Behind The Mask. Metsy Hingle

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СКАЧАТЬ if she decides she doesn’t want to go back to her husband, he would be obligated to help her financially. I’m sure it can’t be easy for her being on her own and having a child to care for, too.”

      “She never complained. And she took real good care of Timmy. Why, anyone with eyes in their head could see that as far as Beth was concerned, the sun rose and set on that little boy of hers.”

      “Her husband said she was a good mother,” Michael said, although Webster had indicated just the opposite. “I’m sure Mr. Webster would be happy to pay a reward to anyone who could help me find his wife and son.”

      “I’m not looking for any reward,” the woman informed him. “And if Beth ran away from the man, she must have had her reasons.”

      He was beginning to wonder if the lady was right, but immediately cut off that line of thought. “From what I understand, he and his wife had a nasty argument, and the next thing he knew, she and the little boy were gone. I’m sure you can understand how worried Mr. Webster is, not knowing where they are.”

      “I suppose so,” Ms. Schubert told him.

      “There are a lot of crazy people out there in the world. Because of Mr. Webster’s wealth, he’s afraid that if the wrong person were to find out that she’s his wife, she and her little boy could be in danger. Maybe even held for ransom.”

      “Oh my,” Ms. Schubert said in alarm. “I guess being rich isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

      “Doesn’t seem like it to me,” Michael told her. And because he suspected she was weakening, he added, “If you can think of a place or the name of someone that Beth might have mentioned, anything that might help me locate her, you’d be doing her and her little boy a favor.”

      “And if Beth doesn’t want to go back to this Webster fellow, she doesn’t have to?”

      “No. Not unless that’s what she wants. My job is to make sure that she and her son are safe, and to let her know that her husband would like to see her. What she does after I tell her is up to her.”

      “Well, I don’t know for sure, mind you,” Ms. Schubert began, “but she did mention going to New Orleans. She said her grandmother had an old friend who’d moved there years ago.”

      “Did she happen to tell you the name of this friend?”

      Margie Schubert shook her head. “And I didn’t ask.”

      “Thank you, Ms. Schubert. You’ve been a tremendous help.” Michael stood and shook the woman’s hand.

      “If you find Beth, would you give her something for me?”

      “Sure,” Michael said.

      The older woman disappeared into a back room of the sprawling house. When she returned, she handed him a photograph. It was of Elisabeth Webster and her son, Timmy. Only, the woman in the snapshot didn’t look anything like the glamorous creature in the studio photo Webster had given him. This woman wasn’t wearing diamonds. Nor was her hair a curtain of long blond silk that fell to her shoulders. Her lips weren’t pulled into a sexy pout and painted a bold red. And she wasn’t wearing a strapless gown that revealed milk-pale shoulders and cleavage that would make a man’s mouth water for a glimpse of what lay beneath the sheer black lace. Instead, the woman in the snapshot was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a sweatshirt that only gave a hint of the curves that lay beneath. Instead of looking sexy, she looked wholesome seated in the center of a pile of leaves. Her hair was pulled up into a lopsided ponytail strewn with leaves in various shades of orange and gold and brown. Her lips were bare and the smile on them totally lacking in artifice as she clutched the laughing little boy in her lap.

      “I took that the day before she left. She and Timmy were raking the yard for me, and they were having such a good time. I remember thinking how happy they looked that day,” she said, her expression softening with the memory. “I thought Beth might like to have the picture, to remember her time here with me.”

      “I’ll see that she gets it,” Michael promised, and tucked the photo into his pocket.

      Later that night in his hotel room Michael made a series of calls and planned a trip to Elisabeth Webster’s grandmother’s old neighborhood, then he stretched out on the bed. Pulling the snapshot out of his shirt pocket, he stared at the woman whose green eyes had haunted him from the moment he’d first seen them in the framed photograph on Adam Webster’s desk. While he’d found the sexy Elisabeth Webster appealing, it was this softer version of the woman that intrigued him. “Who are you?” he murmured to the fragile-looking woman in the photo. Was she the calculating, coldhearted gold digger who’d drugged her husband and stolen his child? Or was she this innocent-looking creature who pitched in to help a sick old woman in need?

      The sound of his cell phone ringing pulled Michael from his disturbing thoughts. He tossed the photo onto the nightstand and snatched up his phone. “Sullivan.”

      “I got your message. You said you had some news for me. Have you found Elisabeth?”

      Michael gritted his teeth at the sound of Webster’s voice and reminded himself that the man was paying him to do a job. “Not yet. But I’m getting closer. I talked to some people in Arkansas who knew her as Beth. She left here about two and a half months ago.”

      “I’m not interested in where my wife was, Mr. Sullivan. I want to know where she is now.”

      “The best way for me to find her is to retrace her path so I can get an idea of where she was headed. Thanks to the bozos you sent after her, getting people to talk hasn’t been easy.”

      “If finding my wife was easy, I wouldn’t be offering you such a large sum of money to find her, now, would I?” He paused. “Of course, if you don’t think you can find her—”

      “I’ll find her, and the boy, too. I talked to the owner of the boardinghouse in Arkansas where they stayed and was able to get a more recent photo of her and your son.”

      “I want to see it,” Webster demanded.

      “I’ve already overnighted a copy to you. I’m headed for Alabama in the morning to check out a lead.”

      “What kind of lead?”

      “The lady who ran the boardinghouse said your wife mentioned visiting one of her grandmother’s old neighbors.”

      “But Elisabeth’s grandmother has been dead for more than ten years. She’s had no contact with any of those people,” Webster told him.

      “Like I said, I’m checking out a lead.” What he didn’t tell Webster was that the lead would take him to New Orleans.

      “It sounds like a waste of time to me. Just be aware that the clock is ticking on our agreement, Sullivan. You said you could find my wife within thirty days. Don’t disappoint me.”

      “I’ll deliver on my end of the bargain. You just make sure you have the rest of my money ready,” Michael said, then he cut the connection.

      Tired, Michael lay back down on the bed. But when ten minutes had passed and he was no closer to sleeping than he’d been when he’d lain down, Michael sat up. Might as well get a head start for Mobile and then get on to New Orleans, he decided. And after grabbing his bag СКАЧАТЬ