Deceived Read online

  Besides, assuming Cal and Dev concurred, Kate Marshall might very well become their next client—at least for a preliminary investigation. The case interested him.

  As did the woman.

  A fact he did not intend to share with any of his colleagues.

  3

  Everything was going to be okay.

  It had to be.

  But how in the world had Kate Marshall ended up in St. Louis?

  And it was her, no question about it. The white pages didn’t lie. Neither did the Post-Dispatch article he’d found on the Net that mentioned her. Besides, the face he’d seen on the escalator last Friday had matched the one buried in the recesses of his memory.

  Keeping his son in sight through the kitchen window, Greg Sanders took a swig from his daily predinner beer. He’d prefer something stronger tonight, but he wasn’t going to let his drinking get out of hand again. Been there, done that, big mistake. Alcohol might numb the pain for a while, but the hollow ache always came back. Better to stay sober and deal with problems straight up as he’d done last time—after he’d dried himself out and gotten his act together.

  Besides, this problem should be much easier to solve. It was really just a waiting game. In a week or two, the incident would fade from Todd’s memory. Although the Marshall woman wasn’t likely to forget it that fast, the odds of her trying to track them down—let alone finding them—were minuscule, and there was little chance their paths would ever cross again in a city the size of St. Louis. As for the insomnia once again plaguing him—that, too, would pass.

  He watched as Todd and the boy from next door dashed from the swing set to the tree house he’d designed and built in the spring with the permission of his landlord, the two kids oblivious to the summer heat. That was youth for you. Too bad he couldn’t tap into their endurance. It would come in handy on the scorching construction sites where he spent his days.

  The microwave beeped, and Greg set his beer on the counter. Pot roast tonight, from Trader Joe’s. One of Todd’s favorites. The frozen oven fries he loved would be done in a minute too. And DQ sundaes were on the menu for dessert. Maybe a special meal like this would help distract him from asking any more questions about last Friday.

  If it didn’t . . . he’d just have to keep tap-dancing.

  After setting the roast on the table, he moved toward the oven—but when his cell began to ring, he detoured to the charger on the built-in desk and scanned caller ID.

  Diane.

  Shoving his fingers through his hair, he expelled a breath.

  This would require a whole different tap-dance routine.

  The phone trilled again, and he rested his hand on it. He needed to keep his distance from Diane until Todd stopped asking questions—and remembering stuff he should have forgotten long ago—but he couldn’t lose her. She was the best thing that had happened to him in years. Canceling the standing Saturday night pizza outing for the three of them had about killed him, though his upset-stomach excuse hadn’t been a lie. He’d been queasy since Friday.

  He picked up on the third ring and walked back to the window. “How’s the prettiest woman in St. Louis?”

  “Lonely.”

  The affection in her voice took the edge off her reproach. “Me too.”

  “I was thinking about making some of those chocolate chip pecan cookies you and Todd like. I could stop by and drop them off later.”

  “Boy, I’d love that.” He put as much warmth into that statement as he could—because she wasn’t going to like the rest of what he had to say. “But the heat zapped me today. By the time we finish dinner and I spend some time with Todd, I’ll be ready to crash. Acclimating to the high temperatures and humidity that kicked in over Fourth of July has been a lot tougher than I expected.”

  “I imagine St. Louis is quite a shock after living in Montana.” Her voice cooled a few degrees. “I won’t keep you, then. Why don’t you call me when you’re up for a visitor?”

  “Yeah, I will.” The microwave sent out another piercing reminder that dinner was ready, and he jabbed the cancel button. “Listen, Diane, in case you’re worried, I’m not seeing anyone else. But Todd . . . he’s been having some bad dreams, and between that and this upset stomach thing I have going on, I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep. The move was a big change for both of us, and we’re still adjusting. I know life will get back to normal soon, if you can just hang in there a few more days. I promise I’ll make it up to you. We’ll try out that fancy new restaurant you were telling me about last week.”

  A few moments of silence ticked by before a soft sigh came over the line. “I’d like that. Sorry if I sounded put out or distrustful, but a philandering husband can do that to a girl.”

  The thread of tension in his shoulders eased. “I totally get that—and you don’t have to worry about me on that score. I never once even thought about cheating on my wife. I’m a one-woman-at-a-time man. I’ll call you tomorrow—and maybe by next weekend things will calm down around here so we can make up for the pizza we missed last Saturday.”

  “That would be great.” The usual friendliness was back in her voice. “In the meantime, try to stay cool.”

  “Good advice.” In more ways than one. “Talk to you later.”

  After dropping the phone back in the charger, he moved to the door and pulled it open. “Todd! Dinner’s ready.”

  His son acknowledged the summons with a wave, then descended from the tree house by swinging down from a branch monkey-style rather than using the sturdy ladder. Greg started to call out a warning. Caught himself. Instead, he gripped the edge of the door, holding his breath until Todd was on the ground. One of these days he’d get past the urge to overreact whenever his son took risks typical for any kid his age. Todd was healthy and strong and resilient—the way an almost-seven-year-old should be. He didn’t need to be coddled.

  Todd called good-bye to his buddy and sprinted toward the house, legs pumping. He skidded to a stop on the stoop as Greg pushed the door wider, then squeezed under his arm.

  “What’s for dinner?”

  “Nothing until you clean up. Hands, face, and—” Greg eyed the smudges of dirt on his T-shirt—“let’s change this.” He tweaked the sleeve.

  “Aw, Dad.”

  “I’d hurry if I were you. Otherwise the fries will get cold.”

  Todd’s eyes lit up. “You made fries? For real?”

  “Yep. Pot roast too.” Not homemade, like the meals Jen used to prepare—but a step up from frozen pizza.

  “Whoa! Awesome! I’ll be right back!”

  To the background sound of water running and drawers slamming, Greg removed the plastic wrap from the pot roast, slid the oven fries onto a plate, and drained the water from the packaged corn on the cob.

  Seconds later, as he removed a baking sheet from the oven, Todd zoomed back in.

  “Wow! Rolls too!” His son slid into his chair. “This is almost as good as Thanksgiving. How come you cooked all this stuff?”

  As Greg took his seat, guilt crashed over him. Had it been that long since they’d had a nice meal during the week?

  Yeah, it had.

  And the steady diet of fast food and macaroni and cheese they’d been relying on since he’d taken the construction job and moved them to St. Louis was getting old. He needed to do better, even if he was beat at the end of a full day in the unaccustomed heat.

  “I just thought we deserved a treat.” He cut the meat and put several slices on Todd’s plate while the boy helped himself to a generous serving of fries. “And how does a DQ sundae sound for dessert?”

  “Yeah! I love those almost as much as poppysicles.”

  Greg froze for a split second as he reached for an ear of corn, reliving again that stomach-dropping, this-is-impossible moment on the escalator at the mall.

  Time for diversionary tactics, before his son remembered the incident too.

  But as he picked up his corn and prepared to switch the topic to baseball, Tod
d spoke first. “Dad, you remember that lady I asked you about at the mall the other day?”

  Too late.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you sure we don’t know her?”

  It was the same question he’d asked a dozen times in the past seventy-two hours. And Greg gave the same answer. “We’re new in town, champ. We don’t know that many people here yet.”

  “But we might have met her somewhere else, right?”

  “The only other place we’ve been is Montana, and we didn’t see all that many people there.” He chewed a bite of meat, hoping it didn’t stick in his craw when he tried to swallow. “Besides, I didn’t get a very good look at her.”

  “I did. She had pretty hair, the same color as mine. And she looked right at me, like she knew who I was. I keep thinking I’ve seen her before.” He screwed up his face and twirled a fry in the ketchup he’d squirted on his plate. “Maybe if I think real hard, I’ll remember where.”

  Greg’s stomach kinked. That was the last thing he wanted his son to do.

  Still . . . how much could Todd possibly call up from memory? According to his research, kids didn’t retain much from such a young age. But could an incident like the one on Friday trigger flashbacks of some sort?

  Something to search out on the Net later tonight, after his son was asleep.

  In the meantime, he needed to shift this conversation into more neutral territory.

  “After we get our sundaes tonight, I thought we might watch the Cardinals game on TV.”

  “Yeah!” Todd chomped on the fry. “Who’s pitching?”

  They launched into a discussion about the team they’d adopted since moving to St. Louis, the incident on the escalator forgotten.

  For now.

  But Greg had a sinking feeling the respite would be short-lived.

  “So . . .” Dev followed Cal into Connor’s office, shamrock-bedecked mug in hand, and dropped into one of the two chairs across from the desk. “Since you avoided me yesterday until I had to cut out for that surveillance gig, you can tell us both about your hot new client at the same time.”

  Connor unlocked his desk drawer and pulled out a file, shooting his auburn-haired partner a disgruntled look as he tossed the keys onto the corner of his desk. “I haven’t even had a chance to get my coffee yet. And what’s with this hot stuff? You’re engaged.”

  “But not blind.” Eyes twinkling, Dev lifted his mug in a mock salute and took a sip.

  “I’ll get your coffee for you.” Nikki paused in the hall as she passed by the doorway, mug in hand. “I need some more hot water. As for you . . .” She pointed at Dev. “That’s what you’ll be in if I tell Laura what you just said.”

  “It was a joke, okay?” Dev sent her a peeved look, then went on the offense. “And how come you’re getting Connor’s coffee? The one time I asked you to refill my mug, I got an earful about political correctness.”

  “He didn’t ask. I offered. Big difference.” Nikki swung toward Connor. “Back in a minute with your caffeine fix.”

  Cal glanced at his watch. “Not that I want to be a wet blanket, but I’ve got a nine o’clock meeting, so maybe we could move this along?”

  “Right.” Leave it to the Phoenix founding partner to rein in the staff and keep things on track. Cal was even more organized than he’d been in their college-buddy days. “My visitor yesterday isn’t a client yet. I wanted to get your take before I pursue this. Her story is unusual, to say the least.”

  “Couldn’t be any more unusual than Moira’s vanishing person tale last year—and look what happened in that case. Not only did it turn out to be true, but you two got married.” Dev nudged Cal with his elbow.

  Connor folded his hands on the file. “It’s at least as unusual as that.”

  “Now I’m intrigued too.” Cal leaned back and crossed an ankle over a knee as he sipped his coffee.

  “Here you go.” Nikki sailed back in and set his mug on the desk—along with a plate of coffee cake and some paper napkins.

  Dev’s eyes lit up and he leaned closer. “Is that my all-time favorite caramel pecan stollen from McArthur’s?”

  Nikki pressed a finger against a stray crumb that had fallen on the desk and shrugged. “I stopped at Great Harvest for a whole-wheat bagel on my way in, and since I was passing by I decided to indulge all of you with this coronary-waiting-to-happen.” She gave the three of them a dark look. “It’s not like my eat-healthy campaign has had much impact on this group, anyway.”

  “You are my favorite person in the whole world. And it’s not even my birthday.” Dev helped himself to the largest slice.

  She snorted. “Don’t get used to it.”

  As she flounced out, Dev grinned after her and took a big bite. “So where were we?”

  “Trying to focus on business.” Cal raised an eyebrow at him as he picked up a smaller piece, then turned his attention to Connor.

  Taking the cue, Connor jumped back in. “I’m going to give it to you the way Kate Marshall gave it to me. After I get your reactions, I’ll fill you in on what I learned after she faxed me back the completed client questionnaire and Nikki and I did some additional research.” He tapped the file in front of him and launched into her story.

  By the time he finished, Cal was frowning and Dev was staring at him, his stollen lying forgotten on the napkin in his lap.

  “That’s a peculiar one, all right.” Cal sipped his coffee, his comment measured, thoughtful, and nonjudgmental. Classic Cal.

  “Is she a nut, or what?” Typical Dev.

  “She’s not a nut.” His reply came out terse. Too terse, based on Dev’s speculative expression. Buying himself a moment to regain control, he opened the file—even though he’d already committed the key facts to memory. “Kate Stewart was born and raised in Nashville. She attended college on an academic scholarship and went on to get a master’s degree in psychology, emphasis in counseling. Following graduation, she worked as a high school counselor in Chicago until she married Dr. John Marshall and they moved to Hilton, New York. Her husband had a private pediatric practice specializing in neural disorders and conducted internationally recognized research at the University of Rochester.”

  “No slouches in that family.” Dev picked up his stollen again.

  “True. Kate got a counseling position at a women’s shelter in Rochester, and she continued to work part-time once her son was born. She took a year off after the accident, then accepted a job here at New Start.”

  Cal tipped his head. “Isn’t that some kind of job service organization for women?”

  “How’d you know that?” Dev squinted at him.

  “Moira mentioned it in that investigative series she did a while back about battered wives. I think it was one of the resources available to them.”

  “That’s right.” Connor consulted a sheet of paper in the file. “It’s a vocational guidance center for women who are entering the workforce after an extended absence and who need help polishing their interviewing skills, making contacts, and gaining confidence. According to the background Nikki dug up on it, a lot of the clients are newly divorced or coming out of an abusive relationship. Kate started there two years ago as a counselor and was promoted to director of the center last year. She’s also active in her church and delivers for their meals-on-wheels type program every Sunday.”

  Cal sipped his coffee. “Credible job, credible background, credible lifestyle.”

  “But incredible story.” Dev took another bite of his coffee cake and spoke as he chewed. “So what’s she want us to do?”

  “Identify the boy she saw at the mall. Otherwise, she’s not sure she’ll be able to let this go.” Connor closed the file.

  “Seems like a reasonable request in light of all the facts—and her concerns about some of the aspects of the original investigation.” Cal swiped a smear of caramel off the side of his mug with his thumb.

  “Any idea what the security camera situation is at the mall?” Connor leaned
back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

  “I used to, when I worked at County. We investigated a few cases that took us there. But that was six years ago. However, one of my detective colleagues is the head of security there now. I could give him a call, get you an entrée. Since we have a time and location on the sighting, it shouldn’t be difficult to isolate the relevant feeds. Reviewing them will eat up some hours, though. Does your client have a budget for that kind of thing?”

  “She included a note with her questionnaire assuring us cost wasn’t an issue. Apparently she received a large insurance settlement after her husband’s death.”

  Dev finished off his stollen and licked his fingers. “Even if you spot this kid, the odds of figuring out who he is are minuscule. And despite the coincidences she mentioned, the chances are microscopic that he’s her son. Seems to me the lady’s wasting her money.”

  “She doesn’t feel that way. The incident last Friday really got under her skin.”

  Dev wadded up his napkin. “Speaking of getting under the skin . . .”

  As Connor’s neck warmed, Cal stepped in. “I say go for it—in terms of viewing the surveillance video, that is. If you can’t spot the boy, end of story. Let’s defer any further discussion until after that.”

  “Fine by me.” Dev grabbed the plate of coffee cake and stood.

  “Hey!” Connor surged forward and snatched a piece. “This might be your favorite, but it’s for all of us.”

  “I was just going to put it in the kitchen.”

  “After pilfering several more pieces to stockpile in your desk.” Cal rose and followed Dev out. “I’ll make the call to mall security and pass on the contact information once I get the green light. Keep us in the loop.”

  “I will.”

  As they disappeared down the hall, Connor opened the file, located Kate’s cell number, and reached for his phone. She’d be happy to hear they were going to do some initial investigating, but he didn’t want to build false expectations. Dev was right. There wasn’t much chance he’d turn up anything useful. The little boy’s identity would, in all likelihood, remain a mystery. But perhaps knowing everything possible had been done might give her some small measure of peace.