CHAPTER 19

ROSEMARY EJECTED the disk and shut the computer down. She pushed her chair back and got up, to scrabble through the pile of discs and find the case for the Spanish dictionary. She tucked the BC disk back inside, stepped over the others, and hurried to her bookcase, to slide the disk into place in the middle of a shelf where dozens of cases the same size and shape were lined up tightly. Just like the purloined letter, there went the purloined, or something, disk into instant anonymity.

She knelt to gather the remaining discs and put them back into the basket she’d brought them home in. Shoved it into a corner against the wall. got to her feet again and went to the desk to pick up the telephone.

And looked at the clock, and put the phone down. At near midnight, it would be indecent to call a stroke-damaged, wheel-chair-bound man to scream at him for being a liar as well as a rotten father. instead she said, “good night” to Tank and went to bed to spend hours thrashing around through a series of dark dreams, two of which kept recurring. in one, a fingerless hand reached out pleadingly as an endless stream of detached fingers floated by, fingers that beckoned or pointed in accusation or bobbed in admonition. in the other, a tiny, dark-haired girlchild peered out through the wire of a cage that bore a sign: visiting hours 2 to 4. Rosemary finally fell into exhausted, total blackness somewhere around three in the morning.

THE questions that had haunted her all night were still with her next morning. What should she do about that disk? What did she want to do?

“Leave town,” she muttered as she pulled on jeans and sweat-shirt. “Find a big photo of U.S. Representative Brian Conroy, Retired, and mount it on my dartboard. Make a cup of coffee.”

The number she’d written down the evening before had shown on the telephone read-out as simply Brian Conroy. So maybe it was his private number in his private quarters. Maybe he’d answer it himself. But if he didn’t, what could she say to the secretary or housekeeper or personal aide who did answer? “That I’m calling from the office of Sheriff Angstrom in Weaverville,” she said aloud, and picked up the phone.

The machine at the other end, out there in…Alturas?…buzzed, and buzzed again. She counted the third, fourth, fifth, and was about to hang up when the sixth ring was interrupted by a muttered word, a clatter, unnameable sounds. Then, “Just hold your damn horses, I had to get this fuckin’ wheelchair across the god-damn room.” And a long breath. “So who the hell is this?”

Rosemary knew that his instrument would not show her name or number, but simply the word “Private.” She snatched a quick breath of her own and said, “Rosemary Mendes, that’s who! And I want to know what right you had to call me yesterday at my private number and lie to me about your daughter!”

“Lie? What the bloody hell are you talking about! Why would I lie to you?”

To an insignificant nobody, said his tone. “You told me you’d had no contact with your daughter for ten years. Haven’t heard anything from her, nor of her, that’s what you said!”

“And that is absolutely true.”

Is not! was the response she bit back. “Your daughter knew about your stroke, and knew that you were back at home. And she sent you e-mail,” she added in quieter tones.

“I don’t believe you.” His voice was lower, clear and cold. “How could you possibly have known about it if she did? You’ve cooked up some kind of blackmail scheme, and I promise you, I’ll see that you regret it.”

It was a response Rosemary had been too weary and angry to foresee, and she was trying to think just how to respond when he spoke again.

“Mrs. Mendes? Please, I apologize for that. Please believe me, I did not lie to you; I have had no e-mail messages from Brianna, nor any other kind of contact. Please tell me what you’ve heard that led you to that conclusion. Please.”

“Fair enough,” she said after listening for maybe five beats to nothing but harsh, rapid breathing. “Late last night I was sorting through the boxful of Cds I’d rescued from her cabin, in preparation for taking them to a flea market or something. one of the cases slipped out of my hand and fell open, and inside was a Memorex Cd-RW with nothing written on it but the letters BC.”

An indrawn breath this time, and a lengthy exhalation. “And I bet you had a look at the disk. Sorry,” he added quickly, “no earthly reason you shouldn’t have. in your place I’d have done the same thing.”

“I did. I found a list of files, by month. I looked them over and found a…a kind of journal, clearly Brianna’s journal. And then after the last journal entry there was an e-mail,” she added quickly. “To bc.horseman from bc.wandringal.”

He groaned. “Our private e-mail addresses from when she was away at college. only one message?”

“There were four in all, one in late August and three in September. I know I shouldn’t have read them, but finally, I did,” she said. “I picked up the phone to call you then, but it was almost midnight, and I knew you were sick, and I was too angry. So…”

“Can you tell me, please, what the messages said? What they were about?”

Oh, shit. “I…can’t recall exactly. It was late at night, and I read them quickly.”

“And got very angry, which is explanatory in itself. Mrs. Mendes, please just tell me what Brianna wanted of me.”

Rosemary‘s hands were sweaty and shaking. She pushed the “speaker” button, set the phone on the desk, and sat down. “She was sorry about your stroke. She told you where she’d been and what she was doing. She, um, talked about coming home.”

“And when she got no reply?” The voice, loud and harsh from the microphone, startled her.

“She got angry. She said you obviously didn’t want to see her, and that was fine with her.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s all I can remember at the moment,” she lied.

“Mrs. Mendes, I bless you for finding that Cd, and I thank you for calling me. I apologize again for my initial response. Now if I may, I’ll ask you to send my daughter’s Cd to me via Fedex. No, wait, bad idea. I’ll send a private messenger for it instead. If you’ll give me your address, please?”

“Mr. Conroy, my finding it was pure accident. however, what I’m going to do right now is get in my truck and take the Cd down-town to Sheriff Angstrom. You have his number, so you can make arrangements with him about just where to send your private messenger. I am frankly eager to turn this whole business over to someone else.” And to forget about it, she just resisted adding.

There was silence, and she thought perhaps he would argue. “That’s a good idea,” he said finally. “Just drive carefully. I’ll call the sheriff and set things up. And then I have several matters to take care of here.”

“I bet,” she said to the now-silent phone, picking it up to put it in its cradle. “Tank? Come on, let’s go for a ride.”

When she pulled into the parking lot at the sheriff’s department a very short time later, Gus was there waiting for her.

“Hey, Sherlock,” he said as she rolled down the window of the truck, “good work. Maybe you’ll get a reward. or since he’s a politician, more likely a nice little medal.”

“Here, just take this,” she said, and held out the tan padded envelope containing the Cd.

“Right. Maybe I should burn a quick copy and lock it up, just in case something troublesome arises.”

“My, but you’re a suspicious man,” she said. “do it.”

AT home, Rosemary eyed the leftovers from last night’s dinner, decided she wasn’t hungry, and bundled up in boots and fleece jacket to take Tank for a hike that wore them both out. On her return to the cottage, she carried the tapes and the books that had belonged to Brianna Conroy into the basement to be dealt with later, and set about a thorough cleaning of her small domain. She was on her hands and knees scrubbing the dimmest corners of the kitchen floor when the telephone rang, and rang, and when her machine answered, the voice said simply, “Mrs. Mendes, please call Sheriff Angstrom.”

“Oh, crap!” She sat back on her heels, considered ignoring the whole thing, and reconsidered. When she punched in the sheriff’s department number minutes later, the answer was immediate. “Rose…Mrs. Mendes, thank you for returning my call so speedily. There’s been a change of plans.”

Whose plans? Not hers. “I beg your pardon?”

“Congressman Conroy decided that instead of sending someone to collect the computer disk for him, he’d come himself. We picked him up at the airport an hour ago. Now he’d really appreciate a chance to meet with you.”

“Not here,” she said flatly.

“No, of course not. He thought perhaps you’d be willing to come to the office. If it’s not too much trouble.”

How much would be too much, for someone wearing wet jeans and rubber gloves with half a floor still to scrub? “I suppose I can be there in, oh, thirty minutes. No, make that forty-five.”

“Fine. We’ll expect you.”

AFTER finishing the floor, Rosemary had a quick, sluice-off shower and then pulled on a pair of wool pants instead of her usual jeans, noting with mild interest that the pants no longer hung as loosely on her hips as they had last year. With the addition of a tailored shirt and a boxy tweed jacket unearthed from the back of her closet, she was, she felt, as prepared as possible for a meeting she had done her best to avoid. But how rude can you be to a grieving father, even if the grief is at least partly of his own making? “And even if he is a politician,” she said to her mirror, and then, to her dog, “Come on, Tank. Let’s go.”

Once again, Gus was there to meet her. “You’re lookin’ good, lady,” he said, dropping a long arm briefly across her shoulders. “We’re in my office. Bring the dog along if you want.”

A uniformed deputy opened the office door for them, and Gus ushered Rosemary into a room where a tall man in a wheelchair was outlined against a window, another man standing attentively to the left of his chair. “Mrs. Mendes, this is Congressman Brian Conroy, and his assistant, Mr. heath. Congressman, Mrs. Rosemary Mendes. Oh, and her dog, Tank.”

Conroy, with the help of his attendant and a cane, got to his feet and straightened to his full six feet plus, squaring broad shoulders. His face, which she could see must have been lean and forceful, was now lined and grooved from grief or pain, jawline blurred and skin pouched darkly under hooded eyes. In spite of her earlier resolve, Rosemary felt the sharp bite of pity. Conroy extended his left hand and moved a step in her direction, but as he faltered, tipped, and braced himself quickly with the cane in his right hand, Tank, close by Rosemary’s side, squared his stance and made a noise somewhere between a whine and a low rumble.

“Tank, hush. I’m sorry,” she said to Conroy as she touched his hand. “He’s fine with women, but suspicious of men, at least at first. he was your daughter’s dog, and he truly mourned her.” She stepped back and looked to Gus, who brought a chair forward for her.

“I’m glad someone did. Mrs. Mendes, I thank you for coming. I thank you for everything,” said Conroy, and he settled back into his chair. “Sheriff Angstrom was kind enough to give me Brianna’s Cd, and lend me a computer to view it.” He leaned forward, eyes on her. “I will tell you again, and it’s the absolute truth, had not seen a single one of those e-mail messages until an hour ago.

“And I can also tell you, and anyone else who is interested, that I have quizzed my entire staff to no avail; they’d have me think those messages were sent out into the ether and died there. Which is crap; Brianna was a student in computer science at her university, and if she meant to send messages to me, and she obviously did, they were sent.”

“So what’s the answer?” asked Angstrom.

“The answer is that they were lying to me, possibly one of them, possibly several in conspiracy. I have fired my chief of staff and her personal assistant and her secretary and just about everyone else who could possibly have had access to my office and my personal quarters. I’m not even sure about my son, although he denies any knowledge of the messages and certainly appeared to be upset when he heard about them. However, Brianna was the child of my second marriage, nearly ten years younger than David, and he always believed I favored her.

“So I’ve started an investigation of my own, and if I find out who’s guilty, that person will never work in Washington or anywhere else again.”

Looking at that hard, grim face, Rosemary felt her earlier feeling of pity begin to fade.

“She had no internet connection that we’ve discovered yet,” said Angstrom. “But we’ve just learned about these messages, too, and of course, we were looking under the name Michelle Morgan. We’ll now check the Brianna Conroy name with our local wireless coffee shops, as well as with similar sites in other towns nearby.”

“You can let that go,” said Conroy. “one staff person I did not fire is my own computer guy. I trust him completely, and I know that if there’s a trail out there, he’ll find it. What I would like to know from you is whether there’s any information about who shot my daughter?”

Angstrom shook his head. “We’re working on it with Forest Service and Fish and game people, checking deer tags and talking to people who were known to be hunting out in that area at the time. Nobody’s had anything to offer so far. And as far as personal enemies your daughter might have had—nothing. Many people knew her a little bit, as Mrs. Mendes’s story showed; nobody has any knowledge about real conflicts, or any reason for such.”

“Brianna could be rough-edged; she did not suffer fools gladly.”

“We don’t have on record, at the moment, any local loonies who shoot people for annoying them, although it’s certainly possible there are some of those out in the woods. This is a big county, Mr. Conroy, with a small, scattered population and not a whole lot of law enforcement. We do the best we can with what we’ve got.”

“I can appreciate that. What did your coroner determine was the likely date of Brianna’s death?”

“That’s me, and a deputy. We couldn’t be absolutely sure because of the delay in finding her, but she was probably shot September nineteenth, give or take a day either way.”

Conroy’s jaw clenched, muscles standing out. After a moment, he sighed and looked up, tears glittering in his eyes. “If I’d received even that first message, I’d have e-mailed back and begged her to come home. hell, I’d have flown right over here to get her. Alive, instead of what I’m taking home now.”

That was a truth that had been making Rosemary half-sick since her morning conversation with this man. Now she looked away from his ravaged face to watch her own hand stroking the back of Tank’s neck.

Conroy cleared his throat. “And the one good thing to come of this, of those messages, is that I now have something to focus my life on.”

Getting even?

“I now know that I have a granddaughter, Brianna’s little girl, Elena. I’m going to find her and claim her.”

Rosemary drew a long breath and then clamped her mouth shut with some effort. Leave it.

“What?” Conroy read her expression. “Mrs. Mendes?”

She got to her feet and used the leash to pull Tank with her. “I’ll ask you to please excuse me. I have things to do at home.”

“Mrs. Mendes?” he repeated.

Okay. “From what Brianna’s last e-mail said, it appears that Elena has grandparents who have taken care of her for some time.”

“So…?”

She shook her head and turned to leave.

“I’ll see you out,” said Angstrom.

“Mrs. Mendes?” With some effort, Conroy got to his feet. “I don’t believe my grandchild is any of your business.”

“You’re absolutely right,” she said with a nod, and strode out of the room—insofar as a person of her size could stride. Tank kept pace alongside.

“My, my,” said Gus Angstrom as he moved past her to open the door of her truck. “Such a little-bitty woman to set a big-cheese politician back on his heels.”

“Don’t you patronize me, Gus Angstrom!”

“No ma’am!” He stepped well back, palms-out hands high. “Nothing was further from my mind.”

She tipped the truck seat forward to let Tank in. “That man clearly messed up his daughter,” she said as she climbed in herself. “And it doesn’t sound as if he’s done very well by his son, either. Now he’s assuming it’s his right and privilege to charge into the life of a little girl who has no mother and apparently no father either, and just… Oh, never mind.”

“Rosemary, I agree with you. But I don’t think there’s much we can do about it.”

“True. now I’m going home to mind my own business. Turn off the telephone and read half a dozen good books and keep my opinions and my time to myself. oh, Gus? has there been any progress on Eddie Runyon’s accident, or whatever it was?”

“Not so far, and I gotta say, I don’t expect much. Best we can hope for is that one of the regular truck drivers along Three will recall seeing something out there. We have notices posted.”

“Fingers crossed once again. Oh, shoot,” she muttered, and dug into her bag for her cell phone. “I haven’t seen Kim today. I’d better call her to find out whether she needs anything from town.”

“Right. And then you can start on your hermit-like solitude. you drive carefully now, and I’ll call you later.” He closed the door of the truck and and had turned to head back to his office when Rosemary suddenly put the cell phone down and lowered her window.

“Gus?”

He turned, saw her worried look, and came back. “Something up with Kim?”

“No, she didn’t answer. It’s something I forgot and you should probably know about. I think. Actually, I’m so tired I hardly know what I think.”

“Let me do the thinking; that’s what they pay me for. And I’m not tired,” he added quickly as he saw her bristle.

“Lucky you. Yesterday, I believe it was, Kim Runyon told me that Eddie’s cousin, Steve Runyon, has been working in private security, and his latest job—I think she meant current, but I’m not sure— was for a politician. ‘Some politician-rancher in Modoc County up around Alturas’ was the way she put it.”

“Oh ho.” Angstrom shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels, eyes fixed somewhere beyond her. “And we’ve just met somebody who sure fits that description. And Steve Runyon is a real interesting guy all by himself. Thank you, Rosemary,” he said with a nod of approval. “There may not be a tie-in, but it’s sure worth looking into.”

“Can you try to keep Kim’s name out of it? She’s frightened of Steve.”

“Don’t blame her. Sure, I can do that. You take care now.”