Jasmine Cresswell - Missing

She finally swung around to look at him again. “How am I going to tell my mother? My God, how in the world am I going to tell her?” She asked the question as much of herself as of Frank.

“How are you going to tell me what?” Avery paused at the entrance to the living room, her hand resting on the back of a silk-covered chair. “Is it more bad news? Have they found Frank’s body?”

“No, nothing like that,” Kate said, hurrying over to her mother.

You had to give the girl credit, Frank reflected. She might flinch, but she didn’t shirk. She took Avery’s hands into a protective clasp and he could see the rise and fall of her chest as she drew in a deep breath to steady her voice.

“Mom, there’s absolutely no way to make this sound less awful than it is, so I’ll give you the straight-up, no-frills version. Detective Chomsky claims that in the course of their investigation into Dad’s disappearance, the police have discovered that he’s a bigamist.”

“A…bigamist?” Avery said the word as if she didn’t quite understand its meaning.

“Yes. They claim Dad has another wife and two children who live in Wyoming.”

“Another wife?” Avery pressed her hand against her chest. “Another wife and two children?”

“Yes. But that’s not all. Apparently Dad married this other woman thirty-six years ago and never divorced her. That means…that means she’s his legal wife. Here’s a copy of their marriage certificate. It seems you and Dad were never really married.”

Avery’s hands tightened their grip on the silk chair back. She glanced down at the fax Kate held out to her but didn’t touch it. “I can’t take it in. Are you telling me that Ron already had a wife when he married me? That my parents invited two hundred guests to witness a fake wedding ceremony?”

“I’m afraid it seems that way.”

The blood drained from Avery’s face, leaving her so pale Frank was sure she would faint. But she was tougher than she looked. He could see the effort she exerted not to pass out.

“Of course the police have made a dreadful mistake,” Avery said, echoing her daughter’s earlier statement. “They’ve confused his name with another Ron Raven, or something like that.” Her eyes made a silent plea for Kate to agree.

“Maybe they have. I hope so. We’ll get our lawyers to check it out, but Detective Chomsky seems quite certain of his facts. He says Dad was definitely married to…to the woman in Thatch thirty-six years ago. It’s a small town…well, you know that already…and the sheriff out there is a personal friend of the family. He was at Dad’s wedding to this woman. The sheriff knows the children, too, and he seems certain that there was never any question of a divorce.”

“Thirty-six years?” Avery’s lips were bloodless. “Ron was married to another woman for thirty-six years?”

“It seems that way.”

“How could he?” Avery asked, her voice low but shaking with anger. “How could Ron do this to us? And where was this woman when Ron took us to visit the ranch?”

“I don’t know. I can’t even begin to guess at his motives. Most of all, I can’t wrap my mind around the sheer stupidity of it. This isn’t the Victorian era. Why in the world didn’t he get a divorce before he married you?”

“I have no idea.” Avery was still alarmingly white, but her voice was stronger. “However, it’s fortunate for all of us that he appears to be dead, because otherwise I’d kill him.”

May 4, 2006, Thatch, Stark County, Wyoming

Megan heard the sound of a car braking to a halt alongside the porch and the pounding inside her head instantly grew worse. She peeked through a crack in the living-room blinds, her stomach knotting at the prospect of seeing yet another reporter parked on the driveway.

The car was a red Ford Freestyle, not one of the roaming TV-satellite vans that had been tormenting her for the past day and a half. Unfortunately, the absence of a broadcast antenna wasn’t necessarily good news. She’d discovered that print journalists could be every bit as aggressive as their on-air counterparts.

Tucking her gingham shirt into her jeans, Megan prepared herself to walk outside and repeat for the umpteenth time that she had no comment. The trick, she’d found, was to head off the journalists before they could bang on the door and disturb her mother. The next trick—even more difficult—was to get rid of them without losing her temper and providing them with juicy copy.

A tall man got out of the car, dressed in a gray business suit, his thick, light brown hair blowing in the late-afternoon breeze and his tie hanging loose around his unbuttoned shirt collar. The sun was shining through the window into Megan’s eyes and it took her a second to recognize her brother.

“Liam!” She ran out of the house, flying down the porch steps, the dogs bounding at her heels. “Liam!” She hurled herself into his arms, hugging him as hard as she could, caught off guard by the rush of her own emotions.

Liam wasn’t usually what you’d call a warm-and-fuzzy kind of a guy and she felt his split-second hesitation before he hugged her back. But for all his reserve, his voice was deeply affectionate when he spoke. “Hey, squirt. You look great, especially considering everything that’s going on.”

He patted Bruno and Belle, who thrust their muzzles against his legs and whimpered ecstatically, tails thumping. “How are you holding up, Meggie?”

“Better now that you’re here.” Megan not only loved Liam, she’d worshipped him as her hero, ever since she was three and he was the twelve-year-old big brother patiently leading her around on the pony their father had just bought as her birthday present. Still, she didn’t know him as well as she would have liked. With their nine-year age difference, Liam had been off to college by the time she was starting fourth grade and he’d almost never visited the ranch over the past few years. He lived in Denver and she’d spent time with him there as often as she could, but she always sensed a barrier that allowed her to get just so close and no further. Despite that, the bond between the two of them was important to her. She suspected it was equally important to Liam, for all that he was so emotionally guarded.

“It’s really good to see you.” Her voice, embarrassingly, was thick with emotion. “I didn’t realize how much I needed you until I saw you getting out of the car.”

Liam ruffled her hair, then uncharacteristically dropped a kiss on the top of her head, an easy spot for him to reach since he was a good ten inches taller than her five foot three. “I never expected to live long enough to hear my kid sister admit that she needed me.”

“It’s been a rough couple of days,” Megan acknowledged.

“I can imagine.” Liam’s words sounded more ironic than sympathetic, but he crooked his finger under her chin and tilted her face up, using his thumb to brush away the tears that kept welling up in her eyes despite her best efforts to contain them. Unlike her brother, she was cursed with emotions that bubbled over at the slightest provocation.

He knew how much she despised her own easy tears and, with welcome tact, he bent down and gave the dogs his full attention, allowing her a moment to regain control. “Hey, Bruno. Hey, Belle. Hate to tell you guys this, but you’re getting fat.”

The dogs ignored the insult and licked his hands in slobbery friendship, clearly remembering him fondly, although it was at least two years since they’d last seen him.

“Okay, you’re great dogs, both of you, and now I’d like my hands back.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to the ground. The dogs, who considered Megan’s commands no more than playful suggestions, instantly quieted. They seated themselves with their front paws on top of Liam’s shoes, tongues lolling out of the side of their mouths as they panted their enthusiasm for his return.