by Beverly Long
It was. She put the money in, dialed the number and listened to it ring. The phone booth smelled a bit like urine, so she left the door open. There was nobody around to hear her conversation.
“Witzer Foe. How may I help you?”
She had met the receptionist last year at Gabe’s company’s Christmas party but could not remember her name. That was good. It made it easier to do this. “Richard Jones,” she said, making her voice deep.
“Richard Jones?” the woman repeated.
“Yes.” The man her husband had supposedly met with.
“I’m sorry. We don’t have anyone working here by that name.”
“Oh, I was sure he said he was from Witzer Foe. Is it possible that he’s one of your customers?”
“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have that information.”
“Of course,” Rena said. “Thanks for your help.” She hung up, wanting to bang her head against the glass. But it was pretty damn dirty.
She went back to her car and squeezed some antibacterial gel into her hands. Realized that they were shaking.
What kind of cop was she?
This wasn’t about being a cop. This was about being a wife. Who, right now, wasn’t sure she trusted her husband.
Fourteen
The drive from Chicago to Milwaukee took ninety minutes. But A.L. made good use of the time. He got through to the state rep’s office, after getting past an overly protective administrative assistant. Meyer confirmed that Dwayne Thistle had been there, from approximately ten in the morning until three that afternoon, and that Sean Mallor had participated on the telephone for both the morning and after-lunch sessions.
Then A.L. called Ferguson, who was in the office, and explained about the need to verify Mallor’s medical condition and to confirm his train rides.
“On it,” Ferguson had said.
A.L. knew the medical condition would require more finagling because of health information protection laws, but Ferguson would see it through, get done what needed to be done.
Scott and Terrie Willow lived in a neighborhood of very middle-class homes. It reminded him a bit of Tess Lyons’s house and thought that familiarity breeds comfort.
He stared at the house and hoped like hell that Tess was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee with her parents.
He knocked on the door. It swung open. The woman behind the screen door was midsixties, dressed in workout clothes, and she was carrying a yoga mat. She had a purse over one shoulder. It appeared that he’d caught her on her way out. “Terrie Willow?” he asked.
“Yes?” Her tone was guarded.
He pulled his badge. “I’m Detective A.L. McKittridge from the Baywood, Wisconsin, Police Department.”
“Scott,” she yelled over her shoulder.
A.L. waited. Scott Willow came to the door, a dishtowel in his hands. He looked a few years older than his wife. He was thin and dressed in jeans and a polo shirt.
“What?” he said.
“He’s from the Baywood Police Department.” Terrie’s voice sounded dull.
He got a feeling that Tess wasn’t sitting at the kitchen table. A.L. held his badge steady so that Scott could read it.
The man tossed the towel over his shoulder. “Come in,” he said. They took seats in the small family room. The television was on, but the sound was off and closed-captioning ran across the bottom of the screen.
“Is Tess Lyons your daughter?” A.L. asked.
They both nodded.
“I’m interested in talking with her,” he said.
Terrie let out a gasp. “So, you’re not here with bad news?” she asked.
In a roundabout way, he supposed. But that wasn’t what she’d meant. “No, ma’am. I’ve never met your daughter.”
Scott looked at his wife. “We thought that you were perhaps here to tell us that something had happened to Tess.”
“Like what?” A.L. asked.
“Like she might have done something. To herself. She’s been so depressed since the accident,” Terrie said.
“The shark attack?” A.L. said.
They nodded.
“I have this number for your daughter,” A.L. said, holding out his phone.
“Yes, that’s right,” Terrie confirmed.
He didn’t want to add to their worry, but they needed to figure this out. “I’ve tried her several times and haven’t been able to reach her.”
“It’s possible that she might have canceled that number,” Scott said.
“Why would she do that?”
“A reporter called here, wanting to speak with her,” Terrie said. “Said he wanted to do a story about the shark attack.”
“A reporter from where?” A.L. asked. This was not good.
“From the Bulletin,” Terrie said. “Your newspaper.”
“What was his name?”
“Mike Wilmont,” Terrie said. “It was easy for us to remember it because we have a friend named Mike Wills.”
“Mike Wilmont,” A.L. repeated. He pulled his notebook and wrote it down. A.L. did not recognize the name. But it was certainly possible that the Bulletin had reporters he’d not met. Or it could be someone doing freelance work and hoping to sell it to the paper.
“When did he call?”
“Tuesday, about noon. Yes, that’s right,” Terrie said, looking at her husband. “We were having lunch. I’d made tuna salad.”
He didn’t care if she’d made steak tartare and they’d eaten it naked on the porch. But he understood the need for context. “So let me make sure I have this right,” A.L. said. “A reporter called here at noon, this past Tuesday, because he wanted to talk to Tess. You passed that message on to Tess, and she wasn’t happy about it.”
“Well, she wasn’t happy that the reporter called here, that he wanted to do a story or that we gave him her cell number.” Terrie shrugged. “I didn’t realize that she was going to react quite like she did. She was furious.”
“When did this conversation with Tess occur?” A.L. asked.
“Midafternoon on Tuesday,” Terrie said. “She called from work.”
She hadn’t been at work. She’d been at a hotel in Madison, if her credit cards were to be believed. Her boss had said that she’d called in sick on Monday and Tuesday and then had called back later on Tuesday afternoon to request a leave. But maybe she’d wanted her parents to think that she’d been working. “So you told her about the call?”
“Yes. Which started the conversation off badly. And then...well, she sort of broke down. Said that it was hard,” Terrie said, her voice soft. “So much harder than she expected.”
Scott leaned forward. “Our daughter took to surfing a bit later than most. She was well into her thirties. And she was never going to be a professional surfer, but she was pretty damn good. And she loved it. The attack...well, it took that...and much more...away from her.”
A.L. was a Midwest boy who’d seen the ocean but never on the back of a skinny board. He simply didn’t understand the mechanics of surfing enough to understand the man’s comment, but it wasn’t really the point, anyway. “If her phone number isn’t good anymore, then how are you supposed to reach her?”
“She said that she’d call in a few days with a new number,” Terrie said. “We haven’t heard from her yet. She was so upset and I was trying to cheer her up, but I think I said the wrong thing and made her angry.”
“What was that?” A.L. asked.
“I have a pretty significant hearing loss. I wear aids, and I read lips, but still, I miss things.”
That explained the closed-captioning on the television. And now that she’d mentioned it, he realized that she’d chosen a chair where she faced him directly, where she could more easily see his lips move.
“And I told her that I’d learned to live with my di
sability. I was...just trying to make her feel better, to give her hope. I guess she didn’t see not being able to hear well as the same as...well, her injury. I was probably insensitive, but we’re all struggling.”
Terrie Willow sounded miserable. She hated that she and her daughter were at odds. “Did she say anything else when you talked? About where she was going, whether she was visiting anyone? Anything would be helpful.”
“She said that she was going away with her friend Lauren.”
A.L. pulled the notebook from his pocket. “Do you know Lauren’s last name?”
“Peacock,” Terrie said.
“Telephone number?” A.L. asked.
Terrie opened the purse that was still hanging from her shoulder. She pulled out her phone and thumbed through her contacts. “Here,” she said, handing him the phone.
He copied the number down. There was no address or email listed for Lauren. “Where does Lauren live?”
“In Baywood,” Terrie said, sounding surprised that A.L. didn’t know that.
It was official. He was chasing his tail in circles. “Do you know what she does for a living?”
“I think she might be a teacher at Baywood High.”
Traci’s school. It was one fucking small world. But school was in session. It would be very difficult for a teacher to just take off right now. “Do you have any idea where Tess and Lauren might have been headed?”
Both Scott and Terrie shook their heads. “I don’t think she wanted us to know,” Scott said, his tone weary. “We have to respect that.”
It was killing them.
“Why are you wanting to talk to our daughter?” Scott asked.
A.L. had wondered when they were going to get back to that. “I’m afraid that I’m not able to give you much information. It’s part of an ongoing investigation.”
“But Tess didn’t do anything wrong?” Scott pushed.
“No, sir,” A.L. said. He pulled a business card from his pocket. “If you hear from Tess, would you tell her that I’m trying to reach her?” The time for covert watching was over. His gut told him that they needed to make contact with Tess now.
“Of course,” Scott said.
“And if anybody else contacts you about Tess’s whereabouts, please don’t tell them anything. Don’t tell them what you’ve told me. Don’t tell them that the police have contacted you,” A.L. added.
“You’re scaring us,” Scott said.
“I don’t mean to. But this is important. Everything that I’m asking of you is for Tess’s safety.”
Scott and Terrie looked at one another. “Is our daughter in danger?” Scott asked.
Fuck. He didn’t want to lie to these nice people. “The situation we’re working with has the potential for danger. That’s why it’s important for us to talk to Tess.”
“Should we call Lauren?” Terrie asked.
“We’ll make contact with her,” A.L. said. “All I’m asking you to do right now is keep my visit here confidential and to convey to Tess the importance of reaching out to me if you happen to hear from her.”
“We will,” Terrie said.
He was hitting them with a lot. “One last thing. Is that a picture of Tess?” he asked, pointing at a frame that sat on a bookshelf across the room. From where he sat, he was confident it was a woman and about the right age.
“Yes.” Terrie got up and retrieved the five-by-seven photo. “This is her a couple years ago, at our fortieth wedding anniversary party.”
Tess was looking at the camera, smiling. Her hair was dark and shoulder-length. Her skin was fair and her eyes were a hazel blue. Pretty, he thought. She was wearing a casual summer dress and no shoes. Behind the lawn chair that she was sitting in was a table of food. “Looks like a nice party,” he said.
“Happier times,” Terrie agreed.
“Do you mind if I take a photo of this?” he asked.
“You can take this if you need it.”
He didn’t want to be responsible for it. “This will work.” He used his cell phone to snap a couple shots.
“I’ve taken up enough of your time,” A.L. said, standing up. He walked to the door.
“We’re just grateful that you weren’t here to tell us that she was dead,” Terrie said.
The woman was a straight shooter. He hoped that Tess had inherited some of that. “Me, too,” A.L. said, and put his hand on the doorknob.
* * *
He called Rena from the car. “I’m on my way back,” he said.
“Did you find Tess?” she asked.
“She’s not at her mom and dad’s house. And based on what they said, she’s pretty depressed.”
“That goes along with what her boss said.”
“Her parents said that Mike Wilmont from the Bulletin contacted them, trying to reach Tess. Do you recognize that name?”
“No. Maybe he’s new.”
“Maybe. They think she might have canceled or disconnected her cell phone number to avoid his calls. Maybe to avoid theirs, too.” They hadn’t said that, but he’d heard the unspoken heartbreak. “She called them on Tuesday. They thought she was at work.”
“So she hid from them that she’d called in sick on Monday and Tuesday and spent that time in Madison.”
“Yeah. All that proves is that no matter how old we get, we still lie to our parents. Which may or may not make my other information valid.”
“What’s that?”
“They think that she’s traveling with a friend who teaches at Baywood High,” A.L. said.
“Two weeks before school gets out? Odd time for a teacher to be traveling.”
“Exactly.” That’s why he and Rena got along. “Name is Lauren Peacock. We need to talk to her. I also want a look inside Tess’s house.”
“We’ll need a warrant.”
“Absolutely. Can you call Faster and get him to grease the wheels? Let me know once we have it.”
“We’re going in in broad daylight. What if somebody is watching the house?”
“Agree, that’s a risk. So we wait. But I want that warrant in my back pocket so that we can use it when we need it.”
“Okay. I’ll call Faster.”
“What did you find out from Darcy Mallor?”
“She seems like a bright young woman who knows what she wants. Living in Chicago wasn’t it. She claims that’s the reason for the divorce. She didn’t talk badly about Sean. Said that he grew up poor and—”
“What?”
“Said that he grew up poor and that probably fueled his ambition. What are you thinking?”
“I guess I’m surprised. He didn’t say anything about being a ‘rags to riches’ story.”
“It’s not a crime to be poor.”
“Of course not. But he comes across as the type of person who might get some satisfaction from people knowing that he’s a self-made man.”
“He has a sister. Did he say anything to you about that?”
“No. Just said there was no other family in Smithville besides Darcy and his daughter.”
“I guess the sister lives in Saint Paul. Gracie Holt is the name. They’re estranged. She didn’t even come to Darcy and Sean’s wedding. I’m thinking we don’t need to find her?”
“I agree. Since she’s estranged, she probably can’t tell us much about Sean Mallor. I think your time would be better spent taking a drive out to Baywood High and seeing what you can find out about Lauren Peacock. If you need to, talk to Mrs. Wootin. She’s the principal. And tell her I said hi.”
“You’re that friendly with the principal? I thought Traci was one of the good kids.”
“She used to be Janice Miller. And I had her for English when she was a first-year teacher, some twenty-plus years ago. I was seventeen, she was twenty-two, and quite frankly, I and three hundred other
senior boys thought she was smoking hot.”
“Don’t tell me,” she said.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Morgan. A boy can daydream, right? She always played it perfectly professional—just the right amount of caring but always aloof. I think she planned early on that her career was going to go somewhere.”
“Okay, I’ll give her your best. And maybe this will be our last stop—we’ll get lucky with this one.”
“Hope so. Who knew it was going to be so damn hard to find Tess Lyons?”
* * *
Rena stopped for a cup of coffee on her way to the high school. It had been a late night. After she and Gabe had sex, she’d drifted off to sleep for a couple hours until her alarm rang. She’d rolled out of bed, stumbled into the kitchen and shredded five pounds of the roast pork.
By that time, she’d been awake, and it had been another two hours before she’d gotten back to sleep. She’d reset her alarm but almost slept through it when it rang the next morning. Gabe was already gone by the time she got out of the shower.
She parked outside the Love Cup and, once inside, took her place in line. That’s when she realized that Gabe’s brother was two in front of her. “Hey, Danny,” she said, lightly punching him in the shoulder.
He turned with a big smile on his handsome face. “What are you doing here? This isn’t your usual place.”
“I’m on my way to the other side of town,” she said. It was habit not to share too much.
“Got a minute,” he asked, “to join me for a cup?”
“I guess.”
“Grab a table. What do you want?”
“Vanilla latte, skim milk, extra hot.”
“Man, you’re high maintenance,” he said, smiling.
She pulled out a five, and he waved it away. There was an available two-top near the window, and she sat, enjoying the bright sun. When he sat across from her, she realized that he’d also gotten two blueberry muffins.
“There is a god and his name is Danny,” she said, picking up one of the muffins.
“The boys are both mad at me right now, so it’s good to have somebody put me on a pedestal.”
