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Chapter Five

All day Thursday, people stopped Vince to comment on the article in that day’s paper. People expressed sympathy over the loss of his sister. Many wanted to hear Vince’s take on what had happened that day, or hoped to glean details that hadn’t been revealed in the article. “I never knew you had a sister,” Sandor said as he and Vince made repairs to a guardrail that afternoon.

“It’s not something I talk about.” Vince shoved on the guardrail support to bring it into line. “Tighten that bolt there.”

Sandor began tightening the bolt. “I wonder what happened to her. I mean, you think after all this time, they would have found something.”

“You’d think. Okay, shove rocks up against this post to keep it upright. Then we’ll pack the dirt down around it.”

“I wonder if it was, like, aliens or something.”

Vince stared. “Aliens.”

“Yeah. I mean, what if she was abducted by aliens?”

“I don’t believe in aliens.”

Sandor frowned. “You don’t? But there are a lot of stories...”

Vince shook his head. “Finish setting that post. I’m going to check the other side of the bridge.”

No one else mentioned aliens, but several felt compelled to share their theories, most involving kidnapping, or maybe, they said, Valerie had run away. Vince listened to them all, then found somewhere else he needed to be. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t already thought of all these things over the years—except the aliens. But without proof, he would never know what happened to his sister.

He arrived at his condo a little after five, ready to take a shower, have dinner and a drink, and binge TV. He was walking up to his door when a neighbor called out to him. He braced himself for sympathy or speculation as he waited for Tasha Brueger to reach him. “Hi, Vince,” she said. “I just wanted to tell you there was a young woman here about an hour ago. She was asking about you.”

“Who was she?”

“She didn’t tell me her name. She just stopped me and asked if I knew when you’d be home. She was standing here at your front door. I guess she’d been ringing the bell and not getting an answer. I told her you usually got home a little after five.”

He couldn’t imagine who would be looking for him. Another reporter, maybe? “What did she look like?”

Tasha—who was a foot shorter than Vince’s six feet and had to tilt her head back to look up at him—tugged on one long brown curl and pursed her lips, deep dimples forming on either side of her round cheeks. “She was just sort of average, you know? Dark hair, pulled back in a ponytail. Not too tall, not too short. Not fat or skinny. She wore sunglasses. I had to go pick Sammy up from practice, so we didn’t talk long.”

“Thanks.” He turned back to his door, and Tasha hurried away. Could the woman looking for him have been Tammy Patterson? The description didn’t really fit her, and if Tammy wanted to talk to him, why not call or text?

He let himself in and dropped his backpack by the door. He wasn’t sure if Tammy would ever want to see him again. Last night had ended awkwardly between them. That was all on him—he’d been caught so off guard by the intensity of his attraction to her that he had frozen. He considered himself a pro at keeping things casual when it came to women. His default setting for relationships might be summed up as “don’t bother getting too close.” But Tammy, with her warm smile and earnest expression—as well as the revelation about her brother’s death—had cut through his carefully manufactured defenses with breathtaking ease. He didn’t have to explain his feelings to her because she had experienced them herself.

Whether it was that understanding or her soft curves and cloud of blond curls, he had been bowled over by the desire to touch her. To kiss her. To discover what it would be like to be close to her. He thought she might be feeling a little of the same, but he couldn’t be sure. If he had actually done any of the things his mind insisted on picturing, she might have slugged him. He knew plenty of women, but he couldn’t say he knew about them. Would things be different if he had a sister to ask?

He shed his clothing as he walked down the hall and hit the shower. He closed his eyes and let the hot water beat down and willed himself not to think about anything for just a few minutes.

Half an hour later, he was in the kitchen, staring into the open refrigerator and trying to decide what to make for dinner, when his phone rang. It was a local number, so he answered. “Hi, Vince. It’s Tammy.” She sounded out of breath. Anxious.

“Hey. What’s up?” Did he sound cool or just not too bright?

“Would it be okay if I came by your place for a few minutes? I have something I need to show you.”

“Is everything okay? You sound upset.” Or at least, less than thrilled by the prospect of yet another awkward visit with him.

“I’m just...confused. Anyway, I think you need to see this.”

“What is it?”

“I’d rather show you than talk about it.”

“Okay. Sure. Come on by.”

“I’ll be right over.”

He ended the call and closed the refrigerator, then leaned back against it, no longer hungry. Tammy had sounded rattled. He hadn’t known her long, but she had struck him as a calm person. Someone who didn’t panic easily.

He rubbed his jaw, and the scratch of whiskers made him wonder if he should shave. Would she think he was trying too hard?

He didn’t have much time to wonder. Five minutes later, his doorbell rang. He opened it to Tammy. She was a little pale and a lot agitated. “Sorry to bother you again,” she said as she rushed past him into the condo.

“No problem. Did you stop by earlier, before I got home?”

“What? No. No, I just left the office.”

“Okay. What is it you need me to see?”

She looked around the room. “Can we sit down?” Without waiting for an answer, she started for the sofa.

“Do you want a drink or something?” he asked.

“Not now. Maybe after.” She sat, then took an envelope from her purse and set the purse on the floor beside her. “Someone put this through the mail slot beside the door of the newspaper office this afternoon,” she said, and tapped the envelope. “No one even uses that slot anymore—it’s a relic from when the building was occupied by the electric company and people used the slot to leave their payments. But every once in while we get a Letter to the Editor dropped off that way. When I came in about five o’clock and saw the envelope, that’s what I thought this was. A complaint or something like that.”

He sat beside her, angled toward her, their knees almost touching. “Whatever it is has you upset,” he said. “Is it a threat or something?”

She thrust the letter toward him. “Read it,” she said.

He took the envelope. It was a blank, white business-sized envelope, unsealed. He opened it and slid out a single sheet of white paper. The message on it was typewritten.

Nice article about the search for Valerie Shepherd. But you got a few things wrong about that day. More than a few things, actually. I don’t blame you. You were sold a bunch of lies. I think people lie more than they tell the truth, especially when the lies make them look better. Maybe one day we’ll meet and I’ll tell you what really happened.

He scanned the brief message. This was what had Tammy so upset? This rambling from a person who couldn’t possibly know what had happened? He glanced up from the sheet. “It’s just someone babbling about lies,” he said.

“Look at the bottom of the page,” she said. “At the signature.”

He let his gaze travel to the bottom of the sheet of paper, to a cursive scrawl in black ink. The hair on the back of his neck rose as he stared, and he had trouble breathing. No. He was letting his imagination run away from him. It didn’t really say what he thought it said.

“It’s signed V ,” Tammy said. “ V for Valerie ?”

“I T CAN ’ T BE V ALERIE .” Vince looked and sounded calmer than Tammy felt. She wasn’t one to overreact, but those chilling words about lies—and the single V at the bottom—had combined to set her heart racing and her adrenaline flooding. She had been alone in the newspaper office, with no one to offer a different perspective, so she had called the one person she was sure would know the truth. Except, now that she was here, she felt more foolish than frightened.

Vince dropped his gaze to the letter again, his eyes tracking the words across the page. Then he set the sheet of paper aside on the coffee table in front of them. “No one lied that day,” he said. “At least, my parents didn’t lie, and I didn’t.”

“Maybe the letter writer means someone else.” Tammy wet her dry lips and glanced at the letter as if it was a spider she needed to keep an eye on in case it came any closer. “Maybe there’s someone who saw what happened to Valerie and never spoke up.”

“Then why not come forward and tell us what happened?” His voice rose on the last words, anger edging out the calm she suspected must have been an act. Of course he was upset. Having someone impersonate his sister must have been a horrible jolt.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have realized it was a fake. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s okay.” He blew out a breath. “You didn’t expect this, but I should have. Every time any new publicity about Valerie’s disappearance comes out, people like that come out of nowhere.” He nodded at the letter. “I don’t know if they’re mentally ill or running a scam, or maybe both. I can’t tell you how many times my parents have dealt with this kind of thing.”

“How horrible for you all.”

“It was. For months after she first went missing, they would get calls from people who promised to find Valerie—for a price. So-called psychics and private detectives. My parents spent a lot of money paying off various people. They wanted so badly to believe it was Valerie that they lost all common sense. I’m betting this is more of the same.”

“That makes me sick,” she said. “What is wrong with people?”

“You’re a reporter and you ask that?”

She let out a shaky laugh. “I guess I don’t let people like that take up any more headspace than necessary.” She glanced at the letter again. “Should I throw it away?”

“File it. Just in case this person decides to cause trouble.” His expression grew troubled again. “I wonder if they were trying to shake me down too.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I got home today, my neighbor told me a woman had stopped by looking for me. I thought it might have been you, but you said you hadn’t been by. Now I wonder if it was the person who wrote the letter.”

“You would know if the person was Valerie?”

“I hope I would. Though after fifteen years, who knows? Anyway, a scammer would claim to know Valerie or to be her ‘representative’—a friend, or a lawyer.”

“You do know how these things work, don’t you?”

“Unfortunately, I do.” He stood. “I wouldn’t worry about that letter, though. If you ignore these people, they move on and look for an easier victim.”

She tucked the letter back into the envelope and returned it to her purse. “Sorry to disturb your evening.”

“No. That’s okay. I didn’t have any plans.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I was getting ready to make dinner. You want to stay and eat with me?”

“Oh, uh...”

“Sorry, you probably have plans.”

“No. I’d be happy to stay. I can help too.”

“Then come into the kitchen, and let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”

Together, they assembled a meal of pasta, chicken and vegetables. As they worked, they talked about everything but Valerie—his love of climbing, her passion for gardening, his experience with search and rescue, and her volunteer position working with high school journalism students.

“Are you seeing anyone?” she asked when the conversation lulled. Maybe the question was a bit forward, but she was dying to know. And she hadn’t seen any sign of a romantic interest around his place.

He didn’t look up from draining the pasta. “No. Are you?”

“No. I broke up with a guy a few months ago.”

He dumped the pasta in a bowl and carried the bowl to the table. “Is that good? Bad?”

“A little sad.” She sat in the chair across from him at the table. “We’d been together awhile. But it wasn’t working out.” They had fallen into a pattern of fighting more than they got along. “Breaking up was the right thing to do.”

“But lonely when you’re used to having someone around,” he said.

Was that the voice of experience speaking or just someone who was very empathetic? “I’ve managed to avoid long-term relationships,” he continued. “I’m not the easiest guy to get along with.”

“You haven’t thrown up any red flags for me.” Her cheeks warmed. She hadn’t meant that to sound like she was sizing him up for potential-mate material. “I mean, I haven’t noticed any upsetting tendencies—a bad temper or substance abuse, or narcissism.”

He laughed. “According to several exes, I don’t trust people, I don’t confide in people and I don’t care enough about people.”

“Harsh.”

“Yeah, well, who’s to say they haven’t been right? Not everyone has to be part of a couple.”

“You’re absolutely right.” She raised her wineglass. “To being happy with yourself.”

“To being happy with yourself.” He smiled, and his gaze met hers, and something lurched inside her, an internal shift that signaled she might be even happier with a certain untrusting, unconfiding but definitely not uncaring man.

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