The Mourning Mail (final release candidate #8)

Chapter 19

Brian's letters and Marci's work convinced me that Theresa Seaver's current husband was evil coming out of the womb. Yet Theresa had considered James Seaver enough of an upgrade to jump ship on her previous marriage, so the ex must have been even worse.

But the Darrell Woodson I phoned was accommodating, moving his other obligations around so we could meet at his home. As I crested a hill in a nice La Jolla neighborhood, I saw their large, dark-red brick Tudor. It had a cone-roofed tower at one end, generous curving walkways, and a wide drive leading to a three-bay garage. A collection of boys' and girls' bikes, football pads, and a radio-controlled model P-38 Lightning were visible in one of the open bays. They suggested several children. Or maybe the Woodsons were just the cool parents in the neighborhood.

Darrell met me at the front door and invited me inside. He was very tall and handsome - enough that I reflexively looked for his wedding ring and saw he'd re-married. His fading Aussie accent was more pronounced than it sounded over the phone. In his early forties, he came across in small talk as self-effacing despite his apparent business success. Still, I sensed he was wary of my presence.

As Darrell took my coat and I introduced myself in the vestibule, his spouse joined us from the dining room. She was a short, curvy brunette with a beautiful face worthy of an Estee Lauder model. Darrell's wife gave me her full attention when I spoke and made me feel immediately comfortable, as though I'd known her from childhood. Her dimples highlighted an open, genuine smile, and she didn't hesitate to show me it was her nature to hug people.

"I'm Emma, and it is a delight to meet you," she said. "We used to follow your stories in the Union-Tribune. Disappointing that it's been so long since your articles were featured there. I understand it's been several years now since you've moved on."

"Yes, it has, but I always appreciate a reader wherever my stories end up," I said with a grin. "And especially one who is so gracious."

Emma accepted the compliment with a smile and an over-the-top curtsey straight out of an old movie, followed by a quick laugh. "Would you like anything to drink? Coffee, perhaps?" she asked.

"I'm good, thank you," I said.

"The kids are in school, and I've put away the pets, so nothing should disturb us," Emma said.

"How many do you have?" I asked out of politeness.

"Two boys in elementary school, one in junior high, a girl in pre-school, two dogs, two cats, and a turtle," Emma replied as we adjourned to their living room. Spacious with a recessed floor and a sculptured ceiling, the décor showed noticeable taste from a talented decorator. The base was primarily a pristine white. Bold red and black accents were placed randomly throughout, with the occasional dot of bright yellow. The photos of their family and friends on the walls and the mementos on the shelves reflected the happiness of their marriage.

Emma offered me the overstuffed wingback chair. She and her husband took the couch next to it, sitting side-by-side and holding hands. The seat was so plush I struggled a little to lean forward. I sat back in the comfy chair, looking through all the notes I brought. I thanked them for their hospitality and then launched into the reason for my visit.

"When I spoke to Darrell on the phone, I mentioned I work independently, primarily freelance and on-spec projects. A story opportunity came my way as a missing-person report, someone you know very well - your ex-wife Theresa, now married to James Seaver."

Darrell's demeanor stiffened noticeably at the mention of James Seaver's name, and he immediately took command of the conversation.

"We've never met and certainly haven't worked together, so you'd have every right to think I'm paranoid. But you don't know how many con artists I've dealt with since James Seaver came into our lives...," Darrell said, his tone firm and businesslike.