Clandestine Cover-Up. Pamela Tracy

family?”

      They all nodded their heads.

      “He has an active family,” Tali said.

      “Not like they used to be,” Angela said. “Vince and Darren both are decent sorts. Vince built the bookcases for my store. Darren works on my car, and he doesn’t charge an arm and a leg.”

      “How big is Vince’s family?” Tamara asked.

      “Not that big,” Angela said. “Vince’s mom, his brothers and then there’s Drew, who’s past eighty.”

      “Drew’s pretty much a recluse now,” Sharon said. “Last time I saw him, he was shaking so bad I thought he’d need help getting into that old truck of his. Not that anyone would necessarily feel brave enough to help him.”

      “I’m glad I didn’t see that,” Tali said. “Someone like that shouldn’t be behind the wheel.”

      Sharon turned to Tamara. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard Drew’s name. He’s the one who scares people. I told Jake about Drew because last time I saw him, when he was shaking so badly, was right in front of the old church.”

      “When?” Tamara asked.

      “The day you found the sign painted on the door.”

      Now Tamara saw why she’d been invited to lunch. It wasn’t that they wanted to get to know her, but that they wanted to get to know more about what was going on.

      “He was in front of the church,” Sharon continued. “Tali and I were opening up the restaurant.”

      “Jake didn’t mention him.” Tamara felt a bit flushed. Maybe Vince had more than his job connecting him to the old church. “Is Drew tall?”

      “Yes. All the Frencis are tall. But if you’re thinking he painted the words, not possible. Drew shakes too much. I think he has Parkinson’s. If he painted the words, you’d not be able to read them.”

      “Was he the only one you saw?” Tamara inquired.

      “That early in the morning, yes. Later on, I saw a few people who parked in your lot. Some folks still park in the old church’s parking lot if the street gets crowded and Friday is one of the busiest days here at the restaurant.”

      “Kids play ball there in the lot. Skateboard, too,” Angela added.

      “Did Drew say anything to you or anybody?” Tamara asked.

      “Drew doesn’t talk to people—he snarls,” Angela said. “It wasn’t the first time he’s stopped at the old building. These past few weeks, he drives by often. I told the sheriff.”

      “Define often,” Tamara urged.

      “He started driving by near the end of April. I remember because I was putting Easter decorations up and saw him. I maybe saw him once or twice a month. This month, he’s driving by about every morning. Sometimes he stops.”

      Tamara now had a few questions to ask Vince, number one being why he hadn’t mentioned his uncle’s presence on her property that day two weeks ago.

      “Well,” Tali said. “Enough speculation. We’re glad you bought the property, although I wished I’d known it was for sale. I didn’t even know until recently that Lydia Griffin owned the place. Her name wasn’t the one on the deed.”

      Angela raised an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

      Yes, Tamara thought, how do you know that? Although she didn’t say it out loud, Tamara knew for a fact that she’d seen Lydia’s name on much of the paperwork. Billy’s name, though, had been on the purchase agreement and most of the other documents.

      “We looked at it before we rented this place. We were thinking more a combination breakfast/lunch kind of place where we could maybe sell a few antiques. We also thought it would be a good idea to own our place of business instead of rent. We tried to make an offer—I mean, the building’s just been left there to rot—but while we could find an address for the owner, a P.O. box in Colorado, no one responded to our inquiry.”

      “Do you remember who you wrote to?” Tamara asked.

      Tali shook his head, but Sharon looked thoughtful. “I remember it wasn’t Lydia. It was some sort of trust or corporation.”

      

      Vince took off work early. It wasn’t that much of a hardship. He’d spent all morning at the hospital where he’d been running conduit. Then, during the afternoon, he’d started cutting out holes for electrical outlets. Just before two, Gloria Baker, the head nurse who pretty much ruled the hospital, came in, pursed her lips and then took off.

      His boss, John Konrad, showed up a few minutes later. It seemed the outlets were not where the nurse wanted them. Although they were where the blueprints said they should be, it looked like the nurse outranked the project manager.

      An hour of work wasted, and now tomorrow he’d be not only cutting more electrical socket holes but filling in old ones.

      He clocked out in pretend disgust.

      Actually, disgust had nothing to do with it. He’d been looking for an excuse to leave since noon. He wanted to check on Tamara.

      Her car looked forlorn in the old church’s parking lot. He parked next to it and started walking toward the front door. A mountain of garbage bags was behind the church. The front porch was swept and a new blanket already covered the bench. Vince wasn’t surprised. He’d doubted Tamara knew how to take it easy. He tried to open the front door and found it was locked. He knocked.

      No one answered.

      Taking out his key—the one Lydia had given him to use only in case of an emergency—he let himself in while calling Tamara’s name.

      Still, no one answered.

      The dust in the room wasn’t quite as bad as the last time he’d been inside. Already much of the loose paper and junk had been carted from the main room. All that remained were the broken pews and some shattered glass in a corner.

      He cleaned it up; he didn’t want her to cut herself.

      Afterward he continued looking for her, but she wasn’t anywhere inside the church. Dread, tangible and spreading, washed down the back of Vince’s neck. Opening his wallet, he found Tamara’s cell phone number and dialed.

      She answered on the first ring. He didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Where are you?”

      “I’m eating lunch at Yano’s.”

      “I’ll be right there.”

      “Good, the ravioli’s wonderful.”

      It sounded as if she was chewing while she was talking. Good. Last year, when they’d walked down the aisle during Lisa’s wedding, she’d been curves and power. Now, since her ordeal with the stalker, she was thin, too thin. Maybe with a bit of meat on her bones, she’d get some of the power back.

      He missed it.