Metsy Hingle - Behind The Mask

“I saw him a couple of times. A cute kid. But Beth was real protective of him—didn’t let anyone get too close. Except for Miss Margie, of course.”

“Miss Margie?” Michael prompted, suddenly alert.

“Margie Schubert. She owns the boardinghouse where Beth stayed while she was here in El Dorado. Miss Margie watched the little boy for Beth when she was at work. As far as I know, she was the only person Beth trusted him with.”

“Thanks, Susie. You’ve been a big help,” Michael told her, leaving a generous tip on the counter before going in search of Margie Schubert.

Finding Margie Schubert proved to be easy. Getting the lady to talk was a different story. Unlike the people at Perkins’s Drugstore, Margie Schubert was far less forthcoming about the woman who had resided in her boardinghouse. Finally, after nearly an hour, during which time Michael had done his best to convince the woman that he meant dear Beth and her baby no harm, the woman finally relented and agreed to answer a few questions.

“Let me see that ID of yours again,” Ms. Schubert demanded, and Michael handed over his photo credentials, identifying him as a private investigator. She eyed him warily. “You know you’re not the first one to come around here asking questions about Beth.”

“So you’ve told me.” Michael knew from Webster’s reports that two detectives had located Elisabeth in this small, rural town. But the former cop in him suspected it had been two of Webster’s enforcers who had been dispatched to bring back the wayward Mrs. Webster. And given Margie Schubert’s attitude, he was fairly sure that neither of the men had endeared themselves to the older woman.

“They said they were trying to locate Beth to tell her about an inheritance, some rich uncle who’d left her a lot of money.”

Having learned long ago that it was better to stick as close to the truth as possible, he said, “As far as I know, Beth, or rather, Elisabeth, didn’t have any living relatives other than her son and her husband. And, as I told you, I’m searching for her and her son on behalf of her husband. He’s feeling very bad about the spat they had, and he wants her to come home.”

The older woman frowned, her ample jowls giving her a forbidding expression. “Still can’t believe Beth was lying about her being a widow.”

“If it’s any consolation, I suspect she told you that to spare you from becoming involved in any kind of legal action.”

“What kind of legal action?” she asked sharply.

“Well, since Elisabeth…Beth,” he amended. “Since she took her son out of state without the father’s knowledge, it’s considered kidnapping. And since you were helping her, you could be considered an accessory.”

“How can a mother be charged with kidnapping her own child?” Ms. Schubert demanded, apparently not pleased by the accusation. “I’ve never heard such a thing. The poor girl would have spent every cent she earned on day care if I hadn’t kept the little one for her.”

“And it was kind of you to help her.” Michael saw no point in scaring the woman. As far as she was concerned, she’d helped out a friend. “I’m sure her husband will be glad to hear she has a friend like you.”

“You say her husband is rich?”

“Yes, he is,” Michael assured her.

The woman shook her gray head. “The girl sure didn’t act like she was married to money. Why, when I got sick, she was in this kitchen fixing up supper for my other tenants, washing dishes and changing the linens. Never once acted like it was beneath her the way rich folks usually do.”

“She was apparently very fond of you.”

“And I was fond of her,” Ms. Schubert countered. “The last thing I’d want to do is add to the girl’s troubles by talking to you.”

“But you do want to help her, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then, by helping me find her, you would be,” Michael assured the woman. “Even if she decides she doesn’t want to go back to her husband, he would be obligated to help her financially. I’m sure it can’t be easy for her being on her own and having a child to care for, too.”

“She never complained. And she took real good care of Timmy. Why, anyone with eyes in their head could see that as far as Beth was concerned, the sun rose and set on that little boy of hers.”

“Her husband said she was a good mother,” Michael said, although Webster had indicated just the opposite. “I’m sure Mr. Webster would be happy to pay a reward to anyone who could help me find his wife and son.”

“I’m not looking for any reward,” the woman informed him. “And if Beth ran away from the man, she must have had her reasons.”

He was beginning to wonder if the lady was right, but immediately cut off that line of thought. “From what I understand, he and his wife had a nasty argument, and the next thing he knew, she and the little boy were gone. I’m sure you can understand how worried Mr. Webster is, not knowing where they are.”

“I suppose so,” Ms. Schubert told him.

“There are a lot of crazy people out there in the world. Because of Mr. Webster’s wealth, he’s afraid that if the wrong person were to find out that she’s his wife, she and her little boy could be in danger. Maybe even held for ransom.”

“Oh my,” Ms. Schubert said in alarm. “I guess being rich isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Doesn’t seem like it to me,” Michael told her. And because he suspected she was weakening, he added, “If you can think of a place or the name of someone that Beth might have mentioned, anything that might help me locate her, you’d be doing her and her little boy a favor.”

“And if Beth doesn’t want to go back to this Webster fellow, she doesn’t have to?”

“No. Not unless that’s what she wants. My job is to make sure that she and her son are safe, and to let her know that her husband would like to see her. What she does after I tell her is up to her.”

“Well, I don’t know for sure, mind you,” Ms. Schubert began, “but she did mention going to New Orleans. She said her grandmother had an old friend who’d moved there years ago.”

“Did she happen to tell you the name of this friend?”

Margie Schubert shook her head. “And I didn’t ask.”

“Thank you, Ms. Schubert. You’ve been a tremendous help.” Michael stood and shook the woman’s hand.

“If you find Beth, would you give her something for me?”

“Sure,” Michael said.

The older woman disappeared into a back room of the sprawling house. When she returned, she handed him a photograph. It was of Elisabeth Webster and her son, Timmy. Only, the woman in the snapshot didn’t look anything like the glamorous creature in the studio photo Webster had given him. This woman wasn’t wearing diamonds. Nor was her hair a curtain of long blond silk that fell to her shoulders. Her lips weren’t pulled into a sexy pout and painted a bold red. And she wasn’t wearing a strapless gown that revealed milk-pale shoulders and cleavage that would make a man’s mouth water for a glimpse of what lay beneath the sheer black lace. Instead, the woman in the snapshot was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a sweatshirt that only gave a hint of the curves that lay beneath. Instead of looking sexy, she looked wholesome seated in the center of a pile of leaves. Her hair was pulled up into a lopsided ponytail strewn with leaves in various shades of orange and gold and brown. Her lips were bare and the smile on them totally lacking in artifice as she clutched the laughing little boy in her lap.

“I took that the day before she left. She and Timmy were raking the yard for me, and they were having such a good time. I remember thinking how happy they looked that day,” she said, her expression softening with the memory. “I thought Beth might like to have the picture, to remember her time here with me.”