little. “I didn't entirely get that part when you were explaining it to me over the phone this morning. They think this person who called Guy yesterday with the Mary-Had-a-Little-Lamb line is involved with Kelly somehow?”
Carol leaned against the receptionist's desk, sipping her coffee. “No. They don't think Kelly—the real Kelly—is a part of this at all. They think somebody is trying to get to Guy through me, and he's responsible for both sets of calls.”
Laura's frown deepened. “That doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?”
“It's supposed to make sense?”
“What did Guy say?”
Carol dropped her gaze to her coffee cup. It was impossible to read her expression, but Laura could guess her feelings. Carol's emotions were the same whenever she had an encounter with Guy: anger, confusion, impatience, betrayal, hope, anxiety, and suspicion. Laura wondered how anyone who stirred up such strong emotions could ever be considered an “ex” anything, but she never said so. There were some subjects into which it was better not to delve too deeply with Carol.
“Guy thinks Kelly is dead,” Carol responded briefly, and with the tone of a woman who has met the unforgivable.
“But—when he heard the voice...” Laura felt faltering and unsure, afraid that whatever she said would be the wrong thing. Kelly had been the closest thing to a daughter she would ever have and losing her had torn apart Laura's world with as much force as it had either Carol's or Guy's. With Carol, Laura hoped desperately that Kelly was alive and well somewhere, living out the life she had chosen when she left home. But with Guy, she saw too much on the news, knew too much about what life was like on the streets to hold out much hope.
Carol said, “He says it's not her voice. As though he should know! He probably wouldn't have recognized her voice three years ago, much less now.”
Laura said quietly, “That's not fair, Carol. You know Guy adored Kelly.”
Carol hesitated, then released a short soft breath of frustration. “I know. It's just—damn it, I don't understand that man! He's so sure this is some kind of trick and it's all tied in to someone he's involved with in some way—and he's got the police believing it too! They're so busy inventing conspiracy theories and tracking down strangers that they can't see the simple truth. Is this a prime example of tangled male logic and twisted male ego or what?”
“I wish I had heard that message,” Laura said.
“God, it would turn your blood cold. The way she said 'I got to go outside today' as though it's not something she can do every day. And she said...” Carol's hands gripped the coffee mug as her voice tightened with intensity and barely repressed excitement. “Laura, she said she could see my house! That means she's close. With a clue like that the police should be able to find her in a matter of hours, if they'd only look!”
“Well, not necessarily,” Laura answered with a note of apology in her tone. “You can see your house from almost any place on the island, you know, and from some places across the bridge with a telescope.”
Carol frowned thoughtfully. “Telescope. I hadn't thought of that. But still, it does mean she's close—whether she's on the island or across the bridge, at least she's not in California or New York, for heaven's sake. Why won't they look for her?”
“What I don't understand,” Laura said, “is that if she's close enough to see your house, on the island or even over the bridge, why she doesn't just come home? Why call when she could walk to your door?”
The only possible answer to that was evident in the strained, tight lines of Carol's face, and it was horrible to see. Carol answered simply, “She said she can't.”
“So what do you think happened?” insisted Laura. “I mean, why no contact for all these years and now, all of a sudden...”
She let the rest of the sentence trail off as Carol shook her head impatiently.
Carol leaned against the receptionist's desk, sipping her coffee. “No. They don't think Kelly—the real Kelly—is a part of this at all. They think somebody is trying to get to Guy through me, and he's responsible for both sets of calls.”
Laura's frown deepened. “That doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?”
“It's supposed to make sense?”
“What did Guy say?”
Carol dropped her gaze to her coffee cup. It was impossible to read her expression, but Laura could guess her feelings. Carol's emotions were the same whenever she had an encounter with Guy: anger, confusion, impatience, betrayal, hope, anxiety, and suspicion. Laura wondered how anyone who stirred up such strong emotions could ever be considered an “ex” anything, but she never said so. There were some subjects into which it was better not to delve too deeply with Carol.
“Guy thinks Kelly is dead,” Carol responded briefly, and with the tone of a woman who has met the unforgivable.
“But—when he heard the voice...” Laura felt faltering and unsure, afraid that whatever she said would be the wrong thing. Kelly had been the closest thing to a daughter she would ever have and losing her had torn apart Laura's world with as much force as it had either Carol's or Guy's. With Carol, Laura hoped desperately that Kelly was alive and well somewhere, living out the life she had chosen when she left home. But with Guy, she saw too much on the news, knew too much about what life was like on the streets to hold out much hope.
Carol said, “He says it's not her voice. As though he should know! He probably wouldn't have recognized her voice three years ago, much less now.”
Laura said quietly, “That's not fair, Carol. You know Guy adored Kelly.”
Carol hesitated, then released a short soft breath of frustration. “I know. It's just—damn it, I don't understand that man! He's so sure this is some kind of trick and it's all tied in to someone he's involved with in some way—and he's got the police believing it too! They're so busy inventing conspiracy theories and tracking down strangers that they can't see the simple truth. Is this a prime example of tangled male logic and twisted male ego or what?”
“I wish I had heard that message,” Laura said.
“God, it would turn your blood cold. The way she said 'I got to go outside today' as though it's not something she can do every day. And she said...” Carol's hands gripped the coffee mug as her voice tightened with intensity and barely repressed excitement. “Laura, she said she could see my house! That means she's close. With a clue like that the police should be able to find her in a matter of hours, if they'd only look!”
“Well, not necessarily,” Laura answered with a note of apology in her tone. “You can see your house from almost any place on the island, you know, and from some places across the bridge with a telescope.”
Carol frowned thoughtfully. “Telescope. I hadn't thought of that. But still, it does mean she's close—whether she's on the island or across the bridge, at least she's not in California or New York, for heaven's sake. Why won't they look for her?”
“What I don't understand,” Laura said, “is that if she's close enough to see your house, on the island or even over the bridge, why she doesn't just come home? Why call when she could walk to your door?”
The only possible answer to that was evident in the strained, tight lines of Carol's face, and it was horrible to see. Carol answered simply, “She said she can't.”
“So what do you think happened?” insisted Laura. “I mean, why no contact for all these years and now, all of a sudden...”
She let the rest of the sentence trail off as Carol shook her head impatiently.
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