Britta took a long drink of her coffee while she thought about this. “I recall that your mother couldn’t find your sister’s doll. I don’t even know why she was looking for it at a time like that. But people do strange things in moments of crisis, I suppose.”
“Was your husband with my father looking for Mercy?”
“No, Myron was at work. He went in early to the office. When your mother called me, I didn’t have a car. I just half ran the whole way.”
“How did you and my mother get to the hospital then?”
“A police officer took us.”
“Did you ever notice any strangers in town? Anyone who gave off an odd vibe?”
She shook her head. “Lee, we didn’t go to town all that much. Neither did your family. We were all just scraping by back then. Myron hadn’t found his calling with the computers yet. We were living paycheck to paycheck, same as your mom and dad. But you girls never wanted for anything. Never went hungry or anything.”
“You have children, I understand?” asked Blum.
“I did. Joe and Mary.” She looked at Pine. “They used to play with you and Mercy.”
“You did have kids?” said Pine.
“Sadly, neither one is still alive.”
“What happened? They were my age, I recall.”
“One in an accident. And one, well, there was a substance-abuse issue.” Britta looked down into her coffee.
“I’m very sorry about that,” said Pine.
“Would you like to see their pictures?”
Pine shot Blum a glance. “Um, sure.”
Britta took a framed photo from a shelf. “This was taken about three years ago.”
Pine and Blum looked at the photo of Mary, a very lovely young woman with long blond hair and an impish smile. Next to her was Joey, a tall man with his arm around his sister.
“They were very close. They died within a month of each other.”
“Oh my God,” said Blum. “That is so terrible.”
“Yes, yes, it was.” She set the photo down on the table.
Pine cleared her throat and let the silence hang for a few seconds. “Lauren Graham told me that my father got into a fight with a gawker at the house later that day. But somebody broke it up. Do you know who that was?”
“That ‘somebody’ is me.”
They all looked over at the doorway, where a man in his fifties, about six feet five, stood. He had flyaway dark gray hair, a pair of wide brown eyes, and gangly limbs. He wore khaki pants and a wrinkled T-shirt, and he was barefoot.
“I’m Myron Pringle.”
Chapter 18
BRITTA ROSE, LOOKING SURPRISED, and checked her watch.
“Myron, what are you doing up?”
“I was tired of sleeping,” he said, not taking his gaze off Pine.
“This is—”
“Yes, I know. Lee Pine. Tim and Julia’s surviving daughter.”
Pine and Blum glanced at each other over this odd phrasing.
“Myron, please, I mean, really,” said Britta in a scolding tone.
Pine rose and put out her hand. “Hello, Mr. Pringle.”
He reluctantly shook hands.
“This is my assistant, Carol Blum.”
Myron didn’t even look at her. “You’re back here investigating your sister’s disappearance?”
“I am.”
“The odds are very much against you.”
“Myron,” said his wife, reproachfully.
He ignored her, opened the fridge, took out a carton of milk, and drank from it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, “I’m just speaking to raw statistics. You could succeed, I’m just telling you that the numbers do not favor you.”
“Thanks, but I already knew that.”
He put the milk back, shut the door, and leaned against the granite-topped kitchen island.
“So you broke up the fight?” she said.
He nodded. “Your father was drunk.”
“Myron, please,” implored Britta again.
Pine could tell from Britta’s weary tone that this was a constant refrain from her.
“Well, he was. But one daughter had vanished. And the other one was badly hurt. I would have been drinking, too,” he conceded.
“Who started the fight?” asked Pine.
“A man named Barry Vincent.”
“How did it start?”
“Vincent accused your father of attacking you and being involved in your sister’s disappearance.”
“I don’t believe he was alone in thinking that,” said Pine.
“Your father would never have done such a thing,” said Britta forcefully.
Pine eyed Myron. “What do you think?”
“I think people are capable of anything. But I saw how your father was with you and your sister. He doted on you both. You were his pride and joy. The man worked hard at his job. He provided for his family. That was really all he had. I don’t see a man like that destroying it.”
“But he was drinking and smoking weed that night,” Pine reminded him.