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“I want to go to Westerly.”
“But—”
“They said he went home.”
“Olivia, please—”
“Maybe, maybe he took my car home to get the van to come back for me and the babies. Maybe there’s some kind of explanation. I have to know. I have to go look. Either drive me there or I’ll drive myself.”
“You’re in no shape—”
She started walking toward his car, though she couldn’t feel her feet hit the pavement and could barely see through the tears and the burn of dissolving mascara.
“Olivia—”
She paused, turning to look back at him.
“Wait up,” he said.
Chapter Three
Zac navigated Seattle’s busy streets as Olivia left a message for Faith to return her call. He drove as she waited anxiously, leaning forward against her seat belt.
The phone finally rang as they crossed the bridge and merged onto the highway leading southwest. Olivia answered immediately, her voice strained. Her first questions concerned her babies, then she told Faith where they were going, promising to be back at the hospital in four hours. As it took most of an hour to get to Westerly and the same to get back, that left them little time to look around town. He wasn’t sure what she expected to accomplish, but he wasn’t about to argue with her.
Thanks to light traffic, they made good time, but the fog came with them, trailing for a while, then encompassing the vehicle and the cities through which they passed. By the time they left the highway, the world was gray.
Westerly was one of those towns that had grown up a hundred years earlier around a lumber mill situated on Puget Sound. The mill was long gone and thus the town had had to reinvent itself, evolving at last into something of an artist community, which had the added benefit of attracting tourists. As a result, downtown was old but lively, heavy on flower boxes, summer festivals, murals and galleries. Neighborhoods were split between old Victorians close in and new hillside developments. The citizenry was equally split between those who could trace their roots back three generations and those who had moved there within the past ten years.
“Where do you want to check first?” Zac asked as they eased past the Welcome to Westerly sign that now sported an additional banner, barely visible through the fog: Westerly Welcomes Home Its Four Newest Citizens, the Capri Quadruplets! Congratulations, Anthony and Olivia!”
“Notice how they put his name first?” Olivia said. He glanced at her, relieved the tears were gone. She met his gaze and added, “He wouldn’t come back here if his intent was to run away, would he?”
“I don’t think so.” Zac thought this would be the last place on earth Anthony would consider a retreat. It was his wife’s hometown, he was almost a celebrity here himself.
Man, if Capri had skipped, there was going to be hell to pay in more ways than the humiliating mess Olivia would have to face. The man had taken well over a million dollars from the Robinson brothers and neither of them would accept that kind of loss with anything resembling grace. They wouldn’t see their own greed. Would they try to sue Olivia? In a New York minute. Not every citizen of Westerly was compassionate.
Nope, if Anthony had reneged on loans at the bank or absconded with investment dollars it was going to be a class-A disaster.
“Let’s go to my house,” she said, slinking down in the seat. She’d been wiping at her makeup as they drove and now her dark eyes looked even darker in her pale face. It was obvious she didn’t want this to be her big homecoming. He didn’t want it to be his, either. He had a few more days to report for work, days he should spend moving his stuff between Seattle and Westerly, but first things first. He left the main street quickly, taking an obscure route. “Which house? The one you guys are building?”
“No, take me to the one I’ve lived in for the past six years, the rental on Queen Street. I’m sure Anthony’s emptied the house by now, but maybe he went there for some reason and it’s closer.”
“Maybe,” Zac said. Maybe he went there to pack up the rest of his stuff and hightail it on out of town.
“It’s where we lived until we left Westerly,” she continued, her voice scratchy. “It’s a place to start.”
In other words, Zac thought as he turned down Queen Street less than five minutes later, it was home to Olivia. In her heart of hearts, she must think it was home to Capri, as well. Zac doubted it.
Olivia’s house was on the far corner. As he drove down the long driveway, she opened her handbag and withdrew the garage opener. She punched it once and the door slid open to reveal a very new white luxury car parked in the garage.
“He must be here,” she said.
Zac was surprised, to say the least. And confused. What was this guy up to? “Why was he driving this? I thought he had a red sports car.”
“That was a lease. We agreed we’d buy a van for the babies and he could use my car because it was bought and paid for. He wanted to wait a few months for the new models to come out before he got himself something else.” She paused a second and added, “He told me a couple of weeks ago that he bought the van. Maybe it’s parked at the new house.”
“Do you want me to wait—”
“No,” she said. “I don’t trust myself alone with him.”
They got out of the car and walked toward the sheltered back door that led directly into the kitchen.
OLIVIA STEELED HERSELF.
The last time she’d been in this house, she’d been leaving for her extended hospital stay as the doctors told her the contractions she’d experienced could mean trouble and she needed to get off and stay off her feet. That meant an extended trip to Seattle’s new neonatal care unit.
She remembered Anthony walking ahead of her as she descended the stairs, talking all the time about how she’d never have to live in this old dump again, that by the time the babies came, the new house on the point would be ready for occupancy.
She remembered being pleased he was so excited about making their lives more comfortable, but she’d also been—she could admit it now—a little hurt. This place might be a rental, but she loved its old Victorian styling, the high ceilings, the tall windows, the gingerbread trim and the turret room she used as an office.
She braced herself to have it out with him—if he was still here. He had some explaining to do.
Zac took her key and opened the door, stopping so abruptly after stepping inside that she bumped into him. “Oh, no.”
She looked past him and for the second time that day, felt herself sway on her feet.
He reached back. “You okay?”
Grateful for the support of his arm, she could manage nothing more than a deep breath and a slight nod. For a few moments they stood in silence gazing at the destruction before them.
Every cupboard door stood ajar, the contents thrown on the counters and floor. Every drawer torn from the counters and overturned. Layers of crushed dry goods covered broken dishes and silverware. The open refrigerator poured cold air into the room, though what little food remained inside had begun to smell. The freezer, equally gutted, sent forth rivulets of water and melted ice cream that snaked across the old uneven floor, mingling with everything else.
Olivia, speechless, hugged herself as a wave of nausea rolled through her stomach.
“We need to call the sheriff’s department,” Zac said.
“Where’s Anthony? I have to look. I won’t touch anything.”
They carefully negotiated the quagmire of the kitchen floor, moving into the living room. It, too, had been torn asunder, books thrown from shelves, upholstery split and gutted, rugs slashed and pulled up. It didn’t look to Olivia as though Anthony had removed one item from this place. How had he expected they were going to get by with four babies and no furniture in the new house?
“Anthony?” she called. The house was silent except for the noise from the refrigerator.
“It looks as though someone was looking mighty hard for something,” Zac said.
“But what?” she whispered. Another thought hit. “My office, all my clients’ records…”
“I’ll go look,” he said and climbed the stairs to the turret room, returning a few minutes later, shaking his head. “It’s the same. There’s a blizzard of paper everywhere, though the computer and printer look undamaged.”
“Was the safe untouched?”
“Yes.”
“That’s where I keep most of the important records anyway. Not that there are many left. I had to take a break from bookkeeping when I learned about the quads.”
She stumbled on a broken lamp as she moved and he grasped her arms. “Steady.”
“I want to see the bedrooms,” she said. “Especially the one we used.” It was where she kept keepsakes. Most of Anthony’s stuff had been in boxes in the basement though it might be at the new house by now. She took a few steps, trying to prepare herself for what she’d find.
The door opened onto a room that looked much as it had when she left it, down to her old robe hanging on a hook behind the door. There were broken and misplaced things in here in here, too, but very little as though the search had only gotten started when something or someone interrupted it. Tears rolled down her cheeks and whether they were tears of loss, anger or relief that at least a few of her things had remained unscathed, she didn’t know.
There on the vanity was the ditty box her sea faring father had left her as his oldest daughter, filled with mementos from his youth. Next to it, a shallow box holding Anthony’s spare watch and cufflinks though some of the items had been scattered across the top. A couple of the drawers were open, some of the clothes dumped on the floor, but not bad. On top of the armoire, next to a plaster bell Anthony’s mother had made, were six porcelain dolls she’d bequeathed him. No wait, there were just five now, one was on the floor in a dozen pieces.
She twirled around suddenly, looking for her mother’s old jewelry box and found it where it was supposed to be except the lid was open. She crossed to peer inside. It looked the same as always. The hope chest, filled with linens hand embroidered by her grandmother, remained locked. Peeking through the closet door, Anthony’s clothes, his jackets, slacks, shoes…
“Whoever it was didn’t get far in here,” Zac said.
“They must have been interrupted.” Olivia was confused. Why had Anthony moved nothing out of this house, not even his personal items or hers? They’d discussed all this several times. She wanted to decorate the new house herself, but that wouldn’t be practical at first so Anthony would move things over, then after she got home and somehow found a little time, she’d start furnishing the much larger house.
If he hadn’t moved anything did that mean the new house wasn’t finished? Or did it mean something worse?
“Olivia? You’ve gone all quiet on me.”
“What if Anthony came back here to get our things and walked in on a burglary?”
“Then where is he?”
She looked around frantically. “I don’t know. Maybe they kidnapped him.”
Guilt seeped through her pores, covering her body in a thin layer of sweat. She’d been angry with Anthony for not appearing when he said he would and now she was sure he had been waylaid by evil thugs. She’d misjudged him. She’d been selfish and so caught up in herself—
“Why?” Zac said.
“Why? Why what?”
“If he walked in on them and they bopped him on the head, why didn’t they finish the job and take the jewelry or the computer upstairs or the new television? Why did they leave all the valuable stuff?”
“Because they were afraid someone would come looking for him?”
“Okay, then where is he now? Why didn’t he alert anyone?”
“I don’t know. Maybe someone kidnapped him…”
“I’ll take the basement, you look in the other two bedrooms. Holler if you need me.”
THE BASEMENT APPEARED untouched though it had acquired new furniture since Zac had seen it last. He checked out every closet, bypassing the untouched stack of cardboard boxes marked “Private, Keep Out,” in the corner. Nothing. No one.
It annoyed the hell out of him that Olivia was blaming herself for doubting her husband. The man had done nothing but lie to her and yet she was still trying to give him a break. She’d apparently forgotten he’d been half an hour away the day after their children came into the world. What kind of excuse could pardon that behavior?
And what had happened in this house? Why had it been searched, and that it had was obvious to him. So where was the guy, why hadn’t he reported this intrusion? The police had made a thorough check of every unidentified male victim in the last three days and none of them matched Anthony’s description.
A muffled scream sounded from above. Taking the stairs two at a time, Zac reached the main floor and jumped over an overturned chair, sliding as he landed on a pile of books. His reaction had come straight from his gut, not professional at all, and he slowed down, reaching under his jacket for his gun.
“In here,” Olivia called from the hallway, her voice shaky. She stepped out of the last room, the one before the bathroom. Her face was as white as the plaster wall she gripped. “Come look.”
He joined her quickly and immediately saw what had alarmed her. The room had been ransacked like the others, but unlike the others there were blood spatters against the wall and desk front.
“Stand right here while I check every closet. Don’t move.”
Gun drawn, he made a thorough check of the house. Anthony wasn’t in it, nor was he in the car in the garage or the garage either, for that matter. Zac went back for Olivia, who was standing with her back against the wall, eyes closed.
“We’re calling the sheriff’s department,” he said.
Her eyes flew open. “I can’t just wait—”
“We’ll sit in my car. Come on.”
They carefully threaded their way through the house, trying to retrace their steps and not disturb anything more than they already had. As they left the house she said, “Let me have your keys.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m driving.”
“Driving where? We’re staying right here—”
“Give me your keys. Please, Zac.”
He took his keys from his pocket and handed them over.
“I’ll come back, I promise.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, you don’t have to—”
“Olivia, let’s just do it.” Whatever it was.
Once in the car, she opened the garage door again and sped backward down the narrow driveway, hitting the street and turning east on Queen.
“The sheriff’s department is the other way,” he said as he took out his cell phone.
“Make your call, do what you need to do.”
“Where are we going, Olivia?”
“I’m doing what I need to do.”
He wasn’t sure what that meant, but Westerly was, after all, a small town and it soon became obvious what her intentions were. He called the sheriff’s office, identifying himself to Terry, who always manned the phone on weekends. “I want a crime scene team sent pronto to Olivia Hart’s house, 333 Queen Street.”
