The Shadow Box(66)

She had called Griffin a narcissistic sociopath. She knew a lot about him. She had mentioned Griffin’s connection to Dan Benson. And I knew that I had to locate her as soon as possible.





36





TOM


Tom told himself that he wasn’t acting under any official capacity, so when it was time to take Maggie over to the Bensons’ house, it seemed just fine to Tom that Jackie came along. She had gotten attached to the little dog—they both had. Tom knew that Conor had tried to make arrangements to see Gwen’s drawings. But so far, the timing hadn’t worked. The fact that Conor wasn’t pushing harder told Tom he thought Gwen’s story was pure fantasy. And it probably was.

Tom called Dan in advance to let them know they were on the way, and he had said that he was meeting with the insurance adjustor, but Gwen was home with her aunt Lydia. Tom parked his truck in the Bensons’ driveway, and he and Jackie—holding the dog—walked up the sidewalk.

“Beautiful gardens,” Jackie murmured, looking at the beds lining the walk, the roses climbing a trellis beside the front door. “And they already miss Sallie.”

Tom saw what she meant—some were wilting and needed to be watered, and weeds had started sprouting up between the bushes. He rang the bell and waited a few minutes before footsteps sounded inside the house.

The woman who answered the door had short white-blonde hair and bright-blue eyes and had to be Sallie’s sister—the resemblance to photos he had seen of Sallie was striking.

“Hi, you must be Tom Reid,” she said, shaking his hand. “Dan said you’d be coming. I’m Lydia Clarke. Gwen’s aunt.”

“Good to meet you,” Tom said. “This is my wife, Jackie.”

The two women smiled at each other and said hello. Clearly recognizing Lydia, Maggie wriggled in Jackie’s arms.

“Thank you for what you did,” Lydia said, stepping toward Tom. “For saving my niece.”

“She’s incredible,” Tom said. “It was her strength and will to live that kept her going.” He remembered how cold the water temperature was that night, how she could have died of hypothermia.

“How is she doing?” Jackie asked.

“You can imagine,” Lydia said. “We’re still in shock, especially Gwen. My sister was my best friend. I don’t have kids—Gwen is the daughter I never had, and I’m trying to do my best for her—and for Sallie.”

“I am so sorry about your sister,” Jackie said. “And your nephew.”

“Thank you,” Lydia said. “Gwen knows her mother died, but she can’t let herself believe that Charlie did too.”

Suddenly the dog began to whimper and squirm in her arms, and Tom saw Gwen coming through the front hallway. Jackie put Maggie down, and she ran straight into Gwen’s arms. The little girl crouched on the marble floor, face buried in Maggie’s fur. Her head and hands were still bandaged, but the gauze wasn’t as thick as it had been in the hospital.

“Thank you for bringing her to me,” Gwen said, finally looking up.

“She missed you,” Jackie said. “But we loved having her with us. It won’t be the same without her.”

“She’s like that,” Gwen said. “She makes everyone happier when she’s around.”

“Would you like to come in?” Lydia asked. “Have some iced tea?”

“That would be wonderful,” Jackie said. She followed Lydia into the kitchen, and Tom hung back in the hallway. He crouched on his heels beside Gwen and Maggie.

“She’s happy to be home,” he said, watching them play together.

“This is the only place she’s ever known,” Gwen said, with an air of tragedy belying her age. “And it won’t feel the same to her at all. Because it doesn’t feel the same to me and Aunt Lydia.”

“It doesn’t?”

Gwen shook her head. “Because they’re gone.”

“Your mother and Charlie. I’m sorry, Gwen.”

“Nothing will ever bring my mom back,” she said. “Aunt Lydia is so sad. I try to help her, and she helps me.” Then she glanced up at Tom. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something. “Have you looked for him? My brother?”

“Gwen,” he began.

“I know he’s somewhere in the world,” she said. “Not lost in the ocean. Remember, the sea castle?”

“I do,” he said.

“Why aren’t you looking there?”

“Well, I don’t know where to find it,” he said. “Do you still draw those pictures you showed me?”

“Yes, and lots more,” she said.

“You know,” he said. “Jackie, my wife, works with artists. She loves seeing paintings and drawings. Do you think you could show her your book?”

“I don’t like to show anybody,” she said.

“But you showed me,” he said. “And it gave me a lot to think about.”

Gwen bowed her head, pressed her face into her Yorkie’s neck for a few seconds. “Jackie took good care of Maggie,” Gwen said, her voice muffled.

“She did,” Tom said.

“Well, because of that, okay,” she said. She stood up and walked into the living room, Maggie at her heels. She climbed onto a sofa and reached between the arm and the seat cushion, pulled out her notebook.