Down to the Needle

Chapter 4

Chapter 4“What makes you believe she's Margaret?” To think he almost accused her of jumping to conclusions about the inmate. Now they'd both best slow down their thinking.

He let out a long discouraging sigh. “Well, I'm not entirely sure that's who she is. I saw her when I popped in on you at The Beacon, about five, six weeks ago.” He exhaled a quick breath, as if once started, needing to get the details out. “I haven't been able to get that face out of my mind.” His expression was pathetic as he dealt inwardly with a past that might have come back to haunt him.

“It's driving you crazy, isn't it?” Abi leaned over to him. He buried his face in the soft collar of her jacket. “Maybe you should show me her picture.”

He pulled away suddenly to look at her. “Wha-at?”

“Edith and I can watch for her.”

“You'd do that?”

She looked straight into his eyes and smiled warmly. “Don't you know me?”

“It's… It's too big a favor. This is my—”

“Nonsense. Is peace of mind too much to ask for?”

“Abi, I don't think you understand. This was a woman—”

“Don't say it. Don't explain.” At that precarious moment, she didn't want to hear him obsess over another woman, even if it was that far in the past. How ironic it would be if Joe positively identified his old flame and Abi would be left still desperate to find her daughter. It would be the same, as in the past, when she was active in other missing girl searches, who turned out not to be her daughter, leaving her in a state of despondent yearning.

“I do love you, Abi.” He reached to squeeze her hand. “But why does this feel so threatening?” The bond they shared could bolster his strength, but now his commitment might also be tested.

“Let it play out. Maybe the woman only resembles Margaret.”

“It's something I've got to know, as much as you need to know about Winnaker now.”

“Bring me her picture as soon as you can.”

He hesitated but seemed relieved. “The ones I have are decades old. Only I might recognize her after all this time.”

“Then go to The Beacon more often. Edith would help with this.”

“Okay. I've already gone to some homeless camps. I thought I saw her again at The Gully out east.”

“Ulgh! That horrible place?” How could a wealthy woman like Margaret end up in a place like that, or even homeless, for that matter? “Describe the woman, Joe, her features. What was she wearing?”

“Dull brown hair with lots of gray, shoulder length, kinda scraggly. Margaret used to lighten her hair, and this woman's face is a lot fuller on the bottom half, you know, middle aged.”

Not many people their age had firm jowls and chin any longer. Abi managed a wry smile. “What else?”

“She wore an old brown wool coat and a faded red scarf around her neck.”

“Sounds like many other women out there.” But here he was, unsure about whom he had seen and fearing the worst.

“Yeah, but she looked straight at me.”

“Recognized you?”

“It's hard to explain. Our eyes met. I saw a flicker of something, but this woman's face was so weathered, wrinkled, you know. Just for a split second….”

“Did she say anything? Did you?”

He turned down the heat and then turned off the motor as well. Their breaths had fogged the windows. “She left too quickly. Walked right past me.”

“That's all? And that reminded you of Margaret?”

“Well, the dirty old coat and scarf and run-down shoes, they weren't cheap when they were new. Those used to be good clothes. That's the only way they could have withstood time. If that was who I think it was, those clothes tell me she's been on the street a while.”

“Could have been someone's castoffs. The Goodwill and the Salvation Army also give free clothes to the homeless.”

“True.”

“What was it specifically that made you think of Margaret?”

“It's hard to explain, Abi. Just like you said you'd know your little girl if you saw her again.”

“Then we'd better find her.” Abi understood, but wondered if each of their distractions might pull them apart. Not because of secrets or hidden motives, but because one person could handle only so much. Somehow, they had to continue to support and help one another.

“I've done something else.” He looked as if hesitating to continue the conversation. “I gave an old photo of Margaret to a friend of mine. Velma works for the Police Department and uses a computer to age people's faces.” He breathed deeply, like having just been relieved of a horrible burden. He swiped at the foggy windows and looked out toward the sea wall.

When computer aging had turned up no clues, Abi had forgotten about the old images. “I've had Becky aged twice, when she would have been younger.”

Joe turned to face her. “How long ago?”

“When she would have been about ten, another time in her teens.” Abi sighed. “Still we couldn't find her.” She should have had a new aging done showing Becky as an adult.

“Do it again, Abi. She's an adult now, not a kid or a teen anymore. Do it again.”

“With your friend Velma?”

“She's the best in the country.”

Not to miss an opportunity, Abi fumbled in her purse and brought out her wallet. Her fingers trembled as she withdrew a frayed photograph of Becky at about five years of age. “Give her this.”

He accepted the photo then frowned. “We've discussed that mark before.” He pointed to a large mole on the cherub cheek near the ear. “For what it's worth, Megan Winnaker doesn't have that.” The flat mole was visible yet not unsightly. It was even cute, a beauty mark on a little beauty.

She stared intently into his eyes. Momentary relief washed over her, but her intuition reminded not to dismiss any possibilities. “There are ways of removing those things, you know that.”

“Well, this isn't exactly a frontal view.” He stared at the photograph, caressed the fragile remnant between his fingertips. “Guess it'll have to do.”

The possibilities were exciting. “Please, ask Velma to try. I don't care what it costs.”

“All right. I guess I don't know much about your daughter.”

“Here, it was here.” Abi felt the excitement. “Becky loved to sit on this pier in the sunlight and draw.” Abi had become overly excited. She took a deep breath to prevent her heartbeat from racing. “When those hills changed colors in the fall, that's what sparked her interest in color gradations.”

Joe eased the ragged old photo into his shirt pocket and pressed his hand against it. He wiped more fog from the windows as he studied the pier and then the hills. “What might a fledgling artist be able to capture about this area?”

“She drew everything, even the rocks.”

“Over there.” He pointed to a large outcropping atop the cliff overlooking the bay. “Did she ever draw that rock?”

“Monk's Hood? Yes, that's Becky's rock. That's how she learned about penumbra.”

“At that age? She knew about color gradations?”

Abi smiled, remembering. “She didn't know the word penumbra, but she understood gradations in shadowing, that sort of thing.” Understanding and producing art came naturally for her young daughter. Becky was truly gifted.

“It does look like a hood.”

“For Becky's last Halloween, she wore a monk's cape and hood.” The memory made her smile. Then she saddened, remembering that the hood and most of Becky's clothes remained stored in boxes. She had finally moved them to her shop storeroom, in order to keep from brooding over them too often at home where she could more easily reach them.

He rolled the side window down so they could better see. A rush of cold air invaded the interior of the vehicle. “So, you call this Becky's rock. I guess Monk's Hood attracts no one else. They can't even sell that property.”

“It's way overpriced.”

“Sure, because look up the hill behind that outcropping.”

“Yeah, if someone could afford to clear those huge boulders off that slope, a house up there would have views of heaven.”

No one in Seaport could afford to do that even though both fishy-smelling Seaport and Creighton, mostly known as an artsy enclave, had ample shares of wealthy investors buying up the land. Plenty good land for investing surrounding both towns. No one in either town had ever shown any interest in the rocky cliff and the effort it would take to clear that patch of monster boulders.

“Some foreign investor will find it soon enough.” They sat quietly another moment. Suddenly Joe drew a sharp breath. “The rocks, the sea wall. Remember what the newscaster said about Winnaker coming here?

“A picture?”

“Yes, Winnaker came to this town because of a picture in a magazine.”

She gasped. “A picture of Pt. Meare, maybe?” Her heart beat wildly. “The pier, Joe, the pier and the bay are always in travel magazines.”

“I don't think anyone ever asked her specifically. They thought she was making excuses, lying about her real reason for being in town. In my studio, I think she mentioned this place, Pt. Meare and the bay!”

Abi couldn't control her surprise. “Your studio? Megan Winnaker came to your studio?” Joe evidently wanted to forget the details, never having mentioned his involvement with the inmate. Or was he simply embarrassed having been that close to her? Yet, how could he put her totally out of mind since the case would be coming to a close with possible lethal injection?

Joe had reached to turn on the ignition again but dropped the hand to his lap. “I remembered filming her in one of the tent camps where she lived back then, under that train trestle in the hills.” He spoke cautiously. “She photographed well and expressed something haunting from behind those eyes of hers. I looked but never saw her again. Then she showed up at The Beacon. I approached her with the intention of including her and a few others as a focal point of my exhibit. I couldn't believe it.” He smiled suddenly. “She agreed to come to my studio.”

“You got that close?”

“She came several times.”

Abi's heart pounded more rapidly than it should. Her need to find her daughter was greater than her need to stay out of an ugly situation. “We need that magazine.”

“I hope the publisher is still in business.” Then his face took on an almost frightening look of revelation, as if knowing more than he dared say. Finally he spoke. “I've got a few minutes. Can you come with me?”

“Where? My sales girl is off today.” That meant Abi needed to be in her shop during business hours.

“I've got an idea. Get going. I'll meet you at your shop.”