Page 15 of Cougar Point

Rebecca nods. “They said they couldn’t do anything for forty-eight hours. I stayed at the resort overnight Saturday, and when she still hadn’t made contact, I called the police again and demanded an officer come to the resort and take a report. They said they could send an officer but he couldn’t put her in the system until the forty-eight hours were up. I tried to reach the Sheriff here but it was a weekend and I got a deputy who gave me the same bullshit line. Police policy. She wasn’t in jail or in the hospital. There was nothing. It’s not like our mom to go away like this. She would have told me where she was going. She’s never spent more than a few nights away, and those were with one of her committee groups. And that’s why I called you.”

Ronnie says, “You said Mom wanted to tell you something. Are you leaving Dad’s firm? Was she upset about something? Remember when she faked an injury to get me to come home from the police academy?”

“What did you expect her to do? You wouldn’t listen to reason. She thought it would make you see how important family is. Her heart’s in the right place, sis. She only wants what’s best for you. For us. But I see what you’re hinting at. The answer is no, there’s nothing going on. She’s not faking this or I wouldn’t have worried you.”

“Mom always wants what’s best for Mom. She wants to control our lives. Just like dear old Dad.”

Rebecca gives Ronnie a stern look. “Don’t be disrespectful. You’re where you are today because of them.”

“Point taken. But Dad hasn’t changed, Rebecca. Did he come to the resort and help look for her? Or did he try to talk you out of doing something that might cause him embarrassment? That’s how he is. That’s why I left. I wanted my own life. Not his. Not Mom’s. Not yours.”

“And so you just take off. Leave me to deal with Dad and the fallout. I’m your older sister, not your caretaker, Ronnie.”

“Rebecca the martyr. You could have left. You have a good job. You don’t need to work here anymore. You could be happy like me. You can do something for yourself for once.”

“How can you even say that? Someone had to stay and take care of them. To hold this family together. Our parents deserve one of us they can be proud…” She bites her words off and covers her mouth.

Ronnie’s face gets hot. “They’re not proud of me?”

I put a hand on Ronnie’s arm and hold my other up like a referee, but I want to hit the mute button on Rebecca. “Time out, kids. Let’s cool things down so you can tell me what I’m doing here.” They turn away from each other. I say, “And don’t forget I’m carrying a gun.”

Rebecca says, “I’m sorry, Ronnie. I didn’t mean it. I’m just upset.”

“Me too. Let’s just find her.”

What have I gotten into?“Ronnie said there has been no activity on the bank or credit cards? Is that right, Rebecca?”

“Nothing. That’s not like Mom. She loves to spend money.”

“Boy does she,” Ronnie adds.

I think for a minute about next steps. “I guess checking her room at the resort for clues again isn’t possible?”

Rebecca brightens. “I’ve insisted Roger keep her room closed in case you needed to look at it. So far the police haven’t shown any interest.”

Ronnie says, “Way to go, sis. I’ll make a detective of you yet.”

“No, thanks. But we do need to talk when this is settled.”

A loud gong startles me, and Rebecca gets up. “I’ll get it.” She leaves the room.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Someone is at the gate,” Ronnie says. “Dad has a state-of-the-art security system.”

Ronnie turns on a small plasma screen fixed to the bottom of one kitchen cabinet. A clear picture of a black SUV with dark tinted windows is coming through the gate. “That’s not Dad’s car.”

FOURTEEN

Voices come toward the kitchen and I recognize Rebecca’s asking, “Would you like some espresso?”

A man’s deep and loud voice answers, “Sounds perfect.”

I imagine some hulking figure, but when the man walks into the kitchen, he looks more like a smarmy version of Mister Rogers. Instead of the robin’s-egg blue button-up sweater and tennis shoes, this one is wearing a shiny shark-skin suit with fancy Italian-made shoes. Not someone you’d want to be your neighbor.

Rebecca directs him to a seat at the table next to me, and the stench of cigars assails my nose.

“I’ll take mine with four shots, black,” he says. “Do you have any cookies, Miss Marsh?”

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