Visions of Hope Read online

  * * *

  Kipp looked up in time to see a woman in a black sheath bounding his way. Before he had time to make a move or say anything, the woman gave him a quick hug.

  "Hey, buddy, remember me?"

  Kipp stepped back and looked her over. "Ellen West, or used to be West. You look the same."

  "Oh, don't give me that bullpucky. Look at me." She held her arms out and shifted her gaze to her body.

  For a moment he was at a loss for words. But always the consummate diplomat, he told her she looked great.

  "I'll take any compliment I can get," Ellen said. "Hey, do you remember the time we collided at the Madison game when you were running toward the sidelines? You slipped in the mud and slid right into me. I thought I'd been hit by a truck."

  "I can't say I remember that, but I hope I apologized."

  "Apologize? It upset you about as much as it did me. Those were the days. Say, what have you been up to lately?"

  Kipp dreaded the questioning. He opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by a woman intent on speaking to Ellen. Thinking this was his way out of the situation, he prepared to turn back to his buddies, but the woman made her departure in time for Ellen to return her attention to him.

  Ellen smiled at Kipp. "So where's the missus?"

  "There is no missus."

  "Really. Well, why don't you come say hello to a friend of mine? We'd like to hear what you've been doing with your life." She looked in Libby's direction, but Libby's chair was vacant. "I wanted you to meet Libby, but she must have gone to the ladies' room. I'll go check. Be back in a flash."

  Kipp watched Ellen breeze through the room and out the door. This whole reunion thing was beginning to feel stifling. He ran his hand under his collar where perspiration had formed.

  "That Ellen is still a card," Bill said. "Want another beer? You might need one before you meet the infamous Libby McGraw."

  The thought of that panicked Kipp. He wasn't in the mood for talking to a nutcase or witch or whatever she was. "You know, I think I'll run over to the station and find Charlie."

  "You don't have to leave. Charlie might show up later. Come on. Have another beer."

  "I'll be back. I'd like to talk to Charlie in private." Kipp shook hands with his buddies and strode toward the door of the ballroom. On his way outside he saw neither Ellen nor Libby.

  He removed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt down to the middle of his chest. The breeze was light but provided little relief from the heat that had persisted into the evening. A few classmates, whom he didn't recognize, stood smoking nearby.

  Just as he reached his car, a silver Accord headed in his direction. As it slowly passed by, he made eye contact with a woman in a white jacket and dark chin-length hair. He nodded to her before sliding into his seat. So that was Libby McGraw. Without a doubt, even if the woman was a nutcase, she was rather well put together.

  Kipp drove through the main part of town, down the same streets he'd driven as a teenager, past the old Penney's store, now an office building, past Starbucks where Miller's Department Store used to be. Restaurants had come and gone since Kipp lived in town; nothing stayed the same.

  He recalled the hours driving with his buddies on Friday nights after the games, following girls and keeping one step out of trouble. He wondered whatever had happened to some of his old girlfriends, although he had seen one of them tonight: Jill, with her husband Fred. It all seemed so long ago.

  He drove into the parking lot of the Harbordale Police Station and parked near the entrance to the one-story building that had to be as old as Kipp, its rough exterior badly in need of paint, the shrubbery surrounding it dense and overgrown.

  The town's forty thousand inhabitants had yet to pass a levy to replace the building and its overpopulated jail. Over the years other more pressing projects had taken precedence, such as the updated sewage plant and the new high school building.

  Detective Charlie Bender, whose six-foot five-inch frame towered over Kipp's medium height, moved aside to let Kipp enter the station. Behind the counter the desk sergeant, a young man with a crew cut, was sitting under a flickering fluorescent light.

  Charlie slapped Kipp's shoulder and led him into a secured area past several empty cubicles to an office at the end of the hallway.

  "Man, is it good to see you. Come in and sit down." Charlie pulled up a metal chair for Kipp in front of the coffee-stained desk. He sat in a swivel chair and pushed his mug aside. "Does it take a reunion to get you down here?"

  Kipp glanced at the only folder on Charlie's desk. "Why aren't you there with the old gang? It doesn't look like you've been working that hard."

  "I see those jokers around town. Besides, it's not the same without Patty. I don't want to have to answer questions about the divorce."

  "I can understand that," Kipp said.

  "How's your mom and dad? They still in Florida?"

  "Yeah. Your folks still doing okay?"

  "They're slowing down, but they're still in the same house."

  "Do you remember how much time I used to spend there?"

  "Do I? It was like your second home. Have you seen your folks lately?"

  "We don't communicate much."

  "It hasn't changed?"

  "They're still upset about my quitting the TV job," Kipp said. "And now, Kelly."

  Charlie rose to full stature. "Do you want coffee?" When Kipp responded with a shake of his head, Charlie sat again. "Have you heard anything more about your daughter?"

  "Nothing."

  "No leads? Nothing's been happening?"

  "They say they're doing what they can, but they've got a million missing kids. Kelly's on the registry."

  "I meant the dick. You hired a private dick, didn't you?"

  "Yeah, but nothing came up. I'm at a loss."

  "What about Tanya?"

  The sound of his ex-wife's name and the subject of his daughter's disappearance had produced a sinking feeling in the pit of Kipp's stomach. The drab walls, the stuffy odor, and the institutional feel of Charlie's office reminded him of all the other police stations he'd frequented in his search for Kelly. Or maybe it was the lone African violet on the windowsill, the only sign of life in this place, that spurred the urge to bolt. "I think I better go."

  When he made an effort to stand, Charlie asked him to wait. "Listen, I don't know if it will do any good or not, but some police buddies of mine up north gave me the number of, I don't know, a person or organization that helps find missing persons. They're psychics."

  Kipp pushed up from his chair, the tension in his neck adding to the nausea he felt.

  "Wait a minute, Kipp. Hear me out." Charlie rounded the desk as Kipp neared the door. "It's been a while since they told me this, but these people were instrumental in getting important clues that led to finding some kids. We never used their services, but we never had to, yet."

  Kipp waved a dismissal. "I'll talk to you later." He walked out of the room and advanced down the hallway, anxious to get outside, Charlie's footsteps padding after him.

  Charlie put his hand on Kipp's shoulder and stuck a business card in Kipp's shirt pocket. "It never hurts to keep an open mind, Kipp, my man."

  After Kipp was settled in his car, he retrieved the card out of curiosity and snapped on the overhead light. The name of the business was: New Horizons, Intuitive Consulting. He relegated the card to his jacket pocket, alongside his name tag. To Kipp, the subject of his daughter made the reunion seem frivolous, and returning to the hotel to converse with his high school buddies lost any appeal it may have had.

  He turned off the light, started the engine, and steered the car onto I-5 North. In thirty minutes he would exit onto Highway 16 toward Port Anderson.

  * * *

  By the time Libby veered off Slater Road toward Jackson Point, five miles northeast of Harbordale, it was getting dark, and the homes, scattered along the wooded route, provided the only light along the way. Beyond the crest of the hill, she turn
ed onto her private gravel road. Just before her driveway a black-tailed deer darted in front of her headlights and bounded into the forest, one of those lovely perks for those living in the woods.

  Above the treetops the stars were beginning to colonize the night sky. The air was too stagnant for this late at night.

  Once inside, Libby switched on a lamp, draped her jacket over the rocking chair, and kicked off her heels. The high ceilings, white walls, and light décor normally gave the room a cool feel, but the sun, shining through the skylights, had baked the room all day long. Too late to bother with the air conditioner, she dampened a washcloth in the bathroom and dabbed her face.

  Wired from the day's activities, she decided to wait up for Ellen. She set a glass of water on the coffee table next to the overstuffed couch.

  More than happy to be seated in her own house, she leaned her head back to rest. No sooner had she closed her eyes and taken a few deep breaths then she drifted into a dreamlike state. In her mind's eye a picture materialized: sitting across from her in the baby blue recliner in her office, a man with blondish hair removed his wire-rimmed glasses and wept. Startled, she tried but couldn't make a connection to any person or circumstance she was aware of, and she brushed the image off as a silly daydream.

  She curled up on the sofa and dozed until she felt a scratchy sensation on her arm and realized Ellen was laying a blanket over her. "When did you get home?"

  "Just now. I'm sorry I woke you."

  Libby pushed the blanket aside and massaged her neck, stiffened from resting her head against the decorator pillow. "What time is it anyway?"

  "Two-thirty. I stayed and helped clean up. Made sure everyone was taken care of."

  "You're such a mother hen. You were always looking after me and everyone else."

  "That's me. Good old Ellen."

  Libby scooted over and made room for her on the couch.

  "What happened to you tonight? I went looking for you. You up and disappeared," Ellen said.

  "I couldn't stay. I was too uncomfortable and too tired."

  "You missed your chance to meet Kipp."

  Libby gave Ellen a disgusted look. "I guess I sensed it was a good time to leave."

  "He's not married," Ellen offered, but Libby had already crossed the room before Ellen could elaborate. Ellen scurried down the hallway after her. "I didn't have a chance to ask for any other pertinent details. He left early, too."

  "Just as well. Good night, Ellen." Libby fled to the sanctuary of her bedroom and closed the door, away from Ellen's prattle about Kipp.

  But Ellen's comments jogged her memory and reminded her of the eye-to-eye contact she'd made with Kipp in the parking lot. She recalled his wire-rimmed glasses and suddenly made the connection to the image that had surfaced before she fell asleep: the weeping man with the wire-rimmed glasses.

  Though she was at a loss as to how or when, she sensed meeting Kipp Reed would not be a lost opportunity.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 3

  On Monday morning Kipp rose early, showered, dressed, grabbed a cup of coffee, and wandered toward the second bedroom of his two-bedroom house, the room he'd converted into a study where he could do his freelance work.

  The phone rang, and he returned to the kitchen to answer it. Jerry, his friend and editor of New World Magazine, was on the line.

  "I was just going to call you," Kipp said. "I finished the article, and I'll send it today."

  "Great. I'm glad I caught you. Are you on a new assignment yet?"

  "I've got something in the works, but it's not definite. I have to give them my answer soon. But actually I was thinking about taking a break."

  "You need to keep working, Kipp, and keep your mind off things."

  "That's easier said than done."

  "I've got an assignment that will definitely keep your mind occupied. In fact, it will make your head spin."

  "What's the subject?"

  "We want to do an investigation on psychic phenomena, ESP. Who has it, and who doesn't. Who are the real psychics, who are the fakes, and how you tell the difference. That sort of thing. We want a fresh slant. You could even write it from a skeptic's point of view. See what you find out. What do you think?"

  Kipp thought back to the reunion and the talk about someone being a psychic or a witch or something, and what a huge coincidence this was. "That wouldn't be so hard, writing it from a skeptic's point of view. But the subject really doesn't interest me."

  "That's not the answer I was hoping for."

  "Can't you find someone else to write it?"

  "Everyone's on assignment," Jerry said. "Let's just say by asking you I'd be calling in a favor. Remember your first break?"

  "You're going to call that one in, are you? In that case..."

  "This stuff's hot, and you really would be helping me out."

  Kipp growled under his breath. "All right. I'll do it."

  "You're a pal. I'll fax you the guidelines this afternoon."

  "When's the deadline?"

  "Three months, tops."

  "Three months. Do you have any suggestions on where to start? I mean, this isn't my thing."

  "You're the investigative journalist. Interview some psychics," he told Kipp before hanging up.

  Kipp pressed the top of his shoulder where his knotted muscles ached, unsure whether the pain was due to the tension that had settled there since his daughter's disappearance or to his new assignment.

  When he went into the study to ponder the direction he would take the article, he noticed his sport coat, draped over the computer chair, and remembered the business card Charlie had given him. He fished the card from his pocket. "Intuitive Consulting." Hell of a coincidence. Might as well start there. In the kitchen he poured a fresh cup of coffee, sat at the breakfast counter, picked up the phone, and prepared to make the connection.

  The phone rang four times before switching to an answering machine. A woman's voice began, "You've reached the business of New--" Then someone picked up, "New Horizons."

  "Hello. My name is Kipp Reed, and I'm a journalist doing an article on ESP for New World Magazine. I got your number from Detective Bender of the Harbordale Police Department. I was wondering if I might interview you or one of your associates." Kipp paused.

  "Kipp, I mean Mr. Reed, you want to interview Elizabeth."

  "Do I know you? Your voice sounds familiar."

  "I don't think so. I'm the secretary here," the woman said. "Can I make an appointment for you? What day would you like to come?"

  "Would tomorrow be too soon?" In the background he heard papers shuffling.

  "She has a full day tomorrow. How about Wednesday at two?"

  "Fine. Where are you located?"

  "Harbordale." She hastily gave Kipp the address and ended the call before Kipp could ask another question.

  He examined the card, then the address, and wondered who this Elizabeth was. Since the location was Harbordale, he speculated the business might be connected to Libby McGraw, but he dismissed the idea, because anyone who went to graduate school, as Libby allegedly had, would be far too intelligent to be involved in such flaky dealings as ESP.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 4

  When Libby arrived home from another appointment in Seattle, the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee permeated the house, and Ellen greeted her with a glass filled with ice cubes clinking in a rich brown liquid.

  "You're back so soon, Ellen. I'm so glad." Libby accepted the glass of iced coffee. "I could get used to this. Do you want to be my house husband?"

  "I don't have the right equipment. You'll just have to settle for a good friend who will be staying with you for a while."

  "You decided to leave Mel?"

  "I'm just taking some time out. A couple of weeks, if that's okay with you."

  "You know I'd love to have you here as long as you want. I told you that when I gave you the extra house key."

  "I just wanted to make sure before I brought my su
itcase in," Ellen said. "By the way, Kipp Reed called and made an appointment for Wednesday afternoon."

  Before Ellen could open the screen door, Libby latched on to her arm and dragged her back into the room. "Your suitcase can wait. What's this about Kipp Reed?"

  "While you were out, your business line rang, and I answered it. I didn't want you to miss a client. I was just going to take a message and..."

  "Why would he want an appointment?"

  "He's writing an article on ESP and--"

  "You told him he could interview me?"

  "Sure thing."

  Libby noticed Ellen's self-satisfied grin. "Didn't he know it was you?"

  "He was almost on to me, but I didn't give him time to think about it. I said I was your secretary."

  "And does he know it's me he's coming to see?"

  "I only gave him the name Elizabeth." Ellen started toward the door.

  "Wait a minute," Libby said. "You set this up, didn't you?"

  "I couldn't have dreamed this beauty up. It just fell into my hands." The screen door slammed shut as Ellen escaped outside.

  In her bedroom Libby slipped on a pair of shorts and a baggy top, grumbling to herself. There had to be a way out of this situation. No way would she see Kipp Reed.

  Ellen ventured in, sat on Libby's bed, and watched her hang up her skirt and blouse. She ran her hand over the mauve quilt and glanced around at the teak furniture and the Georgia O'Keeffe prints. "You've got such great taste. You could have been an interior decorator."

  "Right now I wish I were," Libby said. "Did you get a number where I could reach him?"

  "Kipp?"

  "Did you get it?"

  "No."

  "Ellen."

  "What do you want his number for?"

  "To cancel. Or have you call and cancel."

  "Why?"

  "First of all, I don't want to do any interviews. And secondly, I don't want to entertain Mr. Reed. How did he get my number anyway?"