Part 16 (2/2)

But now that I'd found Kelly's letter, I wished I could talk to him and find out what he knew. Maybe there'd been a good reason why he'd left town in such a hurry. Maybe he knew who'd actually killed Kelly, and was afraid he would be next.

Chapter 11.

”Gwyn, is Trevor home yet?”

It was Tuesday afternoon and Linda was on the phone, speaking slightly above a whisper.

”No.”

”I've got it.”

”The report?”

”You guessed it.”

”What's it say?”

”I can't read it to you now. Wolfgang could walk in here at any second. I'm upstairs. I'm not even sure-he might be out of the bathroom already.”

”He could also pick up the phone. Are you sure he's not listening in?”

”I'm on my cell. He can't listen in on that.”

”Come over to the house,” I said. ”No, let's meet somewhere. I'd be too nervous looking at it here. Can't you tell me anything?”

”I'd rather you look at it yourself.”

At that, my stomach flipped over. ”Why, is it bad?”

”Don't start second-guessing. Where should we meet?”

”Not in a public place, someone might overhear us. What about in a parking lot? How about behind the library?”

”Okay, way in the back. For sure, no one I know will be there.”

”What time?”

”As soon as you can.”

”What about Wolfgang?”

”Oh, I'll tell him I'm going to the drugstore, that I need cotton b.a.l.l.s or something. He's in the middle of his workout. He won't even care.”

”Okay, I'm leaving now.”

I could barely keep my mind on my driving. In the s.p.a.ce of a few hours I would know more of Trevor's history than in the whole two and a half years I'd known him. He didn't talk much about his past, mostly about current things, the business, friends he'd made in the business, his hopes for the future, and things we could do in our free time, ski trips, vacations we could plan.

He also talked very little about his family, who lived in Sacramento, California. I had met his mother, Ester, a pet.i.te shy lady, at the wedding here in Glenwood more than a year ago. And he had a sister, Laurel, whom I didn't meet, who had apologized over the phone for not being able to attend. She was in the hospital for surgery, a torn ligament in her shoulder, as I remembered. His older brother, Joseph, was at the ceremony and was pleasant enough, but came alone. I'd talked to him at the reception and learned he'd never been married, though according to Trevor, his brother had a sometime girlfriend, but for whatever reason, didn't invite her along. Trevor's old childhood friend, Stan, a prominent lawyer with extensive land holdings in California and a lot of influential political friends, showed up for the wedding and stayed for part of the reception. Trevor had shown more animation and spent more time with him than with anyone else.

Trevor's father did not attend. Trevor had shrugged, said his dad didn't want to upset his mother. Though still legally married, his parents had separated years ago at his mother's request. Trevor didn't seem too upset about it, or surprised that his parents had not taken the final step and divorced. I wasn't sure if Trevor ever contacted his father. He never said so. At times when I mentioned his dad, Trevor changed the subject-jokingly, but still he changed it. He did phone his mother fairly often, but he hadn't seen her since the wedding, and he didn't have any future plans to visit as far as I knew. Not exactly a close-knit bunch.

Linda's Audi wasn't in the library parking lot when I arrived, so I cruised the last row, surprisingly full of cars, and realized that parking was becoming scarce the closer it got to Christmas. I found an empty s.p.a.ce and pulled in. A few minutes later, Linda pulled up behind me. She waved her arm, beckoning, and I hopped out and got into her car.

”Do you believe this?” she said. ”How many of these people are really in the library?”

”Drive around,” I said, glancing around the car for the background check.

”In the backseat.”

I reached over and grabbed the manila envelope. ”Are they both in here?”

”No, just yours.”

I frowned at her. ”Where's yours?”

”At home, where I left it.”

I noticed that though the envelope was glued closed and clasped, it wasn't anything Linda couldn't buy at an office supply store. But if I asked if she'd looked at the contents and transferred them to a new envelope, Linda would freak-and it wouldn't change a thing. ”How come you didn't bring yours?”

”Because it's private, and certainly I'd tell you if there were anything that needed telling.”

I held the envelope and silently counted to ten-very, very slowly. ”I thought the idea was to share information.”

”Yes, but only if it might lend some light on Kelly's death. I thought you might want to keep Trevor's matters private also. Are you going to open it?”

”Give me a minute.”

”I agree. It's scary.”

Linda located a narrow parking s.p.a.ce and edged in.

I slowly released the clasp and pried the envelope open, then reached in for the papers. I held them at an angle so Linda wouldn't be able to see. I saw my husband's name, Trevor Taylor Sanders, first, then our home address, his business address, and Trevor's social security number. No aliases. I took that as a good sign.

It listed previous addresses, and I briefly perused those. Several were in California, but one was in Denver, and I calculated that it must have been shortly before I met Trevor, before he came to Glenwood. I thought he had told me he'd moved directly from Sacramento to Glenwood, or at least that's what I remembered.

It listed relatives: mother, father, brother, sister, aunts and uncles, many more than Trevor had ever mentioned, and their last known addresses and telephone numbers. It listed our current neighbors and their addresses and phones also.

I looked up, but Linda was staring absently out the window. ”You can drive,” I said. ”I can't study all of this here.”

”I know. It's a lot of stuff.”

I brought the papers into my lap. ”So there wasn't anything questionable in Wolfgang's background?”

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