She settled on one of two love seats that faced each other across a wicker coffee table. She leaned forward and snagged an ashtray, pulling it closer so she could light another cigarette. The ashtray was metal and the spent paper match made a tinking sound when she tossed it in. She took a deep drag on her cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke, lifting her head slightly to avoid blowing it in my face. “Now then. Why did Felix send you over here? Natural charm aside, I’m sure you have a deeper purpose in mind.”

“I’m interested in talking to Deborah Unruh. Felix thought you might put me in touch.”

“Really. And what’s your interest?”

“I’m a PI.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m a private investigator. My client was the one who motivated the cops to dig up the Unruhs’ backyard.”

“How did your ‘client’ talk them into it? That must have been a trick.”

“He remembered something that happened when he was six years old and thought it was connected to a crime.”

“And what crime was that?”

“I’d prefer not to say.”

“I see. So you want information from me, but you won’t pony up yourself.”

“Good point. I’m talking about the Mary Claire Fitzhugh kidnapping.”

“What’s that have to do with Deborah? They dug up a damn dog. I don’t see the relevance.”

“The dog was buried in 1967 when she and Patrick were still living in the house.”

“I’d say ‘So what,’ but I don’t want to sound rude.”

“It was right around the time Mary Claire Fitzhugh disappeared.”

She studied me briefly. “You’re not drinking your wine.”

“It’s a little early in the day for me.”

“I usually start at noon, so this is late as far as I’m concerned. You really ought to loosen up. One little taste won’t kill you.”

I took a sip of wine, which I confess was head and shoulders above the crap I’m used to drinking. “Wow. That’s really lovely.”

“Told you so.” She was silent for a moment, pressing a wrinkle out of the silk in her lap. “Funny you should mention Mary Claire.”

“How so?”

She studied the end of her cigarette. “Don’t think I’m telling tales out of school here, but Deborah had a similar experience. Her grand-daughter, Rain, was abducted maybe ten days before Mary Claire was kidnapped. Happily, Rain was returned unharmed, but Deborah believed Rain was what she called the ‘practice child.’ Rehearsal in preparation for the real deal.”

Chapter 18 - JON CORSO

18

JON CORSO

Summer 1967