Things We Never Say (12 page)

As she hit the remote to open the gates to Pete’s property, she noticed a black Escalade parked at the roadside. She closed the gates quickly behind her, vaguely uneasy at the sight of the car. The road was a private one, with only three other houses on it besides Pete’s, and it ended in a cul-de-sac. There was no need for anyone to be parked on the street, because all the properties were as desirable as Pete’s and all had plenty of parking space to accommodate both homeowners and visitors.

She thought about calling the private security firm which monitored the houses in the area, and then chided herself for being over-the-top. The Escalade owner could have parked there because he wasn’t sure where he was going, or maybe he wanted to take a walk instead of driving … There could be a ton of reasons for the car being there, none of them sinister.

Nevertheless, after she’d parked the bike, she checked the garage before going into the house. The alarm was still on and showed no interruptions. Maybe I shouldn’t live on my own after all, she said to herself as she disarmed it. I’m clearly paranoid. I can’t believe I’m feeling edgy just because there’s a car parked on the road. If Pete was here I probably wouldn’t even have noticed it. Jeez, there were cars parked all over the street at the apartment!

Telling herself once again that she was being silly, and reminding herself that the best security of all was having a large Labrador in the house, she opened the back door and allowed Battle inside, rubbing him behind the ears and telling him that she was sorry she was late home. She didn’t utter the word ‘walk’, as it always drove the dog into a frenzy of excitement, but Battle already knew that Abbey’s return meant exercise for him.

‘Without you I’d be locking myself away tonight and being a scaredy-cat girlie girl,’ she told the dog as she allowed him to follow her upstairs and into her room (a practice normally forbidden by Claudia but which Abbey felt could be allowed for this evening). ‘And you know I’m not girlie, don’t you, Battle? You know I’m a tough cookie.’

The sound of the gate buzzer made her jump in fright and set her heart racing. Battle barked loudly and she shushed him by rubbing the top of his head. ‘It’s OK,’ she told him as she went to the entry console on the upper landing. The figure of a man was illuminated by the security light outside the gates. She could see that he was wearing a suit and tie. He looked vaguely familiar yet she didn’t recognise him as one of Pete’s friends or acquaintances.

The buzzer sounded again.

‘Yes?’ Abbey knew that she sounded aggressive, but she reckoned it was better than sounding scared.

‘Hi.’ The male voice was distorted through the speaker. ‘I’m looking for Mr Pete Caruso.’

OK, thought Abbey, at least this person knows who Pete is. But he doesn’t know that Pete’s away. Good or bad?

‘Do you have an appointment?’ she asked, thinking as she spoke that it was a stupid question. Who had appointments to see people at this time of the evening?

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Well, why don’t you make an appointment to see Mr Caruso and come back then,’ said Abbey.

‘I’m a bit pressed for time,’ said the man. ‘I tried to contact him at his offices but they said he wasn’t available. So I came here.’

Damn you, Pete, thought Abbey. He never allowed his staff to say he was on vacation. Two reasons, he told her. One, I’m never properly on vacation because I’m in touch all the time and if something urgent comes up I don’t want a client to think I’m not a hundred per cent committed. And secondly, I prefer not to let anyone know I’m out of town.

Abbey wasn’t going to say that Pete was away now. She didn’t want to appear like a vulnerable female. She reminded herself once again that she wasn’t a vulnerable female. She was a tough cookie in biking leathers. With a dog.

‘Why don’t you tell me what you want to see him about, and I’ll check when Mr Caruso can fit you in,’ she said.

‘My name is Ryan Gilligan,’ the man told her. ‘I wanted to talk to Mr Caruso about Ellen Connolly.’

Abbey felt her knees buckle beneath her and she leaned against the wall to steady herself. Ellen. Why did this man want to know about Ellen?

‘What about Ellen Connolly?’ She tried to keep her voice even.

‘That’s something I need to discuss with Mr Caruso,’ said the man. ‘D’you think I could talk to him now?’

‘No,’ said Abbey. ‘No, you couldn’t.’ Her mind was in a frenzy and she didn’t know what to say or do. She could hardly call Pete and ask for advice. She certainly couldn’t call Ellen. But she couldn’t let this man, this stranger, walk away without finding out why he was here.

‘Perhaps I can help you,’ she said eventually. ‘Wait a moment.’

She walked downstairs again, Battle following her. She opened the cupboard beside the front door, took a can of Mace from the shelf and put it into the pocket of her leather jacket. Then she zipped the jacket up again and glanced at herself in the long mirror. She didn’t look vulnerable. She looked like someone who could take care of herself. She pressed the button on the intercom and told the man that she was opening the gate. She watched the downstairs monitor as he walked inside and up the path towards the house. He looked even more familiar now, but she still couldn’t place him.

Her right hand closed around the tin of Mace as, leaving the security chain in place, she opened the door with her left.

He was standing in front of her.

And then she recognised him.

It was the Irishman who’d recovered her bag in Union Square.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ She was clutching the canister of Mace now, getting ready to spray it into his face, while also hanging on to Battle’s collar. (The man wasn’t to know that Battle was the world’s most placid dog and would undoubtedly lick him all over given half the chance.)

‘This is a weird coincidence,’ he said as he looked at her in surprise. ‘I wasn’t expecting to bump into you again.’

‘You weren’t?’ She wasn’t prepared to admit to a coincidence. No matter how astonished he appeared to be.

‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘If I’d realised you and Mr Caruso were … are …’ He looked enquiringly at her, but she said nothing. ‘If I’d realised you knew each other,’ he continued, ‘I’d have talked to you in Union Square. I’d just been to his office when I … bumped into you.’

‘How do I know that you didn’t already know?’ She winced as she spoke, realising that she was garbling her words.

‘Um … I guess you’ll have to trust me on that,’ he said.

She hesitated. This man had chased after a thief and recovered her bag. Surely that made him trustworthy? Though perhaps it had all been a set-up, designed to catch her off guard now. Battle gave a gentle, welcoming woof and she glared at him, wishing that he could at least try to sound menacing.

‘It’s very late to be calling to people’s homes,’ she said.

‘I realise that.’ His tone was apologetic. ‘I arrived earlier but there was nobody in. So I decided to wait.’

How long had he been sitting outside in the Escalade? Perhaps one of the neighbours had already phoned the police. She felt herself relax a little.

‘You mentioned Ellen Connolly,’ she said. ‘Why do you want to talk about her?’

‘May I come in?’

‘No!’ She almost closed the door on him, but Battle was in the way.

‘Hey, sorry,’ he said. ‘I realise you might not want a complete stranger in your home. Here’s my card.’

He reached into the pocket of his jacket. Abbey was on high alert, hoping that the gun laws in the state prevented random Irishmen from picking up pistols at the local gun store, on the off chance that they were murdering maniacs. He took a card from his pocket and handed it to her.

Celtic Legal
, she read.
Legal and Investigative Services. Ryan Gilligan, Investigator & Legal Adviser.

She glanced up from the card. An investigator? Like a PI? Surely not. For a brief moment she wondered if one of her friends was playing an elaborate joke on her. Although what kind of joke would involve sending a softly spoken Irish PI – albeit a very attractive one – to the house was beyond her.

She looked at the card again. Celtic Legal was based in Ireland. Why had he come from Ireland to talk about Ellen? Ellen wasn’t in Ireland. She’d never even been to Ireland. Abbey was a hundred per cent certain of that.

‘I’m working on behalf of Ellen Connolly’s family,’ he added. ‘Can we talk?’

Ellen’s family? Abbey looked at him in confusion. Ellen had no family. No other family. She would have known. She took a deep breath.

‘We can’t talk here,’ she said. ‘There’s a bar near the ferry landing. About a five-minute drive. I’ll meet you there.’

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Do you want a lift …’ He stopped, then grinned. Quite suddenly he wasn’t Hollywood-star-being-an-Irish-PI at all. He looked friendly and approachable. ‘Sorry, I should get the terminology right. Can I give you a ride? We don’t say that in Ireland,’ he added. ‘It has a completely different connotation.’

She almost said yes, because his sudden charm was disarming. But Abbey Andersen hadn’t lived for twenty-eight years without being aware of her personal safety. So she told him firmly that she’d follow him.

As soon as the tail lights of the Escalade had disappeared from view, Abbey shut a disappointed Battle in the kitchen, returned to the garage and got on the bike again. By the time she arrived at the bar, the Escalade was already parked neatly in one of the spaces and Ryan Gilligan was standing at the entrance to the old wooden building, which was built over the pier.

‘This the place you meant?’ he asked.

She nodded and preceded him up the steps. She pushed open the door and went inside.

Abbey rarely visited Sausalito’s bars, but sometimes she and Pete would come here. Both of them liked being able to see the water and the lights of the city across the bay.

‘What can I get you?’ asked Ryan as they sat in a booth near a window.

‘Water,’ she replied. ‘Sparkling.’

He returned from the bar with a bottle of water for her and an alcohol-free beer for himself.

‘Thanks for meeting me,’ he said as he placed the water in front of her.

‘How could I refuse?’ she asked. ‘You were my knight in shining armour earlier.’

He chuckled. ‘Lucky break for me, otherwise I got the impression you were going to set that dog on me.’

‘Not this time.’

‘Sometimes you’ve got to ride your luck,’ he said.

‘You couldn’t have planned it better.’

He heard the note of scepticism in her voice.

‘A total fluke, I promise you,’ he said. ‘If you want to ring any of the numbers on my card to verify that I am who I say I am, please do. Although,’ he added, ‘it’s the middle of the night back home, so that’s not exactly helpful. Sorry.’

‘I’m sure any number I ring will simply confirm anything you tell me,’ she said.

‘You’re a suspicious girl, aren’t you?’

‘I’m careful.’

‘And I’m a genuine person,’ he assured her.

She wanted to believe him. But she’d believed Cobey, hadn’t she? And look where that had left her. Nevertheless, this man was different. There wasn’t any reason to distrust him. Besides, she needed to know where Ellen came into all this.

‘So … what’s the thing with Ellen Connolly?’ she asked.

‘Straight down to business,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘Ellen’s father is trying to trace her,’ said Ryan Gilligan.

Abbey stared wordlessly at him.

‘He hired my firm to do the search.’

‘Who are you really?’ Abbey drank some water directly from the bottle. ‘Why are you saying such a thing?’

‘Because it’s true,’ said Ryan.

‘Ellen’s father is dead,’ said Abbey firmly. ‘Both her parents are dead. I know because I was there when they died. You’ve got the wrong person.’

‘Her adoptive parents may have passed away,’ Ryan said. ‘But I’m working for her biological father.’

The bottle fell from Abbey’s grasp on to the wooden floor beneath. A pool of water spread across the boards. The bartender hurried across with a cloth and began to mop it up.

‘Are you OK? Can I get you another one?’ asked Ryan.

‘No. Yes. I …’ Abbey was looking at him with total disbelief in her eyes as she tried to process what he’d just said. But she was finding it very difficult.

Ryan went to the bar and returned with another bottle of water and a glass with a measure of spirits.

‘Whiskey,’ he said. ‘You might like it. For the shock. Because clearly I’ve given you a shock. I’m sorry about that.’

Abbey picked up the glass and took a generous sip.

Ryan Gilligan watched her, a concerned expression on his face, but she swallowed the whiskey without spluttering and then took another mouthful.

‘I only drink hard liquor when I’ve found out something that’s knocked me sideways,’ she said as she put the glass on the table again.

‘I’m sorry to have knocked you sideways,’ said Ryan.

‘Oh, I shouldn’t be all that surprised,’ Abbey said. ‘Ellen has a habit of doing that to me.’

‘How well do you know her?’ Ryan asked. ‘Can you introduce us?’

‘I know her very well,’ said Abbey. She took a deep breath, then released it slowly. ‘Ellen Connolly is my mother.’

This time it was Ryan Gilligan who looked shocked.

‘I’m really sorry,’ he said after a moment’s silence. ‘Ellen Connolly? Abbey Andersen? I didn’t think …’

‘Andersen was my father’s name,’ said Abbey. ‘Mom didn’t change hers after she married.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. ‘If I’d known …’

‘Hey, don’t beat yourself up.’ Abbey could feel the whiskey taking effect, mellowing her so that she wasn’t as completely stunned as she’d been earlier. ‘It’s cool,’ she said. ‘I’m cool.’

‘I’m not sure that you are.’

He called the bartender and ordered another whiskey for her.

‘You definitely want that?’ called Chet, the owner, who was behind the bar.

‘Today I do, Chet, yes,’ said Abbey.

‘As long as you know what you’re doin’,’ Chet said.

‘I don’t know what I’m doing at all,’ murmured Abbey as Ryan put the drink in front of her. ‘I don’t know what any of this is about.’