Wedmore waved her hand around the room. “When I started calling around, I didn’t think you were still teaching here.”
“I transferred back a couple of years ago,” Archer said. “But it was good, taking some time away from this place. Listen, I got a class of aspiring first offenders who’d rather steal shopping carts than hear about Hemingway, so if there’s something I can help you-”
“Keisha Ceylon,” Wedmore said.
“Jesus.”
“That got a reaction. What can you tell me about her?”
“After they did that TV show, about it being twenty-five years since Cynthia’s parents and her brother disappeared, that woman came out of the woodwork, claiming she knew things about the case. Not first-hand knowledge, but things she’d seen in a dream or a vision or something. Cynthia and I were asked to come down to the TV station for a follow-up, so this so-called psychic could tell us on camera what she knew, but when she found out the station wasn’t giving her a thousand bucks, she clammed up.”
“Hmm,” said Wedmore.
“She came by the house one other time, trying to shake us down personally. Cynthia threw her out on her ass.”
“Has she ever been in touch since?”
Archer shook his head. “Never heard from her again.”
“What was your sense of her?” Wedmore asked.
A small shrug. “Two short meetings, that was it. But she was an opportunist. She liked to take advantage of people when they were at their most vulnerable. That puts her pretty high on my list of lowlifes.”
Wedmore smiled. “Yeah, I can see that.”
“Is she still out there, doing her thing?”
“Maybe.”
Something flashed in Archer’s eyes and his brow furrowed. “That thing on the news. The man and his daughter. Asking for information about his wife.”
Wedmore nodded and extended her hand again. “Thank you for your help. I should let you get back to your students.”
Archer tried to smile one last time, but Wedmore could sense the effort. The man wore his sadness like a jacket. “Actually, it is nice to see you again. You were a great help to us at a very dark time.”
He slipped out of the guidance counselor’s office. Wedmore had a strange feeling, as she watched him leave, that she would see him again before long.
Twenty-four
“Shit,” Keisha said as the banging on the door continued.
“What are you gonna do?” Kirk said, dabbing blood from his cheek with a tissue.
Keisha stood there, frozen, not sure whether to answer it, or escape out the back door and jump the neighbour’s fence. The latter seemed like a pretty stupid idea. If this was the cops wanting to talk to her, they probably already had someone covering the back door.
“I’ve got no choice,” she said, took a breath, and opened the door.
“Oh, thank God you’re home!” said Gail Beaudry, who had her hand raised, ready to knock again. The woman’s eyes were bloodshot from crying.
“Gail?” Keisha said.
“I have to talk to you!” the woman said, forcing her way into Keisha’s house. She glanced at Kirk, who was standing there, dumbfounded. “I have to talk to you alone.”
“This isn’t a good time,” Keisha said. “Maybe later this week, but right now-”
“He’s dead!” Gail blurted. “My brother’s dead.”
“What?”
“Someone killed my brother!”
“Gail, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“This morning,” she said. “And they’re saying all these horrible things about Melissa. Ridiculous things! That she killed her mother. It’s all crazy. The police have everything all wrong! You have to help me! You have to make them see the truth!”
Keisha was getting a very bad feeling. She grabbed Gail by the shoulders, steadied her and looked into her eyes. “Gail, stop, just stop for a second. Who’s your brother?”
“Wendell,” she said. “Wendell Garfield.”
Keisha exchanged a look with Kirk, who was standing to Gail’s side. He mouthed, “What the fuck?”
“Okay, Gail, come sit down and tell me all about this. Do you want something to drink? Kirk, get her something to drink.”
“Do you have anything diet?” Gail asked, allowing Keisha to lead her to the couch.
“Just get something,” Keisha said, sitting down next to Gail, knees touching. She was massaging the woman’s shoulder comfortingly. “It’s going to be okay. You just need to tell me what’s happened, but slowly, from the start.”
Kirk handed Gail a can of Diet Pepsi that he’d already cracked open. Gail looked at him and said, “What happened to your face?”
“Shaving,” he said.
She nodded, then answered Keisha’s question. “A few days ago, Ellie, that’s Wendell’s wife, she disappeared.”
“I saw something on the news about that,” Keisha said.
Gail nodded. “They held a press conference and everything yesterday. Wendell and Melissa. Oh, God.” She set the can of Pepsi on the table and put her hands over her eyes. “It’s all so unbelievable! Why would they hold the press conference if Melissa had something to do with it?”
“Gail, so what are you saying? It was the daughter?” As soon as she said it, Keisha realized how it might sound; that she was surprised that Wendell wasn’t the one responsible. She had to recalibrate her thinking, to act surprised by everything she was about to hear, to listen and react without preconceptions.
In fact, she wouldn’t have to try all that hard.
“That’s what they’re saying,” Gail said, shaking her head. “That Melissa killed her mother.”
Keisha tried to get her head around that. If Melissa had killed Ellie Garfield, why had the husband tried to strangle her? He must have been in on it, or at the very least, been helping his daughter cover up after the fact.
“And what exactly happened to Wendell?” Keisha asked. “Where did they find him?”
“At home,” Gail said. “I don’t really know all the details. But none of this makes any sense. That Melissa would kill her mother, that someone would kill Wendell. It’s insane.”
Keisha put her arms around Gail. “You poor thing. This is so horrible for you.”
As she held the woman, Keisha’s mind raced. Once Kirk finally disposed of the bloody clothes, the only thing that connected her to Garfield was the business card she was sure the police would find. She’d convinced herself she could explain that away by saying there were a hundred places Garfield could have picked one up.
But now there was a definite link between Keisha and the dead man.
The dead man’s sister. Who just happened to be one of Keisha’s clients.
Not good, not good at But wait a second.
Maybe there was an opportunity here.
“Tell me about your brother,” Keisha said. “Was he older, younger?”
“He was my baby brother,” she said, and began to weep again.
“I think-haven’t you mentioned him in some of our sessions?”
She nodded, grabbed a couple of tissues from the box on the table, which was right next to the unfinished Twinkie and beer, and blew her nose. Then she had a sip of her soda, and said, “That’s right. I mentioned a few times to him that I came to see you, that you helped me to connect with my past lives.”
“What did he think of that?”
“Oh, he was very dismissive, but no more than my husband. Jerry thinks I’m a total crackpot.” She managed a short laugh. “Maybe I am.”
“No, not at all,” Keisha said. “Everyone has different things they believe in. They’re coping strategies. They help us deal with the world out there. Was Wendell dealing with a lot of things? Difficult things?”
“Oh, my, yes. Melissa’s been a constant source of stress for him and Ellie. She-oh, I can’t believe Ellie’s actually dead too. Melissa left home at sixteen, lived on her own, then met this man who got her pregnant. Ellie and Wendell were worried sick about her.”
“Did you try to offer advice to them? Give them any suggestions? I mean, you’re Melissa’s aunt. I could imagine you wanted to help them where you could.”