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He shrugged. “I have no idea who he was.”
The pressure on her chest quadrupled. “So you never knew either of your parents?”
“Nope.”
“That’s so sad.” She thought she might cry, and blinked rapidly to dispel the oncoming tears.
He shrugged again. “Don’t feel sorry for me. You can’t miss what you never had.”
He gathered dishes and carried them to the sideboard. She followed behind, and together they laid out lunch. She fixed herself a BLT and waited while he did the same, and then they retreated to one of the tables in the corner that had been left free by the other guests.
“Who raised you?” She’d asked more questions than she had a right to, according to the rules of their game, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“Mykoro. Mum’s father.” He bit into his sandwich, and when mayonnaise oozed out the side, she reached over and dabbed it away with a napkin. “He has a cottage in Paihia, right on the beach.” He was smiling now, and gazing over her shoulder, but she knew he was seeing something else. “He spends most of his time teaching the children at themaraeto fish and speakTe Reo. I visit a couple of times a year. He’s really got it made.”
“He sounds wonderful.” From the way he spoke of hiskoro, Megan could tell the old man was the most important person in his life. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d approve of her, and whether she’d ever get the chance to meet him. She hoped so. She wanted to thank him for taking Tione in and raising him to be the man he was.
“Enough about me,” he said. “I must have three or four questions up my sleeve by now. Tell me about the most extravagant cake you ever baked.”
21
When the lunchdishes had been cleared away, Tione drove into town and parked outside the police depot. He greeted the receptionist, a kid just out of high school, and asked to see Elliot.
“Officer Tanner is on patrol,” the kid informed him. “But Officer Wilson is available.”
“I’ll see him, then.”
Dennis Wilson had been on the job for even longer than Elliot, and Tione suspected he was just waiting to reach retirement age. The kid went to find Dennis, and Tione gave the officer a tight smile when he lumbered into the foyer and offered his hand.
“S’pose it’s too much to ask for this to be a personal visit,” Dennis said gruffly.
“Yeah.” Tione hooked his thumbs into his pockets. “Did Elliot fill you in on Megan Talbot and her dickhead ex?”
Dennis glanced at the kid and jerked his head toward the door that led into the warren of tiny rooms making up the better part of the depot. “Come on back. Let’s talk in private.”
Tione followed him to an ugly yellow door with “Wilson” printed across it in neat letters. The department was too cheap to spring for a proper label, even though the man had worked there for most of his adult life.
“Sorry,” he said as he closed the door behind them. “Young Jimmy out there is the biggest gossip I ever had the pleasure to meet. That boy never met a rumor he didn’t care to share. If he heard about your girl, the story’d reach as far as Gray before nightfall.”
Tione barked a laugh. “Let’s not get carried away. Anderson Gray wouldn’t be told if his own house were burning to the ground.”
Dennis tipped his head, acknowledging the truth. When Gray, a former Hollywood star, first moved to Haven Bay, the residents had been delighted. One by one, he’d alienated them all until they left him alone in his mansion on the fringe of town to drown in his misery. As far as Tione could tell, the guy had gotten exactly what he’d wanted.
“Has anyone seen Charles Wentworth in the area?”
“Don’t believe so.” Dennis adjusted his belt buckle. “No reports of a man fitting his description, but we haven’t got the manpower to have patrols looking for him. If you’re concerned, you’d do better to pass his photo around town yourself.”
Tione nodded. “I’ll do that.” He’d already planned to stop at the library and print a couple of dozen pictures of the guy to hand out at The Refuge—the local retirement home, which was a thriving hub of local news. “Thanks for your time, Dennis.” He shook the man’s hand again and left without any fanfare.
Next, he drove to the library, where he used one of the public computers to do a Google search for the name “Charles Wentworth,” and was surprised when many of the results showed a well-dressed elderly man. Then he recalled that the Charles Wentworth he’d met had been the second Charles Wentworth, so he tried a variation with “Junior” on the end and hit pay dirt.
There were a number of photographs of Wentworth the Second wearing expensive suits, his dark hair styled and expression disdainful. They’d been taken at soirees, galas, and even a couple at the theater. In more than one photo, he had his arm around a petite honey blonde with exquisitely delicate features and downcast eyes.Megan.
His fists clenched and he forced them to loosen, an audible breath easing out. Hell, he could tell something was wrong from these photographs. How had her family and friends not known? He wished he could drag the motherfucker back here and plant his fist in the guy’s face.
Instead, he kept dragging in slow breaths until he’d calmed, then he selected three of the clearest images and printed a dozen of each, writing a short explanatory note beneath them. At the counter, he paid the librarian—one of his poker buddies—and rotated the pages to face him.
“You seen this guy?” he asked, stabbing Charles with his finger.
