Caught. Part 18

She nodded. "That's Norm's--uh, Ten-A-Fly's--wife. They've got three kids, and they're going to have to sell their house and move in with her parents. But she's supportive."

"Nice," Wendy said, but looking again, the cheering looked a little too forced, closer perhaps to cla.s.sic overcompensation than true enthusiasm.

"Why are you here?" Sherry Turnball asked.

"I'm trying to find out the truth about Dan Mercer."

"A little late, don't you think?"

"Probably. Phil said something strange to me today. He said he understood what it was like to be wrongly accused."

Sherry Turnball played with her drink.

"Sherry?"

Her eyes rose and met Wendy's. "I don't want him hurt anymore."

"That's not my intent here."

"Phil wakes up every morning at six and puts on a suit and tie. Like he's going to work. Then he buys the local papers and drives down to the Suburban Diner on Route Seventeen. He sits there alone with his coffee and goes through the cla.s.sifieds. By himself, wearing a suit and tie. Every morning, alone. The exact same thing."

Wendy flashed again on her father sitting at the table stuffing resumes into envelopes.

"I try to tell him it's okay," Sherry said. "But if I suggest moving down to a smaller house, Phil takes it as a personal failure. Men, right?"

"What happened to him, Sherry?"

"Phil loved his job. He was a financial adviser. A money manager. Nowadays those are negative terms. But Phil used to say, 'People trust me with their life savings.' Think about that. He cares for people's money. They entrust him with their toil, their kids' college education, their retirement. He used to say, 'Imagine the responsibility of that--and the honor.' It was all about trust with him. About honesty and honor."

She stopped. Wendy waited for her to continue. When she didn't, Wendy said, "I did some research."

"I'm going back to work. Phil doesn't want that. But I'm going back."

"Sherry, listen to me. I know about the embezzlement charge."

She stopped as though she'd been slapped. "How?"

"That's not important. Is that what Phil meant by wrongly accused?"

"The allegations are trumped-up nonsense. An excuse to fire one of their most highly paid. If he was guilty, why hasn't he been charged?"

"I'd like to talk to Phil about it."

"Why?"

Wendy opened her mouth, stopped, closed it again.

Sherry said, "It doesn't have anything to do with Dan."

"Maybe it does."

"How?"

Good question.

"Will you talk to him for me?" Wendy asked.

"And say what?"

"That I want to help him."

But a thought hit Wendy, something Jenna had said, something Phil and Sherry had said too, stuff about the past, about Princeton, the name Farley. She needed to get home, get to a computer, do some research. "Just talk to him, okay?"

Ten-A-Fly started up another song, an ode to some MILF named Charisma, plagiarizing himself with some joke about having no charisma in him but wanting to be in Charisma. Wendy rushed over to Pops.

"Come on," she said.

Pops gestured toward the tipsy woman with the beckoning smile and plunging neckline. "Working here."

"Get a phone number and tell her to swing dem puppies at you later. We've got to get out of here."

CHAPTER 15.

GOAL ONE FOR INVESTIGATOR Frank Tremont and Sheriff Mickey Walker: Find a connection between molester Dan Mercer and missing girl Haley McWaid.

Haley's phone had so far provided few clues--no new texts, e-mails, or calls--though Tom Stanton, a young Suss.e.x County cop with some techno background, was still going through it. Still, with the help of a teary Ted and steely Marcia, it didn't take long to come up with a link between Haley and Dan Mercer. Haley McWaid had been a senior at Ka.s.selton High School. One of her cla.s.smates was a girl named Amanda Wheeler, stepdaughter of Jenna Wheeler, Dan's ex. Dan Mercer was friendly with his ex-wife and purportedly spent a great deal of time at their house.

Connection.

Jenna and Noel Wheeler sat on a couch across from him in their cla.s.sic split-level home. Jenna's eyes were puffy from recent tears. She was a small woman, tight body like she worked out, probably striking when her face wasn't bloated from crying. The husband, Noel, was, Tremont had learned, head of cardiac surgery at Valley Medical Center. His hair was dark, unruly, a little too long--almost like what you'd expect in a concert pianist.

Another plush couch, Frank thought, in another lovely suburban home. Like with the McWaids. Both couches were nice, probably pretty expensive. This one was bright yellow with blue flowers. Springlike. Frank pictured it, the two of them, Noel and Jenna Wheeler (or Ted and Marcia McWaid), going to some highway furniture store, probably on Route 4, testing out a bunch of couches, trying to figure out which one would go in their lovely suburban home, match both the decor and lifestyle, combine comfort and durability, how it would blend in with the designer wallpaper and Oriental carpet and the knickknacks from that trip to Europe. They had it delivered and moved it from spot to spot until it was just right, collapsed into it, called the kids to try it out, maybe even sneaked down late one night to break it in.

Suss.e.x County sheriff Mickey Walker loomed behind him like a solar eclipse. Now that the two cases were overlapping, there would be full cooperation--no county jurisdiction bickering when you're trying to find a missing girl. They agreed that Frank would lead this line of questioning.

Frank Tremont coughed into his fist. "Thank you for agreeing to talk with us."

"Have you found something new about Dan?" Jenna asked.

"I wanted to ask you both about your relations.h.i.+p with Dan Mercer."

Jenna looked puzzled. Noel Wheeler did not move. He leaned slightly forward, his forearms rested on his thighs, his fingers laced between his knees.

"What about our relations.h.i.+p?" Jenna asked.

"You were close?"

"Yes."

Frank looked at Noel. "All of you? I mean, he is your wife's ex."

Again it was Jenna who answered. "All of us. Dan is . . . was . . . the G.o.dfather of our daughter Kari."

"How old is Kari?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Frank put a little steel in his voice. "Please just answer the question, Mrs. Wheeler."

"She's six."

"Did she spend time alone with Dan Mercer?"

"If you're insinuating--"

"I'm asking a question," Frank said, cutting her off. "Did your six-year-old daughter spend time alone with Dan Mercer?"

"She did," Jenna said, head high. "And she loved him dearly. She called him Uncle Dan."

"You have another child, don't you?"

Noel took that one. "I have a daughter from a previous marriage, yes. Her name is Amanda."

"Is she home right now?"

Frank had already checked on this and knew the answer.

"Yes, she's upstairs."

Jenna looked toward the silent Walker. "I don't see what any of this has to do with Ed Grayson killing Dan."

Walker just stared back at her, arms folded.

Frank said, "How often did Dan come to this house?"

"What difference does that make?"

"Mrs. Wheeler, do you have something to hide?"

Jenna's mouth dropped open. "Excuse me?"

"Why do you keep giving me a hard time?"

"I'm not giving you anything. I just want to know--"

"Why? What's the difference why I'm asking?"

Noel Wheeler put a calming hand on his wife's knee. "He visited frequently. Maybe once a week or so before"--he paused here--"before that story on him aired."

"And since then?"

"Rarely. Maybe once or twice."

Frank zeroed in on Noel. "Why less? Did you believe the charges?"

Noel Wheeler took his time. Jenna stared at him, her body suddenly stiff. Finally he said, "I did not believe the charges, no."

"But?"

Noel Wheeler stayed silent. He did not look at his wife.

"But better safe than sorry, is that it?"

Jenna said, "Dan felt it was best not to come around. So the neighbors wouldn't gossip."

Noel kept his eyes on the carpet.

"And," she continued, "I would still like to know what this has to do with anything."

"We would like to talk with your daughter Amanda," Frank said.

That got their attention. Jenna jumped first, but something made her stop. She looked toward Noel. Tremont wondered why. Step-mother syndrome, he figured. Noel Wheeler was, after all, the real parent here.

Noel said, "Detective . . . Tremont, is it?"

Frank nodded, not bothering to correct the terminology--it was investigator, not detective, but half the time, h.e.l.l, he mixed them up.

"We've been willing to cooperate," Noel went on. "I will answer any and every question you have. But now you're involving my daughter. Do you have a child, Detective?"

With his peripheral vision, Frank Tremont could see Mickey Walker s.h.i.+fting his feet uneasily. Walker knew, though Tremont had never told him. Tremont never talked about Kasey.

"No, I don't."

"If you want to talk to Amanda, I really need to know what's going on."

"Fair enough." Tremont took his time, let the silence make them squirm a bit. When he thought the timing was right, he said, "Do you know who Haley McWaid is?"

"Yes, of course," Jenna said.

"We think your ex-husband did something to her."