Ann Voss Peterson - Serial Bride

As if he had to ask. She was itching to talk to Professor Bertram. To find out what in the world he’d been thinking when he’d arranged for Diana to talk to Kane. And if he’d known about the threats, why hadn’t he reported it to the police? Why he hadn’t sounded the alarms? But most importantly, she needed to know if he knew anything that could help find her sister.

Sylvie swung her door open and climbed out just as Bryce circled the car. They walked up the cobblestone sidewalk to a front door half shrouded with wide, red-edged leaves of ivy. Bryce stabbed the doorbell button.

Chimes echoed through the house. A moment later footsteps tapped across a wood floor inside and an eye peered through the peephole. “Yes?” A woman’s voice.

“My name is Sylvie Hayes and this is Bryce Walker.” She projected her voice, hoping the woman could hear her through the door. “We’d like a word with Professor Bertram. Is he home?”

“No.”

“Do you know when he will be home?” Bryce asked.

“No.”

“Is this Mrs. Bertram?”

Silence.

Strange. Wisconsin Heights was not a neighborhood that seemed to call for a lot of security. Mostly home to university professors and well-to-do business leaders in Madison, it was a safe neighborhood in an area overflowing with safe neighborhoods. Except for the nighttime visit, which would make anyone wary, there didn’t seem to be a reason for Mrs. Bertram’s apparent paranoia.

Sylvie couldn’t help thinking about the night before when Bryce had knocked on the door of Diana’s apartment. She had answered, yet had been careful to keep the door chain secured. She’d known at the time that if Bryce had wanted, he could have easily kicked in the door and broken the chain. But even though the chain offered little real protection, after the shock she’d suffered at the church finding Reed injured and Diana gone, she hadn’t wanted to expose herself to a stranger.

Judging by Mrs. Bertram’s reluctance to open the door, or even to answer, she was even more frightened. Sylvie couldn’t help but wonder what or who had spooked her.

Bryce raised his eyebrows at Sylvie. Apparently he had a few questions about Mrs. Bertram, too. “We need to talk to Professor Bertram about a graduate student who is working with him on one of his research projects.”

“My sister, Diana Gale,” Sylvie added.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that. He doesn’t live here anymore. He hasn’t for many years.”

But he’d been listed in the phone book. “You’re divorced?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Disappointment seeped into Sylvie’s bones like the chill of approaching winter. “Do you have his address?”

“Of course I have it. That doesn’t mean I’m going to give it to you.”

“We really need to talk to him. My sister has disappeared.”

“And you think Vincent can help you?”

“We hope so,” Bryce answered.

“What project was your sister working on for Vincent?”

Sylvie hesitated. Not only did she hate saying the name out loud, she doubted dropping Kane’s name would do anything to make this obviously frightened woman more open or responsive. But then, not telling her the name wasn’t going to get them anywhere, either. “Diana interviewed Dryden Kane.”

She could hear Mrs. Bertram’s sharp intake of breath even through the door. Silence followed that was so complete Sylvie thought the woman might have walked away.

Suddenly the clack of two dead bolts sliding open cut the quiet. The door inched open and Mrs. Bertram peered out. Skin nearly as white as her hair, she blinked even in the darkness, like a mouse venturing out of a safe, dark hole. “Stop by Vincent’s office. He’ll be happy to help all he can.”

Sylvie let out a heavy breath. “I was really hoping to talk to him before Monday.”

The woman glanced at her watch. “He’s probably there now.”

“On a Saturday night?”

“He usually stops back after dinner, says it’s quieter then, better for concentrating on his book. But if your sister’s disappearance has something to do with that monster, he won’t mind the interruption. He’ll do everything he can to help.”

Sylvie wished she could shake the woman’s hand, something to let her know her appreciation. But despite the way the woman had opened the door to talk to them, Sylvie still got the feeling that a touch from a stranger wouldn’t be welcomed. She settled on a smile. “Thank you so much.”

The woman gave her a nod and retreated, closing the door behind her.

Sylvie glanced up at Bryce, eager to get his impression of what had happened.

He was looking past her, in the direction of the street.

She followed his line of sight. The one-way street was quiet. Except for an older man walking a dog and a blue service van pulling into a side street, it looked as though the entire neighborhood was spending Saturday night snuggled in their living rooms. “What do you see?”

Cupping her elbow, he steered her down the walk and driveway, toward his BMW. “I’ll tell you in the car.”

As he circled the car, she jumped into the passenger seat. She had just enough time to secure her seat belt before Bryce pulled away from the curb. “Okay, out with it. What’s going on?”

Eyes flitting to the rearview mirror, he slowly wound through the quiet neighborhood and headed west on University Avenue. “Did you notice the van?”

“The blue one?”

He nodded.

“Are you thinking it’s strange for a service van to be driving around on a Saturday night?”

“Yes, but that’s not all.”

“I hate playing guessing games. Will you just tell me?”

“It belongs to a food service. The type of business that provides produce, meat and canned goods to institutional settings like nursing homes.”

That was about as straightforward as another riddle. “Okay, I’ll bite. You’re wondering what it was doing in that neighborhood?”

He nodded. “On a Saturday night.”

Okay, so that did seem odd. But there could be a perfectly innocent explanation. “Maybe the owner of the company lives there. Or an executive.”

“Did you see the driver?”

“No.”

“Remember the redheaded guy who was listening in on our conversation in the hallway of your sister’s building? Diana’s neighbor?”

She hadn’t paid much attention to him, not enough to pick him out in a crowd. “He’s driving the van?”

“It’s dark, but yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s him.”

“Why would he be in this neighborhood?”

“The real question is, why is he following us? Look out the back window.”

Sylvie twisted sideways in her seat as if she was talking to Bryce. Covertly she glanced out the back window. Sure enough. Several car lengths back, she saw the hulking shape of a panel van. “You’re right. Why on earth would Diana’s neighbor be following us?”

Bryce veered right on an exit lane that crossed under the street. “I don’t know. But I aim to find out.”

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