If Anything Should Happen Page 5

  Her lips curved, and I didn’t know if it was because she had read Tolkien or because she hadn’t.

  ‘And every time this Bert creature, as you call him, invades your show and says my brother’s murderer is innocent, my parents’ hearts break a little more.’

  I stood on that Sacramento street corner and wanted to sigh with relief. The mayor didn’t want to stop my search for my mother. She wanted only to stop the station troll.

  ‘We don’t like him any more than you do,’ I said.

  ‘You aren’t just using him for drama?’

  Relief flooded through me. ‘Are you kidding? He mumbles the same thing every time and hangs up before we can respond.’ I took a breath. ‘Is that all you want? To get rid of Bert the Troll?’

  She gave me a professional nod, and I read relief in her expression. I felt it in myself too.

  ‘Can you do that for me, Kit?’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ I said. ‘I’ll be sure they screen callers better. Promise.’

  ‘That means the world to me and even more to my parents.’ She leaned toward me, and for a moment, I feared she might kiss my cheek. Instead, she reached out and shook my hand. ‘And, Kit,’ she said. ‘Family really is everything. No one understands that better than I do.’

  SEVEN

  Dale had barely spoken to her since he and Bryn had pulled up in the pickup together, but Rena could tell by the way he almost crept through the house that he blamed her for Leighton being there. The only reason he hadn’t said anything was that he had some explaining to do himself. Bryn had claimed they’d just run into each other in Phoenix, and he’d given her a ride home. The deadly look in Leighton’s eyes made Rena pray it was true. No way had Dale been able to get to Phoenix and back that fast, though. He and Bryn must have been together from the start. Leighton had ordered Bryn into his car and left without speaking another word. Yet she was back at work the next morning, and Rena told herself everything would be all right now. Only, it wasn’t.

  For the last two days, Dale had taken to going into the convenience store for a beer, hiding it behind the counter as he sat on a stool and talked to Bryn. Whispering was more like it. And smirking, like two kids telling dirty jokes. They were still at it when Rena left to meet Kendra, and she hoped they wouldn’t be when Daniel drove in from college for the weekend.

  Truth was, Dale was the guilty party. Not her, and certainly not Leighton. She’d wrestled with what she had seen and suspected, and she knew she’d have to do her best to find out the truth. Bryn was Leighton’s daughter, not to mention way too under-age for what might be going on. She owed it to Leighton and even Debby Lynn. She owed it to herself. As she pulled up in front of Kendra’s store, her legs went weak, and she knew she couldn’t get out of the car.

  Let go, and let God. That’s what her mama had always said.

  Rena lifted her hands from the wheel. ‘I’m letting go,’ she said, just in case God or Mama was watching. ‘I’m doing it.’

  If only she could talk to Kendra alone about what was going on, but her job was helping Kendra, not heaping more problems on her. Besides, Kendra had enough to deal with anyway, especially with those people in town who remembered the reason she had left there all those years ago in the first place. Bad mother, they said. Possibly in cahoots with the devil. Maybe even giving up the little girl as a sacrifice.

  So, no. She needed to do what she could to help out Kendra at the shop.

  The moment she walked inside, she felt her anxiety lighten. The smell in there and the soft lights could do that to her.

  Wearing a sleeveless dress with one of those blue batik patterns, Kendra stood next to a curly-haired brunette younger than both of them. The woman hugged Kendra, and then hurried toward the door so fast that she almost ran into Rena.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m just so relieved. Kendra’s wonderful, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, she is.’

  The woman left the shop, and Rena wondered how that kind of joy, that kind of freedom would feel.

  ‘You’re early.’ Kendra joined her, radiating whatever it was that made the simple act of standing beside her feel safe.

  ‘Wasn’t sure about the traffic,’ Rena said.

  ‘It was a weird morning.’ Kendra leaned down and whispered, ‘Debby Lynn actually showed up.’

  ‘Why?’ Hearing Debby Lynn’s name jerked Rena back to a place she didn’t want to be.

  ‘Said she was still Leighton’s wife, in spite of the divorce, and she wanted to know what was going on with Bryn.’

  Rena didn’t know whether to feel grateful or scared. ‘Maybe she’s finally turning into a decent mother.’

  ‘I doubt it.’ Kendra pointed to the patio behind the store where the Buddha statue had sat. Only its outlined shape remained on the dusty tiles.

  ‘How?’ Rena asked.

  ‘I have no idea.’ Kendra studied that spot where the Buddha had been. ‘She said she wanted to look around the back garden, and I was stupid enough to let her do it. Lifting lip gloss and nail polish is one thing, but how did she walk out of here with an eighty-pound statue?’

  As they studied each other, Rena gave into the smile tugging at her face. ‘You always said everyone has an art.’

  Kendra smiled too and shook her head. Then she grew serious. ‘She may try to cause trouble.’

  ‘Maybe that’s a good thing. Do you think she actually might care about Bryn now?’

  ‘Who knows? She might just be trying to get Leighton back, and good luck to her on that one.’

  They began walking toward Kendra’s table in the back of the shop, and Rena willed her courage to build with every step.

  ‘Bryn’s too young to know her own mind,’ she said.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  She stopped and faced Kendra. Smoke from the candles stung her eyes. ‘I’m worried about her. Bryn, I mean. Her and Dale.’

  ‘Then you ought to be talking to Leighton, not to me.’ Kendra’s expression stayed the same, but her posture stiffened. She could do that – just shut out everyone but her own thoughts, her own will. ‘Rena, that girl is a baby, regardless of her age. If you think something’s going on, you owe it to Leighton to tell him.’

  ‘He was there when she and Dale drove in after Dale said he was going to Phoenix.’

  ‘Leighton caught them together?’

  ‘We both did, but we were together too. They had a good story, but I didn’t believe it. Kendra, you’ve got to help me.’

  ‘And how do you think I can do that?’ Her voice went low. Her expression still didn’t change.

  ‘Isn’t there something you can do? Some kind of smudge or spell or something?’

  ‘I’m not a witch, Rena.’

  ‘I know that, but you’re trained in healing, and you’re the smartest person I know.’

  ‘Not that smart.’

  Kendra walked away from her, toward her table, and then past it, her back to Rena. Before her, the patio and its adobe pots looked naked without the Buddha Debby Lynn had somehow shoplifted. Without Kendra saying it, Rena knew she was thinking of her daughter again, maybe even remembering the nasty things people said about what kind of woman could let her baby get stolen.

  Kendra couldn’t help her now. Maybe no one could. Rena tried to remember what her mama would say, but all she could think about, all she could see, was that empty blank circle on the back patio. Debby Lynn always took what she wanted even if someone else wanted it more.

  ‘Kendra?’

  ‘I’ve told you all I can.’

  ‘And you’re right,’ Rena told her. ‘I know you are. I need to talk to Leighton.’ But she didn’t want to. More than that, she didn’t even know where to start. ‘Guess I’d better get to work,’ she said.

  That seemed to revive Kendra. She turned around and reached like a blind woman for the closest bunch of herbs on her table.

  ‘More braids?’ Rena asked.

  ‘Yes, more braids,’
Kendra said. ‘For now, at least.’

  EIGHT

  To my horror, Bert the Troll managed to jump on the line the Monday after I’d met with Carla Brantingham.

  ‘Frank Vera is innocent.’ That same flat, muffled voice, and then nothing.

  I gasped and gestured to Farley. We broke for a commercial, and I said, ‘We’ve got to stop that guy.’

  ‘Good luck with that. At least he’s quick about it.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘Carla made herself all too clear. It upsets the family.’

  ‘Understand.’ He remained silent for a moment, no doubt to remind me that what Carla’s family wanted affected me more than it did him.

  I felt exposed, surrounded by glass on three sides.

  Finally, he said, ‘I do understand. We won’t feed the trolls. How are you doing otherwise?’

  ‘OK,’ I lied.

  Regardless of how late he worked the night before or how early he had come in the next day, he always looked rested and straight from the shower. He reminded me of my dad that way. No matter how old the T-shirt or how decrepit the jeans, he always smelled like fresh laundry.

  ‘Kit, I’ve been thinking. What do you say we do a special show for Mother’s Day?’

  ‘What kind of show?’

  ‘Line up the best stories we can find. Play it up big on the website and your blog. Put your own experience out there again. Get media coverage.’

  First, I felt joy. Another chance to find my mother. Then that nasty fear took over again.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t think the Brantinghams will go for it.’

  ‘If they had a problem with your situation, Carla would have told you when you met with her.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said.

  ‘That’s the best way to find your mother, Kit. Publicize the hell out of it.’

  The best way to get ratings, too. I knew he was thinking that, and I didn’t blame him for it.

  ‘These people who call in are largely anonymous,’ I said.

  ‘But you don’t want to be. You want to be found.’

  ‘What I don’t …’ I couldn’t finish the statement. What I didn’t want, what I could not deal with, was hearing, along with our radio audience, that my mother had no desire to find me.

  ‘Ten seconds,’ said John, the engineer, through my headphones.

  ‘I’ll take this one,’ I whispered.

  ‘If you’re sure.’ Farley took a slug of coffee, and I could tell he was craving a cigarette.

  ‘I told you, I’m fine.’

  The phone blinked, the commercial faded, and I was as ready as I could be under the circumstances.

  ‘Yes, hello. I’m trying to find some information about my mother?’ The caller said it as a question, in a high-pitched voice trying to sound strictly businesslike.

  ‘Do you know her name?’ I asked.

  ‘She’s my mother. Of course I know her name.’

  When it came to callers, rude usually meant scared. I glanced over at Farley, who pretended not to watch me.

  ‘What details can you give our listeners?’ I asked. ‘Maybe someone out there has information that will help you.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ she said. ‘I’m only doing this because I don’t know where else to turn.’ Twangy music played behind her, and I wondered if she were calling from a bar.

  ‘Let’s start with her name then.’

  ‘Edith Marie.’ She sighed, and I realized that her voice sounded familiar. ‘They told me she was my aunt. And then, when I was in high school, my aunt disappeared. I got a copy of my birth certificate last week, saw the name on it, and I realized my aunt was really my mother. Only one problem. I have no idea where she is.’

  ‘Someone in your family knows the truth,’ I said.

  ‘That’s a no-brainer. Probably all of them. Those people aren’t about to tell me where she is.’

  ‘You need to find only one person who will talk to you.’

  ‘If it was that easy, do you think I’d be calling you?’

  Farley glanced at me and moved close to his mic. ‘If you had a chance to find your mother, wouldn’t you do anything?’ Making his point, I knew, and shook my head at him.

  ‘I’m calling you,’ she replied, ‘against my better judgment. I’m starting to see what a bad idea that was.’

  ‘It’s not easy, but you can’t give up.’ I could have been talking to myself. ‘Start with your family members.’

  ‘You got a hearing problem, lady?’ Her voice shot up, even more strident than before. ‘I told you they lied to me my whole life.’

  ‘But now you know,’ I said. ‘It’s different. Someone will tell you something, a little piece of the truth. That will lead you to the next something.’

  ‘So you don’t know anything about any Edith Marie?’

  ‘Not that I recall,’ I said. ‘Let’s ask our listeners.’

  But she had already hung up.

  Farley glanced over at me. A lock of hair covered most of his left brow. For the first time, I noticed a glimpse of scalp beneath it.

  ‘I did my best,’ I said.

  ‘Let’s hope she finds what she’s looking for.’ His fingers brushed my arm. ‘I hope both of you do.’

  ‘So do I, Farley.’

  I started to stand, but he shook his head. ‘You don’t want to be like her, Kit. Let’s do the Mother’s Day show and get the information out there.’

  A Mother’s Day special and the magic ingredient of social media might give us the power we had lacked before. Once more I thought of Tamera and what price she would pay to have the opportunity I did. No guarantees, but even the slightest chance was something.

  ‘I’ll need some time to think about it,’ I said.

  That was the best I could do for now. I would go home, work on my blog, and try to decide how much more public I wanted to make my life.

  Mick sent me a text right after the show asking me to meet him at Virgin Sturgeon. A hang-out for news people, the restaurant, located just two miles from where I had met Mayor Carla Brantingham, floated on the Sacramento River along the Garden Highway.

  In the wintertime, the river’s ambience consisted of hide-the-bodies bramble. In the summer, the place fit Farley’s definition of Mosquitoville. But for a moment in spring, it looked and smelled as if someone were shaking baskets of blossoms on to the water. I stepped out of my car and looked at what could be a Japanese woodcut, give or take an old speedboat or two.

  Mick’s copper-colored state-of-the-art motorhome was parked outside the restaurant’s long gangway, which in its past life had served as a jetway for Pan American Airlines at San Francisco International.

  To her credit and mine, I liked Mick’s wife. Rachel was almost the reverse of Carla, a slender blond who didn’t work her looks. Maybe she didn’t have to, or maybe she really was as comfortable in her own skin as she appeared. She must have seen me park because by the time I got out of my car she had started across the parking lot toward me.

  Her pale hair and fern-green tunic blended her in with the scenery. I had hated my parents’ divorce and the steady assortment of women who followed it so much that at first I’d thought Rachel was just one more in a line of younger but fading-fast blonds. She’d soon set me straight, letting me know she had made enough poor choices to know what she wanted – and miracle of miracles, she wanted Mick.

  ‘I made some fresh tea.’ She put out her arms and hugged me as if she meant it. ‘Right now, I’m going to the restaurant to pick up some sandwiches for us.’

  ‘Meaning Mick wants to talk to me alone?’

  ‘Something like that.’ She grinned and gave the shrug that said she wasn’t about to snitch on her husband. ‘I’m sorry about Elaine, Kit.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘And I had no idea about the rest of it. If you need to talk, you know I’m here for you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘but it’s too soon. And I don’t have
time to eat, so you don’t need to order anything for me.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  She hugged me again and headed toward the gangway that led to the restaurant. I had no choice but to walk back to Mick’s domain.

  The vehicle equivalent of his phones and gadgets, it was a technophile’s dream. A complete recording studio, located before the master bedroom and bath, dominated most of the living area with gleaming precision. Although Mick’s personal life may have been sloppy at times, he maintained his possessions with loving care that bordered on obsession.

  ‘Hey, Kit.’

  He’d dressed up in a clean T-shirt and jeans. When we hugged, I realized how glad I was to see him.

  ‘I can’t stay long,’ I said. ‘I have to work on the new blog.’

  ‘What’s it about?’ He laid his glasses on the console and settled on his chair in front of the recording equipment. I sat across from him at the table.

  ‘One of the missing girls I read about online. She’s a cutter. Her friend said she’d be wearing long sleeves. I can’t forget that girl.’

  ‘What do you want to happen as a result of your blog?’

  I could have fallen into one of our easy conversations, but I needed to get out before I demanded to know how he could have lied to me all these years.

  ‘I want her to matter. I mean, no one cared about her, that’s all. I want to understand her story and maybe help her friend find her.’

  ‘Sounds like your kind of story.’ He leaned forward in his chair. ‘Rachel and I are on our way to Washington. Thought we’d take our time, go along the coast. Elaine planned the service down to the last flower. We just have to pick a day. What about a Wednesday? We got married on a Wednesday, got you on a Wednesday, too, by the way. You want me to call Richard?’

  ‘That’s fine,’ I said.

  ‘And Richard?’

  ‘He’s not part of our family now.’

  ‘Elaine loved him, and he loved her.’

  Although there was no accusation in his tone, I felt it nonetheless. I had no right to say who was or wasn’t part of ‘our’ family. I didn’t even have a family – not one I knew. Not one who could or would answer my questions. I glanced down at my wedding ring; the department-store diamonds had once looked like stars to me. I wore it on my right hand now.