life of luxury at Evan Cole's expense. Loraine never married, handled Evan's many contributions and loved to grow flowers.
Stunned, Evan found a row of seats and sat down. "You've known Christina was alive…all these years? Why didn't you tell me?"
"At first, Jennifer needed a wealthy husband. And later, there were your sons to consider." It was stormy in New York with black billowing clouds yielding thunder, lightning, and a downpour of hard rain -- a lot like the day Christina vanished. Brandy in hand, Loraine walked to the window, pulled the sheers aside and looked out.
"Loraine?"
"I'm here."
"Are you going to tell me what happened or not?"
Lightening streaked across the sky and thunder quickly followed, booming loudly and ominously, "It's all so very complicated."
"What's complicated? Loraine? …Loraine talk to me."
But Loraine didn't answer. Instead, she slowly set the phone and her drink down on a table. She turned, walked out of the library and closed the door behind her. Her four million dollar house with its five acres of gardens was well known and admired. One last time, she walked down the gold-capered staircase with its dome windows and crystal chandeliers. She crossed the white marble foyer, picked up her clutch bag and pulled out her keys. Quickly, she removed the house key and laid it on a table next to the door.
The expression on Loraine Whitcomb's face was subdued when she climbed into her luxury car and turned on the ignition. In the midst of the dark storm, she calmly drove away.
*
With little left to do but wait, Carl Rhodes took the air crane up for a "spin around the block." His spins usually involved photographing wildlife from high in the air or flying a bit too low over houses to get people to come out. In thirteen years, Jackie paid nearly that many fines and the cost of replacing five cracked windows. But it was a harmless prank, at least so far.
Michael was on to something. He'd been completely engrossed in his work for hours and declined to share anything with her until he was sure, so Jackie decided on a long shower -- at least until the small hot water tank ran cold. Just before she stepped in, she glanced at her watch. It was time for Evan Cole's delayed flight to leave Chicago.
*
Without air conditioning, KMPR's attic was hot and sticky in the summer sun. Collin wiped his brow with a paper towel, and then pulled off his T-shirt. For nearly an hour, music played while Max connected wires from the booth to the new generators in the basement. In a few more minutes, they would shut the power down completely. No big loss. Saturday morning brought few calls anyway. Collin shoved one side of his window open, stuck his head out and lit a cigarette.
"The minute my back is turned," Max teased, shaking his head as he set his toolbox down on the floor. He pulled the new wiring through a hole drilled in the outside studio wall, and then threaded it through another hole into the control room. Next, he checked the length, and then applied caulking to seal both holes. "And where's your shirt? There are laws in Seattle, you know. You gotta wear a shirt, shoes and you can't smoke in a public business."
"So fire me. It's too hot to work up here anyway."
Max put the cap back on the caulking tube and tossed it in his toolbox. "Man, we only get three days of summer a year and you can't take it? What a wimp. Hey, see that spool? Hand it to me, will ya?"
Collin took a drag, laid the cigarette in an ashtray, grabbed the spool of wire, and followed Max into the booth. When he glanced at the console, three lines were lit up. "What the...? Max look!"
Max quickly wiped his hands on his pants and closed the booth door. He waited until Collin was in place, flipped the switch and mumbled, "They're probably calling to complain about the music."
"KMPR, what's on your mind?" Collin asked.
"I've been trying to get you guys to answer for fifteen minutes," a woman blurted out. "Something weird
Stunned, Evan found a row of seats and sat down. "You've known Christina was alive…all these years? Why didn't you tell me?"
"At first, Jennifer needed a wealthy husband. And later, there were your sons to consider." It was stormy in New York with black billowing clouds yielding thunder, lightning, and a downpour of hard rain -- a lot like the day Christina vanished. Brandy in hand, Loraine walked to the window, pulled the sheers aside and looked out.
"Loraine?"
"I'm here."
"Are you going to tell me what happened or not?"
Lightening streaked across the sky and thunder quickly followed, booming loudly and ominously, "It's all so very complicated."
"What's complicated? Loraine? …Loraine talk to me."
But Loraine didn't answer. Instead, she slowly set the phone and her drink down on a table. She turned, walked out of the library and closed the door behind her. Her four million dollar house with its five acres of gardens was well known and admired. One last time, she walked down the gold-capered staircase with its dome windows and crystal chandeliers. She crossed the white marble foyer, picked up her clutch bag and pulled out her keys. Quickly, she removed the house key and laid it on a table next to the door.
The expression on Loraine Whitcomb's face was subdued when she climbed into her luxury car and turned on the ignition. In the midst of the dark storm, she calmly drove away.
*
With little left to do but wait, Carl Rhodes took the air crane up for a "spin around the block." His spins usually involved photographing wildlife from high in the air or flying a bit too low over houses to get people to come out. In thirteen years, Jackie paid nearly that many fines and the cost of replacing five cracked windows. But it was a harmless prank, at least so far.
Michael was on to something. He'd been completely engrossed in his work for hours and declined to share anything with her until he was sure, so Jackie decided on a long shower -- at least until the small hot water tank ran cold. Just before she stepped in, she glanced at her watch. It was time for Evan Cole's delayed flight to leave Chicago.
*
Without air conditioning, KMPR's attic was hot and sticky in the summer sun. Collin wiped his brow with a paper towel, and then pulled off his T-shirt. For nearly an hour, music played while Max connected wires from the booth to the new generators in the basement. In a few more minutes, they would shut the power down completely. No big loss. Saturday morning brought few calls anyway. Collin shoved one side of his window open, stuck his head out and lit a cigarette.
"The minute my back is turned," Max teased, shaking his head as he set his toolbox down on the floor. He pulled the new wiring through a hole drilled in the outside studio wall, and then threaded it through another hole into the control room. Next, he checked the length, and then applied caulking to seal both holes. "And where's your shirt? There are laws in Seattle, you know. You gotta wear a shirt, shoes and you can't smoke in a public business."
"So fire me. It's too hot to work up here anyway."
Max put the cap back on the caulking tube and tossed it in his toolbox. "Man, we only get three days of summer a year and you can't take it? What a wimp. Hey, see that spool? Hand it to me, will ya?"
Collin took a drag, laid the cigarette in an ashtray, grabbed the spool of wire, and followed Max into the booth. When he glanced at the console, three lines were lit up. "What the...? Max look!"
Max quickly wiped his hands on his pants and closed the booth door. He waited until Collin was in place, flipped the switch and mumbled, "They're probably calling to complain about the music."
"KMPR, what's on your mind?" Collin asked.
"I've been trying to get you guys to answer for fifteen minutes," a woman blurted out. "Something weird
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