Scar Tissue Read online

  Griff took his last bite, leaned back and patted his stomach. “That was delicious, Rhea. Maybe you can give Britt your recipe. No wonder you’re a cyclist,” he said to Mike. “You have to be to stay in shape with dinners like this all the time.”

  “See,” I said. “I’m doing you a favor. Think of all the exercise time I’m saving you since I can’t cook.”

  That got a smile from Rhea.

  I helped her carry the dessert plates into the kitchen, but this time we didn’t speak though I did squeeze her hand on the way back outside trying to convey the fact that she wasn’t alone anymore. Mike was opening another beer when we got back to the table.

  “Another one?” Rhea said.

  “What’re you my mother?” he asked.

  She slipped into her chair.

  Mike set a bottle in front of Griff.

  Griff raised his hand. “I’m good, thanks. Everything was wonderful, but Britt and I have an early morning.” He pushed his chair back from the table and I followed suit.

  “Thanks, Rhea,” I said. “I’ll give you a call. Maybe we can do lunch at my house on Saturday. I make a mean grilled cheese.”

  “I’ll vouch for that,” Griff said. “Her specialty.”

  With a wave, we went through the gate and entered the path. I’ve never been so glad, or so hesitant to leave a dinner party.

  Twenty

  Griff closed our kitchen door behind him and leaned against it, looking at me. “Okay,” he said. “I’ve been swayed to your way of thinking.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I went there tonight hoping that by the time we left you’d be convinced that you were overreacting about Mike. Instead, I see why you’re concerned about Rhea. The way he talks to her, the way he looks at her and I don’t think she said more than five words all evening.”

  “She’s got black and blue handprints on her arms.”

  “What?”

  “I saw them when we went in to get dessert. She didn’t mean for me to, but she took off her sweater and realized it too late.”

  “You ask her?”

  “I didn’t need to. I told her she needed to get help, but with him on the force it’s close to impossible. At least that’s how she sees it.”

  “But you can help her, connect her to someone?”

  I nodded. “Of course. When I mentioned lunch, that’s what I had in mind.”

  “You think she’s ready to do something about it?”

  “She has to. She can’t subject a child to that kind of household because…”

  The comment stopped me mid-sentence. I looked at Griff. “Do you think…?”

  “Mike had something to do with Jonathan’s disappearance?” Griff said completing my thought.

  “Yeah, do you think the cops could have covered it up? I mean if he hurt Jonathan?”

  “It’s a possibility, I guess, but the Portland PD weren’t the only ones involved. The FBI was in on it too. They’d have no sense of loyalty to Mike.”

  “Still…”

  “It’s something to keep in mind, I suppose. But then why was Rhea so sure that Jonathan is okay?” Griff went to the sink and poured himself a tall glass of water. “Not to change the subject, but what are the chances that Mike is Gwen’s stepbrother?”

  “Yeah, that was a little crazy, huh? Small world.”

  “He sure bore the brunt of his father’s indiscretions. I mean it wasn’t Mike’s fault that his father was sleeping around.”

  “They had to blame someone. You sticking up for him?”

  “No, no, I’m just pointing out that maybe Mike has an axe to grind.”

  “Against Gwen?”

  Griff nodded. “What if Mike knew about Ashley’s use of amphetamines or EPO?”

  “He said he never met her.”

  “He lied. What if he was blackmailing Gwen? What if he was going to spill the beans on Ashley if Gwen didn’t pay him? It would have ruined Ashley’s future if that came out. She’d have lost her athletic status and her acceptance to Johns Hopkins. Greg would have walked and Gwen’s happy family façade would have crumbled.”

  “Not a bad theory. How do we prove it?”

  “Let’s pay Gwen a visit in the morning. But right now, I have other things on my mind.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like making it up to you that I didn’t support your hunch about Mike in the first place.”

  “What have you got in mind?”

  “If you come upstairs with me, I’ll show you.”

  “Always have to keep me guessing, don’t you?”

  “Keeps me interesting.”

  “No, it’s what you’re going to show me upstairs that keeps you interesting.”

  In the morning, after coffee and Griff’s blueberry pancakes, we headed for the Lambert’s one more time. I wasn’t looking forward to interrogating Gwen about being blackmailed by her stepbrother, but it was a definite possibility.

  “You think she’ll admit to it?” I asked.

  “If Greg’s not home, our chances will be better. It’ll explain the $8,000 cash withdrawal out of Ashley’s account every month.”

  “Did Gwen have access to that account?”

  “I didn’t think so, but that’s something we should clarify.”

  “If Gwen was paying off Mike and Ashley knew about it, it would explain why she jumped too. Her death would have put an end to Mike’s ability to blackmail Gwen.”

  “I hope we’re wrong,” Griff said killing the engine in front of Lambert’s.

  When no one answered the doorbell, we walked around the back of the house. Gwen was kneeling beside one of the raised flowerbeds.

  “Gwen,” I called, not wanting to startle her as we approached.

  She looked up and then slowly stood.

  “Sorry, no one answered the door so we thought we’d check out here for you.”

  “Do you have news?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Is Greg here?”

  “He’s at the club.”

  Good, I thought, but didn’t say it.

  “Have a seat.” She motioned us to the wicker furniture.

  “We spoke to Greg a few days ago about Ashley’s financial situation,” Griff said. “He told us she had a checking account and we’ve followed up with the bank. Did you have access to that account also?”

  “No. I put money in occasionally, but Greg handled deposits most of the time. Ashley handled the rest. The statements went to her, I believe. Why do you ask?”

  “There was a large cash withdrawal being made on the first of each month. Do you know anything about that?”

  “No. How much was it for?”

  “Eight thousand dollars,” Griff said.

  “What? What could she possibly have needed that for?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  “We met your stepbrother, Mike, last night,” I said.

  Gwen looked at me like I’d just risen from the dead. “How could that be?”

  “He’s our new neighbor. We had dinner with him and his wife. We had no idea who he was until he asked us about the case we were working on. He told us he’s your stepbrother. Did you know he’s a cop in Portland?”

  Gwen nodded. “I see his name in the paper occasionally. I don’t pay much attention to it.”

  “I assume Greg told you about the results of the tox screen?” Griff asked.

  Gwen nodded.

  “We started thinking that if Mike knew Ashley was using drugs, he might use it as a way to get back at you for the way he was treated as a kid, ignored, snubbed, belittled. He’s got a pretty nice house for a cop’s salary. He’s getting a boost from somewhere.”

  “You think he’s been blackmailing me?” Gwen let out a raspy laugh. “I wouldn’t give that little bastard a dime. He destroyed our family.”

  I wanted to point out that her father had done that all by himself, but instead said, “From Mike’s perspective, it wasn’t his fault he was bor
n, but everyone treated him like it was. It makes sense that he’d want some payback.”

  “It makes sense, but it didn’t happen,” Gwen said.

  “Could he have been blackmailing Ashley?”

  “If he was in contact with my daughter, she would have told me.”

  “The further we get into this, the more we find things she didn’t tell you.

  I think that’s something you need to start accepting.”

  “I think we’re done here,” Gwen said standing. “You’re right that Michael is capable of that sort of behavior, but you’re wrong to think any of us would have gone along with it. Do I need to show you out or can you find your way back the way you came?”

  “I think we can manage,” Griff said. “But if you want us to get the answers you’re paying us for we need you and Greg to be more open to the possibility that Ashley may have been into things you weren’t aware of.”

  “When you deliver a possibility worth considering, I’ll look at it. Until then, keep digging.”

  “Ouch,” Griff said as we made our way around the mini-mansion and back to the driveway.

  “Yeah, didn’t exactly go the way I was hoping, but I still think we’re onto something.”

  We drove back towards Portland over the Casco Bay Bridge.

  “You coming into the office?” Griff asked.

  “I thought I might go home and check in on Rhea. I got the feeling Mike wasn’t too pleased with her last night.”

  “She didn’t do anything wrong that I could see.”

  “We were talking too long in the kitchen. She said he doesn’t like that.”

  “Jesus, control or what?”

  “That’s the name of the game.”

  Twenty-Two

  Griff dropped me off at the front door and drove back down the driveway heading for the office. Behind me dust swirled, the Land Rover’s tires kicking up dirt. We needed rain. My phone rang before I unlocked the front door. Leaving the keys hanging in the lock, I looked at my cell. I couldn’t place the number on the screen, but I’d seen it before.

  “Hello?”

  “Britt? It’s Rhea. Can you come over? And bring your car.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  No answer.

  “Rhea, are you okay?”

  “Just come. Hurry.”

  Instead of unlocking the door, I pulled the keys out of the lock and fished around the ring for my car key. Inside the Rav, I tossed my bag onto the passenger seat, revved the engine and sped down the driveway, setting the dust in motion once again.

  I ran up to Rhea’s back door taking the stone steps two at a time and pushed inside. Rhea wasn’t in the kitchen.

  “Rhea,” I yelled. “Where are you?”

  I hurried through the stainless-steel kitchen, stepping over the array of broken plates and breakfast food that littered the floor.

  “Rhea,” I called again.

  In the living room, a mirror hanging on the far wall had been shattered. The culprit, a brass candlestick, lay on the floor beneath it.

  “Rhea, answer me.”

  “I’m here,” came a voice slightly above a whisper.

  She was sitting on the top step of the stairs, leaning against the rod iron railing.

  “I think I’m in labor,” she said.

  “Where’s Mike?”

  “At work.”

  “Have you called him?”

  “Have you looked around?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “I’ll call him from the hospital,” she said. “Okay, let’s go.”

  I helped her into the car and took off, praying that I would not be delivering this child on the front seat. It was a twenty-minute ride to Maine Medical Center. I had time to ask her what happened but wasn’t sure the timing was right.

  “Are you okay? I mean, not as far as the baby goes, but you, yourself. Did he hurt you?”

  She gritted her teeth and I thought for a minute that was my answer, but then her body seemed to relax and she looked out the window.

  “Contraction?”

  She nodded. “He punched me.”

  “In the stomach?”

  “I think that’s what started the contractions. I’m not sure if it’s the real thing or a reaction to being hit.”

  “What the f…? What’s wrong with him?”

  She shook her head. “Where should I begin? The least little thing sets him off. I keep thinking if I can make the perfect home he’ll have less to get mad about, but he always finds something. It’s become worse since Jonathan… He blames me. He always will. You must think I’m a fool. But I…”

  Ahead of us the sign for the hospital’s emergency entrance came into view. I pulled into the lot and up to the electronic front doors.

  “Rhea, you don’t have to explain. I’m not judging you. From everything you’ve told me, you were a wonderful mother. You loved Jonathan. But we better finish this later. You need to get inside.”

  “Wait,” she put her hand on mine. “Jonathan’s disappearance wasn’t my fault.

  It was my doing. I orchestrated it.” She winced as another contraction hit.

  I stared at her not sure I’d heard right and wanting the contraction to hurry up and end, so I could clarify what she’d said. A pounding on the window startled me and I turned from Rhea to see who’d caused the disruption. A nurse stood at my door.

  “Do you need help?” he said.

  I looked back at Rhea, still in the midst of the contraction and me in the midst of disbelief. “Yes, I need help,” I said opening my door. “She’s in labor.”

  The nurse went to Rhea’s side of the car, opened the door and helped her out and into a wheelchair.

  “Go park the car,” he said to me and meet us inside.”

  I followed his orders, still more inside my head than in the moment. In the parking garage, I took my ticket, slipped into a space and followed the signs back to the emergency room. On the way, I called Griff.

  “He what?”

  “You heard right. In the stomach.”

  “Has she called the police?”

  “No and she won’t. But I don’t want to get into that now. I can talk with her later. I just want to make sure she’s okay. I’m probably not coming into work.”

  “I should have believed you from the start.”

  “Yes, you should have. See you tonight.”

  Rhea was lying on a bed inside a curtained alcove when I got back. A doctor was speaking to her while a new nurse hooked up an ultrasound machine beside the bed. After running the wand over her stomach and watching the monitor, the doctor declared Braxton Hicks contractions or false labor.

  “Your baby’s head is still upright,” he said pointing to the screen.

  I inched closer, mesmerized by the image on the monitor, a baby, perfectly formed, sucking its thumb, floating in its own little surreal world.

  “No signs of distress,” the doctor said. “What’s this from? He asked brushing his fingers lightly over a purplish, yellow mottling on Rhea’s stomach.

  “I tripped on the stairs this morning. I was carrying some books,” she said.

  He met her eyes with a look that said to me he wasn’t buying it. “When are you due?”

  “A week,” Rhea said.

  “Are you safe at home?”

  “I’m fine. Really, I tripped. I’m pretty clumsy these days.” She tried to laugh, but her smile fell away too fast.

  The doctor turned to me. “And you are?”

  “Her neighbor.”

  “Maybe you can look in on her? Make sure she’s okay?”

  There was an understanding in the exchange. An unstated knowledge that we both knew the truth about Rhea’s circumstance and an agreement that I would try to protect her.

  “Of course.”

  “You can go home, but rest today. No chores. Put your feet up. Some herbal tea should help. Make sure you’re getting plenty of fluids.”

  I left Rhea in a wheelchair on t
he sidewalk, an aide standing beside her, and ran to the garage to get the car. On my way to pick her up my stomach flip-flopped in anticipation of finishing our conversation about Jonathan. I wasn’t sure if she’d regret what she’d said. Sometimes pain and fear make people more vulnerable. Now that she was feeling better, she may feel like she said too much.

  I helped her into the car and we drove in silence for a while.

  “Do you want to stop for anything?” I asked. “Something to eat? Do you have herbal tea at home?”

  “I’m all set, Britt,” she said. “Do you want to hear the rest of it? I feel like I need to explain, I want to really. It’s just…”

  She searched my face and I returned the gesture the best I could while driving.

  “Just what?” I asked.

  “You can never tell anyone, not even Griff. It would destroy my life and the lives of my children.”

  It didn’t elude me that she’d just said children. “I promise, Rhea,” I said. “You can tell me whatever you need to. It’ll never go further than this car.” I wasn’t sure that was true. I couldn’t imagine not sharing whatever she was about to say with Griff, but I could decide that later.

  “I arranged Jonathan’s disappearance. Mike’s abuse had escalated after Jon was born. He was jealous of my time with him, angry that I catered to a baby instead of him. When I found fingerprints on Jonathan’s arm, I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t go to the police for obvious reasons. If I tried to disappear he’d have found me. He has all the connections. So I got the idea that I would give Jonathan away.”

  I pulled into Rhea’s driveway and turned off the engine. Neither of us moved.

  “I decided that I would give him to someone else to raise as their own. I found a couple who run an underground adoption agency. It’s a fast track for wealthy, European parents who want a healthy baby. I know that sounds horrible, but at least I knew he’d have everything he needed. I won’t tell you how I found them or who they are, but I went through channels I trust. They assured me he would go to a safe and loving home. I believed them. I still do. I know he has a good life. Mike will never be able to lay a hand on him. I did the right thing.”

  Her cheeks were wet and I leaned across the seats to hug her. “I can’t imagine how it must have broken your heart to give him up.”