Scar Tissue Read online

She rose and disappeared inside the house without a word, still holding the columbine in her hand.

  I caught Griff’s eye and he raised his eyebrows as though asking, should we? “Look Mr. Lambert,” he said. “Britt and I like to discuss a case before we commit to it. We want to feel some degree of surety that we can help you before money changes hands and we sign a contract. Give us time to talk it over and we’ll get back to you tomorrow.”

  Gwen reappeared holding a large, black-spiraled checkbook. Greg took it from her along with the pen she offered and flipped open the front of the book. He looked at Griff. “How much do you want?” he asked.

  “Mr. Lambert, I…” Griff started.

  “We’ll give you the information you need to get started. I don’t have any doubt you’ll see it my way. What’s the retainer?” He held the pen poised over the checkbook.

  “Five thousand,” Griff said.

  I thought that was a little high. He must be thinking about the pool.

  “And a list of names. Professors, coaches and friends,” he added.

  Greg pointed to his wife. “Put that together.”

  Dismissed, Gwen went inside to gather what we needed.

  Once we had the necessary information from Gwen, and Greg’s check was folded inside Griff’s pocket, Carole stepped onto the patio and offered to show us out.

  “We’ll be in touch,” Griff said. He stood extending a hand toward Greg.

  Greg Lambert rose from his chair and placed his hands on his hips. “When?”

  “As soon as I have something to tell you,” Griff said lowering his arm.

  Griff’s ability to come off unfazed by blatant rude behavior is beyond me. I couldn’t get off that porch fast enough. If I’d lingered I would have placed a well-directed snap kick to Greg Lambert’s groin.

  We followed Carole to the front door. She swung it wide and stepped with us outside then pulled the door closed behind her. On the front step, she glanced from one of us to the other then dropped her head and stared at the granite, clearly trying to make up her mind. We waited. When she looked up she extended her arm toward Griff as though intending to shake.

  “Look,” she said. “I’m probably way out of line here and dipshit in there will have me banned if he knows I’m talking to you. I’m already on probation around here so whatever I say stays between us, alright?”

  Griff nodded and reached for her hand, keeping his eyes on her face.

  She slipped a folded piece of paper into his palm. “Call me,” she said. “There’s more to this. A lot more.”

  FOUR

  “What do you think?” Griff asked once we were inside his car with the doors closed.

  “The case is interesting, but Greg Lambert sucks.”

  “Agreed. Are we taking it?”

  “His check is in your pocket.”

  “Easy enough to tear up.”

  “I’m on the fence but leaning toward taking it. As put off as I am by Greg, he’s right. Ashley’s suicide makes no sense. And Carole lured me in with the carrot she just dangled in front of us.” I slipped a Honey Berry from the pack in my purse.

  “Not in my car,” Griff said reaching for the cigar.

  “I’m not lighting it. I know the rules.”

  “It’s nice to have power.”

  “Maybe you and Greg Lambert can be friends.”

  He glanced at me from the corner of his eye and frowned. “You agree with Lambert that she didn’t jump?” He tipped his blinker and took a left.

  “If she didn’t jump then we’re looking at a homicide. I’m not ready to make that leap. No pun intended. But saying she was pushed doesn’t have to mean physically. Greg Lambert’s a control freak. Maybe Ashley was too. Or maybe she developed buyers’ remorse.”

  Griff flipped the visor down as the sun made its debut into the afternoon.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Fear of success.”

  “But she’d made it happen.”

  “Yeah, but sometimes people push for something and then when they get it they panic. Like, oh shit, now what do I do? You see it in musicians all the time or actors. They hit it big and the next thing you know they’re in rehab ‘cause once they finally make it they can’t cope with their success.”

  Griff looked at me and raised his eyebrows. “I guess that’s what we have to find out.”

  I squirmed sideways beneath my seat belt and looked at him. “So, you believe she jumped?”

  He nodded. “I think she did. We just have to find out who pushed her.”

  Before I could tell him that didn’t make sense his cell phone rang, and he put me on hold.

  “After a brief series of okays and uh huh, he hung up. That was Peggy.” He picked up my hand, raised it to his mouth and kissed my fingers. “They accepted our offer. We’re home owners…almost.”

  I clicked off my seat belt and leaned across the seat nuzzling his neck while my heart skipped into overdrive. With the exception of my parents and college roommate, I’d never lived with anyone. This would take me that much closer to the M word. But the truth is, since our last case I’d been more receptive to the idea. What if no one had come looking for me? I might still be in that bar in Canada trading sex for food. I’d found the girl we’d been searching for by maintaining my cover as one of “the girls”. Griff is adamant that my actions took guts and saved my life. But my memories are nothing like the picture he paints. To me, I’m tainted goods. To him, I’m a hero. Who wouldn’t marry the guy?

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I nodded and slipped back into my seat. “That’s great news,” I said, hoping my voice was steady enough to convince us both.

  “It’ll be good, you’ll see.” His hand dropped to my leg. “And if it’s not, I won’t stop you from leaving.”

  Whenever he says shit like that…giving me an out, I know I’ll never leave him. It’s his strategy and it works. He knows my fear of marriage is related to the home I grew up in. And though he doesn’t sleep around and I’m not a narcissistic drunk, my scars still run deep. He respects that and always offers me a way out. The thing is, I know I’ll never take it. I think he does too.

  “Peggy will set up a home inspection and let us know within the next day or two. We need to have the bank send out an appraiser and I’ve got to get Allie over there to look at it. Not that I need her approval, but you know.”

  “Yeah.” I laughed. “You need her approval.”

  It was good to see Griff happy instead of weighted down by the guilt he carries around. When a case goes bad he tends to file it under personal failure. I wouldn’t change who he is for anything, but I would erase a few of the worry lines that wrinkle his forehead, at least the ones I’ve put there.

  “Peggy said she was headed to the house in about an hour to change the sign out front to Under Contract. What do you say we pick up Allie and meet her out there?”

  “What do you want to do about Carole?”

  “Set up a meeting for tomorrow morning. I’ll call Allie and tell her we’re on our way.” He turned the car in the direction of Eliza’s house half mumbling, half humming John Mellencamp’s Small Town and tapping out the beat on the steering wheel.

  Yeah, I’m definitely in the right place.

  “What do you think?” Griff asked after giving Allie a tour of the house.

  “Awesome. I love it. How soon are you moving in?”

  “As soon as we close on it.” Griff looked at Peggy. “And that takes?”

  “Forty-five days is standard, but we can often cut it to about thirty.”

  “Thirty days? Why so long?” Allie asked.

  “Paperwork,” Griff said wrapping his palm around the back of Allie’s neck and giving her a squeeze. “C’mon, let’s take a walk outside.”

  I followed them across the kitchen and through the French doors that opened onto the middle level of the deck, above the weight room and below the master bedroom balcony. Beyond the trees I could see the dark ro
of of the McKenzie’s and beneath it, the second story of their white colonial. We took the stairs to the lower platform and stood beside the sliding glass doors of the exercise room.

  “This place is amazing,” Allie said peering through the glass, her hands cupped around her eyes.

  “The door is open,” Peggy said. “Go on in.”

  Allie slid the glass along its runner and went for the elliptical. Stepping on, she set it in motion. “Can we keep this?”

  Griff looked at Peggy.

  “I told the owners you’d make a list of what you’d like them to leave with the house. They’re very open to the idea. As I said they’re heading for Europe. They don’t want to deal with furniture. Replacing their belongings will be a lot easier than shipping them.”

  “They can leave everything as far as I’m concerned,” Griff said. “What we don’t want we’ll get rid of.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said coming up beside him. “You mean we don’t have room for my IKEA kitchen set?”

  “You’re going to have to learn to live with the farmer’s table instead,” Griff said with a laugh.

  “Consider it done.”

  “Can you tear yourself off that thing?” Griff called to Allie who was inside huffing and puffing.

  “Only because I know it will be here when I come back.” She stepped off the machine and came through the slider toward us.

  Peggy took the keys from her pocket and went to lock the house up while Allie and Griff and I wandered toward the front yard. We’d just reached Griff’s Land Rover when a man and a woman stepped out of the trees. The man was dressed in cycling shorts and a neon green, nylon shirt. The woman with him looked miserable in a blue, sleeveless maternity dress. He smiled and extended his hand. “You our new neighbors?”

  Griff moved toward them and took the guy’s hand. “We will be as soon as the paperwork’s done.”

  “Welcome to the neighborhood, if you want to call it that. Not exactly your typical suburb. I’m Mike McKenzie.”

  “Griff Cole, and this is just the way we like it,” he waved a hand toward the tree line. “We get plenty of noise in the city all day.”

  “I hear ya. I work with the Portland PD. It’s nice to come home to peace and quiet.”

  “We’re looking forward to it.” Griff said. “This is my girlfriend, partner, and soon to be housemate, Britt Callahan.”

  “Housemate.” I laughed and stepped forward to shake Mike’s hand.

  “And my daughter, Allie,” Griff added. “Also, to be my housemate, at least part time.”

  “Hi,” Allie said with a wave of her hand. She nodded to Mike’s attire. “You heading out for a ride?”

  “Just got back. There’re some great back roads out here for biking. You ride?”

  “I’m hoping for a new bike for my birthday.” She glanced at Griff. “I want to get into it.”

  “Good for you. Let me know when you get one. I’ll show you some routes. Oh,” he said almost as an afterthought, this is my wife, Rhea.” He reached behind him and wrapped his hand around the woman’s bicep, moving her forward.

  “Nice to meet you, Rhea.” And then acknowledging the bulge at her midsection, I added, “When are you due?”

  “Two months,” she said.

  Rather than the usual heightened animation of an expectant mother, her leaden voice held no trace of joy and our conversation skipped a beat.

  “Well congratulations,” I said breaking the momentary silence. “That’s exciting. I think we heard you out here the other day when we first looked at the house. There were sounds coming from the trees.”

  Mike gave her a sharp look. So quick you had to be paying attention, but I was.

  “Oh,” he laughed. “You might have. Pregnancy makes her restless. She takes a walk sometimes through the path.” He nodded behind him. “I tell her to stay in the yard. Too many roots to trip on.” He put a hand on her belly. “That’s the last thing we need right now.”

  Rhea kept her eyes on the ground and seemed unaware of our conversation.

  “Right honey?” Mike asked nudging her from her world.

  “For the first time, she looked up and her eyes fell on Allie. “You have beautiful hair,” she said.

  “Oh my God.” Allie’s hand shot to the tangled pile of curls wrapped in a scrunchy on top of her head. “I didn’t even wash it today. But thank you.”

  “I used to be a hairdresser.” Rhea touched her amber coif, much in need of a brush. “I’ll do it for you sometime if you like.”

  Allie giggled. “Cool.” The standard response of an uncomfortable fifteen-year-old.

  “Well, we should let you go. Just wanted to say hello,” Mike said. With his hand still gripping his wife’s bicep, he steered her away from us and back into the trees. “We’ll get together once you move in,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Sounds good,” Griff answered with a wave and we turned back toward the car where Peggy stood waiting.

  “I see you met the McKenzies,” she said. “He’s very nice. She’s a little off, I think. Can’t blame her I suppose given what she’s been through. You were right,” she said turning to Griff. “They are the McKenzies who lost their son.”

  Griff looked at me and rolled his eyes, like she hadn’t known that the first time the question came up. She wanted to wait until we’d signed the offer before confirming that a crime had taken place next door or at least the possibility of a crime.

  “What’s that?” I asked playing dumb. I wanted to hear Peggy’s rendition of the story.

  “You didn’t hear about it? I’m surprised. It was publicized about as much as the Lindbergh baby. Four years ago, their one-year-old son went missing. No trace of him, he just disappeared.”

  “They never found him?” I asked.

  Peggy shook her head. “Nothing. The police scoured that house, called in the FBI, but no one ever found a trace of a lead. No foul play. They interrogated Rhea and Mike for hours, for days, really. Every delivery person, utility people, no rock left unturned as they say, and they still came up with nothing. She was home at the time and told police that little Jonathan was playing in the living room while she made lunch. When she checked on him, he was gone.”

  “That’s horrible,” I said as we walked toward our cars. “How do you cope with losing a child like that? The never knowing would drive me crazy.”

  Peggy nodded. “I hope she’s up to caring for another one.”

  “Maybe that’ll be the best thing for her,” Griff said.

  “You’d like to think so.” Peggy dropped the house key in her bag. “I’ll call you when I have the inspection set up.”

  “Hungry?” Griff asked us as we followed Peggy onto the main road and turned toward Portland.

  “Starving, but I promised I’d come right home after seeing the house. The nurse leaves at 4 o’clock and Mom’s still terrified of being alone.”

  Griff let out a long sigh and pursed his lips. I wasn’t sure if he was angry over the constraints Eliza put on Allie or over the whole ordeal that had left his daughter and his ex so fragile.

  “Okay, kiddo, “Home sweet home.”

  We took the entry ramp onto Route 295 south. From the weight of Griff’s foot on the gas pedal, I knew his anger hadn’t dissipated. Not until we’d passed through the gated entry at Elmwood Estates did I feel his tension dissolve. He’d accepted the need to return Allie to her mother, regardless of the reason.

  Elmwood estates had become home a year ago. Eliza still owned the lakefront bungalow that she and Griff had purchased as a fixer-upper early in their marriage. But that was a rental property now. The condominium complex was closer to Allie’s school and easier for Eliza to maintain in her current state.

  “Pretty soon I’ll have two home sweet homes,” Allie said stepping out of the car. “Thanks Dad, I love the house and I know part of the reason you’re doing this is for me and I’m grateful. I mean, just think of the parties I can have once the pool goes i
n.” She flashed him a gotcha grin and closed the car door.

  “You might have just given me reason to rethink this whole thing,” Griff called to her out the window.

  She trotted up the driveway on coltish legs, her height a gift from Griff. At the door, she looked back at him laughing and with a wave disappeared inside.

  “Can’t imagine what the Lamberts are going through,” Griff said, his eyes still resting on the house. “But I feel like I came close.”

  “The difference is, Ashley Lambert was in the driver’s seat of her own situation.”

  “She might have been sitting in the driver’s seat, but I’m not convinced she was at the controls,” Griff said as he backed the car onto the road.

  FIVE

  The next morning instead of heading for the office, we kept our appointment with Carole Weston. She’d asked us to meet her at Denny’s in South Portland. Not my choice for a healthy breakfast, unless you consider white flour and sugar a good way to start the day. (Muffins being the exception. And anything with icing.)

  She redeemed herself when we parked beside her in the lot. Stepping from her red BMW, she raised a hand toward the restaurant. “Sorry for this, but I needed to be sure no one I know would see me talking with you. I’m not a frequent flier.”

  “You mean you’ve never indulged in Moons Over My Hammy at two in the morning?” Griff asked.

  Carole laughed. “Is that a real thing?”

  “Check the menu,” he said and pulled the door open, stepping aside for Carole and me to pass.

  “And you know this how?” I looked at him as I entered the restaurant.

  “Only once.” He held his hands up in surrender. “But I savored every cholesterol laden bite.”

  “It’s been five years and I’m still learning things about you.”

  “I guess that keeps me interesting.”

  “Depends on the topic. Moons Over My Hammy? Not so much.”

  The hostess seated us at a corner table in the back of the restaurant as though she knew we were flying under the radar. After delivering coffee all around and taking our breakfast order, the waitress pushed through a set of swinging doors that led to the kitchen. Only then did Carole begin talking.