My Sister, Myself. Alice Sharpe

electronic equipment as though it might have been stolen, but I don’t think she had any. There’s no desk for a computer, there are no CDs lying around or tapes or cords or anything else. There’s no telephone jack. It’s still hard to tell, but I think Katie either traveled light or she stored most of her belongings somewhere and moved in here with just a few sentimental frills.”

      “I think you might be right. She wasn’t using her real name here, that’s obvious. She wasn’t making friends and visiting with the neighbors which strikes me as out of character for her. She was up to something.”

      “How about my father’s house?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Well, I assume Katie no longer lived with him, but maybe she left most of her stuff at his place. He must have had a house—”

      “He did. A nice one, but it was repossessed by the bank for nonpayment. It was part of that noose-closing-in-on-him thing. Matt was living out of a suitcase at the end.”

      She looked pale. “I see.”

      Ryan wished he’d picked up just a little of his late partner’s secret-keeping abilities. “I know how to do my job,” he said. “You go home. I’ll keep you posted on Katie’s condition, and I promise you I’ll keep at this until the bitter end.”

      He took the plastic bag from her as they both stood. For a second they stared at each other. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan caught a glimpse of their reflections in the window. He seemed to loom over her and yet she held her own, a slip of a woman dressed now in jeans and a sweater, her fair hair askew, her posture perfect. He had a sudden recollection of the feel of her body slammed tight against his chest.

      Tossing the bag aside, he made his way to the wall and closed the drapes against the night.

      “You can’t stay here,” he said, turning back to her.

      “Don’t start with me,” she warned, picking up a handful of paperbacks.

      “The lock is broken. Whoever did this might come back.”

      He saw a flash of terror cross her face. He’d put that terror there. Shame on him.

      “I have to stay,” she said at last. “I have to look through Katie’s things. If I’m going to go home in a day or so—”

      “So you agree to leave?” he asked hopefully, and yet with a peculiar sense of loss.

      “Yes, okay, I’ll go home. I know I’m not cut out to chase bad guys. Maybe I can get Katie transferred to a hospital closer to me or I can fly up here on the weekends—anyway, that’s why this may be my last chance…”

      Her voice trailed off.

      Her last chance to get to know Katie in case she didn’t recover from her injuries? Her last chance to get a feeling for a father who might very well have aspired to be a cold-blooded murderer? Her last chance to find missing pieces of herself?

      He’d gone and frightened her again. His feelings were raw and banging into each other, making him say and do things in an awkward, stilted manner. Still, no matter how disjointed his words and actions, his motive was pure—he would not let anything happen to Tess Mays, he would not let her down.

      “If you stay here tonight, I stay,” he said, expecting an argument.

      But she didn’t argue, in fact there was relief in her eyes and in her voice. “Okay.”

      “And tomorrow morning, you make arrangements to go back to San Francisco where you belong.”

      She nodded. “By then maybe we’ll have figured out how Katie went about her snooping.”

      “That’s right,” he said, glancing at the mess in which they stood. “We have our work cut out for us.”

      With that, he reached for his cell phone. He needed to get his neighbor to feed Clive. He needed to order takeout. He needed to do something, anything, other than look at Tess Mays and entertain thoughts that would get him absolutely nowhere.

      RYAN EMPTIED THE CONTENTS of the brown envelope he’d brought from the police evidence room onto the table between them. He’d eaten most of his hamburger and fries and half drunk the chocolate shake. He’d also talked to Jason. Frances from downstairs had slept the afternoon away. She hadn’t seen or heard anything unusual.

      The food choice had been Tess’s idea. Ryan had argued for Thai, but she announced she’d had a miserable day and that called for fast food.

      “Hand me an apple pie,” she said.

      He handed her the white paper sack and watched as she retrieved a warm pastry. “How do you stay so slim when you eat this kind of stuff?” he asked.

      She licked a glob of gooey apple from her lips. The action caused a wave of desire in his groin that hit him hard and unexpected.

      “I run. I work out,” she said. “Believe it or not, on a day-to-day basis, I’m not usually stressed like this so I don’t always eat like this.”

      “Allow me to clean up,” he said, standing quickly to bag their rubble, relieved to move away from the table—away from her.

      THE ENVELOPE CONTAINED a still ticking gold watch, a turquoise ring and earrings, a very small red purse on a very long cord Katie must have looped around her neck and shoulder containing no identification of any kind. The wallet was there, just no identification as though she didn’t carry any. She had thirteen dollars and twenty seven cents, and a short list of phone numbers with no names. There was also a cell phone, a pair of shattered glasses with black frames and a ring with five keys and a dolphin fob. One key got Katie in the Vista’s lobby door, Ryan explained, as it had also gotten him in. One opened her mail box, one opened her apartment, one started her car and the last one was unexplained though it was stamped with the number 119.

      “What about the glasses?”

      “I don’t know,” he said. “There’s no correction in the lenses, there’s some question they’re even hers. I know I never saw her wear glasses. The officer on scene found them in the gutter and picked them up, but they might have been there for hours for all we know.”

      Tess flipped the phone open. The battery was low when she turned it on, but she flipped through the options until she could access the photo gallery.

      And sure enough, in among the photos of strangers, there was a picture of Katie and the same man—only twenty years older—as in the picture on the wall. It looked as if it was taken at a park during the summer.

      “The police picnic,” Ryan said, peering over her shoulder. “Katie asked me to take this. They’d just won the ubiquitous three-legged race.”

      Tess drank in the sight of the two smiling faces, one identical to her own, the other lost forever, and felt a knot form in her throat. “Have you checked the phone records?” she managed to say at last.

      “As in, Did she call her would-be attacker or snap a picture of a speeding white van?”

      “Something like that.”

      “No such luck. Very few calls, none unexplained except that last one made to me. As far as I can tell, the last picture is this one.” He clicked a few buttons and up came a tiny photo of a trophy.

      “Whose trophy?”

      “Your guess is as good as mine. I can’t make out any writing. Too much glare.”

      Tess scrolled up a picture, hoping for something more meaningful and found a shot of a very young woman who looked slightly off-kilter. Maybe it was her eyes, Tess thought, looking closely. She appeared to be mentally handicapped. That was it. But she looked happy and friendly, and she was wearing a pointy pink party hat.

      “Who’s this?”

      “I don’t know. Obviously someone Katie knew.”

      Tess