The phone.
When Raleigh had collapsed seven and a half years ago, Ethan had reached for the only phone in their bedroom. Raleigh’s mobile phone, which she kept at her side of the bed. Grabbing her phone was a rational thing to do despite the irrational fear and panic he’d been experiencing at that exact moment.
That’s it, isn’t it?
Seven and a half years ago, it hadn’t struck Ethan as odd that she’d left her phone behind. That night, when the medics had told Ethan that he couldn’t ride with them to the hospital, he’d gone back inside for his car keys only to realize after half an hour of searching that they were inside Raleigh’s purse.
She’d taken her purse.
But she’d left her phone behind.
Doing irrational things to achieve rational goals! That’s it!
The same phone where the 911 call—the emergency link—had been intercepted by Raleigh’s kidnappers. Of course, Special Agent Klein disputed the possibility that anyone would go to such lengths. Apparently, kidnapping a low-profile, everyday senior research analyst at a pharmaceutical firm like Raleigh’s didn’t call for that type of complexity, even though it would make for excellent material in a high-stakes movie. The rational part of Ethan’s mind agreed with Klein: it hadn’t been a kidnapping.
Then what?
Entering the master bedroom’s executive walk-in closet, Ethan went straight to the back and shoved the clothes aside. He reached for the stack of six boxes that had remained hidden behind those clothes. All but one of those boxes contained Raleigh’s things—her old jewelry, special outfits, her wedding dress, their wedding album, some of her favorite books. Ethan dug through the first box, but didn’t come across the phone, so he moved on to the next.
If Raleigh hadn’t been kidnapped, that meant there was a bigger conspiracy at play; it meant the emergency services group, everyone from the 911 operator to the paramedic team had been involved in a massive cover-up involving Paul Hyatt, a man who lived in a mini mansion and was worth millions, and two other fake medics. In Ethan’s opinion, the cover-up angle made even less sense than the kidnapping theory, but he was desperate for an answer, any answer, anything that would light a path to his missing wife.
In the second box, he finally came across one of Raleigh’s old purses. She’d had the car keys in her new purse, the one she’d taken with her for the ambulance ride. The car keys had been in that newer purse, not this one, but she’d left her phone—the same device she brought to bed with her every night—behind.
Why, Raleigh? What are you trying to tell me?
Ethan’s fingers scraped across the bottom of the box and finally settled on what was obviously her phone. Pulling it out of the box, he stared at the black frame, the circular home button at the bottom, the speaker and tiny camera up top. It looked like the billions of other iPhones out there.
And its battery was dead.
What’s so special about this phone?
Since the disappearance, the newer models had changed how they were charged. Ethan knew from the jack at the bottom of Raleigh’s older device that it wasn’t compatible with his own phone’s charger downstairs. So, he returned to the box and searched through the last few items for the old charger.
When he didn’t find it, he emptied all of the other boxes, too. In none of them was there a phone charger that might be compatible with Raleigh’s device.
Starting to get a little frustrated, he grabbed Raleigh’s phone and abandoned the mess in his big closet. He returned downstairs, stepping past the plastic sheets that hung over the entry to the formal room and moved straight into the kitchen. There was a drawer next to the refrigerator where he kept all types of household items—obsolete mini cassettes for the old camcorder, a VHS tape of their wedding day, unopened Kodak camera film, replacement batteries, that sort of thing.
But he soon discovered that he hadn’t kept an old charger. Or, more likely, he’d discarded it once he’d upgraded his own phone, which he did every two years when he renegotiated his wireless contract.
Truthfully, Ethan hadn’t been thinking that he would someday need a charger for a phone he’d handed over to the fine folks at the wireless store. He probably hadn’t even been thinking that he’d kept Raleigh’s old iPhone, never even thought that he might someday want to access it like he did now. Back then, his conspiracy theories had a lot less urgency, too. With no leads and no news from the investigators, he’d also given up, a little gun shy about raising his concerns too loudly for fear of being pulled back into the police station and locked behind bars.
But after seeing Paul Hyatt’s face on the news last week, discovering Raleigh’s name on the back of his boat and learning that Lisa, his own widow, couldn’t provide an alibi for the night Raleigh had been taken away, Ethan was seeing clearly again. And, on top of all that, there was also the development involving a birthday card that had found its way to his mother-in-law six months after Raleigh had been taken. With all of those signs and tidy clues surfacing, Ethan was reinvigorated in his mission to bring Raleigh home.
And she would come home, he told myself. In fact, he was so confident about that that he’d even started reshaping their house to accommodate that return.
And he couldn’t wait for her to see it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ethan made a second trip into downtown that Monday, fully aware that it meant abandoning his goal of getting more work accomplished around the house. He’d contributed nothing to his hefty renovations goal that day, but the way he looked at it, he didn’t exactly have much choice.
Finding Raleigh had taken on a greater sense of urgency now that he had yet another hot clue.
His wireless provider was located on Michigan Ave, just north of the river. Ethan parked in an office building’s parking garage a few blocks away, noticing that people were already leaving work and heading home. It wasn’t even four o’clock. Back when Raleigh was around, neither of them had ever managed to leave their desks until well after five-thirty at night. Even a few months ago, before Ethan had announced his resignation (or early retirement, as he’d labeled it) he was lucky if he’d managed to leave the office before five no more than half a dozen times over his decade at Exact Data Systems.
Shaking his head at the laziness of today’s generation, Ethan strolled along Michigan Ave, feeling a lot like a fish swimming against the current.
The store where he’d arranged all of his mobile plans was a place called Darcy’s Wireless. As an independent, Darcy had access to all of the best plans across all of the major carriers, along with all of the latest devices. Ethan had met Darcy in the flesh a couple of times, but he also dealt with the man’s many employees, all of whom were always young, attractive students.
“Looking for something in particular?” the employee working that night asked him. This particular staff member had long brown hair, perfect skin, tons of eye makeup, and such skinny legs that they barely had any curvature to them. She smiled and seemed pleasant enough in her Darcy’s Wireless golf shirt.
Ethan smiled back while reaching into his left pocket and withdrawing Raleigh’s old phone.
The young woman’s smile melted and her eyes widened when she saw the device. “Whoa, I guess you’re just looking for something that doesn’t have a rotary dial, huh?” She laughed at her own joke, a nerdy chuckle.
Playing the nice-middle-aged-man card, Ethan grinned. “Cute. Actually, this is an old phone of mine,” he said. “I’m just looking for a charger that will work.” He reached into his right pocket and produced his own phone, the one he’d bought a few months ago from this very same store, right after he’d picked up his Jaguar SUV. “The charger for this thing just doesn’t fit.”
“Oh, I get it,” she said, her eyes alternating between the new phone and Raleigh’s ancient one. “They’re both Apple products, which means there’s a ton of aftermarket options for you. Unfortunately, we only sell certified original equipment here at Darcy’s,” she went on,
and then leaned closer and lowered her voice, “but I’m sure I can find just the thing in the back.” She stepped away and wiggled her eyebrows. Speaking of conspiracy theories . . .
“Well, okay,” Ethan said, pocketing both phones.
Shaking her head, the young woman motioned for Raleigh’s device. “Let me see that antique, will you?”
He handed it over, watched her tap the screen with a long, fake fingernail. “Ah, yes. These screens were notorious for cracking. A cold February wind could cause damage.” Her dorky laughter surfaced again. “You should have a protector on this thing if you’re hoping it’ll retain its value. You’re a collector, right?”
Ethan shook his head. He didn’t know collectors cared much about outdated iPhones. “I just want to see my old photos. And maybe transfer a few, if there’s anything of value stored on the device.”
“Oh.” She turned the phone over in her hands, flipped it upside down to inspect the charging port. After running her finger along the edges of the gap, she motioned for Ethan to follow her. “We have one of those old charging terminals in storage. An early version of the ones you sometimes see at the airport or in public places where people can charge them.” She leaned closer. “You know, for those morons who don’t have a portable charger.”
Ethan chuckled at “those morons,” even though he didn’t exactly know what a portable charger was.
“By the way, I’m Chantal,” the young woman said, glancing back and offering a closed fist instead of an outstretched hand. When it became clear that Ethan wasn’t sure how to respond, she stared hard at her fist and indicated he should do the same. “Fist bump, man.”
Ethan faked another chuckle. “Of course.” They bumped their fists, and after informing her that his name was Ethan, he followed her into the back of the store.
Despite the storefront being so tight and crammed, the back area was spacious with five aisles of shelves that stretched up to the ceiling. Chantal guided him down one of the closer aisles. Roughly halfway to the end, she stopped and inspected a mess of loose equipment.
“Here.” After handing him Raleigh’s old phone, she reached onto the shelf and pulled out a storage-box-sized shelf lined with peeling felt and various wires dangling from inside. Each wire had a slightly different tip to it—one tip looked like it could charge a Kindle, while the others could clearly charge other devices. “We’ll plug this in over there.”
Ethan followed Chantal to the corner of the back room where there was a small table with a microwave on it. She unplugged the microwave and plugged in the charging shelf. Ethan handed her Raleigh’s phone and watched her connect it to the first wire she picked.
“Now wait we will, Ethan,” she said in a Yoda voice, followed by that nerdy chuckle.
Since Ethan didn’t exactly want to sit around Darcy’s and chat with a young woman several generations younger than him (what would we talk about, ninja turtles, Jedi mind tricks?), Ethan told Chantal he needed to get a few more errands done, but that he would be back in ten minutes.
“Might want to give it half an hour,” she said with a doubtful grimace. “That’s an old device you brought in, manufactured long before the thunderbolt cable.”
The what cable? “Half an hour, then.”
She smiled and nodded, and directed out of the back area and to the front of the store.
“Half an hour,” she said with a sad little save that left Ethan feeling a little bad because she’d have nobody else with her and it seemed she craved company.
At the door, Ethan stopped and turned back. “Can I bring back a coffee?”
Her entire face lit up, as if he’d told her that tomorrow was a school holiday. “Like Starbucks?”
“Sure.” Why not? She was helping revive his wife’s dinosaur of a phone, something straight out of the iPhone’s Jurassic Park. But like a set of dinosaur bones to an archeologist, the phone was important to Ethan. It could contain clues, and those clues might steer him in the direction of where his wife had disappeared.
“If it’s not too much trouble, then I’ll take a grande java chip Frappuccino.”
Ethan repeated the order.
“Grande. And, if you can remember, coconut milk.” She rubbed her tummy. “I don’t do dairy so well anymore.”
“You bet.” Before she could confuse him even more, Ethan bolted from Darcy’s and wandered farther north on Michigan Ave. Each stride was long, as if he had some kind of mission. And in many ways, he did.
See, there was a Hershey Store across the street from the John Hancock, right next to the old water tower. Remembering how much Raleigh loved the Hershey Cookies and Cream chocolate bars, Ethan headed in that direction, cutting through the park area and marveling at just how many tourists were being entertained by street performers. A young couple watched a shoe-polisher add a bright, impressive shine to a pair of Doc Martens, and then the young man handed over a ten-dollar bill. There were dozens of other suckers just like him, too, especially where someone had painted him- or herself to look like a bronze statue.
The Hershey Store was packed with tourists—where had they come from, why were they there of all the places?—and Ethan had to bump and shove his way through the mostly inconsiderate crowd of sample junkies just to reach the display of super-sized Cookies and Cream bars. There was a special—buy three, get the fourth for free—so he ended up buying more than he, Raleigh, or any other living being for that matter, needed.
By the time he paid for Raleigh’s welcome home treats, Ethan barely had enough time to find a Starbucks and bring Chantal her complicated frozen drink.
When he finally stepped back into Darcy’s Wireless, he was glad he hadn’t skipped the promised Frappuccino. The way Chantal looked up from whatever she was reading at the counter and smiled made it worthwhile. Although Raleigh hadn’t wanted kids after the first few rounds of fertility had failed and left them with some pretty big credit card debts, Ethan had always hoped she might change her mind and allow another round of treatment. Chantal’s smile would mean so much more if it came from his own child, whenever he did something nice for him or her. And the Serophene just wasn’t cutting it.
“You came back,” she said, and that made him wonder how many people in her life never showed up after promising to. Maybe that was why Raleigh hadn’t wanted children; as if she knew that the inevitable heartbreak of a break-up or argument would be too much for Ethan and his overly sensitive heart.
“With your drink, too.” He offered her the cold drink, watching how her eyes widened and her lips curled into a grateful, happy smile.
Before heading into Darcy’s back area, Ethan allowed Chantal to enjoy the first few sips of her drink. While she did that, he explained how he’d been buying his devices and locking in wireless contracts at this store for well over a decade now. It was more as a way to loosen her up and get her on his side than to start a conversation, but that was also when she told Ethan she’d only started a few months ago. Just after he’d “negotiated” his last contract on the new phone, it seemed. And then she went on to tell him that she was a student at Saint Xavier University, which was in South Chicago. Still way more conversation than he’d hoped for, so when she asked Ethan what he did for a living, he told her he was a retired data analyst. And if that wasn’t enough to end the conversation and jolt her back to the task at hand, he added that he was also a widower. Legally, he was telling the truth.
Chantal tried to not look too surprised and continued drinking her Frappuccino as if the reason she couldn’t respond had more to do with the green straw between her tightly pressed lips than her not knowing what else to say. It didn’t bother Ethan that it took a little longer than a normal sip required, either, because when she finally removed the straw from her mouth, it would have been too awkward to get back to that uncomfortable retired widower chat.
Instead, she said, “Let’s see if that old phone is all charged up, huh, Ethan?”
Bingo.
For the second tim
e that day, Ethan followed her into the back area. There, she pushed out one of the two chairs at the table and settled into the one opposite him. Reaching into the antiquated charging station, she grabbed Raleigh’s phone and pressed the circular button at the bottom of the frame. When the screen came to life with the outline of a battery, Chantal smiled and flashed him the good news. The charge level boasted twenty-three percent.
After unplugging the wire, she handed him the device with a proud grin on her face. “That should be enough to get you through your photo-hunting exercise, Ethan.”
He thanked her and pressed the circular button again. This time, instead of a battery’s outline, the lock screen appeared. In the background was a picture of Raleigh and him from eight years ago. They’d attended a backyard barbecue at her mother’s house. Which meant a lot of people, a five-star catering arrangement, and free alcohol. He’d still been in his twenties back then, their last summer together before Raleigh would be gone for good.
In the photo, the younger version of Ethan held his arm around Raleigh’s bare shoulders, his hand laying over a tan line that rode up her chest and over her collarbone. Raleigh was the kind of woman that always wore a one-piece bathing suit, preferring to avoid the attention of perverts and men whose wives had let themselves go. She was practical that way, smart. Prudent, even.
“What are you looking at?” Chantal asked, moving her chair closer and leaning over to see the image on the lock screen’s background.
Ethan turned the phone toward her. “Party at my mother-in-law’s place. It was the last summer we had together.”
“Oh.” She retracted a bit, the way most people would once they realized they were looking at a dead person and sitting next to someone who was dangerously close to bursting into tears.
The Last Night (The Last Series Book 2) Page 10
