Page 32

THIRTY

The next few days were torture as I watched my father get more and more agitated. But he didn’t say a word about what was bothering him. Lizzie didn’t notice, and I, of course, didn’t ask.

Three days after my showdown with Connie, the two of us came home from school, and he was sitting in the living room with a pitiful look on his face that I couldn’t ignore.

“Dad, are you all right?” I said.

He gave me a perfunctory head nod.

“No, you’re not,” Lizzie said. “What’s the matter? Is it Grandpa?”

“Connie’s gone,” he said, choking out the words.

“Gone where?” Lizzie asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I hadn’t heard from her since we got back from the city on Sunday, so this afternoon I went over to her house. The Mustang’s not in the driveway. I have a key, so I went inside. It’s empty.”

“What do you mean empty?” I said.

“Her clothes, her things, her suitcases, her art supplies—all gone. The only things that are there are the landlord’s crap furniture and a few of my ...” He stopped himself. Why tell your teenage daughters about the clothes you have hanging in your new girlfriend’s closet? Some details are better left unsaid.

“Did she leave a note?” Lizzie asked.

He shook his head.

Lizzie pressed on. “Did you call the cops?”

“And say what? I met this woman two months ago. And now she’s gone.”

“She’s not gone,” Lizzie insisted. “She’s missing.”

“Excuse me,” I said, “but I don’t think people who go missing pack up all their shit. Connie is a free spirit. It sounds like she just took off.”

“Why would she do that?” Lizzie said.

“That’s what I keep asking myself,” Dad said. “We were planning a little ski trip after Christmas.”

“Maybe somebody kidnapped her,” Lizzie said, picking up the phone. “I think we should call the cops.”

“Don’t!” I yelled. “Nobody kidnapped her. She left on her own, and she’s not coming back. Now hang up the phone and sit down.”

Dead silence. Lizzie did as she was told, and they both sat there gaping at me.

“I hate to be the one to tell you, but Connie Gilchrist was not the person she said she was.” I took a deep breath and dropped my voice. “She’s an ex-convict.”

“That’s insane,” my father said. “Where did you hear a cockamamie story like that?”

I held up my hand. “Don’t move.” I went upstairs to my room and came back with the LexisNexis report. “It’s all in here. Connie is a predator, Dad. She preys on grieving widowers and then bleeds them dry. There are three that we know of.”

I handed my father the printout. “You read it,” he said, passing it to Lizzie. “I don’t think I can.”

For the next fifteen minutes she read it out loud, word by unbelievable word. By the time she was finished, the three of us were drained.

“Where did you get that?” my father asked.

“They have this legal research database in the library. I didn’t know how to use it. Beth Webster helped me.”

He winced. “Oh, Jesus. How many other people know about this?”

“Just Beth, and she promised not to say a word to anyone.”

“I can’t believe I fell for her bullshit,” Lizzie said.

“I fell for it too,” my father said. “And those men—she took them for a lot of money.”

“And you were next,” I said.

He put a hand to his face and rubbed his forehead. “I guess I was,” he said, “but... why did she leave before she got her hands on my money?”

“She got the car,” Lizzie said.

“She didn’t move here for a car. I don’t understand why she decided to walk away in the middle of the scam.”

“I went to see her on Sunday,” I said. “I told her what I knew, and I said I’d keep it a secret if she backed off. I thought she’d just let the relationship go cold. But I guess she panicked and left town. I had no idea she’d take Mom’s car.”

“Call the cops,” Lizzie said. “How hard could it be to find a red Mustang convertible?”

“And what happens if they catch her?” I said. “Dad, do you really want her back? Do you want the story in the paper?”

“Of course I don’t, but if God forbid she plows into a school bus, it sure as hell better be on record that I reported the car missing. Plus she’s a career criminal driving a stolen vehicle. She’s not going to keep it long. If we’re lucky, the cops will find it in a parking lot at JFK.”

“Even if they do,” I said, “I doubt if they’ll find Mom’s jewelry.”

It was a gut punch, and my father reeled. “Jesus... don’t tell me.”

“I just checked Mom’s jewelry box when I went upstairs to get the report. The good stuff is gone. Did you lend her anything besides the earrings?”

“No, but she had the run of the house,” he said, sinking into his chair. “I feel like such an idiot.”

“Don’t,” I said. “She’s a professional. She’s done it to other men, and she’ll do it again.”

“You dodged a bullet, Dad,” Lizzie said. “And I hate to admit it, but Maggie was right.”

I gave her a sisterly smile. “Aren’t I always?”

“Don’t gloat, kiddo,” my father said. “You saved my ass, but I don’t appreciate the fact that you mucked around in my private life.”

“Sorry, but we promised Mom we’d take care of you,” I said.

He smiled. “So you’re blaming this all on your poor dead mother? Did she say how long you’re supposed to watch over me?”

“Until you get your head screwed on straight,” I said.

“Sounds like you’ve got a lifetime job ahead of you,” he said.

“So are we calling the cops or not?” Lizzie said.

“I’ll go down to the station,” Dad said. “I’ll report it so we have an insurance claim, but I’ll talk to someone at the top of the food chain and ask him to keep it under wraps, so it’s not the main topic of conversation at the beauty parlor tomorrow morning.”

“What about her paintings?” Lizzie said. “They’re still hanging at the bar.”

“Two of them sold,” my father said. “I’ll give Connie the benefit of the doubt, and if I don’t hear from her in a week, I’ll donate the other twenty to St. Cecilia’s for their rummage sale.”

He didn’t hear from her in a week. In fact, we didn’t hear from her in decades.

Until that day, twenty-five years later, when Connie Gilchrist resurfaced to haunt us one last time.