Gone

by Shirlee McCoy

  She led them across the gleaming hardwood floor, passing a small reading nook near an oval-shaped stained glass window.

  Two doors opened off the oversize landing. One white. One orange.

  Ella hurried to the brightly colored one. “This is it.”

  She unlocked the door, and probably would have stepped inside, but Sam tugged her back.

  “Let Wren and Radley go in first.”

  “You don’t really think someone would hang around in the apartment waiting for me, do you?” she asked, but she didn’t try to follow.

  “It isn’t about what I think,” he replied. “It’s about keeping you safe. That requires taking precautions. Have you met your cousin’s neighbor?” he asked, gesturing at the other door.

  She shook her head. “He’s a doctor, though. Ruby wrote about him.”

  “What’d she say?” Usually victims were murdered by loved ones or acquaintances—people who knew their routines and their habits.

  “That he had a big mouth and cocky attitude, and she was glad that their offices at the clinic were two floors apart.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Why?”

  “Most victims know their murderers.”

  “So you think she was murdered?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Yes, but you’re the first law enforcement official I’ve spoken to who agrees.”

  “Wren was able to get copies of the police and coroner’s reports. We went over them last night.”

  “And?”

  He hesitated, not sure if he should tell her what they suspected—that Ruby’s muffler had been purposely blocked, that she’d been knocked out by carbon monoxide poisoning before she was injected with opioids.

  “I can handle whatever it is. So if that’s what you’re worried about, don’t,” Ella prodded, a hint of impatience in her voice.

  “Who said I was worried?”

  “Come on, Sam,” she said, ignoring the question. “Spill. It’s not like I’m going to melt into a puddle of fresh grief if you tell me how Ruby was killed. Besides, she was my family, and I think I have a right to know.”

  She was my family.

  Not: She was family.

  There was a big difference in the words and the meaning, and he was sure Ella had intended him to notice. Without Ruby, Ella was family-less. No siblings. Both parents dead in a car accident years ago. No surviving aunts, uncles or grandparents.

  Sam knew the facts. He’d seen them printed in black and white the previous night. Wren was thorough, and she hadn’t missed a thing. Not even the police report Ella had signed against her ex-fiancé. The one that had contained photos of her bloodied face, her bruised arms, X-rays of her broken ribs.

  She’d pressed charges against her ex, and Sam had read a transcript of the trial that had come from that.

  Yeah. He knew a lot about Ella, but he didn’t know how she’d react when he told her how her cousin had died.

  He explained anyway, outlining the theory Wren had presented the previous night.

  When he finished, she offered a quick, curt nod.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m—”

  “Please don’t say you’re sorry again, Sam.”

  “Convinced Ruby knew her killer,” he continued. “That’s why I’m interested in her neighbors.”

  “Right. You can read more about them in her journals. She wrote about all the people in her world.”

  “Including you?”

  “Probably. I didn’t read the earlier ones. I was mostly skimming the recent one, trying to find a reason for what happened.”

  “Did you find information about any significant relationships?”

  “Romantic?”

  “Yes. And friendships. Did she write about anyone in particular?”

  “She mentioned her boyfriend a lot. Ian works at the medical clinic. He’s a doctor there.”

  “Do you have a last name?”

  “Wade. I met with him the day I arrived in town. He seemed heartbroken by Ruby’s death.” She mentioned the last casually, as if Ian Wade’s reaction to Ruby’s death didn’t matter.

  But, of course, it did.

  Maybe Wade’s sorrow was real. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, Sam made a mental note to speak with the guy.

  Boyfriends, fiancés, husbands and exes were always the first in a list of suspects.

  “Were they serious?” he asked, and she shrugged.

  “As serious as Ruby ever was with any guy.”

  “That’s an interesting way to put it.”

  “Ruby was an interesting person. She loved her job. She loved life, but she preferred not to fall in love with anyone. At least, that’s the way she always explained it to me.”

  “So she had more than one boyfriend at a time?” Someone like that could have a list of spurned lovers interested in seeking revenge.

  “No. She kept her relationships light. No deep feelings or high expectations.”

  “She was a cynic?”

  “She was the opposite of that. She believed in love and happy endings and good people. She just didn’t want to be part of a couple. She enjoyed her independence too much.”

  “I wonder how Ian felt about that?” he asked, and she shrugged again.

  “Ruby was always clear on the parameters of her relationships before she entered them. The last thing she ever wanted to do was hurt someone.”

  That didn’t mean she hadn’t managed it.

  And hurt feelings could result in festering resentment. He’d worked in law enforcement long enough to have seen many examples of how that could manifest itself.

  He’d definitely be speaking with the doctor soon.

  Fabric rustled, the sound of boots on floorboards drifting from the apartment. Seconds later, Radley appeared in the open doorway. “It’s all clear. Come on in.”

  Ella went immediately, rushing into the apartment.

  Sam followed, stepping into an immaculate living room.

  Dark wood floors that were probably original.

  Huge fireplace with a carved mantel.

  Large window with a view of the river.

  The curtains were open, sunlight falling on a built-in window seat covered with blue velvet fabric. There were built-in bookshelves on the far wall, an old secretary desk nestled in an alcove they created it.

  “Wow,” he said.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Radley murmured. “Who’d mind coming home to this every night?”

  “Ruby loved it. When I walked in for the first time, I understood why she’d gushed about living here. It’s every bit as beautiful as she said.”

  “How often did you visit?” Sam asked.

  “Never.” There was finality in the word and regret. “I had a lot of excuses. None of them should have kept me away.”

  “Regrets will eat you alive if you let them, Ella,” he said.

  “If knowing that would keep them at bay, I’d spend my nights sleeping peacefully instead of chasing a bunch of what-ifs.” She smiled, the expression bittersweet. “Ruby knew I loved her, and she visited me a few times a year, so it’s not like we hadn’t seen each other recently. I still wish I would have made the time to come here while she was alive and seen it through her eyes.”

  “Her journals have probably helped you do that,” Radley cut in.

  “Not really. She wasn’t big on writing about inanimate things. She preferred to focus on people. There are a couple of descriptions of the place, but mostly just because she was speculating on what it might have been like before it was converted to apartments. Hold on. I’ll show you what I mean.” She stepped around an oversize couch, moving toward inset bookshelves that ran from flooring to ceiling. Stopped.

  The color leached from her face, and
she crouched, touching an empty bottom shelf. “They’re gone.”

  “What?” he asked, but he was pretty sure he knew.

  “The journals.”

  “Are you sure?” It was a stupid question, and he knew it. Ella had spent nearly a week in the apartment. She’d read the journals, and she knew exactly where they should be.

  “Yes. They were here when I left the apartment yesterday morning.”

  “Did you mention the journals to anyone other than me?” Sam asked, and she nodded.

  “I went to the police, assuming that they’d see what I had—Ruby’s concern, her anxiety, the subtle hints that something was wrong. They copied a few of the pages I pointed out but said they didn’t see anything concerning. The sheriff told me to come back if I found enough evidence to reopen her case. So I reread the journals a dozen times.”

  “And didn’t find anything else alarming?”

  “It was alarming to me. Like I’ve said, Ruby’s last few journals had a different tone than her previous ones. She mentioned the clinic a lot and some of the people she worked with. She also jotted a few numbers in the margins of the most recent. I’ve been trying to figure out what they mean, because I didn’t want to go back to the police unless I was certain they could act on the information.”

  “Did you take photos of the pages?”

  “No, but I was reading through it again yesterday morning. I put it in the bottom drawer of the secretary desk, and...” She straightened hurrying to the old desk. The scuffed wood had been polished to a high sheen and a place mat sat on the opened desk, a computer mouse next to it.

  It looked like Ruby’s computer had been there.

  If so, it was gone. Just like the journals.

  Ella knelt in front to the desk and wrestled with the bottom drawer. He leaned down to help, brushing her hands away and giving a quick, sharp tug.

  It popped open.

  He saw the journal before she removed it.

  Dark brown leather. Slim. Dates scrawled across the top in silver calligraphy letters.

  “It’s here,” Ella said, lifting it and opening the pages.

  The writing inside was as beautiful as what he’d seen on the cover.

  “What’s going on?” Wren asked, stepping into the room from the wide hallway that Sam assumed led to the bedrooms.

  “Most of the journals are missing,” he said, and she frowned, pulling out her cell phone and dialing quickly.

  “Anything else gone?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ella responded. “Ruby liked to hold on to anything related to people she cared about or good memories she had. She packed a lot into this apartment.”

  “How about we go through room by room?” Sam suggested.

  “All right.” She tucked the notebook in her purse and led him through a tall archway and into the kitchen. Unlike the living room, it had a modern feel. Granite counters. Deep porcelain sink. White cabinets.

  The counters were bare, several taped boxes sitting on a sturdy farmhouse table. Ella touched one as she passed.

  “I packed four. There are four here. That’s pretty much it for dining and kitchen stuff. Ruby was a wonderful person, but she was a horrible cook. She ate a lot of carryout.”

  She walked to an exterior door that was set against the corner of the wall at the back of the room.

  “This is unlocked. I’m sure I locked it before I left the house. I’m a little OCD about that kind of stuff.”

  “Where does it lead?” Sam asked, motioning for Radley to check the lock on the small window above the sink. It was too small for most people to crawl through, but someone Ella’s size could manage it. If The Organization was responsible for the missing journals, they had plenty of members who could probably do it.

  “A balcony that overlooks the river. The fire escape is attached, so it serves dual purposes.”

  “Have you used the balcony since you arrived?” Sam asked, checking the jamb near the lock, looking for signs that someone had forced his or her way in.

  “Yes. Once or twice. But, like I said, I’m OCD about locks.”

  “It’s a skeleton lock,” Sam commented. “Do you have the key?”

  “Sure. It’s hanging...” She touched a small nail on the wall near the door. “It was here. Now it’s gone. Ruby’s purse is gone, too. It was there.” She pointed to an ornate silver hook. “I haven’t touched it since the day I arrived.”

  “Was it something she used every day?” Sam asked, surprised that it would have been left behind when Ruby went to work.

  “Yes, but she didn’t leave it here, if that’s what you’re thinking. It was found in her car. The police gave it to me when I arrived. Her wallet was in it. Credit cards. Normal things.”

  “Cell phone?” he asked, his mind jumping back to the police report. He’d skimmed the list of items found in the car. He didn’t recall a cell phone being listed.

  “No. It wasn’t in the purse or in her car. I thought it might be in her office, but you know how my attempt to look for it ended.”

  “I don’t know anyone who carries a cell phone and leaves it when they go out.” Radley tucked his hand in his sleeve and turned the door handle.

  “The police are on the way,” Wren said, entering the kitchen and looking around. “What have we figured out so far?”

  “Whoever broke in probably came in this door. It’s two floors up but easily accessible if you have a ladder, and these old skeleton locks are a cinch to pick,” Radley responded. “I’m curious to see if the fire escape has been accessed.”

  He pulled on the doorknob.

  The door remained closed.

  “You have to push it. It swings out,” Ella said, and he turned the handle again, pushed. It still didn’t open.

  “Is it stuck?” Ella asked. But it obviously was, and Sam wanted to know why.

  “Seems that way,” Radley said calmly, but Sam could see his tension and hear the edge in his voice. “I’ll go outside and look at it from the street. Maybe I can figure out what’s going—”

  A shrill alarm drowned out the rest of his words.

  A siren shrieking a warning.

  Loud. Insistent.

  “Fire alarm!” Wren shouted above the din, grabbing Ella’s hand and dragging her from the room.

  Sam sprinted ahead of them, heading for the apartment door on Radley’s heels. They reached it simultaneously, and Sam slid his hand across the wood.

  “Cool,” he shouted, pulling his gun and yanking the door open.

  He was expecting gunfire and dove to the side to avoid it, but the landing was empty. No gunman. No sign of trouble. Nothing but the shrieking siren and the thundering pulse of his blood.

  Radley tapped his shoulder, motioned that they should split up. One up to the third floor. One to the lower level.

  He nodded his agreement, gun still out as he moved toward the neighbor’s door.

  He tried the knob. Found it locked. Moved toward the stairs. And smelled smoke, the scent acrid and pungent, chemical and rancid. Tendrils of black snaked through the floorboards and drifted upward, swirling in the hazy sunlight that streamed through the window. He could feel heat through the soles of his shoes and knew the fire was burning hot below, feeding on the dried-out, century-old joists and beams.

  He ran to the stairs, could see the front door—flames lapping up from the floor, eating away at the wood, the heat curling the paper on the nearby wall.

  The bottom of the stairs was in flames as well, the railing alive with orangish fire.

  Blocked fire exit.

  Blocked front door.

  Blocked escape.

  A well-thought-out plan, but it wasn’t going to be successful.

  Sam spun around, lifting the edge of his shirt to cover his nose and mouth as he ran back into the apartment
.

  EIGHT

  The day had gone from calm to chaos so quickly Ella’s head was spinning.

  Or maybe it was the smoke that was making it do that.

  Wren had tugged her into the hallway, while Sam and Radley ran out of the apartment. Within seconds, black smoke had seeped up through the floorboards, filling her lungs and stinging her eyes.

  The siren stopped screaming, the sound dying abruptly, and the silence was more terrifying than the cacophony of noise had been.

  “What happened?” she said, her throat raw, her voice hoarse.

  “The electricity must have shorted out the alarm. It should be running on batteries, too, but sometimes landlords get lazy,” Wren replied, dragging Ella a few more feet down the hall.

  The bathroom was there, and she must have known it.

  She opened the door and shoved Ella into the room.

  “Turn on the faucet. Wet some towels. Quickly.”

  Ella did as she asked, grabbing a pile of towels from the linen closet and tossing it into the claw-foot tub. She ran water over them, coughing as smoke billowed into the room.

  “Good enough. Let’s go,” Wren shouted, grabbing the towels and tossing one around Ella’s shoulders.

  “Wrap it around your head. Cover your nose and mouth.”

  They stepped back into the hall, and the smoke was so thick, Ella could barely see.

  “Let’s get low and get out,” Wren shouted, yanking Ella to the floor, the sound of flames crackling and wood splitting almost drowning out her voice.

  That was worse—much, much worse—than the sound of the siren had been.

  “What about Sam and Radley?” she tried to shout, but the words caught in her throat, and she coughed so violently she saw stars.

  The floor seemed to be burning from beneath, the wood warping as she crawled back toward the kitchen. She knew Wren was ahead of her, but she could barely see her through the thick smoke.

  Please, Lord, she prayed. Get us all out of here alive.

  Her knees and palms burned, but she managed to find her way through the hall and into the kitchen. The smoke was lighter there—a misty gray cloud that floated through the room.