Identity Crisis (Sam McRae Mystery 1)

“Uh huh.”

“I was wondering—do you have copies of the yearbooks for that time?”

Ida smiled. “Yes, in the library. I can get them for you.” She fished a key ring from a drawer.

I tried to calculate which years I’d want. “I’d be interested in—”

“I think I know which ones.” She left the office. She returned a few minutes later with two yearbooks, which she set on a round table in the corner. One would have been from the guys’ junior year, the other from the year after.

I sat at the table. If my theory didn’t pan out, this could take a while, and it would be tedious. I could check the junior class pictures in the earlier yearbook against the senior photos in the later yearbook and narrow the suspects down to a manageable set of names.

But I already had a theory about who it was. A girl with a Baltimore accent.

“Thanks,” I said to Ida. I opened the book and went right to the J’s in the junior class photos.

Ida stood and watched. Finally, she said, “You might try the Ts,” and walked away.

f f f

Despite the different name, I recognized her. Just to be sure, I checked the senior photos for the following year. As I expected, Rhonda Timson wasn’t among them. Somewhere along the line, she must have married or changed her name. She was younger, thinner, and free of facial scars, but it was Rhonda Jacobi.

Chapter TWENTY-NINE

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I called Duvall when I got home and left another message.

I had a message from Detective Derry, thanking me for the information about Ash. Unfortunately, he said, taking a trip by airplane was not grounds for arrest or even a search warrant in Maryland. Of course it wasn’t. Just like working at a strip club with two guys who negligently disfigured you almost twenty years ago wasn’t grounds either. Or living three blocks from one of them.

If it was a coincidence, it was a big one. Other things were making sense now, too. Rhonda could have set up the accounts. She could have taken the money. She had access to the information she needed.

I went online and looked up Skip Himmelfarb’s phone number. He picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, Skip, it’s Sam McRae,” I said.

“Hi,” he said, the surprise apparent in his voice.

“Look, I hope you don’t mind my calling you at home, but I have a question about Rhonda.”

“Oh?”

“Do you know how long she’s worked at Aces High?”

“Hmm. I think she started a couple of months after me. Why?”

“Was this before or after Tom began there?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Try to remember.”

“I’m a bit vague on this, but I think it might have been after,” he said.

“I have a kind of delicate question to ask. Has she ever talked about why her face is scarred?”

He hesitated. “Why do you ask?”

I felt embarrassed for bringing it up, but it seemed necessary. “I’m just curious.”