by Terry Shames
“You could come on home.” I try not to sound hopeful.
“Good try!” She giggles. “No, I can’t. Even though she and I drive each other crazy, it would hurt her feelings if I left. We’ll work it out. Anyway, I’m glad to hear your voice.”
“I called for a specific reason. Do you know a coffee shop called Mykonos Café?”
“I know of it, but I’ve never been there. It’s pretty much a student hangout. But I have been to Mykonos. What a beautiful island! We should go sometime. Why are you asking?”
“It’s something that came up in an investigation.”
“This isn’t about Loretta, is it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Oh, dear. I hoped she would be back in her house by now.”
“You and me both.”
We only have a few more minutes to talk before Maria comes in, and I have to get off the phone.
Maria plops down with her burger and a milkshake. “What did the Baptist preacher want? Was he worried about Loretta?”
“Far from it. He’s much more concerned with the goat rodeo.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were. Seems like the kind of man who’s used to getting his way.”
“And who’s used to only dealing with lily white people, especially men.”
“You noticed?”
“How could I miss it? He looked like he wanted to run screaming from the room. I’d like to know what his wife is like.” She shudders. “Well, no matter. Did you give in to him?”
“Sent him packing,” I say. “I told him I had something more important on my mind—namely, finding Loretta. Now, let’s compare notes.”
“I didn’t find out anything worth sharing.”
“Well, I did.” I tell her that a woman who Loretta takes painting classes with shared a few things with me. “She told me that Loretta planned to go out with a couple of different men.” I tell her there were two coffee shops where the dates were supposed to happen. “She was meeting one man at the one in Bryan-College Station last Sunday and the one in Bobtail on Tuesday. I asked her last Saturday why she was dressed up, and I think she was meeting someone that day too.”
“We should go to the one in Bobtail first. We know she survived the ones over the weekend because she changed the calendar on Monday.” Maria is ready to jump in the car now and get on over there.
“No, I’m going to Bryan first,” I say.
“Why?”
“First of all, we don’t know that she didn’t meet a guy there and cancel the one in Bobtail. And second, it’s Saturday today. Loretta was going to meet the man last Sunday afternoon. It’s likely that the same staff will be on duty on weekends and more likely to recognize Loretta’s photo. I’m also going to take that photo with me that we found in her desk.”
Maria wads up the paper from her hamburger. “Then we better get going.”
“Not we. Me.”
“What? Why can’t I go too?”
“Because we aren’t a big enough department to team up. You’re not going to miss any action, and you’re on duty this afternoon. You need to stick around here. Suppose Loretta shows up?”
She glares at me. “This is not just an excuse to go see Wendy, is it?”
“No, Ms. Busybody, it isn’t. Wendy is out of town.”
I stand up and Dusty leaps to his feet, ready for action. I look down at him. “I’ll tell you what,” I say to Maria. “I’ll leave Dusty with you.” She loves Dusty, but even that gesture doesn’t satisfy her, and by leaving Dusty, I’ve left two disappointed individuals.
The Mykonos Café is teeming with students, most of whom look to me like they ought to be in junior high school—or what they call middle school these days. The youthful energy in the room is contagious. I suddenly get a flash of nostalgia for the days I was in school at A&M.
I hang back and wait for a lull in the coffee line before I approach the counter and show the staff Loretta’s photo that I took off the dating site and the man’s photo we found in her desk. Although I don’t think Loretta’s photo looks like her, Maria said if she fixed herself up to have her picture taken, most likely she fixed herself up to meet a date too.
Both the young women and the young man behind the counter give the photos a fair look, but none of them recognizes Loretta or the man. “We get a whole lot of people through here every day,” one of the girls says. She has a sweet face and tattooed arms.
“Not so many old people though,” the other girl says, and then blushes as if she’s said the wrong thing.
It’s possible that Loretta didn’t come to the counter at all. Her date might have gotten her a cup of coffee. I survey the room and turn back to the counter staff. “Can you point out anyone who is a regular here? Maybe someone else noticed her.”
They pick out a half-dozen people who are here all the time. I visit each of their tables in turn, and on the third one, a woman who looks a little older than the students says she recognizes Loretta’s photo.
“I remember seeing her, maybe last weekend?”
“Are you a student?”
She laughs. “No, I’m an assistant professor. I live near here though, which is why I come to this place for coffee. It’s so chaotic that every time I come, I tell myself it’s the last time; but it’s convenient.”
“Can you tell me if this woman was with anyone?”
“Why don’t you sit down?” she says. I take the seat across from her, and she closes her computer. “What is this about?”
“The woman is missing.”
“Ah. Well, I can tell you who she was with. I think that’s why I noticed her. She was with Professor Leonard Raymond. His students call him Leo the Lecher. He’s always hitting on his female students.”
“I thought that was frowned upon.”
She shrugs. “It is, but he stops short of harassment. He’s just annoying.”
“What does he teach?”
“He’s in the History Department. He teaches European History, and he actually has a reputation as a pretty good professor, despite his roving hands.”
“I suppose I won’t be able to find him in his office on a Saturday.”
“Probably not, but it’s worth a try.” She gives me directions to the building where he’s likely to have an office. “At least you can find his office hours, and it’s possible he has posted a phone number.”
“Did you notice anything in particular about the professor and this woman?”
“Honestly, I didn’t pay much attention except to think that he usually goes for the hot young things, and she didn’t fit that category. Still, they were having what looked to be a lively conversation.”
I find Professor Raymond’s office easily enough, but as I feared it’s closed for the weekend. There’s a note on the door that says his office hours are Tuesday and Thursday. But as the woman at the coffee shop suggested, there’s also a phone number and email address, “in case you find yourself in desperate need of a history lesson.”
It’s four o’clock on Saturday afternoon, and I’m not surprised that the professor doesn’t answer his phone. Still, I leave a message in case he’s out on an errand, and I decide I’ll hang around for a while in case he does get back to me. While I wait for him to call, I retreat to a coffee shop I’ve been to with Wendy, one that’s a lot quieter, to have a slice of pie and a cup of coffee. I won’t wait forever, but I can put in an hour. I pick up a campus newspaper and am reading it when my phone rings.
“This is Professor Raymond. To whom am I speaking?”
I tell him who I am. “I’d like to ask you a few questions. Are you at home?”
“Questions concerning what?”
“It’s a police matter. I can meet you at the downtown Bryan Police Department if you’d prefer. Or we could talk in your office.”
There’s a long silence. “I prefer my office. It will take me 20 minutes to get there.” From the hesitation in his voice, I suspect he’s worried that one of hi
s students has complained about his “roving hands.”
It’s actually thirty minutes before he comes rushing up to unlock his office door. He’s around fifty, 5’8” and trim, with a bushy brown and gray mustache and longish hair pulled back in a short ponytail. He’s wearing wire-rimmed glasses, jeans and a blue work shirt, and loafers with no socks.
His small office is cramped by bookshelves filled to capacity. A quick glance tells me it’s mostly history books with a shelf reserved for classics of Greek literature and poetry. But his desk is relatively clean and littered with oddities—a cowrie shell, a dish of marbles, and a small Japanese statue.
“Sit down, sit down.” He eases into the leather and wood desk chair and then points me to a straight-backed side chair that I imagine is for students who come to visit and is designed so they don’t overstay. “Now what is this police matter?” He smooths his mustache, a nervous gesture rather than preening. His eyes are watchful.
“Have you ever signed up for an online dating site?”
“I?” He’s startled. “No. I wouldn’t even think of it.”
“Why not?”
“I meet plenty of women. I don’t need to fish around on a dating site.”
“Married?”
“Divorced. Why?”
I take out the photo of Loretta and see the relief that flits across his face. “Have you seen this woman?”
“I . . .” He blinks. “I may have, but I don’t remember where. Who is she?”
“Someone recognized her as a woman you were having a conversation with at Mykonos Café a week ago.”
“Right. I remember now. Nice lady.” He’s relaxed now that he knows I’m not here about something to do with his students.
“Can you tell me how you met her?”
“I didn’t exactly meet her, at least not intentionally. She was sitting at a table alone, and there were no empty tables in the café, so I asked if I could join her.”
“You didn’t arrange to meet her?”
“No, of course not.” His lip curls as if he’s caught wind of an unpleasant odor. “I’m sorry, you didn’t say what this is about.”
“Had you ever seen her or spoken to her before you saw her at the coffee shop?”
He studies me. “Did something happen to her?”
“Answer the question, please.”
“No, I had never seen her before, nor have I seen her since. Like I said, she was a nice lady, but we had nothing in common, no reason for me to know her. In fact, she was a bit of a chatterbox, and after a while I was sorry that I had sat down with her.”
“What did you talk about?”
He leans back and steeples his fingers under his chin. After thinking a minute, he says, “It was not a scintillating conversation. She told me she was meeting someone. She told me she had lived in Jarrett Creek her entire life. She asked me if I was married and had children. I told her I was divorced and had two kids.” He throws up his hands. “Nothing more exciting than that.”
“Did she say anything specific about who she was meeting?”
He draws a deep breath. “She said she was early and that whoever she was meeting wasn’t going to be there for another half hour, and that’s why she said it was okay for me to sit with her.” He takes a couple of marbles out of the bowl on his desk and starts to roll them in his fingers, absentmindedly.
“While you were there, did the person she was meeting come in?”
“No.”
I take out the photograph of the man Loretta had in her desk. “Recognize him?”
He shakes his head. “Something did happen to her, didn’t it?”
“She’s missing, and I’m trying to find her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I wish I could be of more help.”
“You’ve at least verified that she was in Bryan a week ago.”
I stand up and hand him my card. “If you think of anything else that came up in the conversation with her, please give me a call. No matter how insignificant it seems.”
He looks at my card, and I see that he’s troubled. I wasn’t inclined to care much for him, but the fact that he is willing to give a thought to Loretta is in his favor. He gets to his feet. “I certainly will. What could have happened to her? She was cheerful.”
His words give me a pang. I’ve known Loretta so long, and we’re such good friends that I realize I’ve taken her for granted. Seeing her through this man’s eyes has made me aware that I would be devastated if anything happened to her in my jurisdiction.
When I get back to headquarters, Maria has left a message on the front door with her cell number in case anyone needs her. I call to find out what she’s up to.
“I’m driving around,” she says. “Did you find out anything?”
“A little. Driving around where?”
She sighs. “Looking for Loretta’s car.”
CHAPTER 13
Twenty minutes later, Maria walks in looking discouraged.
Dusty is right behind her, as happy as ever. He rushes over to me and leaps up again and again until I crouch down and ruffle his ears and tussle with him. “Where were you looking for the car?” I ask Maria.
“I was driving around all those little roads that lead off the main road between Bobtail and here. I figured that because no one had found her car and she hadn’t bought gas anywhere on her credit card, she must still be around here.”
I stand up. “Maria, you know you’re not going to find her car by wandering around looking for it.”
“I know it, but I couldn’t sit around the office doing nothing.”
“You do have a case you’re working on.” I glance pointedly at the stack of files on her desk that she was supposed to take back.
“I know, I know. I’ll take them back Monday.” She pokes at the stack with a listless gesture.
“Let me tell you what happened this afternoon.”
She listens intently. “Do you think the professor was telling the truth?”
“I think so. The woman who told me she saw them together at the coffee shop knew him. According to her, he’s more interested in girls his students’ age. The guy who hits on young girls is not likely to be interested in an older woman.”
“I suppose. Too bad that was a dead end. Chief, we can’t wait until next week to go to the other coffee shop.”
“Remember I told you that Elaine Farquart, the woman missing from Bobtail, was supposed to meet a man in a coffee shop? And that he called to say he had hurt his ankle and asked her to get groceries for him?”
“Yes.”
“Suppose he pulled the same thing on Loretta?”
Maria perks up. “That would account for her leaving her house in a hurry.”
“But even if she left in a hurry to go help this man, it doesn’t explain why she packed a suitcase. I can’t see her making a plan to spend the night with someone she has never even met.”
She props her chin on her hands, her momentary excitement deflated. “Maybe she thought he’d need care overnight? No.” She answers her own question. “She’d get someone else to help, or she’d call you or me.”
“You’re right,” I say.
She shakes her head. “That doesn’t work anyway because there were no phone calls to her house the day before she disappeared that matched any of the men.”
“Were there any calls that morning at all?”
“Couple of marketing calls, that’s all.” She sighs. “Meanwhile, she’s out there somewhere, and there’s nothing we can do.”
“I’m still holding out hope that this other woman going missing is just a bizarre coincidence, and that Loretta has gone off on an adventure.”
“You’re trying to make me feel better, I know.”
“Maybe a little bit. But I’m trying to think positive for myself too.” I snap my fingers. “Oh. One thing the woman I talked to from her painting class reminded me about. We need to distribute flyers asking if anyone has seen Loretta.”
She sits
straighter. “I’ll make one up.”
I tell her it can wait until tomorrow, but she waves me away. “I want to have it ready first thing in the morning to get it copied.” She grimaces. “I wonder if there’s a copy place open in Bobtail tomorrow.”
“I doubt it. We’ll have to copy it here.” We both look toward the ancient, balky copier.
She groans. “That will take forever. Never mind. I’ll get to it right now. I’ll do half tonight and half tomorrow morning. And I’m going to put out a notice on Facebook and Twitter.”
“You think that will help?”
“Can’t hurt.”
I offer to stay and help her print the flyers.
“No, take Dusty home and feed him. He’s a growing dog.”
She’s right. When we get home and I set his food out, he eats as if it’s the first food he has ever had.
I take a steak out of the refrigerator and put it in a pan to sear. I’m thinking of whether to bake a potato in the microwave or open a can of pinto beans to go with it when my landline phone rings. Most people have taken to using my cell phone, so this time of night it’s probably a telemarketer. I almost don’t answer, but it could be someone calling about Loretta.
But it’s a telemarketer, wanting to let me know the IRS is on my case. I find it more irritating than usual.
I open a can of beans and throw them in a pot, and while I wait for the steak to cook, I begin to pace. Loretta could be anywhere. Even after Elaine Farquart disappeared, in the back of my mind I was betting that Loretta would come back on her own and laugh at how silly we all were to worry about her. My thoughts lead me to darker and darker places, and before I know it, I’m agitated. I get myself a drink of water and try to calm myself down. Then I pour myself a shot of bourbon. It won’t do any good for me to let myself thrash around. Focus is what I need.
I turn off the burner under the steak. I’m not hungry, but I force down some of the food. It has no taste.
Dusty is watching me anxiously. He knows something is bothering me. I reach down and pat him and feed him a bit of steak. “You’re a good dog.” He goes to the door and whines. “All right, we’ll go for a walk.”
