Free Killer Keepsakes by Jane K. Cleland Page A

know why.”
    She repeated my words, then listened for a moment. She pushed the hold button again. “He said to tell you he understands, but it’s urgent.”
    “Tell him ha. Just that. Say, ‘Josie says ha.’ ”
    I was aware that Fred was watching our exchange as if it were a tennis match, but I didn’t care. I was too angry.
    Cara followed my instructions, listened for several seconds, then said, “Oh, my. All right.” She placed Wes on hold again. “He said to tell you that he has urgent, crucial information about Gretchen.”
    I pursed my lips and grabbed the spare phone that sat near the photocopier and punched the button to take him off hold. “What is it, Wes?”
    “I’m sorry, Josie. I didn’t write the headline. My editor did. I didn’t even see it until this morning. It was a last-minute thing.”
    I felt my resentment drain away. It wouldn’t be the first time his editor revised his headline. I sighed deeply. “Fair enough. What’s the information about Gretchen?”
    “Not on the phone. It’s too sensitive,” he said, dropping his voice conspiratorially. “Can you meet now?”
    I was about to tell him to forget it when I thought about the many times Wes had fleshed out facts and given me information I couldn’t have gotten in any other way—far more often than he’d failed. He never bragged or engaged in hyperbole, either. If he said he knew something significant about Gretchen, he did, and if he had news about Gretchen, I wanted it. “All right,” I agreed. “Where?”
    “Our dune?”
    “Fifteen minutes,” I said. I hung up and turned to Cara. “Sorry about that, Cara.”
    “No problem. Do you think he really has information about Gretchen?” she asked.
    “Maybe,” I replied. “He’s got his teeth into something.” I turned to Fred. “Will you take a crack at the circle- H mark?”
    “You bet,” he said, swiveling to face his computer.
    I grabbed my sandwich and headed to the beach.

CHAPTER TWELVE

    I
    spread out the old wool blanket that I kept in my trunk. From where I sat at the top of the dune overlooking Rocky Point beach, I had a clear view of the ocean.
    Wes and I had met at this dune frequently over the years. It was private and convenient to get to, and we could see people approaching from any direction long before they reached us. I nibbled my sandwich and waited for him to arrive.
    I heard his car sputter to a stop at the sandy edge of the road and watched as he stepped over wild rose bushes and sidestepped up the dune. He wore a leather jacket I’d never seen before. He handed me a cup of coffee, milk, no sugar; a peace offering.
    “I am sorry,” he said. “As soon as I saw the headline, I knew you’d hate it. The one I submitted read ‘Murder in North Mill Pond Condo: Apartment Owner Missing.’ ”
    “That’s better writing,” I said, accepting the coffee, a little touched that he’d bought it for me—and that he’d remembered how I took it.
    “Thanks. So . . . about Gretchen. I’ve got a real shockeroonie. It’s about her background.” He lowered his voice. “Her Social Security number.”
    “What about it?”
    “It’s only seven years old,” he revealed.
    “So what?” I asked.
    “It was issued seven years ago,” he stressed. “Don’t you see what that means? What happened seven years ago that made her get a new Social Security number?”
    “I don’t know. Seven years ago, she would have been twenty-two.”
    “Why does someone get a new Social Security number at age twenty-two?”
    I paused, considering his question. “Maybe the social security card isn’t new, per se. If she never had one before, she’d have to get one when she started working. Isn’t it possible that she didn’t apply for a job until she was twenty-two? Maybe she went to college and didn’t work until after she graduated.”
    “You don’t know if she went to college?” he asked, sounding surprised.
    “No.”
    He shook his head, his eyes fiery