Doubt (Caroline Auden #1) - C. E. Tobisman Page 0,43
standing with a small woman in a lab coat. The woman was birdlike, with jet-black hair, crescent eyes, and refined, tiny features. Franklin had close-cropped hair, graying at the temples. The woman only came up to Franklin’s chest, giving her an almost childlike scale.
Caroline looked over at Yvonne with a question in her eyes.
“Dr. Wong,” Yvonne said. “She worked with my husband for the last ten years.”
“Was your husband tall?” Caroline asked.
“Yes, but Annie’s small. Just a wisp of a thing. But a heck of a scientist. That’s what Franklin always said about her.”
“Would she have a copy of the article?” Caroline asked.
“Maybe. But I haven’t seen her since Franklin died. She didn’t even come to the funeral.”
Caroline could hear the chagrin tingeing Yvonne’s voice.
“Annie’s boyfriend came, but not her,” Yvonne added, wrinkling her nose slightly as if she’d smelled something unpleasant. Caroline got the impression the elegant socialite didn’t like Dr. Wong’s boyfriend very much.
“Maybe Dr. Wong got scared when Dr. Heller died,” Caroline offered. She paused. “Maybe she . . . ran.”
Yvonne met and held Caroline’s eyes. In Yvonne’s gaze, Caroline saw a reflection of the maelstrom of unspoken worries in her own.
“Wherever she is, I hope she’s okay,” Yvonne said. Her brow knit with concern. “Annie doesn’t have a lot of family to lean on . . .”
Caroline recalled her frosty conversation with Annie’s father and the evident rift between the elder and younger Dr. Wongs.
Replacing the picture, Caroline cast a final glance back at the faces of the people who’d written the missing article. Two people who knew what SuperSoy did. Both were gone now. One to the grave. The other to Lord knew where . . .
Caroline studied the only other picture on the desk. In the image, Franklin wore compression shorts, a tank top, and a racing bib with his runner number printed on it in big block numbers. He had draped a long arm around Yvonne, who squinted into the sun. Behind them, an archway of balloons anchored between two palm trees announced the finish line for a race.
Something familiar on the runner’s bib caught Caroline’s eye.
“What does BABC stand for?” she asked, pointing at the cursive letters printed above Franklin’s runner number. It was the same string of letters that appeared at the beginning of Franklin’s final text message.
“Bon Air Beach Club,” said Yvonne. “That picture was taken at the end of the club’s annual charity run.”
Caroline had heard of the Bon Air Beach Club. Restricted to the wealthiest, most well-connected souls in the city, it rarely admitted new members, preferring to fill its membership rolls with the scions of prior generations.
“Are you members?” Caroline asked. The subject was delicate. Many of the clubs that dotted the shores of Los Angeles still had restrictive policies against admitting people of color. If not in their official bylaws, then in their admission practices they’d maintained the same level of homogeneity for over a century.
“Yes,” Yvonne said. “Franklin’s father was Terrence Heller. The congressman. He was the club’s first African-American member. The club still hasn’t come around on admitting gay members, but it was far ahead of the curve on race. Bon Air was always a part of Franklin’s life, and so it became a part of mine after we married.”
Caroline considered the location of Franklin’s death, just a mile or so south of the Bon Air Beach Club.
“Do you think that BABC in Franklin’s text message refers to the club? The letters are the same,” Caroline pointed out, even though it was obvious.
Caroline’s eyes narrowed. Could it really have been an oversight?
“Maybe Franklin hid a copy of his article somewhere at the club?” Caroline suggested. She watched Yvonne carefully for her reaction.
Yvonne shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Can you get me into the club?” Caroline asked.
Yvonne sighed. “I suppose, but I’d need to make special arrangements. Some of our celebrity members have had some trouble with the paparazzi. I might need to get board approval to allow a nonmember to wander around the facility.”
Caroline held her eyes.
“I guess I could see what I could do,” Yvonne said in a flat tone.
Yvonne’s lukewarm commitment gave Caroline no confidence.
“The sooner the better,” Caroline said, even as her mind raced for other ways to locate the missing article in case Yvonne’s efforts to arrange for her to search the club were as anemic as her enthusiasm for the idea.
“What about Annie Wong’s boyfriend?” Caroline asked. “Perhaps he knows where Annie went.