Free Hocus by Jan Burke Page A

started after a phone call from his sister, Cassie, who lives in Bakersfield. She called to say that Frank had really been on her mind lately, and she just wondered if he was all right.
    “He could use some cheering up,” I said. “He’ll be sorry he missed your call.” I told her about the case and his problems in the office. “This has been tough on him from the moment he went out to the crime scene,” I told her. “Fifteen victims at one house. It was pretty grim.”
    “Yes, we heard about that up here,” Cassie said.
    “In fact, when they showed the photo of the young girl who died, I was hoping Frank didn’t have the case. She reminded me of Diana. Didn’t look exactly like her, of course, but—”
    “Diana?” I asked. “Who’s Diana?”
    There was a long silence, then she said, “You’d better ask Frank.”
    “Cassie!”
    “Ask Frank,” she said. “I’m sorry, Irene. I’ve got to go.”
    She hung up.
     
     
    I waited until after dinner that night. I didn’t rush him. He played with Deke and Dunk, worked in his garden. He washed up and came into the kitchen, where I was scrubbing a pan. He put his arms around me and pulled me back against him, nuzzled my ear.
    “Who’s Diana?” I asked.
    I felt the brief tension in him before he relaxed a little and said, “Roman goddess of the hunt. Are you and Jack talking about mythology again?”
    “No,” I said, turning around to face him. “Not that Diana. The Diana who looks like the girl who died at the party house.”
    “Shit.” His arms dropped away, and he took a step back. He wouldn’t look at me.
    “Who is she?” I asked again.
    “Cassie. Cassie told you, right?”
    “Never mind who told me.”
    “It had to be Cassie. My mother never would have told you.”
    “Probably not. Your mother doesn’t like me—”
    “That’s not true.”
    “Not the point, anyway.”
    “No,” he said. He sighed. “Christ. Everything at once.”
    “Is this another old girlfriend?”
    He hesitated, finally looked right at me. He shook his head. “No. Can you give me a minute? I need to make a couple of calls.”
    “A couple of calls? Jesus, Frank….”
    “Please.”
    Desperate. Under other circumstances I might have been moved by it, responded to him more gently. I was fresh out of gentle. “Go ahead, make your damned calls. But I’m not letting go of this, Frank.”
    He went into the bedroom to use the phone. That he sought privacy from me only irritated me all the more. I sat in the living room, in the corner of the couch, arms folded. Deke, Dunk, and Cody steered clear of me. I let the dogs out at their request, and Cody disappeared into the guest room. I couldn’t blame them. I probably looked like I wanted to kick somebody.
    When Frank finally came out of the bedroom, he was holding what I at first took to be a scrap of paper but then realized was a photograph. He held it out to me. More curious than furious, I uncrossed my arms and took it from him.
    It was a color snapshot of an attractive teenage girl with honey-colored hair, standing next to a camera-shy younger boy. Nothing about the girl was shy. She was wearing an orange miniskirt with a wide, white belt, white go-go boots, and a lime green sleeveless turtleneck. If that hadn’t been enough to place the photo in the late sixties, her pale lipstick, eyes lined doe style, heavy mascara, and ankh necklace would have helped.
    I had seen lots of photographs of the boy — it was Frank. And despite a certain resemblance, the girl clearly wasn’t Cassie, who’s not only dark haired, but younger than Frank. This blond girl was older by several years.
    “A cousin?” I guessed.
    He shook his head, took a deep breath, then looked right at me as he said, “My sister.”
    “Sister? You have another sister?”
    “Had. She died.”
    Questions are a specialty of mine, and I had lots of them, but I couldn’t seem to get a single one out. Maybe it was sort of a circuit overload, like when