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  “No, but I’ve got some scandal.” Her friend lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think Jill has a secret lover.”

  “Yeah, I discovered that earlier this week, and my guess is that he’s the director at Mt. Angel.”

  “Whoa. I didn’t know that.”

  “Can you dig a little? Confirm that for me?”

  “I’ll try.” Carly sounded doubtful. “Doesn’t it seem too soon for her to have a lover? Her husband hasn’t been dead that long.”

  Lexa disagreed. “It’s been two years, so it’s not the timing that’s wrong. It’s the connection.”

  Carly was still whispering. “Jill’s the one who keeps telling the public she’s grieving.”

  Palmer’s husband had been governor when he died in a boating accident. As secretary of state, Jill had been his “power couple” wife and political successor. She’d won voters over in the election a year later, and her approval rating had been at sixty-five percent—until she announced the hospital closure. “I need to find someone who knows her well,” Lexa said. “An old friend maybe. Any ideas?”

  “Jill is pretty much a loner, but I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Thanks. I’ll buy you lunch if you come through.”

  Carly laughed. “You were gonna buy me a bagel with the works anyway.”

  “Yeah, but wouldn’t you like to go somewhere besides the coffee shop?”

  “You’re offering me an expensive lunch?”

  “If you get me an interview.”

  “I got this.” Carly clicked off.

  Lexa stared at her notes on the screen, wondering where to look next. Jill Palmer had been private even as secretary of state, rarely making public appearances. On the surface, she seemed ambitious and competent, someone who didn’t have time for hobbies or extracurricular activities.

  Except her affair with Roger Strada. If that was even true. Lexa knew she tended to jump to conclusions sometimes. Had the two met on the job—while talking about the state’s budget and how much funding would go to the hospital?

  A line in her notes caught Lexa’s attention. Jill Palmer had attended Redwood High School in Crescent City, California, just across the border. She’d also earned a political science degree from Portland State. What if she could find an old high school or college friend? They might have stories to tell, or at least some insight into what Jill was like in private.

  Lexa googled the high school, found the number, and called. The woman who answered sounded ancient. Lexa gave her name and credentials, then said, “I’d like to talk to the person who’s worked at the school the longest.”

  “That would be me. I’ve been here twenty-five years now.”

  “Tell me your name.”

  “Beth Saylor. With a Y.”

  Lexa keyed the source into her file, but didn’t think she’d ever quote the woman directly. “Did you know Jill Palmer, our governor, when she attended?”

  “I sure did. She wasn’t Palmer then, but she was just as serious as she is now.”

  Lexa’s hope for juicy details sank. “What else can you tell me about her? Did she belong to any clubs or play sports?”

  “She was on the debate team and was quite good.”

  That figured. Lexa made a note. “Did she have a boyfriend? Or best friend?”

  “Not that I remember. She hung out with her sister a lot.”

  A sister? That was news. “What’s her name? And do you know where I can find her?”

  The receptionist started to speak, but in the background, a group of young voices burst into an argument. “I have to go.” The woman abruptly hung up. Disappointed, Lexa stood. It was time for more coffee.

  The editorial director rushed into the City section’s workspace, calling for their attention. “There’s a hostage situation at the mall. The perp’s name is Brian Freeman, and I need everyone to get on this story now.”

  A breaking story! She’d heard the man’s name but couldn’t remember where. Lexa called out, “Who’s the hostage?”

  “We don’t know yet, but we have an image. Let’s get her identified.”

  Lexa sat back down. Coffee and governor gossip could wait.

  Chapter 13

  Friday, October 12, 12:15 p.m., Portland

  Rox stared into her nearly empty refrigerator. When was the last time she’d bought groceries? She couldn’t remember. Thank goodness Marty picked up bread and eggs for her regularly. The eggs were gone, so she made peanut butter toast. What would she eat for dinner? She didn’t have the time or focus to shop today. Besides her usual headache, they had an extraction to plan.

  She texted Kyle: Are you free for Thai food tonight?

  While she waited for his response, she sat down to check the news on CNN. After five minutes, she turned it off. Weather disasters and mass shootings were too depressing and didn’t tell her anything about what was happening in the world, politically or economically. While she checked online for global news, Kyle got back to her: Sorry no. I’m at the hospital with Mom.

  Oh right. His mother had just undergone a knee replacement surgery and he was being a good son. Rox realized she hadn’t heard from her own mother in six weeks. Was Georgia just being her natural narcissistic self or was something wrong? Rox opened Skype, thinking she would reach out, but her work phone rang. She checked the number. Their client was finally calling back!

  “Karina Jones.”

  “It’s Shay Wilmont, returning your call.”

  “What took you so long?” Her bluntness seemed to be in charge again.

  “Sorry, I misplaced my phone and just found it.”

  She had a landline number. Rox started to call bullshit but caught herself. Landline numbers could be ported. People who’d had the same number for a long time often did that. She concentrated on what was important, trying not to sound irritated. “We found out Logan has hallucinations. I need to know exactly what that means.”

  “Who have you been talking to?” The edge in her tone made the question less innocent.

  “His doctor. Carlson won’t approve a visit either. Tell me why. What are Logan’s hallucinations?”

  A heavy sigh. “He sees another boy who looks like him, only younger. The episodes are brief and harmless.”

  Odd, but not a worst-case scenario. “How often does it happen?”

  “A few times in the last year.”

  Relieved, Rox let out a nervous laugh. A habit she’d thought she’d broken. “I was worried he might be paranoid. In which case, an extraction by strangers might set him off.”

  “No! I told you,” Shay insisted, raising her voice. “He’s not mentally ill. I think the hallucinations are because they overmedicate him. Logan didn’t have them before they gave him ECT.”

  Anger surfaced in Rox too. “It sounds like they’re making him worse.”

  “They are. He was getting better, and Dr. Carlson talked about releasing him. Then they started the shock treatments, and now he has more problems.” The aunt sounded near tears.

  Empathy overrode her judgment, and Rox blurted out, “We’re planning to intercept Logan when they transfer him on Tuesday.”

  “Tuesday? No, the transfer is happening tomorrow.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I spoke with his doctor today. She says they rescheduled him for tomorrow.”

  A stab of worry. Had her impersonation phone calls yesterday been uncovered? Were they moving the boy earlier out of concern? “Did Carlson say why they changed the date?”

  “No. Just that I could see him after he moved to Serenity House. It’s about thirty miles from Mt. Angel.”

  “Yeah, I found that out.” Because Shay hadn’t bothered to.

  “Are you all set to extract him? I’ll see him tomorrow?” Excitement mixed with a little panic.

  They weren’t anywhere near ready. “I think so. I’ll contact you as soon as we have him.”

  “I guess I have some packing to do.”

  Rox wanted
to ask about her plans but decided to focus on the more important issue. “Promise me you’ll keep a close eye on Logan and get him help if he needs it.”

  “Of course. He definitely needs counseling for his abandonment issue.” Shay let out a bitter grunt. “His mother has the staff so bamboozled they don’t realize she’s the problem.”

  An old word she rarely heard. But the abandonment issue—by a charming but pushy mother—was painfully familiar. “Anything else I should know before we do this?”

  “If Logan gets scared, just tell him Aunt Shay is waiting for him.”

  “Okay. Be on standby tomorrow.” In other words, answer your damn phone.

  “I will. Thank you.”

  Rox hung up, feeling uneasy. She hoped it was just because their plans had to be fast-forwarded. She texted Marty: The transfer is tomorrow. We have to get busy!

  Two minutes later, he knocked on her door. Rox laughed and called “Clear.”

  Chapter 14

  Friday, October 12, 4:20 p.m., Salem

  At her desk, Lexa called the high school in Crescent City again, tapping her leg while the phone rang. The hostage crisis had been resolved, and the main story assigned to an old guy who’d been with the paper since time began. But he would retire someday, and she’d get those plum assignments. Assuming they stayed in business. At the moment, the newspaper was holding its own. When it closed, she might have to get a job with a TV station either in Salem or Portland. She loved Oregon and intended to stay, even though her family was in Alaska. She meshed with the liberal politics and quirky culture.

  A receptionist picked up. “Redwood High School.” The voice was young and clearly a high school student.

  Lexa’s hopes sank a little. She introduced herself, then said, “I talked to Beth Saylor earlier this morning. Is she available?”

  “She’s on another line. Do you want to hold?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Lexa sipped cold coffee while she waited. The old woman took her time responding. “This is Beth.”

  “Hey, it’s Lexa Robbins again. I’m working on the story about Jill Palmer. We got cut off this morning.” Technically, she was working on several stories—all linked to the hospital and/or the governor.

  “I don’t have much more to say. I respect Jill and what she’s accomplished.”

  “I do too. This will be a positive profile.” Unless she uncovered negative things.

  “I’m delighted to hear that, but I’m at work, so I can only give you a minute.”

  Then she would cut the chitchat and get right to the point. “You mentioned Jill’s sister. What’s her name?”

  “I knew her as Shannon Goyer. She’s probably married now though.”

  “So Jill Palmer was born Jill Goyer?” Lexa thought it was strange that women still took their husband’s name, but in Jill’s case, it had worked well for her politically. Goyer was too weird.

  “Yes. Jill used to be heavier too.”

  Lexa made a note but didn’t think she would use it. “Any idea where I can find Shannon?”

  “I’m sure she’s still in Oregon. She and Jill were very close. You could sure tell they were sisters.”

  “Any idea where I can get my hands on a high school yearbook? I mean with their photos in it?”

  “Give me your address, and I’ll mail you one.”

  “That’s very nice of you.” Lexa rattled off her snail mail numbers.

  “Got it.”

  What else could she ask before Beth hung up again? “Did Jill have any close friends? Can you give me a couple of names?” Which might not be the same now.

  “I remember Jill because she went on to become secretary of state, then governor. But other kids from twenty years ago?” The old lady laughed. “Not a chance. I see a whole school full of new students every fall. But you can figure out Jill’s friends from the yearbook. I have to get back to work; we’re closing soon. Good luck with your story.” The line went dead.

  Lexa stared at her notes: sister Shannon Goyer, gov used to be heavy. Not much, especially if Shannon had married and changed her name. But still, possibly a scoop. She’d never seen any news mention of the governor’s sister.

  Her cube neighbor stuck her head over the half-wall. “What are you working on?”

  “Jill Palmer’s profile.”

  “The governor has a sister?”

  There was no privacy in the whole damn building. “Apparently so.”

  “Cool. I can’t wait to read your story.” Jean grinned and went back to work.

  Lexa googled Shannon Goyer, thankful that it wasn’t a common name. The first two pages of links were all promotional, encouraging her to set up profiles on various social media sites. She scrolled down, finding only a news story about a college student who’d won a science prize, followed by a profile of a young androgynous person on Odyssey, a site she wasn’t familiar with. The governor’s sister had to be at least thirty or forty, so neither of those matched. Lexa searched the next few pages of links and found nothing promising.

  A Facebook search produced only one profile, a young woman in New York. Lexa tried LinkedIn and got a hit. A forty-two-year-old woman located in Canby, Oregon. But there was nothing else, as though she’d started the profile and never finished it. Shannon had few connections, and the last activity date was four years ago. The only contact information was an email address.

  Feeling like she’d hit a dead end, Lexa cursed under her breath. But she sent an email anyway, mentioning that she was writing a profile of Jill Palmer and wanted a brief interview. Not ready to give up, Lexa scanned through Shannon’s contacts. A small but eclectic mix, most of whom weren’t local to Oregon. One location caught her eye: Crescent City. Heather was probably an old high school friend and someone who knew both sisters.

  Lexa copied and pasted the information into her note file, then made the call. After a few rings, it went to voicemail, and Heather announced she was with a client and would call back when she could.

  Lexa shifted gears. Next up: state databases. Property tax rolls were a great source for addresses. Or if you knew an address, you could easily find the owner’s name. She suspected most people didn’t know that. What county was Canby in? A quick map search revealed it to be in Clackamas, which covered areas south and west of Portland. Canby was part of the greater Portland area but only a half-hour away. Lexa found the county assessor site and keyed Shannon Goyer into the search field. Nothing loaded. She tried the same thing in four other small counties around Portland with the same result, then finally tried Marion county, where Salem was located. Another dead end.

  Crap! Would she have to search every single county in Oregon? Lexa grabbed her empty coffee cup and went for a refill. Back at her desk, she decided to try the governor’s name in a few county property rolls just for kicks. Palmer currently lived in Mahonia Hall, the state’s governor mansion in Salem, but she might own her own home as well. A Clackamas county search revealed that Jill Palmer owned a piece of property in Canby. Interesting. What if her sister, Shannon Goyer, lived there? Lexa copied and pasted the address into her notes, then into a Google search field. The home was on East Forest Road, a rural location south of Canby and a quick drive. But could she justify the time?

  Her work cell rang and she glanced at the screen. It was the number she’d just called. Yes! She might actually make some progress. “Lexa Robbins speaking.”

  “This is Heather Dobbs. You called me.”

  “Thanks for getting back. Do you have a minute to talk?”

  “I might.” She sounded wary. “What’s this about?”

  “I’m writing a profile about Jill Palmer, our governor. Did you know her in high school?”

  “Yes, but not well.”

  Too bad. “Do you remember anything specific about Jill? Any anecdotes to share?”

  “I don’t know what that means.” Heather didn’t seem embarrassed to admit it. “All I remember about Jill is that she was smart and confiden
t. And beautiful. I was jealous.”

  So Heather was both dumb and petty. Lexa had a flash of guilt for thinking it. “Did you know her sister, Shannon?”

  “Sure. She was in my grade, and we hung out quite a bit in our senior year.”

  “Are you still in touch with her?”

  “I was for a while. But after her marriage fell apart, Shannon got depressed and withdrew.”

  Lexa, being curious about everything, wanted to know more about the sister’s divorce, but she was getting off track again. “Do you know how I can contact Shannon? I’d like to interview her.”

  Heather sighed. “Sorry, but I haven’t heard from her in two years. I think she moved away.”

  Crapola. This was getting nowhere. “Have you ever been to her home?”

  “Uh, no. We used to email each other mostly. With an occasional call. But I haven’t actually seen her since she moved to Oregon.”

  “When was that?” Her cube neighbor got up to leave and Lexa looked at the clock. The day was almost over.

  “Right after high school. The whole family moved somewhere up around Portland.”

  “What about Jill’s parents? Do you know where they are?” A long shot, but potentially a good source for childhood stories.

  “They died in a car crash.” Heather seemed to soften. “That was right around the same time Shannon found out she couldn’t have kids and her marriage ended. Poor girl. I think that’s why she became so withdrawn.”

  “Did Shannon stay in touch with her sister?”

  “I’m sure she did. After she developed chronic pain, I think Jill helped support her.”

  That was new and important. Lexa made a note and underlined it. She felt bad for Shannon but also frustrated for herself. Jill Palmer still remained a mystery, a private person who never talked about her personal life. And Lexa would disappoint her boss if she didn’t get an interview or write a true in-depth profile. “Thanks for your time. Call me if you think of anything else to share.” What had she forgotten to ask?

  “I doubt I will.”

  Then it came to her. “Wait! What was Shannon’s married name?”