Authors: Donna Ball
“It's not Kelly's,” he told her. “The Anderson girl—apparently it belonged to her. She gave it to a boy just before she was killed.”
Carol's eyes were big and worried, as though she dreaded to voice what she feared. The good thing about being married once was that she didn't have to.
She said, “That man she was last seen with, the one who said he was a director ... was anyone able to give a description?”
Guy shook his head. “We don't know that she was actually with him at all. She just told her friends about him. The sheriff asked me to put that in the story in case someone did see her with a man.”
“No chance it was a real director?”
“No one has applied to film here since last September. But it would make a good line to lure young girls.”
Carol swallowed hard. “He was going to take her to Hollywood, make her a star...” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Guy couldn't reply.
Carol turned the pendant over in her hand. “I hated this thing,” she said slowly. “When I think back on these days right before she disappeared, I always remember this, and it seems like a symbol of everything that went wrong. She wore it just to defy me, because she knew it annoyed me. I remember we argued about it, you and I.” She returned the necklace to him. “The reason we argued about it was because I didn't want to admit to you how little control I had over Kelly.”
“I always thought it was because you resented my interference.”
“No. What I resented was your being right. You were right a lot more than you knew, Guy.”
“I think I always suspected that.”
“God, we made some awful mistakes, didn't we? And I blamed you for most of them.”
“Just like I blamed you.”
“Do you ever wonder, sometimes, how we got so far off the track?”
“Every waking moment of every day of my life.”
“Any answers?”
“Do you want a list?” He began ticking off his fingers. “You were always shutting me out....”
She looked up at him. “I never meant to. I always thought you were pushing me away.”
“Of course, I was. I thought it was self- defense.”
“You made your life seem so much more important than mine, as though reporting the news were morally superior to selling real estate.”
“And you never lost an opportunity to point out I would never make a fraction as much money as you did.”
“As though you cared. You were so damn stubborn and independent—”
“Like you weren't?”
She looked up at him, her smile sad and gentle and filtered by starlight. “I really miss you sometimes.”
“Yeah.” His voice sounded a little husky when he said that, and he let the silence fall. The night was filled with the sound of water slapping the side of the boat, wind sighing far away. Sometimes in quiet such as this, he remembered how her heartbeat sounded against his ear. He almost told her that.
She said, “Did you ever notice how our lives have always been a study in extremes? Extreme poverty, extreme comfort, extreme happiness, extreme discontent...”
“Extreme longing,” he said, “for something neither one of us seemed to be able to give the other.”
She said softly, “I feel like I'm walking on the dark side of the moon right now, Guy. And it's scary.”
He let his hand rested atop her head, stroking her hair. “You're not walking alone, babe.”
She reached up and caught his fingers, turning her cheek into his hand. “I wish,” she said after a moment, “I could reach back in time and make everything different.”
“Me, too.”
But after a time she released his fingers and turned away. He knew the real topic could not be avoided any longer.
“The Littles still live in Panama City,” he said. “They agreed to see me tomorrow.”
“Did you ask them about... ?”
“I didn't want to say too much over the phone. It was hard enough to get them to agree to see me.”
Carol nodded. “I don't think it will help. I mean, I don't think it will make any more sense or seem any more real ... or be any easier to understand. What time?”
“He works until four.”
“Pick me up at three.”
He hesitated only a moment. “Sure.”
They sat together, and listened to the sound of the waves, and after a time she rested her head on his knee. But they didn't talk much after that.
~
Chapter Thirty
T
he Littles lived in a Spanish-style house with a bougainvillea arbor providing shade over half the screened courtyard and a pool, tiled in deep Mediterranean blue, filling the other half. The double doors were paneled with stained glass, and the woman who opened them was slender and neatly groomed, but she looked fifteen years older than Carol had imagined her to be.
She dismissed their introductions and Carol's proffered hand with a nervous gesture, running her fingers through her short, tailored gray hair. “I'm Sandra Little,” she said a little distractedly. “Come in, I suppose. Although I don't know what help we can be to you. My husband just got in. He's having a drink in the family room. It's just this way.”
Her sentences were clipped and her voice thin, as though great reserves of energy were required for her to speak. As they followed her across the cool, Mexican-tiled foyer to the great room, Carol's eyes met Guy's and their thoughts were the same: How would they feel if two strangers invaded their life asking painful questions about their lost daughter?
The foyer gave way to a cathedral-ceilinged room with plush carpet and lemon silk- upholstered furniture. A set of glass doors looked out onto the pool courtyard, and the man who stood in front of them held a highball glass more than half filled with what might have been scotch, straight.
He turned when his wife said, “Henry, this is—” And then she faltered, turning to them with a faintly puzzled look, as though surprised by the fact that she could have forgotten their names so quickly.
“Guy Dennison, Mr. Little,” Guy said, stepping forward and offering his hand. “This is my wife, Carol.”
Carol did not correct him about their marital status.
After a moment, in which he seemed to assess both Carol and Guy, the man accepted Guy's handshake. “Henry Little.”
Carol said, “Mr. Little, Mrs. Little...” She looked at the woman sympathetically. “I know this is difficult. It's not easy for us, either, to intrude on your grief like this. Please accept my sympathy on the loss of your daughter.”
The wife averted her face, and it was a moment before Henry Little said quietly, “Life goes on. It doesn't feel like living sometimes, but ... life does go on.” Then, with an abrupt change of tone, he gestured with his glass and said, “Can I offer you a drink?”
Guy said, “No, thank you. This isn't really a social occasion and we won't stay long.”
Little nodded curtly. “After I talked to you yesterday, I started thinking this was a mistake. There's nothing we can do to help you and talking about it is only going to cause us both to relive things we're trying to put behind us.”
“You never put it behind you,” said his wife, softly and unexpectedly. “Never.”
Then she turned to them and gestured to the yellow silk sofa. “Will you sit down?”
“Thank you.” Carol sat at the end of the sofa next to a marble-topped table that held several photographs. They were all of the same girl. She glanced at the wife for permission, then picked up one of the framed photographs. “Is this Tanya?”
“Yes. It was taken—right before she disappeared.”
Carol showed the photograph to Guy. A pretty smile, shoulder-length dark hair. Green eyes. Carol felt her chest constrict, and she saw Guy's jaw tighten with a reflection of her emotion. Carol whispered, “I am so sorry.” Her hand was a little unsteady as she replaced the photograph.
Mrs. Little sank down onto a hassock opposite them and said anxiously, “You said—someone has been calling you, using our daughter's name ... that's obscene! Why would anyone do that? Why can't they just let her rest in peace?”
“We were hoping you could help us understand that,” said Carol. “Our daughter—has been missing for over two years. A couple of weeks ago, I started getting calls from her, or someone who said she was her, crying and asking for help. Then the calls stopped and someone who gave her name as Tanya Little called and said she and Kelly were being held together against their will and that Kelly couldn't call me anymore. That was the day before yesterday. Then, of course, we found out that Tanya Little was ... had been...”
When she faltered, Henry Little supplied harshly, “Killed, Mrs. Dennison. That
’
s what she was. Murdered. Whoever called you was obviously aware of that fact and was playing some kind of twisted joke.”
Guy said quietly, “We think there's a possibility it may be the same person who's responsible for your daughter's death. He was never apprehended, is that right?”
Henry Little said, “She had been gone so long, and she wasn't killed at the scene ... there was just no evidence. The case is still open.”
Sandra Little's lips tightened. “We haven't given up hope. Someday that monster will be brought to justice. If you think you can help in any way...”
Carol said to the other woman, “Is there any chance at all that Kelly could have known Tanya?”
Sandra Little frowned, obviously not following her train of thinking. “You live in St. Theresa-by- the-Sea, is that right? I thought it was odd when Henry told me. You see, Tanya was working there that summer before she disappeared. But that was three years ago, and she was eighteen. I think it unlikely that she could have known your daughter.”
“Where?” Guy said. “Where did she work?”
“A little shop on the strip. Blue Dolphin, it was called.”
Guy glanced at Carol inquiringly and she shook her head, indicating she didn't recognize the name either.
Carol tried a different approach. “You said your daughter had been gone so long ... I don't understand. Where did she go?”
Mrs. Little dropped her gaze. “We don't know. She left a note one day, said she was leaving home. She was eighteen, we couldn't do much to stop her ... and to tell the truth, she was a rather difficult child and we thought—”
“I thought,” interrupted Henry Little harshly. “I thought a taste of the real world would do her good.”
The silence that fell was sharp with the guilt with which he had lived since that day—just as Carol and Guy had lived with their own guilt from the moment of Kelly's disappearance.
In a moment Sandra Little picked up the story. “After she left, we figured she was moving in with friends there, or someone she had met at work, but it turned out she quit her job the day before she left home. A week or so later, we got a letter from her, postmarked Tallahassee, saying she was on her way to Hollywood to become an actress. It was crazy.” Her voice rose in indignation. “The last thing Tanya would do would be to go to Hollywood. She didn't even watch movies!”
Carol felt a chill go down her spine, and it was momentarily hard to breathe. Guy's hand covered hers on the sofa. It was the only spot of living warmth in a very, very cold world.
With his other hand, Guy reached into his pocket and pulled out the thong necklace. His voice sounded odd when he spoke. “Mrs. Little,” he said, holding it out to her, “have you ever seen this before?”
She caught her breath sharply, and Carol could see the color drain from her face as she reached for the necklace. “My God,” she whispered, “it's Tanya's!” She snatched the necklace from Guy's fingers and clutched it to her chest, her eyes big and dark and wild with pain and accusation. “Where did you get this?” she cried. “Where did you?
~
Chapter Thirty-one
L
aura was getting ready to close the office when the phone rang. Tammy had already gone home, so she picked it up in her office. “Beachside,” she said.
A hesitation, then, “Mama, is that you?”
“Sorry, honey, you've got the wrong—” And then something made Laura stop. Slowly, she sank to the desk chair, gripping the side of the desk with her fingers. “Kelly?” she said uncertainly, “is that you?”
“You can come get me now,” said the voice. It was a young girl's voice, husky and breathy, but the tone was oddly flat as though she were reading a script. “You can come get me, but you have to come now. Can you do that?”
“Honey, where are you?” Laura's heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear herself speak. “Yes, I'll come, but you've got to tell me where you are.”
“Lighthouse Point, at the end of the beach, beyond the rocks. There's an old construction shack there.”
“Yes,” Laura said breathlessly, “I know it.”
“But you've got to come now. Can you come now?”
“I'm on my way, honey, right now.”
And suddenly the girl cried, in a much different, more urgent tone, “The tower! It's the—”
And the call disconnected.
Laura spent less than three seconds listening to the dead line, then she grabbed her keys and ran from the office.