The Shadow's Edge by Patrick Dakin Page B

floor into an apartment for her. She has her own entrance at the back.”
                  The possibilities were beginning to sound almost too good to be true. “Do you think it would be possible for me to talk to your mother? Is she well enough to have visitors?”
                  “Oh, yeah, for sure. She recovered from the stroke really well. Just moves a little slower these days. She’s had a friend staying with her for a day or so, though. I’d have to check with her to make sure she’s up to seeing you.”
                  There was a quickening of my pulse. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble I’d really appreciate it,” I said.
                  “Okay, well, sit tight. I’ll go and ask her.”
                  A minute later she was back. She had a concerned look on her face and the friendliness she had been exuding was gone. “Mr. Parmenter … are you telling me everything? When I mentioned your name to my mother she  became quite upset.”
                  “Ms. Faeber,” I said as non-threateningly as I could, “unless I’m mistaken, the friend staying with your mother is my wife.”
                  Lauren took a moment to reflect on this. “Well, either way,” she said, “she’s gone. Left last night.”
                  “Does your mother have any idea where she might have gone?”
                  “No, Mr. Parmenter,” Lauren’s mother said from the doorway behind me. I have no idea where Callie went I’m afraid.” She walked carefully into the room and sat beside her daughter. Like her daughter she was an extremely slender woman, probably in her mid-sixties. “I tried to convince her to do the smart thing, to turn herself in to the authorities---”
                  “Mom,” Lauren said, shocked. “What’s going on?”
                  “Callie and her husband here lost their daughter seven years ago,” she explained. “I spoke with Callie several times shortly after the tragedy and, occasionally, over the years since then. She never wanted to take part in the support group meetings but she seemed to find some comfort in talking to me every so often. We became quite good friends in a way. When she … got into trouble recently she came to see me. I tried to make her see the foolishness in running away from her problems but she couldn’t face up to what she had done. When I finally insisted, she left. I’m so sorry, Mr. Parmenter. I fear I didn’t handle things very well.”
              “Did she give you any indication where she might go from here?” I asked, the desperation in my voice all too obvious.
                  “Not really,” she answered. “But she spoke often of your home in Florida. Very sentimental about your lives there before all the misfortune that befell you. If I had to guess I’d say she might go back there.”
                  It didn’t make a lot of sense to me that Callie would return to Florida. Our home had been sold, there was nothing left there for her to gain comfort from. I stood, ready to leave. “Thank you for trying to help her,” I said. I wrote my cell phone number of a piece of notepaper and handed it to her. “Please call me if you hear from her again.”
              “Of course,” she said.
                  “Well, I’d best be going.”
                  “Mr. Parmenter,” the older woman said. “I don’t know exactly what caused your wife to do what she did. I expect she may have been assaulted … possibly raped by this man, on a previous occasion. It’s entirely possible she killed him to prevent a reoccurrence. You need to find her quickly. I don’t fear that she’s a danger to others so much as she is to herself.”
                  I couldn’t have agreed