When Did We Lose Harriet? Read online

  “June? Do tell! You better come talk to my daughter Claire, then. She gets home about five. I’ll tell her to look out for you.”

  Just before five, I pulled Glenna’s Ford up near the little blue house with cream shutters. Not long after, a silver Lexus parked in front of the house. A woman with platinum hair got out, reached for a smart black briefcase, and started toward the house. If I was forty-five and that long and skinny, I’d have permed my hair instead of wearing it so short and severe. She must be good at whatever she does, though, because her car, her light gray suit, and that particular briefcase don’t come cheap.

  I got out in a hurry. “Claire Scott? I am MacLaren Yarbrough, and I’m trying to find Harriet Lawson. Your mother said you’d be getting home about now and I should talk to you. Have you seen Harriet recently?” I couldn’t imagine any reason why she should have. This lady wouldn’t bother herself with teenagers. I doubted if she bothered herself much with anybody. She was looking me over in a way that made me wish I’d worn my navy linen, pearls, and heels instead of my new blue pantsuit and flats.

  I repeated the explanation I’d given so often I could spout it in my sleep. “I found some of Harriet’s things at a teen center where I was volunteering earlier this week, and I’ve been trying to return them to her. Your mother first suggested I try her aunt, but she’s not been there since early June.”

  Claire didn’t look at all bothered by that. “Of course not,” she said impatiently. “Didn’t they tell you she’s in Atlanta?”

  “No,” I replied, annoyance making me feel more like my own capable self. “They told me she and her uncle had a row about her going to Atlanta, and she ran away from home. They haven’t heard from her since.”

  Claire looked more disgusted than puzzled. “I can’t believe this. Just as I thought she was finally growing up a bit. I told her to tell them gently, but she probably blurted it out as soon as she got home.”

  “Tell them about the summer acting school, you mean?”

  “Yes. It wasn’t the smartest idea in the world, but at least she was showing interest in something that meant work. I thought it might be good for her—with her aunt and uncle’s permission, of course. I guess she went without it. Heaven help her when she comes back.”

  “A brochure from the acting school was among the things I found,” I said gravely. “I talked to them yesterday. Harriet’s not there. In fact, I can’t find a single person who has seen or heard from that child since early June. I am getting seriously worried.”

  Claire stared at me for a long minute, then stepped back and motioned with a long skinny hand. “Won’t you come in?”

  The room within was spacious, bright, and expensive, in a bare bones kind of way. Not much furniture, but what there was was very good. Wooden blinds instead of drapes. Wood floors dotted with Chinese rugs.

  “I’m home, Mama,” Claire called as we entered. The old woman did not reply.

  Claire didn’t bother to offer me anything to drink, but kicked off her shoes and flopped onto an oatmeal linen sofa, waving me to a matching chair. Following her lead, I slid my feet out of my shoes, too. “I love your house,” I said frankly, admiring a sleek crystal sculpture on a bare oak coffee table.

  She didn’t exactly sparkle when she was pleased, but at least the ice thawed a little. “I hated this house growing up. Couldn’t wait to leave. But after my divorce, when Mama invited me to come back, I discovered Cottage Hill is some of the nicest real estate in Montgomery. The houses are solid, the rooms are big, there’s not much yard to keep up, and I’m five minutes from work. As soon as I discovered heart pine floors under the shag carpet, I offered to buy Mama out. I had some restoration done, and it turned out quite nicely.” She looked around in content. “Now Mama keeps the yard, I do the house, and we bumble along real well together.” She tucked her feet beneath her and got right down to business. “Tell me who all you’ve talked to about Harriet.”

  “Her aunts in McGehee Estates and Chisholm, and Ricky, a boy who used to live with her grandmother—”

  “Ricky? Now there’s a real prize. I wish Harriet would forget him.”

  “She isn’t out there right now, at any rate. One of the girls at the center said Harriet talked about you a lot, so I thought perhaps you’d seen her. Are you friends?”

  Claire’s eyes widened in surprise. “Heavens no! I thought you knew—I’m her trustee. I’m an investment broker, so Bertha Lawson, Harriet’s grandmother, asked me to manage the money until Harriet’s twenty-one. Bertha and Mama were friends, so I hated to say no.”

  “Pardon me for asking, and don’t answer if you don’t want to, but it doesn’t look like there would have been very much to manage. The house couldn’t have brought much, did it?”

  “About twenty thousand. But Harriet’s dad died last winter and left a life insurance policy for his mother, and Bertha had one little vice.” Her face thawed again slightly into what passed for a smile. “When the riverboat casinos opened a few years ago, Bertha and Mama started going down a couple of times a month. ‘I’ve got a system,’ Bertha used to tell me. She never told me what her system was, but it must have worked. Real often she’d bring back money to invest. When she died, she was worth nearly a hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Merciful heavens! And it all went to Harriet? That hardly seems fair to Dee.”

  This time Claire’s smile was broad, and not very pleasant. “Apparently it was Dixie’s idea, years ago. Pardon my calling her Dixie. I know she changed it to Dee in college, but I still think of her as the bratty little princess across the street. Anyway, Bertha said Dixie told her several years ago that William could take care of her and their little girl, so Harriet ought to get whatever Bertha had. That was before Dixie thought she had anything, of course, and back when she assumed Harriet would go on out to her dad when her grandmother died.”

  “Felt guilty for not coming to see her poor old mama,” Claire’s own mama called from a back room. I was startled, for I hadn’t realized she’d been listening, but given the way she’d cocked her ears the first day I was on the street, I should have expected it.

  Claire permitted herself a small, embarrassed frown, then admitted, “After she married William Trevor Sykes the Third, Dixie wasn’t seen much around these parts. But after her mama died, she was real put out she’d lost all that money and I was Harriet’s trustee. There wasn’t a thing she could do, of course. Bertha had put it all in her will, and explained to the lawyer who drew up the will that since I’d been managing her money all along, she wanted me to keep managing it.”

  “So you have to approve things like the acting school.”

  “Right. Harriet brought me a brochure around the middle of May, and said her grandmother had a cousin up there she could stay with. At first I thought it was a dumb idea, but when I checked it out, I began to think that even if she didn’t learn to act, she could learn how to hold her body and build a bit of self-esteem. I even thought she might get leads on modeling jobs using her eyes.”

  “Her eyes?” That completely lost me.

  “Harriet’s got gorgeous eyes. A sort of amber color, and they fill her face. I thought the acting school might put her in touch with places that want models for eye makeup. After I checked out the school, I called her grandmother’s relatives in Atlanta to be sure they’d let her stay there, and they agreed. That’s when I told Harriet she could go if she got permission. She assured me she had. I’d never have gotten her money from the bank, otherwise.”

  As soon as she said “money from the bank,” I felt like I did one time when I swam out too far and went down twice before Daddy got there. “Do you remember when you went to the bank?”

  She reached into her briefcase for a worn Daytimer and thumbed through. “Tuesday, June fourth. School was out, so Harriet was free. She met me at the bank at nine thirty, grumbling royally about the hour, but I had appointments the entire rest of the day.”

  I couldn’t keep my voice from tremb
ling. “Was Harriet carrying anything?”

  She thought a minute. “A book, I think. Yes, a library book, because she put the money in the envelope with her brochure and stuck them both in her book. I said that that was an expensive bookmark, and warned her not to turn it in at the library by mistake.”

  “Did you just leave her at the bank?” I didn’t mean to accuse, but it sounded that way.

  “No, I drove her over to a teen center just off Rosa L. Parks. I wanted to take her straight to the post office, but she said she’d go after twelve. She had to answer phones or something, because whoever was supposed to be there had to come in late. I dropped her off right in front, just a little past ten.”

  “Pardon me if I seem to pry, Ms. Scott, but could you tell me how much money you took out? I found some, you see, among her things. I wonder if it was the same amount.”

  Finally Claire laughed aloud, a sound like crystal breaking. “I certainly hope not. We took out three thousand dollars, in one hundred dollars bills.”

  “That’s exactly what I found.” I felt as chilled as she looked.

  I wondered how to ask tactfully why the dickens she’d let a fifteen-year-old walk around town with three thousand dollars in cash. The question must have shown in my face, because she said defensively, “I wanted to get a cashier’s check, but Harriet wasn’t used to checks, and insisted on getting a post office money order. She also insisted on hundred dollar bills, because she’d never seen one. I offered to drive her straight to the post office, but she was worried about being late to answer the phones. I drove her over there and dropped her off—with all that money. Hassling Harriet when she sets her mind isn’t worth the trouble.”

  I didn’t really feel like offering her one speck of comfort, but honesty compelled me to remind her, “She wasn’t robbed, Ms. Scott. I have the money. It’s Harriet I can’t find.”

  After that, there wasn’t anything constructive to say. Claire’s knowledge of Harriet was limited to money, and she was so upset about what she herself might have done or not done, she very soon lost sight of the child. “I shouldn’t have left her with all that money. How could I do that?” she said over and over.

  I reassured her as best I could, but I’m afraid I wasn’t very convincing. By that time I was ready to blame every blooming person who ever knew the girl.

  I finally took my ornery self home, fixed a glass of tea, and headed outside to see if smelling a few roses would help. Carter’s call caught me at the door.

  After we’d got through the standard greetings and a report on Jake, he finally got down to business. “Was this female you wanted white? You forgot to say.”

  My stomach took a plunge off a three-story building. “Yes. Why?”

  “Somebody answering the description you gave me was found dead out near the airport July second. Carried no identification, and apparent cause of death was a heart attack.”

  “Heart attack? Did you say heart attack?” I was having enough trouble believing Harriet was dead. A heart attack was too unexpected to take in.

  “Yeah. Probably her first, but a big one. She looked like she’d been tramping a while, so she could have been in a weakened condition. Nobody’s identified her so far.”

  “Do you have a description, Carter?”

  “Five-six, brown hair, no identifying marks.”

  “It could be the right person,” I said slowly, feeling around blindly behind me for a chair. “What was done with the body?” Dear God, please not an unmarked grave.

  Carter surprised me. “She’s still down at the morgue. We keep them for a month or so, hoping for an identification. Did you say you knew her aunt?”

  “Call her uncle instead. He’s the one who wouldn’t report her missing, so it’s simple justice if he has to identify her.” I told you I was feeling ornery.

  I hung up feeling like a new jigsaw had turned out to be all black pieces.

  It also had a big hole in the middle. If Harriet disappeared around June fourth, where had she been—and what the heck had she been doing—until July second?

  Carter called back late that evening. I clutched the receiver so hard I nearly mashed it, and I wasn’t in the mood for chitchat. “Was it her?”

  “No. Mr. Sykes came down to see her, and he said it’s not her at all.”

  I was so thankful I completely missed the beginning of Carter’s next sentence. “…so then he asked for a second look and said no, he was mistaken.”

  I felt as puzzled as he sounded. “He first said it was Harriet, then changed his mind?”

  “Yeah. Looked at her, nodded, and said right off, ‘Yeah, it’s her all right.’ Then, when we got halfway back down the hall, he said, ‘Could I look at her one more time?’ When he’d taken another look, he said, ‘No, I was wrong. It’s not her after all. I guess I was so upset I didn’t take a real good look.’ Freaky, isn’t it?”

  The next question was real hard to ask. “Was she—you know, hard to identify?”

  “Not really. And he’s absolutely certain this isn’t her.”

  “He ought to know, I suppose. Keep looking for her, Carter, will you?”

  “I’m real sorry, Miss MacLaren, but without a missing persons report, I don’t have authority to do that.”

  “Didn’t he fill out a report while he was there?”

  “I asked him about it, but he insists his niece isn’t missing. Said his wife thinks she’s gone down to her mother’s or something.”

  I went to bed with a lot of unanswered questions.

  Seventeen

  A gift opens the way for the giver

  and ushers [her] into the presence

  of the great. Proverbs 18:16

  I dropped Glenna off at the hospital Friday morning and headed straight to Dee’s. It sure would feel good to get rid of that money. Every time we entered the house nowadays, Glenna and I went straight to the laundry basket to be sure it hadn’t been disturbed. Anybody peeking in the window would have thought we worshiped at the Shrine of Clean Clothes.

  Dee wore black slacks with a black eyelet top. Mourning? Or because she looked so wonderful in black? In my new khaki skirt and crisp green cotton sweater, I didn’t look bad until I saw Dee. Immediately I felt my hair wilt and my nails split.

  She welcomed me like we were old friends. “Come in! I just made coffee.”

  She gave a careless wave toward the sunroom table, strewn with cookbooks. “I was planning menus so I can go to the grocery store. You know.” I didn’t dare tell her I didn’t know at all—most of the time I just go to the store and grab whatever looks good or easy.

  She waved me to the love seat and fetched coffee in charming mugs decorated with berries. “The police seem to be looking for Harriet,” she said, settling on the chaise. “They dragged poor William off the golf course to go down and look at a body, but it wasn’t her. I just don’t understand where she could be.”

  “I don’t either,” I told her, “but I’ve brought you three things. This is a list of compact disks Harriet borrowed from a girl at the center. If you find them, would you call Mr. Henly, the center director? He can figure out a way to get them to the right people.” Joe Riddley would be proud of me. For once, I wasn’t volunteering.

  Dee looked at the list briefly then set it aside. “Julie will know more about this than I do. What were the other things?”

  “The brochure from the acting school, and this.” I handed her the envelope. “I didn’t give it to you the first time I came, because I felt like I ought to give it straight to Harriet. Since she’s…not around, I think you ought to keep it for her.”

  When Dee opened the envelope she was merely curious. When she drew out the money, she could have caught whole hummingbirds in her mouth. “This belonged to Harriet? Where on earth did she get it?”

  “I talked to Harriet’s trustee yesterday. She said she and Harriet withdrew it on June fourth, for the acting class. I don’t know why Harriet left it at the center, but—”


  Dee started shaking so hard I was afraid she’d fall off the chaise. She flung down the money, then she flung a fit. “Claire Scott was going to let Harriet spend three thousand dollars on a summer acting class? Three thousand dollars?” Her voice was shrill, her face flushed like an angry child’s. “I told that lawyer Claire doesn’t know the first thing about teenagers. And she spends money like water. She can’t possibly make that much. How could Mama leave her in charge of all that money?” She nearly screamed the last three words, then came to an abrupt halt and gave an embarrassed little laugh. “I’m sorry, Laura. This isn’t your problem, and you’ve been real sweet to go to so much trouble for us. It’s just that whenever I think about Claire Scott having her greedy hands on Mama’s money, I could spit! I think Mama was getting a bit senile right before she died, but I couldn’t convince the lawyer.” She picked up the envelope and slapped it against her palm. “But I really appreciate everything you’ve done, and maybe the police will keep looking for Harriet.”

  “Not unless you file a missing person’s report. You really need to do that, Dee.”

  She bit her lip and thought about it, but then she shook her head. “Not yet. William won’t.” Her blue eyes were anxious, like the first time I saw them.

  I opened my mouth to ask how much later it needed to get, but the phone rang. When Dee heard the voice on the other end, her face brightened. “Why, honey, how sweet of you to call. Are you having fun?” She paused. “Well, maybe a day or two, but not much longer than that. You’ve got to get ready for your trip with Gram.” Another pause. “I know, honey, I wish you didn’t either, but she’s gone to all this trouble—”

  I touched her on the shoulder and motioned that I could find my own way out. I knew from experience that that conversation could take a while.

  I sat with Jake that afternoon while Glenna went home to lie down a while. In the mid-afternoon he opened his eyes. “Isn’t it about time for me to be out chasing women?”