“What made her suspect the kid might have really seen something?”
“When Karen didn’t show up and I told her the same story I told the others.”
“What was that?”
“That she hated her father and he was coming out to bring her back home, so she was going to split town.”
“The others believed it, but Doris didn’t?”
“She said Karen had told her she liked her father.”
“Did Doris tell the others that?”
Headshake. “Lenny was into plants, real stupid; he’d believe anything. Mary and Sue were hippies; they hated their folks.”
“So Doris kept her story to herself.”
Shrug.
“Why didn’t you tell them Lowell’s story about the fight?”
“I told you, he didn’t want any of that getting out. Nothing that could connect Karen to him. Actually, he made up the other story as a replacement. At first he said to say her father abused her. I didn’t make it that strong.”
“Why not?”
“It just wasn’t right—too much.”
Looking at me, as if for praise.
“So the others bought it,” I said, “but Doris didn’t. And she started to wonder if the little kid had seen something happen to Karen.”
“She didn’t know anything for sure, but she came to me and told me about finding the kid. Kind of thinking out loud.”
“Wanting more than two fifty.”
Silence.
“How much did you give her?”
“Seven fifty more.”
“One thousand total. How much did she think Lowell gave you?”
Hesitation.
“It’s just a matter of time before we find her and ask her, Gwen.”
“Two and a half thousand,” she said very softly.
“So she thought she was getting more than you. When did she realize you’d held back on her?”
“She didn’t.”
“Then why are you still paying her off?”
“Who says we are?”
“The police. And Tom was there to pick her up and take her to the airport. There’s obviously some relationship there. Do she and Tom have something going?”
She laughed. “No, he hates her.”
“Because she’s got a hook in you?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Not like what?”
“Blackmail or anything like that. She just comes to us when she’s broke—its like charity. She’s got . . . a problem.”
“Compulsive gambling.”
Her head snapped up. “If you know everything, why do you need me?”
“How long have you been financing her addiction?”
“Off and on. Most of the time she’s okay, but then she goes off drinking and gambling and wipes herself out. So we help her—it’s a sickness.”
Remembering the boys on the lawn, I said, “Does she ever win?”
“Play enough, you’re bound to. One time she won big. Fifteen thousand at craps in Tahoe—fifteen thousand. Next day she blew it all at the same table. We feel sorry for her. She’s Tom’s first cousin, used to baby-sit him. After she got married, she started drinking and gambling.”
“How much have you given her over the years?”
“Never added it up, but plenty. She probably could have bought a house, but she doesn’t care about normal things—that’s why her husband left her. We help her ’cause she’s family.”
The room was cool but she was sweating, and her mascara started to run. She grabbed a tissue from a box on the desk and took a long time to wipe her eyes.
I understood Doris’s hostility to her and Tom, now. The rage of the charity receiver.
“Okay?” she said. “Is that enough for you?”
“Where did Tom take her?”
“To the airport.”
“Where did she fly?”
“I don’t know. And that’s the truth. She just said she wanted to get out of town for a while. You spooked her. She was worried you’d rake things up.”
“Did she feel guilty about never telling anyone what she’d seen?”
“How would I know?”
“Did she start drinking and gambling after the party or before?”
“Before. I told you, it was right after she got married. She was only seventeen, then she had her kids.”
“Two boys,” I said. “One in Germany, one in Seattle.”
She looked away.
“What’s the name of the son in Seattle?”
“Kevin.”
“Kevin Reingold?”
Nod.
“At what army base is he stationed?”
“I don’t know, somewhere up there.”