afternoon."

Misty's bearing changed. For a second Jo thought she was going to lunge at her.

"You saw Ian this afternoon?" she said.

"I saw the car he stole, coming at me down Valencia Street. Then he took off after Alec."

A flash of heat in Misty's eyes. "What does he want with you?"

"I don't know. Misty, the situation is critical and deteriorating. More people could die. Please help me. Tell me anything you know."

"Where did Ian go? Why didn't you tell me this right away?"

"I'm telling you now."

"Where's Alec?" Misty said.

"I don't know-we got separated. I can't get him on his cell or at the office or home. Do you have another way to reach him?"

"No. Wait." She put up a hand. "Let me think."

Whatever Misty was hiding, she was doing a lousy job of it. The cold of the house sank through Jo's clothes.

"Why didn't you tell me Alec is Ian's brother?"

"You should have told me you saw Ian. You should have called me." Misty's tone was icy.

"I did. Check your voice mail."

Outside the kitchen window, the mist was roiling into a heavy fog. The streetlights had dimmed to cotton. Jo's nerves were still throwing off sparks from the shock of seeing the intruders in her house. And if a police consultant had shown up on her doorstep and warned her to take her kid and get the h.e.l.l to safety, she wouldn't have stood around the front hall complaining about the visit. She would have hauled a.s.s.

"Misty, you're a wreck. Something's killing you. Tell me what's going on."

Misty began kneading a pendant that hung from a gold chain around her neck. Two gold dolphins leaping around a blue sapphire.

From the first, Misty's reactions had perplexed Jo. At the E.R. she had seemed devastated by the news of her husband's condition. But instead of staying with him, she'd left in a panic. Jo had thought she was fleeing from the bad news-trying literally to outrun Kanan's diagnosis. But now she thought something else entirely had driven Misty to flee. She didn't know what-simply that everything about Misty Kanan was out of kilter.

"I just want him home. He's everything to me," Misty said.

"Of course," Jo said.

Kneading the dolphin pendant, she turned and headed for the living room. Jo followed.

"Why would Ian hunt down his brother?" Jo said.

"I don't know."

"Frankly, I think you do."

Misty turned on a table lamp. The Ikea furniture looked forlorn in the dim light. The laundry lay crumpled in the basket beside the easy chair. The iron was still sitting at attention on the ironing board in the corner, patiently waiting. Misty had revved into the red zone with worry about her husband, but the rest of her life had ground to a stop.

Misty picked up a yellow throw pillow. She fluffed it and threw it on the couch.

"Is somebody putting pressure on you?" Jo said.

"No."

"Chira-Sayf?"

Misty gave her a scornful look. "Don't be ridiculous."

She bustled around the living room, picking up last week's newspapers and putting them into a pile on the coffee table.

Jo put out her hands in a calming gesture. "Hold still for one minute."

Misty picked up the television remote and tossed it on the newspapers. The remote skidded across the topmost and sent them all sliding to the floor again.

Jo put out a hand. "Sit down."

Misty grabbed her wedding ring and began twirling it. "n.o.body's pressuring me. And I don't know what's going on." Her voice was brittle. "Alec and Ian have a difficult relationship. But that doesn't mean Ian wants to kill his brother."

The wedding ring matched the necklace. Dolphins circling a sapphire.

Seeing Jo's gaze on it, Misty stopped. From the laundry basket she took a T-shirt. Russell Athletic, gray, a man's shirt. She smoothed it and stared at it, seemingly with fondness.

"Misty?" Jo said. "Where's Seth?"

Confusion briefly creased Misty's brow. She put the shirt against her chest as though protecting it. "At a friend's."

"Does he know what's going on?"

"Excuse me, but that's none of your business."

Jo tried to keep her expression neutral. Misty's jaw tightened and her shoulders inched up.

She dropped the shirt back in the laundry basket. "Excuse me."

She headed to the kitchen. Jo heard her open a cabinet and get out a gla.s.s. A second later the faucet turned on.

Jo sat listening to a clock tick. It had now been three minutes since she warned Misty to grab her son and scram. Either Misty was too stupid to feel frightened, or she was in on things.

Jo wasn't going to get any more useful information from Misty. Amy Tang needed to turn on the bad dog att.i.tude. She stood up.

Newspaper sections lay scattered at her feet. Inserts had fallen out, glossy advertis.e.m.e.nts and coupon sections, and had slid partway beneath the sofa. But one of the glossy pages wasn't from the newspaper. It was the corner of an eight-by-ten photograph. Jo bent and picked it up.

It was a wedding photograph, embossed at the bottom with Misty & Ian, together forever. It must have fallen from the bookshelf and slipped beneath the sofa.

The Kanans had married in a park. Ian looked young, fit, and handsome in his blue suit. His ice-chip gaze was worldly. Even at twenty he'd possessed a preternatural ability to see straight through people. He looked almost defiantly relaxed. He had his arm around Misty.

She was smiling, bending against his side, holding a bouquet of gardenias. She was wearing a wispy wedding dress, and she was barefoot. She had baby's breath in her hair. She looked about eighteen.

She was not the woman in the kitchen.

Heart knocking, Jo pored over the photo. She must be making a mistake.

She wasn't.

The woman in the wedding photo looked much like the woman calling herself Misty. Amazingly like her, in fact. Same sylphlike figure, same creamy skin and sleek caramel hair. And the same pendant hanging around her neck: two dolphins leaping around a sapphire. But the woman in the photo had warm eyes and a gregarious smile, not the chill and resentfulness of the woman Jo had been speaking to. And in the photo Misty had a Celtic tattoo on her right arm.

Outside the windows, the fog had thickened. Jo's thoughts sharpened to a single word: imposter.

She began seeing clearly-the fact that the house was always cold and dark, and Misty rarely around. The hesitation about details of the family's life. The woman's lack of interest in how Seth would cope with everything.

Because the woman didn't care about Seth.

Jo's breathing accelerated. The police had gone. Tina and her boyfriend had gone. She was on her own.

She quietly folded the photo in half, slid it under her sweater, and tucked it in the waistband of her jeans. She stood and turned around.

The imposter was standing six feet from her. She had the iron in her hand.

Steam hissed from it. The woman raised her arm and roared across the living room at Jo.

Hot. The thing was blazing hot. Jo jumped onto the coffee table and leaped toward the easy chair. The woman was between her and the front door, and s.h.i.t, a hot iron would brand her, melt her face off. The woman spun, swinging the iron in her hand like a bowling ball. Its long insulated cord swished behind her, the heavy plug chittering against the floor like the rattler on a diamondback.

Jo jumped back. Behind her was a bookshelf and the wall. She needed a shield. Something big or-d.a.m.n! The iron swept within a few inches of her. It smashed the lamp and sent it flying to the floor. The light in the room turned bald and glaring.