“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Molly said, and she sounded genuinely sorry.
“Molly, could you tell me about Tara’s relationship with Weston Meeks?”
Again, the pause.
“Were they involved?” Bette continued. “As more than teacher and assistant?”
“No, not technically,” Molly said. “Tara… well, Tara had a bit of a crush on him, but I don’t think he ever reciprocated.”
“So, as far as you know, they weren’t having an affair?”
“No.”
“Do you think Weston was involved in her disappearance?”
Bette heard a small grinding sound and wondered if Molly had begun to chew her nails.
“Not Weston, no,” Molly admitted, “but… and I shouldn’t say this because my parents' attorney told me not to, but it’s been two years. Two god-damned years, and nothing.”
Bette waited.
“I think Weston’s wife had something to do with it,” she said.
“Hillary Meeks?”
“Yes. Right before Tara disappeared, she’d found out some disturbing shit about Hillary. She didn’t tell me what, only that she was afraid for Weston. She thought he didn’t have a clue who he was married to.”
“You have no idea what she found out?”
“No. I tried to figure it out after she disappeared, but I ran into a brick wall trying to get any information about Hillary. People are tight-lipped about her. Money and power and all that crap.”
“But she’s a nurse. Where’s the money and power coming from?”
“Beats me,” Molly admitted.
“Any clue where Tara might have discovered something about Hillary?” Bette asked.
“Kind of. Tara went to visit her cousin in Marquette the week before she disappeared. She came back all keyed up, like she’d stumbled on something that really freaked her out, something that had to do with Weston’s wife.”
“Did you tell the police all this when Tara vanished?”
“Oh yeah, absolutely. But word around town was that the police were on Hillary’s side. She has connections there, maybe. I don’t really know. I was in way over my head, and when I started insisting they look at Hillary, someone contacted my parents' lawyer and told them I’d be getting sued if I kept slandering her. I’m pretty sure they threatened my dad’s job too. He works for the Road Commission. My parents told me to stop talking about it.”
“Molly, do you have contact information for Tara’s cousin in the UP?”
“Yeah. Her cousin’s name is Whitney. I still talk to her every couple of months. Staying connected to each other helps us feel closer to Tara. Hold on just a second, and I’ll grab her number.”
Bette wrote down Tara’s number and promised to call her if she discovered anything.
Whitney’s boyfriend answered the phone when Bette called. He explained that Whitney was working at a pub in downtown Marquette and wouldn’t get off her shift until late that night.
“What’s the name of the pub?” Bette asked.
“Maury’s,” he offered.
Bette hung up and looked at her watch. It was just before noon. Whitney worked for another eight hours; the drive to Marquette would take five. Bette hadn’t intended to drive further north or to stay overnight, but once the thought popped into her head, she couldn’t shake it.
She dialed her dad.
The phone rang and clicked to voicemail after several rings.
“Dad, it’s Bette. I’m chasing some leads up here. I’ve decided to drive to Marquette so I’m not going to make it home until tomorrow—”
“Hello, Bette. Hello?” Her dad picked up mid-way through her message. “Sorry, I was outside. My neighbor just brought Teddy over, and wouldn’t you know, he chased Chai outside and up a damn tree. I’ve been out there for a half hour trying to coax her down. My shoulder looks like I’ve been attacked by a jungle cat.”
“Oh Dad, I’m sorry. I forgot all about Teddy.”
“No, it’s okay,” he insisted. “My neighbor’s wife is having some kind of gall-bladder episode and he had to bring him over, but we’ll be fine. It’s good to have him. Even the animal fights are a nice distraction.”
“Good. I’m happy you’ve got some company. Dad, I’m heading to Marquette. I want to talk to the cousin of the girl who went missing up here.”
“Okay, sure, yeah. Do you think it’s related, Bette? Did Weston Meeks do something to that girl?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’ll call tonight, okay?”
32
1972
Joseph Claude
Joseph stared straight ahead as his daughter drove on the dark road, searching for the opportunity that always appeared.
Greta’s hands were white on the steering wheel, her body tense. It wasn’t the impending murder that scared her, but driving.
He almost smiled at the thought, but in the road before them a man stepped out.
Joseph pulled back and slammed his foot down as if to depress the brake that wasn’t there. His eyes bulged as the black man in the blue tuxedo slipped into view.
The car slammed into the man, but no sound emerged.
The man in the blue tuxedo slid up over the hood, his face pressed against the windshield, his dark eyes filled with accusations as they locked onto Joseph’s.
Joseph pressed his hands against the dashboard and let out a bellow of shock and fear as the man continued to glide over the glass and disappear into the night.
Greta slammed on the brakes, pitching both of them forward in their seats.
She looked wildly through the windows and then at Joseph.
“What? What did you see?” she asked.
Joseph’s mouth hung open, his eyes still staring at the spot where the dead man’s face had been.
He rubbed his eyes and finally turned to look at his daughter.
“Did you see him?” He pointed at the windshield. “The man in the blue tuxedo?”
Greta frowned and squinted toward the windshield.
“No, Dad. You buried him months ago.”
33
Now
By the time Bette reached Marquette, her butt ached from sitting, and she’d gone over every scenario of what might have happened to Crystal.
She drew in a grateful breath when she climbed out of the car, bending her legs and stretching her arms overhead.
Maury’s Pub occupied the lower floor of an aged brick building across the street from a sprawling Lake Superior ore dock.
People sat in stools along the curved mahogany counter.
Bette stopped at the host stand.
A young woman with dark blond hair piled on her head, beamed at her. “Hi there!” The hostess grabbed a menu. “Seat for one?”
Bette shook her head. “I’m actually looking for Whitney Lyons.” As she said the words, Bette’s eye drifted to the girl’s nametag.
“Whitney,” the black letters read.
Whitney’s smile widened. “You’ve found her.”
“Great. That was easy.” Bette sighed. “Listen, my name’s Bette Childs. Do you have a few minutes to answer questions about your cousin, Tara?”
The enormous smiled faded. “Did they find her?”
Bette shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. My sister’s missing and I think her disappearance could be connected to Tara’s.”
Whitney frowned. “How?”
“Whit, table six needs their drinks,” the bartender called, pointing at several beers lining the counter.