She hung up and said, "They don't know where she is. The best I could get is that she didn't sleep in her room last night and she didn't go to any of her classes today."
I could feel a knot in my stomach growing.
. . .
"Hello?" The voice was weary. I really wished I didn't have to call her.
"Please don't hang up."
"Why do you keep calling me?"
"Do you know where your daughter is?"
There was a lengthy silence on the phone. Finally, she said, "No."
"She didn't go to any of her classes today and —"
The line went dead.
As I put the phone back on its cradle, I looked up at Carter and Marnie who both had worried expressions on their faces. I sighed.
Carter looked at his watch and then looked at me. With a resigned sigh, he asked, "You wanna go to Mill Valley?"
I nodded and stood. "Yeah."
Chapter 14
26 Cornelia Avenue
Mill Valley, Cal.
Thursday, October 13, 1955
A quarter to 3 in the afternoon
As we pulled up Cornelia Avenue, I was surprised at the neighborhood. For some reason, I'd been expecting a big house on the side of Mount Tamalpais. The kind that would have had big plate glass windows looking out over the town below. Instead, the house at 26 Cornelia was a small bungalow, probably built in the 20s. It was likely a two-bedroom job with a kitchen, sitting room, and a garden on the side.
I parked the Roadmaster on the side of the narrow street that hugged the mountain. There was a carve-out across from the house that was likely for visitors. Setting the parking brake, I got out as Carter did the same.
It was warmer than it had been in the City. By about twenty or so degrees. We'd driven across the bridge with the top down and the heater blowing. By the time we parked, I was beginning to sweat under my coat.
The sky was blue and clear without a cloud or any hint of the fog that was already swirling around the Golden Gate itself. I was always surprised by how different the weather could be just a few miles from home.
In a low voice, Carter asked, "How do you want to do this?"
I took off my hat and wiped my brow with my handkerchief. "Let's just knock on the door."
He took off his hat and flicked the bit of sweat off his brow with the back of his left hand. "Let me do it."
I nodded and we quickly crossed the street and made our way to the small front porch. To the right of the house, there was a narrow driveway that led down to a single-car garage. A green '54 Pontiac Chieftain was sitting in front of the garage whose door was open.
Before knocking, Carter whispered, "Are you sure this is the place?"
I nodded. "Yep."
He knocked on the screen door. After two beats, I could hear shoes on the floor. The door opened, revealing Mrs. Grossman. She looked up at Carter and then at me. Shaking her head, she pushed open the screen door. "Come in."
It suddenly occurred to me that, considering her husband had just died, there was no one at the house. It was obviously empty. As we walked in, the only sound was of a Mozart concerto. It was probably from KEAR, one of the radio stations we liked to listen to.
She walked into the kitchen, which was just behind the sitting room. "All I have is coffee or Coke."
"I'll have a Coca-Cola. Is it cold?" asked Carter, his voice dripping with honey and southern charm.
From inside the kitchen, she laughed. "Does that southern charm thing work, Mr. Jones?"
In his more normal voice, he replied, "Sometimes."
"Well, it's nice to hear, I'll give you that. Probably the best thing I've ever heard. Mr. Williams? Coca-Cola?"
"Yes, ma'am. Thanks."
I heard one bottle top come off followed by a second. She walked back into the sitting room with two bottles in hand. Offering one to each of us, she said, "Normally, I'd offer you a glass but since you won't be staying long, I thought I'd give you the bottles. At least a little something for taking the trouble of coming all the way up here."
I took a swig and looked at her. I couldn't figure out what she was hiding. But there was something she didn't want to talk about. I decided to use an old trick. It didn't always work, but sometimes it produced fast results. "Did you know your husband was murdered by a spy because of what he was scheduled to testify about in London?"
My words had an immediate effect. She put her right hand to her mouth and looked from Carter to me and back. Her eyes were bulging and I could see tears welling up in both.
Carter asked, "Did he tell you why he didn't think that dam should be built?" I'd filled Carter in on what Walter and Maria had told me.
She shook her head but didn't say anything. Stumbling a little, she sat down on the sofa and began to cry.
We both sat. Even though neither of us said a word, I took the chair furthest away from her while Carter sat in the one next to the sofa. After several moments of anguished tears, she finally looked up at Carter.
"I'm so sorry," she said as she took Carter's offered handkerchief. Carefully wiping her eyes and patting her powdered face, she looked at the white cloth which was now smudged with bits of mascara and beige face powder. She suddenly laughed and said, "If my mother were here, she would be appalled that I've ruined your lovely handkerchief, Mr. Jones."
He very quietly asked, "Can I get you a glass of water, Mrs. Grossman?"
She nodded.
I stood and said, "I'll be right back." I knew Carter was the only one she probably wanted to talk to.
As I walked into the kitchen, I began to open the cabinets, looking for drinking glasses. They were just to the right of the sink. I turned on the faucet, glancing out the window overlooking the garden below. As I did, I saw a movement of something dark just beyond the tree line where the green grass of the yard ended. It looked like a girl in a dark dress pacing back and forth under the trees. I filled the glass of water and walked it back into the sitting room. Handing it to Carter, I said, "I'll be right back."
Without waiting for any reply, I bolted back to the kitchen, quickly opened the back door, and scrambled down the steps. As I walked down the slope of the yard, the girl saw me and froze.
She looked to be about 20. She had straggly red hair which needed to be combed out. Her white blouse was perfectly ironed. Her dark skirt was a little longer than the current fashion dictated but looked neat. However, her saddle shoes were all scuffed.
I kept expecting her to bolt as I walked closer but, instead, her mouth dropped open in surprise.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
She covered her open mouth and, with a wide-eye expression, said, "You're Nick Williams."
I nodded.
"Gosh. I've never met a real pervert." She said the last word in the same tone of voice that another girl might have said, "movie star."
I didn't grin. I tried to maintain my stone face. "Are you a friend of Alicia's?"
She nodded. Her eyes darted around. "Where is she? Do you know?"
I shook my head. "No. Have you talked to her in the last couple of days?"
"Oh, sure. We talk every day or every other day. I can't believe about her father."
"What?"
"That maybe he was eaten alive by cannibals."
I nodded. "You think that's what happened?"
"Oh, sure. Everyone knows that's what happens to anyone who goes to Africa." She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. "Just thinking about someplace like that gives me the willies."
"What's your name?"
"Janice. Janice Lyon."
"Well, Janice, when was the last time you talked to Alicia?"
"Oh, gee, it was yesterday afternoon." She was looking off to the side and I wondered if she was lying.
"Where did she call you from?"
"From the payphone in her dorm at Cal in Berkeley."
"What'd she say?"
"That she'd finally talked to you. You see, I was the one who told he
r to take her mother to go eat lunch at the restaurant in your building. She and her mother always have lunch in the City on Tuesdays. Alicia has a lab in the morning but nothing in the afternoon. So she takes the Key train into the City and meets her mother somewhere downtown." She was talking faster and faster and, as she did, spittle was beginning to fly out of her mouth.
"I told Alicia to go eat at that new place. Then she could go see you. I told Alicia that the person who could help her would be you. You and Mr. Jones. It's so romantic how you fly all over the world. And you have your own airplanes. And you're always breaking the law, wherever you go." She stopped talking and took a breath.
"Gosh! Sometimes I get so carried away. But I have a scrapbook with all the articles about you, even the ones from the Examiner." She kicked the dirt with her saddle shoe. "I hate the Examiner."
I laughed. I couldn't hold back any longer.
She turned red. "Oh, you must think I'm so silly and so young and so stupid."
I shook my head. "Nope. I hate the Examiner, too."
She giggled and then sighed dramatically. "Do you know where Alicia is?" Her eyes bulged a little as she said that.
I shook my head. "I was hoping you would. Is there anything strange that she's said to you since Tuesday?"
She thought for a moment and, as she did, pulled on her scraggly hair. "No, not that I—" She stopped and looked right at me. I wondered if she was a little slow. Finally, she slowly tilted her head to the left and said, "She did tell me about a man she met. It was yesterday morning. On campus. She said he was from Africa, too. Only he was from some other country, too. It sounded like porcupine."
"Was he Portuguese?" I offered.
She nodded vigorously. "Yes, that's it. I had never heard of it before. I went and looked at it in my daddy's big National Geographic map. It's right next to Spain. That's where Pablo Picasso is from and the president is General Francisco Franco and they fight bulls in a big ring there. Did you know that?"
I nodded. "Sure. Did she say anything about this man?"
"Only that he was asking about her father and whether she'd seen him. Of course, she told him that she hadn't because of course he's lost in the jungles there, isn't he?"
I shrugged. "What do you think?"
She put her hand on my arm. "I think you and Mr. Jones should fly to Africa and go find him. Mr. Grossman really is a very nice man. He was always very polite to me, unlike Mrs. Grossman who calls me stupid and ugly." She frowned. "Do you think I'm ugly?"
I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "I think you're beautiful, Janice."
She blushed and said, "I don't know how you would know because, after all, you're a pervert." She thought for a moment. "But maybe you would. My parents both tried to explain it to me and I didn't quite understand. But my father says that you're the wife. Is that true? Can a man be a wife?"
I shook my head. "Nope. I'm a husband. Just like Mr. Jones."
"Two husbands?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
She shrugged. "I should get home."
"Where do you live?"
She pointed to the small house at the bottom of the hill. "Down there."
"With your parents?"
She nodded. "I wanted to go to Cal with Alicia but my daddy told me that Mother needs me to stay home and help with the chores and that's fine. I've never been to Berkeley, although Alicia promised to have me over sometime soon. I hope she does. I hear it's beautiful over there."
I nodded. "It is. But it's beautiful here."
"Will you come see me again sometime?"
I asked, "Do you think your parents would mind?"
She looked at me for a long moment. "I think they would. They don't seem to like perverts but I think you're just swell."
I smiled and kissed her on the cheek again. "I think you're swell, too, Janice. Now, you better get home."
She nodded and said, "Thanks, Mr. Williams."
"Thank you, Janice." And, with that, she ran down the hill and was gone.
. . .
"Whatever that Janice Lyon told you was probably just a waste of your time. She's an idiot and ought to be in one of those schools for children like her. Her parents coddle her and are ruining her life. They're not going to live forever and what will happen to her? No man will marry her."
We were in the sitting room. Mrs. Grossman seemed to be back to her usual self, which was a good sign.
I said, "Alicia told Janice yesterday that she, Alicia, met a Portuguese man from Africa on campus yesterday morning. He was asking Alicia where her father was. Did Alicia say anything to you about that?"
As soon as I had started that question, Mrs. Grossman started crying again. After a moment, she took in a deep breath and said, "Why can't you just leave me alone? My husband is dead. He's not coming back and now I'm all alone." She waved her hand at me. "Get out of my house, I tell you. Just get out."
I stood and did as she asked. I waited on the front porch until Carter joined me.
. . .
We were sitting in the back of a place called Esposti's. It was on the main drag running through downtown Mill Valley. We were both drinking coffee that had just been poured.
I looked at my watch. It was half past 3. We'd already realized we weren't going to make it down to the International Airport in an hour. So we'd decided to sit down and figure out what to do next.
"Why do you think she won't talk about Alicia?" That was Carter.
I shook my head. "I have no clue. It's nuts. Maybe she really is dead."
Carter looked at his coffee. "What did that girl Janice have to say?"
I gave him a rundown on our conversation. I finished by saying, "She was the one who suggested Alicia meet her mother for lunch on Tuesday at the Sky-Brau. They always meet for lunch on Tuesdays in the City."
"How did Janice know that's where our office is?"
I grinned. "She has a scrapbook."
He nodded. "Oh. One of those."
"Yeah. I think it's sweet. She told me she'd never met a real pervert before."
Carter took a sip and shook his head.
I said, "OK. Here's what we should do. I'm gonna call the office and ask Robert what he thinks about us being able to get down there in time. I really wanted to be there when the Lumberjack arrives." That was our first plane, a Super Constellation. And it was coming from Boston with Ed's sons and their wives along with his one grandson.
Carter added. "You do that. I'll call Mike and tell him what we know and have him take over finding Alicia Grossman."
I nodded. We both stood and each entered a phone booth. Conveniently, there were two right across from where we were sitting.
. . .
"Hi, Nick."
"Hi, Robert. Look, we're in Mill Valley—"
"Mill Valley?" I could hear the worried tone in his voice.
"Yeah. There's no way we're gonna make it to the airport by 4:30."
"No. You aren't. There's been an accident on the bridge and the traffic is backed up into San Rafael from what the radio says."
"Huh." I had been hoping he would say that we could make it if we hurried. But our plane had to be in the air by 5 if we were going to make it to the movie premier in San Bernardino at 8.
"How about this?" he asked. "I could call Captain Rogers and have him fly up to the airport in Santa Rosa."
"Santa Rosa? Isn't there an airport in San Rafael?"
"Sure. But it's private and it's a real hassle to land there. Santa Rosa is public. "
"Santa Rosa it is. Ask him to leave now and we can meet the plane there."
"Well, he's not in place yet. They're on their way up from L.A. They should be in by 4, though. Then they can leave as soon as they get refueled."
"Fine. We'll head up there and wait for them."
"Nick?"
"Yeah?"
"You OK?"
"Sure, kid. Why?"
"Henry told me it's been a rough couple of days."
I sighed. "
It has. But we're fine now. Thanks for asking."
"Sure. See you in the office tomorrow."
"Yeah." I suddenly remembered something. "Wait."
"Yes?"
"There's a building I saw."
"What's the address?"
"Not sure exactly. It's on Taylor just north of Eddy. It's on the west side and, I think, it was the only apartment building for sale on that block."
"I'll find it. You want me to buy it?"
"Yep. Looks good. Carter thought so, too."
"Will do. Have a safe flight."
"Thanks, kid. See you tomorrow."
Chapter 15
Sonoma County Airport
Santa Rosa, Cal.
Thursday, October 13, 1955
Just before 5 in the afternoon
We pulled into the dirt parking lot in front of the airport a few minutes before 5.
Robert had been right. Once we'd left Mill Valley and made our way over to Highway 101, the south-bound traffic wasn't moving at all. The north-bound side had been fine but the freeway ended after San Rafael and the going slowed a bit, as a result. It was about fifty miles from Mill Valley to Santa Rosa and then another five or so miles on the far side of town to get to the airport.
I could see the DC-3 waiting for us as we drove up. After pulling the top up, we made a dash through the small terminal building and out onto the tarmac. The door of the DC-3 was open and four people were milling around in the heat of the late afternoon.
As we got closer, I could see, to my delight and surprise, that Ed and Louise were there along with Kenneth and Michelle, Ed's oldest son and his wife. They were chatting and fanning themselves in the afternoon heat.
"It's about time you two got here." That was Ed.
"What are y'all doing here?" asked Carter.
Michelle grinned. "You didn't think we'd miss your very own movie premiere, now did you?" Michelle was originally from Alabama and, even after living for several years in Boston, had never lost the accent.
With a smile, Kenneth said, "No time for talking. Everyone on board. The captain is ready to go."
The Childish Churl (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 15) Page 12
