Not One of Us(68)

“Has he said anything that gives you a clue where he might have been?”

“Nothing,” I reported with a sigh. “If he does, I’ll call right away.”

I hung up the phone and marched back into the house. “Is Rose coming over?” I asked Mimi.

“She’ll be here in five minutes.”

“I’ve decided to go out for an hour or so,” I said, grabbing my car keys from the fireplace mantel. “Sure you don’t mind?”

“Go,” Mimi said, shooing me off.

“Go,” Zach repeated. “Bye-bye.”

“Call me if you need me.”

I made my escape. Once in town, I tapped my car brakes and slowed down as I neared Winn-Dixie. At the last possible moment, I shut off my blinker and hit the accelerator, my decision made.

A hint of twilight clouded the skies by the time I pulled into Magnolia Oaks. The magnificent antebellum mansion with its white columns, wraparound porch, and well-manicured lawn was striking. I’d never been out quite so late in the day. Every window glowed with warmth, and it looked as inviting and welcoming as a Norman Rockwell painting.

Poor Ardy had been stuck funding most of Tressie’s living costs, and I suspected Uncle Buddy also regularly slipped his sister extra money. There were less expensive assisted living facilities in nearby Mobile that would have been perfectly decent for Aunt Tressie, but according to her ex-husband, she’d chosen grander accommodations as a way to punish him for deserting her.

Inside, there was plenty of activity as a local church choir performed in the ballroom. At the reception desk, I signed my name as usual and headed down the south wing.

An LPN I recognized waved. “Oh, honey, you should have called before coming out. Your aunt isn’t here.”

“Not here?” I repeated stupidly. “Tressie Ensley?” A series of possible explanations shifted through my mind: Had she fallen? Had a heart attack? My hand fluttered to my throat. Maybe whoever had taken Zach had now targeted my aunt. “What’s happened to her?” I asked.

“Nothing! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, sweetie. She just decided to run get a bite to eat. Pot roast was on the menu tonight, and she had a hankering for barbeque.”

“Since when did she start driving?” I asked, confused. Up until this moment, I’d thought the only time Tressie left the facility was when she had an aide drive her to the beauty shop once a month. Ardy was right. Her deceptions went deep, and I’d best remember that from here on out.

The LPN cocked her head to the side, brows creased with confusion. “She’s always driven. Ever since I’ve been here anyway, which is almost a year. She goes out regularly. The only restriction we have is that all residents return by nine in the evening.”

“I-I see. Do you happen to know if she was here yesterday afternoon?”

“We can check the log. Everyone’s supposed to log in and out when they leave. It’s a safety measure.”

The LPN cast me curious glances as she walked with me to the nurses’ station.

“Any particular reason you want to know?” she finally asked.

I shrugged, unwilling to go into the kidnapping with a stranger. The woman asked another employee for the logbook, and a thick blue binder was handed over.

“Yesterday . . . ,” the LPN muttered, her index finger scanning a page. “Let’s see. No, I don’t see where she left the premises. Hope that helps you?”

She slammed the book closed, but not before I was able to briefly scan the open pages. Aunt Tressie had checked out regularly. Ardy was right: Tressie’s mental fragility appeared to be an act.

But why? What purpose did it serve? Was it merely to play on others’ sympathy and extort money from her family? Or was there something more sinister at play?

“If you’d like to wait for your aunt, you can listen to the church choir in the ballroom. They’re really good. They come twice a month, and our residents love them.”

“Th-that’s okay,” I managed. “Thanks for all your help.”

I made my way outside and stumbled to my car in a daze. All these years, Aunt Tressie had been putting on this poor-pitiful-me act, and I’d fallen for it like a complete chump. As far as I knew, Mimi had fallen for it too.

Darkness settled by degrees. There was no point in remaining, but I couldn’t find the energy or the will to leave.

Car headlights snaked up the driveway, and my heart hammered as I recognized the dark-blue Town Car. Tressie was at the wheel, her features calm as she turned into the parking lot.

I sprang out of the car and headed to her, my footsteps loud and reverberating on the asphalt. A crow cawed a warning that Aunt Tressie didn’t heed. She was so smug, so confident, so . . . normal as she exited her Town Car clutching a bag of take-out food and a cup of coffee.

“Enjoy your evening out?” I asked once I was merely two feet away.

Tressie jumped, and hot liquid sloshed out of her drink and onto her hand. “Damn it,” she whimpered, staring at the burnt flesh already inflamed and bright red.

“Let me get that for you.” I moved in, removed the drink from her hand, and stared into the face of a stranger. This Aunt Tressie was focused. Aware. A hint of calculation in her gray eyes that were the same distinctive pewter color as my own and Mimi’s and Mom’s. An inherited family gene through the generations.