My Lost and Found Life (31 page)

During the long, silent ride to Gloria's house, I stared out the car window without seeing anything. The cool and overcast weather was classic San Francisco, although the fog would probably burn off. As we neared Burlingame, the sun pierced through the fading mist, raising the temperature outside. But I felt cold and empty, like my old Raggedy Ann doll after the neighbor's dog had pulled out all of her stuffing.

When Gloria opened her door, I didn't have to say a word. She took one look and then folded me in her arms. I unleashed a new flood of tears accompanied by hiccupping, choking sobs. I would never be able to tell my mother I loved her. I would never have the chance to tell her I was sorry.

While I struggled to get myself under control, Ted repeated the same information he had given me. Gloria was composed enough to ask him all the questions that I hadn't yet put into
words. We all sat down in the living room, as if it were some kind of social gathering. It seemed so wrong that we could sit there talking normally when nothing was normal. I was grateful Gloria's sons were at nursery school because I couldn't have dealt with the two of them at that moment.

“What was the cause of the accident?” asked Gloria.

“At this point, it's impossible to tell because any skid marks have long since disappeared. We'll check the car to see if there was a mechanical problem. A number of drivers go off roads in those mountains every year, and it's usually someone who's going too fast. Most vehicles hit a tree or another vehicle. Do you know the area?”

“Sure. We've gone for picnics up there and we get our Christmas tree from a farm off Skyline every year,” Gloria said impatiently. “The road is curvy, but it doesn't seem all that dangerous.”

“Not if you're careful. But if it's dark or you get distracted or you're going too fast...” His voice trailed off. “She might have had a blowout or a problem with her brakes. She could have swerved to avoid a deer or a squirrel. She could have been under the influence.”

Both Gloria and I said, “No!” at the same time.

Then I added, “My mother didn't drink. Alcohol made her sick. She didn't take drugs or pills, either, except aspirin.”

Gloria spoke up again. “I don't understand why no one would notice a car down there. There are so many cabins, and hikers use those trails all the time.”

Ted shrugged. “It's unusual for a car to go down a ravine and stay hidden for an entire year. But it's not the first time this
kind of thing has happened. The road can be treacherous and the drop is very steep where her car left the road. Plus that spot isn't near any of the popular hiking trails. The poison oak and brush are really thick in that ravine, and you'd have to have a good reason for climbing down there.”

“But what was she doing? Skyline's an odd place for Diane to be driving, especially on a workday.” Gloria's voice was thoughtful.

“Curtis,” I said.

“Curtis?” asked Ted.

“Curtis Davidson,” I said. “My mother worked for him. He has a cabin off Skyline Boulevard. I drove up there once because I thought my mother might be staying there.”

My voice trailed off for a moment as the awful truth finally sunk in. “I must have driven right past the spot where my mother went off the road. Her car was there...she was there all the time.”

Gloria reached over and put her arm around me. I had to ask the question that had been haunting me since Ted first told me about the body in the car.

“Do you think...I mean, will you be able to tell if...” A tear slid down my cheek and I wiped at it with my hand. “If she was killed instantly? What if she was trapped there for days, injured and in pain, waiting for someone to save her?”

“I don't know,” Ted said, gazing at some spot on the wall over my head instead of meeting my eyes. Gloria sat motionless, staring down at her hands. I realized that they must have been wondering the same thing.

• • •

For the next few days I stayed at Gloria's. Mostly, I slept to keep the pain at bay. When I wasn't sleeping, I sat quietly, staring at nothing. I went through the motions of everyday life, but I wasn't really there. Gloria provided Ted with the name of our dentist. She went to the coroner's office and brought back my mother's wristwatch and the gold wedding band she had continued to wear even after Jimmy's death. Now we couldn't deny it anymore.

It took the police lab a week to confirm the bitter truth. The report said that she had died from injuries sustained in the accident. Because they found no mechanical problems with the car's brakes or engine, they decided she had lost control of the car for reasons unknown.

Ted told us that he was fairly sure she had been killed instantaneously, but I was fairly sure he didn't
know
and just said that to make me feel better.

Gloria helped me to make burial arrangements and organize a small funeral mass. Only a few people came: Gloria and Richard, Ted Strobel, Earl, Malcolm, two of our former neighbors. Phil showed up, alone, but no one came from Warren Simmons, and there was no sign of Curtis Davidson. Over and over the priest repeated, “Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death” until it echoed through my head. I closed my eyes and prayed as hard as I could that my mother was at peace.

Afterward, I tried to talk to Gloria about how I was going
to pay for all this. She kept brushing me off and saying, “We'll talk about it later.”

• • •

After that, I didn't hear any more from the police. I badgered Strobel for more information, but he claimed the criminal investigation was closed. If any incriminating evidence was found on my mother's laptop, no one told me. The laptop belonged to the Simmons Company, so I couldn't even ask for it. Two suitcases were found in the trunk of her car, one of them filled with a jumble of clothes and the other empty. None of us knew what to make of that, but I hoped it meant she had planned to come home for me.

Then Gloria heard a rumor that Curtis Davidson had left the Warren Simmons Company, so at my prompting she tried calling Arthur Warren. He coldly referred her to his attorney. His attorney refused to discuss the case with her, claiming it was confidential. All my questions were left unanswered, and I was very frustrated.

I could think of only one other place where I might be able to get the answers I needed.

The door in front of me was painted a bright, glossy red. Mounted on it nearly level with my eyes was one of those ornate door knockers shaped like a lion's head. I assumed the lion was merely decorative and rang the doorbell.

As I stood there waiting for the door to open, I smelled the sweet fragrance of the star jasmine crawling up the trellis alongside the entry. I turned around to admire the lush green lawn and the daylilies blooming in carefully laid-out borders. The house and its garden were breathtaking. It looked like the kind of place where nothing bad ever happened—or so I used to think. I knew better now.

A slim, well-groomed woman in her forties opened the door. We both stood there a moment, appraising each other. She was tanned and fit, as if she played a lot of tennis or golf. Her makeup was so subtle and flattering that most people would think she wasn't wearing any, and her silvery hair had been shaped into a chic bob. Her cream-colored sweater and skirt were beautifully cut.

“Hello. You must be Ashley,” she said in a steady, carefully modulated tone that would project well when addressing a meeting of the Symphony Guild or Garden Club. “I'm Claire Davidson.”

“Thank you for seeing me,” I said as she stood back to let me inside.

The foyer was as impressive as the front lawn. It was large and bright with cathedral ceilings and a curved staircase leading to the second story. A gleaming tiled floor extended all the way to the back of the house.

“It's such a beautiful day. Let's sit out on the patio,” she said.

I followed her through French doors onto a flagstone terrace. I saw trees and flowers off to the left and the blue glint of a swimming pool to the right.

We sat down across from each other at a round table shaded by a huge white umbrella.

“Can I get you some lemonade or a soft drink?”

“No, thank you. I'm fine.”

I had pushed Gloria to use her contacts to arrange this meeting for me, but now I wasn't so sure it was a good idea.

Claire looked as if she never felt awkward anywhere. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. Nice shoes. Expensive like everything else here.

“So, I understand you have some questions for me.”

I hesitated, twisting my ring nervously.

She broke the silence. “I'm sorry about your mother, Ashley. I didn't know her well, but she seemed like a nice person.”

I twisted my lips into an uncomfortable smile, as much in appreciation for her good manners as the sentiment. She
misunderstood my smile and added, “I didn't blame Diane for what happened, or at least I understand. Curt is very persuasive.”

I stopped fidgeting and looked straight into her eyes.

“That's what I want to understand—how it happened. So much of what went on is still a mystery to me, and I hoped that you might know more than I do.”

“I don't know how much I can help.” Her voice was cool.

“Please,” I said. “Whatever you say, it will be between the two of us. I won't tell anyone. I just need to know.”

She paused and studied me for a few seconds. “All right. I'll tell you what I can.”

“Well...” I hesitated, and then plunged in. “I need to know how my mother ended up at the bottom of that ravine. She must have been going to see your husband at your country house, or maybe she was leaving? It could have been either. I assume they were, uh, involved.” I faltered. “I mean, outside of work.”

“Clearly they were,” she said, shifting slightly in her chair.

“I don't mean to offend you, so please excuse me if I'm blunt. Did the two of them steal the money together? How did my mother die?”

She sighed and answered my last question first. “As I understand it, your mother was in an automobile accident. Are you thinking she might have been distraught enough to commit suicide?”

“Never. My mother was Catholic. She would never have killed herself. I guess I've seen too many movies and have a lurid imagination, but … could your husband have killed her?”

She laughed with real amusement. “No, never. Curt isn't
action oriented. He doesn't make things happen so much as take advantage of situations that present themselves. He couldn't kill your mother or even make a plan to kill her, but he is capable of taking advantage of fortuitous circumstances. Her disappearance allowed him to pretend ignorance about the missing money and blame your mother.”

“So they were in this together?”

“Not initially. He claimed it began out of pity when Diane came to him in tears and confessed she had ‘borrowed' from company accounts to help your father. Curt promised to help her. She probably thought he was a white knight coming to her rescue. Instead, of course, he exploited the situation for his own ends.”

“He told you all this?”

“I persuaded Curt to tell me the truth,” Claire said, smiling to herself with satisfaction. “Or at least his version of it. I doubt he even recognizes the truth. He claims the company never appreciated his contributions or gave him the money he deserved. I took that to mean he convinced your mother—and himself—that he was entitled to help himself to the company's profits. Curt can be very convincing, especially with women.”

“I can see that happening. All he would have had to do is make Diane feel sorry for him. She would go overboard to help someone who was being treated unfairly.”

“At any rate, when Arthur arranged the merger and the auditors were brought in, your mother panicked and wanted to confess. Curt said he didn't want to discuss the situation in public because your mother was emotional. He told her to meet him at our cabin. She drove up there and they argued.
Curt said she became hysterical. I assume that means she was crying—he always describes any outward display of female emotion as hysterics.”

Her lip curled as she continued. “Anyway, he said she drove away, visibly upset, and he never saw her again. He waited, expecting to hear from her or to hear that she had gone to Arthur.”

“So you believe him?”

“Yes,” Claire said, smoothing an invisible wrinkle in her skirt. “I believe she was distraught and that's probably what caused the accident. That's the most reasonable explanation.”

“How much of this do the police know?”

“When the police questioned Curt, he admitted she came to see him at the cabin and she was worried. He said nothing about their personal involvement or anything at all about the missing funds because there's no proof now that your mother's...” She stopped, and then continued, “Gone.”

“I'm surprised he admitted this to you.”

“I've had a lot of practice getting the truth from my husband. Arthur is an old friend of my father's. When he called me about his suspicions, I confronted Curt and forced it out of him. This was more than I was willing to overlook. I'd been aware of his infidelities for years and chose to ignore them because he's a good father and the children love him. But criminal activity is another matter.”

Her voice had become angry. “I couldn't let our children be humiliated and embarrassed by his financial improprieties. That kind of scandal could destroy their futures. Even my own social standing in this community would be in jeopardy. I couldn't ignore all that.”

“So, what's going to happen? Will he go to jail for the missing money?”

Claire gave me a steely look. “Certainly not. That's what I'm trying to avoid. I've negotiated a private financial settlement with Arthur and the board has approved it. In return, Curt is leaving the company. The whole matter won't be pursued any further—legally or otherwise.”