Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. Vol. 101, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 610 & 611, March 1993

Shannon picked up the frame, examined the glass for dust and traces of cleaner, and slid the photo behind it. She pushed the cardboard backing into the frame behind the photo, laid the picture face-down on the table, and just sat there a while.

Finally she gave a ragged sigh.

“Okay. My dad was Curtis John Farr. He died when I was six. My mom is Eileen Scott Farr, who lives in San Pedro and works as a beautician. They were married when she was twenty and he was thirty. I was born ten years later.”

“Why’d you change your name?”

“I ran away when I was sixteen. Well, sort of. I mean I write my mom pretty regularly, no return address. I don’t want her to be able to trace me. I mean... we fight all the time. Can’t agree on anything. Well, I looked up and saw this big billboard for Wells Fargo Bank and thought, well, Farr, Fargo, why not?”

“And the Shannon part?”

“That’s real. Shannon Elayne.” Then fretfully, “Oh God. Am I going to regret this...?”

Someone knocked on the door.

“I mean trusting you with all this?”

He said grimly, “Not if I can help it,” stood up, and crossed quickly to the door and opened it.

Katherine said from the concrete step, “I got tired of waiting.”

“No one asked you to wait. You promised me—”

“Changed my mind. Going to let me in, or just stand there looking silly and self-righteous?” A light rippling laugh. “Come on, Tom. Loosen up.”

“It’s okay, let her in,” Shannon said behind him.

Tom moved aside. Katherine came in. She had shed the bandanna and the dark glasses. She took in the room in a half-amused, half-contemptuous glance.

Shannon said cautiously, “Hello again.”

“I thought we’d best get acquainted,” Katherine said. “Tom, don’t let us keep you, I’m sure you have things to do.” She smiled serenely. “It’s quite safe, leaving us alone together.”

Tom said to Shannon, “Talk to you outside a minute?”

She nodded and preceded him through the door into near night. The air had developed an edge. There was no wind. Trees made no sound.

They walked to the corner of the house. Someone had turned the porch light on.

“I don’t know what she’s up to,” Tom said. “If you like I’ll stay, or get rid of her for you,”

“How? No, it’s all right, I’ll be okay.”

“Okay. I don’t want you taken by surprise if she sees that picture you showed me. The guy you called the Skipper? That’s Michael J. McCauley. That’s Mac.”

Half in shadow, half illuminated by the porch light, her face was still and grave. Her mouth formed an almost inaudible, “Oh.” Then she said, almost as quietly, “He did ask me where I was from, who my folks were. I said I was a runaway and couldn’t tell him much...” A short stressful sigh. “You’re going to talk to my mom, aren’t you?”

“If I may.”

“Well... give her my love.”

“Okay.” He thought a moment, then took her face in his hands and kissed her, undemandingly, on the mouth.

She didn’t object. “Which one of us was that for?”

He was too surprised to answer. She went on, “Ever make it with her?”

“Her? Katherine?... No. Never.”

“Why not?”

“Because it never occurred to me. Because she would’ve killed me for even trying, and then her father would’ve killed me.”

“Okay. Good night.”

Tom left. Shannon went back inside, found Katherine still standing in the middle of the room.

“Sorry to interrupt your tea party,” she said abruptly, “but I was quite beastly to you yesterday. I’m sorry. In my own inadequate defense, I can only say that I was, well, shaken. Someone was trespassing on my property — my face. But it’s not just mine, is it? Let me make amends and take you to dinner.”

“That would be lovely,” Shannon said, surprised. “Are you always Katherine, all three syllables?”

“All three syllables.”

“Never Kathy, or Katie, or Kate, anything like that?”

“No.” A tiny hesitation, almost a breach in Katherine’s armor of certainty. “But you can call me one of those if you want.”

7

Tom called from a pay phone at the gas station on Ventura. His mood had brightened. He looked forward to making Charles uncomfortable.

“Any luck?” Charles asked.

“Some information, anyway,” Tom said. “According to her birth certificate, Katherine was born at the Palmer Clinic in Yucaipa just before midnight on December twelfth, nineteen seventy-three. Shannon Fargo says she was born at the Palmer Clinic in Yucaipa on December thirteenth.”

“Jesus.”

“I’m going to see her mother to try to get a look at Shannon’s birth certificate. And Mac definitely knew Shannon. I saw a photograph of him on his boat with a crowd of young people, including Shannon. She says she only knew him as the Skipper, and only met him a couple of times. That can be easily checked out.

“Now. You guys got me investigating this girl by saying I’d be doing Mac a favor. Are you sure you want me to finish the job?”

Pause. Charles shifted in his chair before answering.