by Arthur Day
“I talked the owner out of it.” I made a face by crossing both eyes and pursing my mouth so that I looked the complete imbecile
“Ahh. Your true self has come out at last.”
Laughing softly, we followed the Maitre D to their table. “So what is new in your life sir?” Dianne asked as we placed drink orders. She picked up the imposing wine menu and winked at him. “Are you ready for this?”
I smiled. “Go for it. As for what’s new it seems that my ex-wife Pam has gone missing.”
“What?” Dianne’s smile disappeared, and she let the wine list fall onto the table. “You’re not gaming me are you?”
“Nope. She was at the lake house when she went missing. Apparently she went for her morning exercise walk and that was the last anyone saw of her. I was up there today talking with her boyfriend.”
“No one saw her during her walk?”
“If so, I haven’t had a chance to talk with them yet. They may have talked with Buckmaster or his deputies, but I haven’t had a chance to sound him out either.”
“Was she upset about something or depressed? Anything along those lines?” The waiter placed drinks in front of us. Dianne took a sip of her whiskey and sighed. It wasn’t often that MJ would spring for an expensive meal like this. She should have known something was wrong when he agreed to meet her here. She would usually go to his place for dinner and a simple dinner it would be accompanied by Jack Daniels. She enjoyed those times but sampling the high life of Rockmarsh was an enjoyable change or would have been were it not for his news. Across the table from her, MJ sat staring at his drink obviously not even in the moment but somewhere else entirely.
“No. According to a friend of hers up for the weekend she was normal in every respect. He sleeps late, so he said, and he did not see her start off on her walk.”
“This guy is pretty tight with Pam you think?”
“He seems to be. They were sharing the cabin and undoubtedly her bed. Pam was never one to open easily to strangers, but I couldn’t tell how well he knew her. She always was pretty tightly wound and didn’t show much of what she was thinking so she might have had a problem that he did not know about.” I took a sip from my glass, looked down into it and then took another. “Sorry. I’m afraid I’ve put a damper on a nice evening out. Have you chosen the wine? You said you were going to do that.” I tried a smile, but I knew I had failed big time.
Dianne was glad that they were friends. She thought it would be very uncomfortable for someone MJ didn’t like to be looking into his eyes. That person would be staring into eyes that had seen war and destruction to the point where they no longer reflected the light of love and laughter; it would be like staring into the face of death, Dianne thought to herself. She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “Listen if you need an extra set of eyes or anything else you know you can call me seven twenty-four right? We real estate agents are a tough crowd, you know. No bullshit.” She gave MJ her most ferocious frown mugging for all she was worth.
I couldn’t help myself. I started with a chuckle that was quickly a full-throated belly laugh. “By God I do believe you could twist the balls off the devil himself,” I told her “and eat them for supper at that.”
Dianne fanned her face with one hand. “La. How you do carry on,” she exclaimed in her best English accent. “I do believe I have met that gentleman several times and he is always trying to get into my bloomers.”
I could almost sympathize for the devil or anyone else with the ambition to tackle Dianne’s bloomers without her permission. I had gone to her house once and found the door unlocked. I went in only to hear muted thumps coming from the basement. Thinking that she was in trouble I had pushed quickly down the stairs to the cellar and found her delivering a series of kicks, blows and chops to a boxer’s punching bag with a speed and intensity that confounded me. I would never have been able to duplicate what I watched her doing that day. When she had sensed my presence, she had turned on a dime, her hands raised and ready to defend or attack. When she saw me there she dropped her stance picking up a towel from the floor at her feet and wiping her face, her half gloves dark with sweat. Even though she evidently expected me, Dianne had been prepared for anyone.
“Okay. Here’s what I’m thinking so far,” I began. “If I seem to be heading out into la-la land let me know. When we were married Pam had no enemies that I knew of. She is a trust baby so there was money on her side of the family. That is certainly a motive for kidnapping by someone who knew of her finances. It could also have been a random event that no one could have foreseen. Some crazy could have been driving along, seen her jogging along the side of the road and acted on impulse. If so she could be in real trouble. Another possibility is that she wanted to disappear for reasons of her own and had the help of someone to do that or perhaps just kept walking and never returned to the camp. She would have needed a vehicle at some point or perhaps a friend to help out.”
“All valid,” commented Dianne, “but there is an additional factor that you might have overlooked. You said that when you were married to her she had no known enemies but there could have been someone who hated her that you didn’t know about and maybe that she didn’t know about either or perhaps had forgotten completely.”
That was another and very unsettling possibility. I cut into my steak and wondered what I had gotten myself into. I hoped that wherever Pam was she was still alive now but somehow I doubted it.
BUCKMASTER
John Buckmaster drove slowly down the dirt driveway and came to a stop in front of a small summer cabin set about fifty yards from the lake. It was low slung and all on one floor. A wood shed was tacked onto one end and was full, a sign that the owner did not trust northern Connecticut temperatures. Even in mid-summer it could get chilly by early morning. There was no smoke coming out of the chimney, however, and there was no sign that anyone was there. He listened to the motor tick over and looked out over the lake at Finger Point, a small peninsula that stuck out into the lake opposite this area. He probably should have sent a deputy to do the interview, but they were busy with drunks and auto accidents and reports of a gunshot in the wealthy part of town. He had been relatively free and thought that getting out from behind his desk was a good thing. With a sigh he pushed his way out of the cruiser and walked to the door in the side of the house facing the driveway.
A tiny white-haired woman answered immediately as if she had been waiting for him or had seen him drive up. She could not have weighed more than one hundred pounds, but her eyes were sparkling with life and intelligence and she had a smile that lit up everyone and everything around her. “Mrs. Pease?” Buckmaster asked and took off his hat in respect.
“Sheriff John Buckmaster. I voted for you and even if I hadn’t you’d be welcome.” She turned and walked back into the cabin. Buckmaster followed. It was still early in the morning and the interior was dim with just one light showing in the large living room that looked out onto a porch and the lake beyond. She sat on the couch by the light and Buckmaster sat in a chair to her right. “Thank you for agreeing to talk to me at this hour. I hope my call last night did not wake you.”
“Pshaaa,” Pease replied. “Old people don’t sleep all that well or all that long for that matter. There’s a little matter of having to pee at three in the morning.” She grinned and leaned forward on the couch “but I forget my manners Sheriff. Would you like a cup of coffee or tea? I have one of those Jura machines that does everything but empty the grinds for you. It really makes a good cup of coffee. How about it?”
Buckmaster had seen such machines at high-end kitchen stores but the cost was way more than he could afford. He could not resist. “That would be wonderful, ma’am. Just black is fine.”
Pease laughed, a pleasant throaty sound. “I may have to pry you off the ceiling. Carl liked his coffee the same way.” She got off the couch and disappeared through a doorwa
y. A moment later he heard the deep growl of the machine. Buckmaster looked through the window at the lake. This was a real long shot, he thought, but talking with Pam’s mother, Julie, couldn’t hurt and might lead to something or someone who would know what had happened to her. He had located her name and address from a simple Google search. The family was prominent, and several sites listed members’ names and a further search on the DMV database had given him her last known address. He hoped he hadn’t wasted his time.
Pease came back into the room carrying two large white ceramic mugs. “Carl always thought that if you were going to serve real coffee it should be served in a real mug and not one of those oh-so-delicate foo-foo little china cups with roses and little angels on them.” She handed a mug to Buckmaster and sat back down on the couch. Buckmaster took a sip. It was excellent coffee and served in the right container. “I have some bad news for you, I’m afraid,” he began.
“She’s missing,” Pease said. It was not a question.
“Yes. Since yesterday. But how…?”
“Mike called me.”
“Her ex-husband?”
“Yes. He said he’d be out later this morning and I told him about your call and he said that was a good thing and you probably had this matter well in hand.”
Buckmaster did not know much about Michael McCaal save that he was a resident of Mays Corners and had been married to Pam. He looked forward to talking with the man. As for McCaal’s vote of confidence no one ever rejected such a compliment He just hoped he could turn it into the truth before Pam’s disappearance turned into a nasty free-for-all in the papers. He was somewhat surprised that the press didn’t have it already.
“So your daughter did not contact you recently?”
“No. We spoke a while back, maybe a couple of weeks about the town’s plan to keep the lake free of algae. I asked if she would like to come over for dinner that night. She thanked me but said she had another engagement.” Julie shrugged as if to say that Pam and she rarely did get together and sipped at her coffee. She had a set, somewhat stern and sad expression as if getting together with her only child was not a common occurrence.
“You did not see much of your daughter then?” Buckmaster prodded gently.
“Not recently. No,” Julie replied quietly. She knotted her hands in her lap until her knuckles turned white.
“Had you and she argued about something?”
Julie sat looking out at the lake and sipped her coffee in silence, a silence that lasted so long that Buckmaster thought that he had reached the end of an interview he could only describe as inconclusive, a type of death by silence. The lake was indeed beautiful, its surface totally calm, and reflecting the trees and the sky, mute testimony to the particles of temporary life known as man. “I probably wasn’t a great mother. Wrong instinct perhaps. Carl and I met at a football game of all things. I had just become a cheerleader while he was on the football team although not a starting player. Everyone moved a lot more slowly in those days. We dated for a year and then married in the spring of 1959. Carl had just accepted a position with Pease Xpress as a junior executive. I had written poetry for the college quarterly magazine and wanted to expand my readers to the big world beyond.” She stopped and looked at Buckmaster as if to say well everyone has dreams and ambitions at that age.
“Carl was investing time with the company that he said would pay off later, so he was seldom home. We had a small apartment in Hartford that I tried to keep neat and stocked with groceries and liquor for those times when he felt we needed to entertain one big wig or another. I found it a tiresome routine, but I had my poetry and thought that in time I would develop my own reputation. Other than the rubbing together of the two worlds of finance and art, we had a good marriage. We enjoyed each other in bed and both of us thought that we wanted children particularly a son for Carl wanted to make sure the Pease name would be carried on into the next generation. That was important to him. Less so to me and then came Pamela, one of the cutest and prettiest girls that one would ever want to see but the labor was hard, and the doctors said that I would not have another. Carl was distraught. I suggested adoption, but he rejected that out of hand. There would be no son to carry on, play ball with, go to football games with and all that. I loved my little girl with all my heart and soul. She would look up into my face and smile and coo and I was lost.
As she got older Carl pretty much ignored her. We argued over that constantly. Something was bugging him, something to do with his father but he would not be specific, would not sit down with me or even just with a bottle and a friend to whom he might unload. If that happened I never heard of it. Something was sitting on his soul so that even when he was happy he really wasn’t. When he got promoted to executive vice president and given responsibility over a large part of the company’s operations he came home and told me the news. I shouted with happiness and congratulated him and suggested that we go out and celebrate. He only shrugged his shoulders and said he would if that is what I wanted.” Friends told me that he was a great guy and brilliant when it came to expanding the company’s reach and profitability but they said little about the man I saw every night or at least most nights and little Pam got even less attention from her father.”
Buckmaster sat back and finished his coffee. It really was too good to waste. Probably expensive as well he thought. He knew that his wife, Nicole, could probably name the exact brand. So Julie’s husband wasn’t perfect. Few people are from the viewpoint of others around them. The class A individual who buries himself in his work and neglects his family was a common tragedy. His kids were grown now, and they talked on the phone with him regularly, but he wondered what they thought of him as a father when they were growing up. He wondered if he would have the nerve to ask them only to find out that they had few memories of him during their childhood. There were things that he knew he would do differently if he had the chance but at the time he thought he was doing the right thing. “So what kind of person did your daughter become?”
Julie laughed, a short, bitter laugh full of irony. “Just like her father, driven from within I guess you could say. She was very social when she felt the need, but I saw a young woman who really had no friends on whom to anchor her life and just myself as family to confide in. I’m afraid she didn’t do much of that, at least not recently.” She fell silent and then said “I have probably said too much. I am alone now so it’s easy to run my mouth in front of company. Please forgive me. I know you’re busy and I’m just sitting here nattering away.” She smiled and waved a hand in front of her face as if to ward off a fly. “Do you have any other questions? I’ll do my best but I’m afraid I can’t be much help.”
“When you talked with her last, did she seem depressed or preoccupied? Has she ever mentioned anyone with whom she fought or who might harbor a grudge?”
Julie looked out towards the lake as if to assist her memory. “I was always sorry that she and Michael divorced. I think he is a good man and did his best to be good to her. I think her current man is far worse. He’s a lot younger than Pamela.” Julie indicated what she thought of that fact. “I think he feeds her insecurities and does so on purpose. He’s a bit of a dick in my opinion.” A small blush showed on each wrinkled cheek. “Forgive my language.”
“How long have they been together?”
“I’m not sure. As I said we don’t talk often and then not about personal stuff. We seldom visit although the two cabins are only about a mile apart. I think they’ve known each for a couple of years now. Maybe he was a reaction after her divorce. I couldn’t say how long they’ve been living together or even if they are living together.”
“But they seemed to be getting along okay as far as you know.”
“Yes,” Julie replied but seemed a little doubtful about her answer. Buckmaster decided not to speak but stared down into his empty coffee cup. Oftentimes he’d discovered that silence could be one of th
e most underrated tools in the policeman’s arsenal. Most people hated silence and did everything in their power to fill it with noise or speech or mechanical interventions – oh so sorry but that’s the oven clock going off. I need to get the cookies out – and an innumerable number of mindless phrases and truisms.
“There is one thing that sticks in my memory,” Julie said finally. “and perhaps I’m speaking out of turn and shouldn’t say a thing, but my daughter is apparently missing so I want to help out as much as I can. Years ago, I was talking with Pam. We were discussing plans for Thanksgiving and Christmas. She never wanted children so it would be a small affair really but somehow our conversation got side-tracked and she complained to me that she had just returned from a business trip and the next day her bag and carry-on case and briefcase had been gone through. She said that she had asked Michael, about it and he had denied doing that. We went on to other matters. Nothing had been missing or damaged. Her privacy had been invaded but that appeared to be the extent of it. A curiosity. Nothing more.”
“Did she call the police?”
“Oh I’m sure she didn’t. As I said, there was nothing missing or even damaged. Her clothes and papers were out of order. That’s all.”
Buckmaster made a notation in his little notebook. “Thank you for your time Mrs. Pease and for helping us out as much as possible.” Buckmaster got to his feet and picked up his coffee cup to take it into the kitchen.
“Just leave it there. Allison will be in shortly and she’ll take care of the coffee stuff.”
Buckmaster set his cup down on a small side table. He’d momentarily forgotten the last name of the person with whom he was talking and the wealth in her family. He liked Julia and thought that she would have been a nice person and a strong woman with or without family wealth. “About when did you have this conversation with your daughter?”
“Mmmm. It was before Michael so at least eight years.”
