Six and Counting

Chapter 20

                Damned if the college girl wasn’t right; it took the private dick less than a week to find Emily Wakeland and her children. He even got photos of her from a colleague in the area.

                “Does that look like her, Mr. McNeal?” The detective asked, handing a stack of photos to the author. Shane frowned at the top picture, studying Emily like a man dying of thirst looks at an oasis. It was definitely her, only dressed in a period costume of long skirt, apron, bonnet, and she carried a broom while smiling up into the face of some bulky dude. The guy wore a bottle-green jacket with white tights (tights!), black buckle shoes, and a white wig. A horse and carriage filled the background; he was probably the driver, Shane correctly surmised.

                But the way Emily smiled up into his face; that worried Shane. She looked, dare he say it? Happy! Irritated, Shane flipped through the other few photos, seeing her home, her ancient car with her exiting it, and one picturing the kids. God, the kids! Dana seemed to have grown a foot, Darcy’s pony-tail hung farther down her back, Danielle and the twins looked taller and calmer.

                Suddenly misty-eyed, Shane tossed the stack of memories onto the patio table and moved clumsily to the rail, staring at the ocean and blinking rapidly. The detective remained quiet.

             After getting himself under control once more, Shane asked lowly, “So she’s in Williamsburg, Virginia, you say?”

               At the detective’s quiet affirmative, Shane shook his head, saying, more to himself, “Could she have moved any farther east? Hell, it seems like she picked the furthest point from Southern California! Who’s the piece of shit that’s with her in that photo?” Shane asked the detective as he turned from the banister.

              It was a cool November day, with a choppy ocean and deserted beach below. Just the way Shane liked it; no mobs of out-of-school children, or moms with preschoolers; only the occasional schmuck with the Geiger counter, or perhaps a few joggers.

              The detective took the photo from Shane’s hand, held it closer to his face and replied, “My colleague didn’t indicate. After all, you asked about her, not him.”

                Shane rolled his eyes, taking the picture back and squinting at it as if an answer would magically appear. Not gleaning anything more from it, Shane tossed it back on the table and pulled out an envelope from his pants pocket, handing it to the private detective.

                “Here’s your fee. Thanks for the prompt work.”

                The man rose from the table, shook hands with Shane, and they walked through the beach house and out the front door, saying good-bye. Watching the detective leave, Shane pondered his next move; from the looks of Emily with her male companion, was Shane already too late?

                                                                                   ***

                “Did you pack a jacket? I think it rains more there than here.” Angie Donovan stood in front of Shane as they waited in the Jet Blue boarding area of the Long Beach Airport a week after Shane’s meeting with his private detective. She absently patted his chest, feeling like a nervous mom on her child’s first day of school. Why, she had no idea, except that her friend was hurting, and she wished she could ease that pain somehow.

                “Yes, Mom. I packed like every man does. Anything clean is in there, and anything I didn’t pack, I’ll buy when I get there. Satisfied?” Shane cocked his head in amusement while Angie self-consciously stepped away from him, gazes meeting.