“Milt was furious,” Kyra continued. “He threatened her.”
“She went to the police?”
“Yes. She applied for another restraining order. Milt hired a lawyer to sue for joint custody.”
“He wants the kids?”
“Of course not. He wants to make her pay for getting remarried. He’s a drunk and a jerk. My sister has terrible taste in men.”
She didn’t add that it seemed to be a family trait.
“Including her new husband?”
Kyra bit the tip of her tongue before answering. “I don’t know him. They were married a few months ago.”
“Where does Fillmont work?”
“The Oak Forest Country Club. I’m not sure what he does there, something to do with the golf course, I think.”
“O’Shay?” someone called.
“Be right there.” He turned back to her. “Sit here a little longer, all right?”
His hand was warm on hers. She wondered when he’d taken it. Now he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and stood, leaving her to talk with a pair of plain clothes officers. After a moment the three disappeared inside the house.
The power company arrived and the repair crew was ushered through the police line. Time trickled past. Her watch was at a jeweler’s being repaired, so she had no idea how late it was. She fidgeted, needing to be doing something besides sitting and thinking in circles. Anxious now, she waited for the detective to return. When he did, he motioned for her to join him.
“This is Detective Todd Berringer and Captain Walsh, Kyra.”
She barely acknowledged the introduction. Her eyes riveted on what she could see of the living-room disaster through the open front door. She stepped past them and moved inside, surveying the scene in sick dread. Every stick of furniture had been sliced open. Every breakable object had been broken in sheer, wanton destruction. An undecorated artificial Christmas tree lay on its side, a box of ornaments crushed beneath it.
Tears blurred her vision. She blinked hard to hold them at bay. “Why?”
“It appears someone was looking for something,” one of the men said.
Kyra shook her head, keeping her eyes averted until she felt more in control. “My sister doesn’t have anything of value. Maybe a few pieces of jewelry, but this…”
Helplessly she stared at a handmade ornament that had rolled nearly to the door. She lifted it gently. Kip had made this when he was in kindergarten. She had a blue one just like it.
“Ms. Wolfstead, I’m sorry, but is this your sister?” Detective Berringer removed a picture from a shattered glass frame and handed her the torn photograph.
Casey and the children smiled up at her. The photo had been taken more than a year ago. Kyra carried a wallet-sized version in her purse.
The tears came close to spilling over as she stared at the photo. Everyone always commented on how much Kyra resembled her older sister. It was several seconds before she could do more than nod. “Yes. And that’s Kip, Brian and Maggie.”
He produced another photo in a cracked plastic frame that showed Casey and Jordan standing outside the courthouse on their wedding day. She had a copy of that picture as well.
“That’s Casey and her husband, Jordan,” she confirmed. “Is the entire house like this?”
“Pretty much.”
“Did you find…?” She couldn’t bring herself to say blood, but Detective O’Shay was there, touching her lightly.
“There’s no blood, Kyra. Nothing to tell us if this mess happened while the family was still here or if they came home to find the house like this. We know Kip is alive. There’s no reason to think the rest of the family isn’t as well.”
More than anything she wanted to believe him, but seeing this destruction…“Casey would have called me if she could have.”
The men exchanged looks. It was Detective Berringer who spoke again. “Ms. Wolfstead, you say your sister didn’t have anything of value. What about cash? Some people don’t like banks.”
“My sister’s a waitress. Her husband works at a country club. They don’t have a lot of cash.”
Once again Detective O’Shay touched her arm lightly. There was an almost apologetic expression in those deep gray eyes.
“Kip has been going into the local convenience store since Monday. He’s been buying food and carrying it away in his backpack. Every purchase has been paid for with a one-hundred-dollar bill.”
For a second she didn’t understand what he was telling her. Then she couldn’t breathe. “That’s crazy.” The words came out as a whisper.
“Could your sister or her husband be involved in drugs, Ms. Wolfstead?” Detective Berringer asked.
“What? No! Casey has children!”
The men exchanged another look. She could almost hear the silent question that passed between them. How well did she really know her sister? Choking back a protest, she forced herself to think. Even unvoiced, it was a valid question and it deserved an honest answer.
“I was a senior in high school when Casey married Milt. There are eleven years between us.” And the difference in their ages had kept them from being as close as she would have liked. “But she’s my sister. We keep in touch, even though we don’t see each other very often. My job’s in Boston. Casey lives here.”
Was it possible? Could Casey be using drugs? Would Kyra know if she was? Yes, she was sure she’d know. Casey was her sister!
“My sister isn’t into drugs,” she stated more firmly. “I can’t speak for her husband, but look at this house. They rent. They don’t even own this place. She’s had that same shabby Christmas tree since before Kip was born. If they had the sort of money drug-dealing is supposed to net, don’t you think they’d live better than this? My sister drives a seven-year-old car! It’s always breaking down. I’ve sent her money for repairs. Jordan’s no bigwig. I won’t believe they’re involved in drugs.”
Detective O’Shay’s gaze bored into hers. “Drug habits are expensive.”
Kyra closed her eyes. “I don’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it,” she added more softly.
“I understand, but where would Kip get several hundred dollars in cash?”
“I don’t know!” Her voice fell to almost a whisper. “I don’t know.”
And she still wanted to cry, but now her eyes felt dry and scratchy. In order to help Casey and the children, she needed to remain calm and answer their questions. And they had a lot of questions. It was dismaying to realize how few answers she could give. Tired beyond thought, she finally shook her head. “May I look around? Maybe I’ll see something that will help.”
Detective O’Shay nodded. “I was going to ask you to do that.”
She drew strength from his solid presence as they moved silently from room to room. The downstairs and the master bedroom had been the focus of the destruction. The children’s rooms showed more cursory searches. In those rooms, drawers and closets had been rifled and the mattresses had been sliced open and overturned, but the damage wasn’t nearly as bad as in the other rooms. Maggie’s bedroom had barely been disturbed at all.
Decorated in pastels, her tiny room had obviously been intended as an office. A built-in bookcase sat along one wall where a closet should have been. Stuffed toys and children’s books had been pulled from the shelves. The dresser drawers had been dumped but nothing was broken.