Sleight of Hand Read Online Free PDF Page B

system up and running, television on but muted, nothing missing apparently. Wife still gone. She packed a suitcase, had an e-ticket on order to Roanoke, Virginia, and was a no-show on the Saturday morning of the previous week. No sign that she took a different flight. Wilkins drove her to the Portland airport, left her at the departure gate and took off. He reported her missing Sunday evening, but the cops didn't take it seriously. They decided the lady wanted to get away for a while." He spread his hands. "I don't have much because they're playing it close until they locate the widow Wilkins. At the moment it looks like she might have beaned him herself. Then, there's the missing boat. But you know about that."
    Barbara scowled at him. He scowled back. "I do what I can," he said. It was not an apology. "When they clam up, that's it. Two Wilkins kids. A son, Eric, twenty-six, a computer designer, Web designer, some kind of computer geek at the U of O. Gay, shares an apartment with a boyfriend. Daughter, Eve, twenty-three, a nut case, in and out of a private hospital down near Cottage Grove since she was about twelve.
    Schizophrenia. When she's out she lives with her mother, the ex-wife, Stephanie Breaux. Partner in the women's wear shop Gormandi and Breaux."
    Barbara knew the shop. It had pricey clothes for, as their ads said, "Women on the go."
    "No other kids in sight," Bailey said.
    "What about the missing wife?" Barbara asked when Bailey helped himself to more coffee.
    "Interesting," he said adding far too much sugar to his cup. "Connie Wilkins. She was widowed about three years ago. Married to David Laramie, the radio and television guy. He and their twelve-year-old son were killed by a Safeway truck on a trip to go skiing. She's loaded. Laramie had money, and there was a big settlement, plus insurance, plus a big expensive house. Married Wilkins seventeen months ago, skipped out last week." He consulted a notebook that he had not glanced at before.
    "He drove a powder-blue Buick, and she has a red Corvette, still in their garage. And that's just about all I have so far."
    "It may be more than we'll need if Connie Wilkins turns out to be it," Barbara said.
    "Not much more we can do until we see what develops." She glanced at Frank, who nodded in agreement. Bailey was good at his work and he charged accordingly.
    There was no point in having him dig unless and until they had a specific charge and a real case.
    "I did scope out a little about Wilkins last night," Bailey said. "His name struck a chord and I looked it up on the Web. About the time you were gone," he said to Barbara, "and your dad was out at the McKenzie place, not paying much attention, I guess. Wilkins got involved in a lawsuit with a few customers who charged him with violation of truth in lending practices. They won. Shady credit deals, padding expenses, add-on costs that drove the prices up, things like that. I didn't dig much, just the highlights."
    Bailey's sense of propriety had stepped in, Barbara realized. He had not been able to bring himself to say it was during the tumultuous year following her mother's death.
    Neither she nor Frank had dealt with it very well; she had left the law practice, left the state, swearing never to return, and he had moved all the way out of town.
    Frank topped his own coffee. "I'll get the details if we decide we need them," he said, keeping his gaze on the coffee carafe. He looked stricken. It hit like this, with incredible stabbing intensity, he was thinking, the overwhelming sense of loss, the pain and grief. There had seemed nothing left to keep living for at the time. Life had become a burden he no longer wanted to bear until he had managed to get Barbara back home.
    "Well," Barbara said, rising, forcing a briskness in her voice that she did not feel, "I guess that's it for now. Tell your contact you really want the time of death as soon as the medical examiner makes his report, and then we'll sit tight and see