When I pulled it out, Ivins said, “Why, for God’s sake, did she hide it there, rather than give it to me? I could’ve put it in my safe.”
I shrugged. “She’s young and she wasn’t thinking too clearly, I suppose. Or maybe she thought your safe was too obvious a place and this envelope’s presence might’ve made you a target.”
“Amy always was a considerate girl. I’m so happy she’s safe with her uncle. What’s in the envelope?”
And she’s right, you are a nosy woman.
“I don’t know. Amy just asked me to retrieve it.”
“Maybe, for her sake, we should open it.”
“No, it’s her private property.”
“But it could shed some light on these killings-”
“If it can, Amy will turn the information over to the sheriff’s department. She’s been talking with them.”
“About what?”
“I haven’t been in on the conversations.”
Ivins looked disappointed. For a person who insisted on her organization’s right to confidentiality, she certainly played fast and loose with other people’s.
I drove a couple of blocks along the main street before I pulled to the curb and opened the envelope, as Amy had given me permission to do. It contained the insurance policy Hayley had taken out with her sister as beneficiary, and a smaller pink envelope with Hayley’s name written on it in erratic, badly formed penmanship. It had previously been opened, then closed with the flap slipped inside. I slid the letter out.
Dear Hayley,
I know you never want to lay eyes on me again and I dont blame you. I been a bad mother and a bad woman but that dont mean I dont love you. Bud Smith has been good to me. So I’m leaveing this with him in case you ever come back home or he hears where you are. What you need to know is Jimmy Perez wasnt your father. I was raped when I was 13 by a bastard named Davey Smith. Thats Bud’s little brother. He got off scotch free because he was some kind of genius and Bud took the rap for him so he could go away to school. My family wouldnt let me have an abortion, but they treeted me real bad so I ran away and had you. And I kept you-thats how much I loved you. The other thing you need to know is Davey Smith is a rich man now. Goes by the name of Trevor Hanover and lives back east someplace tho he has a big ranch outside of Vernon. Rattlesnake its called. I found out from the woman who cooks for him when he’s there-Linda Jeffrey, she lives on Yosemite Street. You can ask her if you want to. The way she knew he was Bud’s brother is that Bud went there to dinner once and she heard them fighting. I guess Davey tried to give him money, but he wouldnt take it. Bud told him to put the money in the bank for you and hire a lawyer to help you out because you were bound to get in trouble in Vegas. I guess you must of kept in touch with Bud because he knew where you were. But baby, Davey owes you more than that. Talk to Bud and have him set up a meeting with Davey. Your his daughter. You have rights, you claim them. I know I’ll never see you again baby, but you deserve a good life.
All my love,
Mama
Okay-slowly, cautiously. First I’d talk with this Linda Jeffrey.
Her tidy home was in the center of one-block Yosemite Street. A TV flickered in the front window. I rang the bell. After a moment the porch light came on, and a tall, slender woman in sweats, whose gray hair was pulled back into a ponytail, looked out at me.
“Yes?”
I said my name, gave her my card.
“Oh, you’re Hy Ripinsky’s wife. You’ve been helping out the Perezes. Come in, please.”
The room she led me to was cluttered, but in a clean, comfortable way. Books and magazines stacked on tables, a hand-knitted afghan thrown carelessly over the large sofa, videotapes and DVDs piled high atop the TV. Jeffrey turned off the program she’d been watching and said, “Sit anywhere, but before you do, look for cats.”
The chair I went to did contain a cat-a light-gray shorthair, whose sleepy gaze dared me to move it. I did, picking it up and setting it on my lap; instantly it curled into a ball and started purring.
“They run our lives, don’t they?” its owner said, taking a place on the sofa and pulling the afghan around her.
“Yes, they do.”
“I figured you for a cat person. And I assume you’re here to ask about what goes on at Rattlesnake Ranch.”
Her statement surprised me. It showed, because she added, “I know who Trevor Hanover is-or was-and I’ve been debating whether to go to the sheriff’s department about him. Your visit has more or less resolved that issue.”
“Why were you only ‘debating’?”
“For two reasons. When Mr. Hanover hired me to cook for the family, he had me sign a contract with a confidentiality clause. I was not to talk about him, his family, or anything that went on at the ranch.”
“But you’ve already broken that agreement by talking to Miri Perez.”
“How do you…? Well, that doesn’t matter. I did it for Miri’s safety; it was only right that she know her real rapist had property so close by.”
“And the second reason?”
“I don’t really know anything-at least not about the times when Hayley, Tom Mathers, or Bud Smith were killed. The way my arrangement with Mr. Hanover worked, someone would call and tell me when the family would be there and what to prepare. But as far as I know, the Hanovers haven’t visited the ranch for five or six months.”
“Who else works there while they’re gone?”
“My neighbor: she did the housekeeping. But Mr. Han-over called her in October and told her her services would no longer be needed. He gave no reason, but did send a large severance check. She used the money to take a trip to Philadelphia to spend Thanksgiving with her daughter. And there was a gardener and handyman, but he recently moved to Arizona.”
“How recently?”
“A month ago. Around the time Mr. Hanover fired my neighbor. I don’t know who’s doing the outdoor work out there now.”
The timing was interesting. Another generous severance check?
“Did the Hanovers always arrive by private jet?”
“Always. He’s a pilot, you know.”
“Did you ever hear anything that would explain why he chose to buy a ranch here?”
“I once heard him tell his daughter Alyssa that he’d grown up in Vernon and had always loved it here, but then his family moved to Nevada and his life was never right again. He said he was happy to come back as an important man to the place where he was born.”
“But he bought the ranch in strict secrecy and never showed his face in town.”
“Probably afraid somebody would find out who he really was. And he seemed content sitting out on that big old terrace and looking down on Vernon. I guess it was enough for him.”
Until his daughter Hayley showed up and wanted him to acknowledge her.
“When did Bud Smith come to the ranch for dinner with Hanover?”
“Two years ago, the last Saturday in July. I remember because it was quite an evening…”
It had started out pleasantly enough, Linda Jeffrey told me. Hanover had been alone on the trip and in an expansive mood, ordering her to serve special hors d’oeuvres and wine on the terrace; the dinner menu was similarly elaborate. Bud Smith, who was Linda’s insurance broker, arrived about five o’clock and was given a tour of the property by Hanover. Bud called Hanover Davey, and Jeffrey assumed it was a nickname. The two men seemed reserved but were getting along well enough through drinks and hors d’oeuvres and the soup course of the dinner.
“Then their voices got louder. I was shocked to hear Hanover call Bud his brother. Hanover wanted to pay Bud half a million dollars for what he called ‘his trouble.’ Bud said he preferred to earn an honest living, that no amount of money could make up for those lost years in prison.”