The Night She Disappeared

by Kevin O'Brien

  Anna held on to her phone. She’d never heard back from the Seattle Counselors Association about Dr. Gloria Tolman. So she’d been looking up all the Tolmans in the online Seattle white pages. She’d found only three. None of them had seemed too promising, but she’d phoned each one to double-check. She’d gotten two “There’s no one named Gloria here” and one automated “The number you have dialed is no longer is in service.” Anna had been ready to check the online white pages for neighboring cities when Sally’s televised plea had caught her attention.

  She wondered if Bud would actually take the bait and phone in.

  Was that why Sally had asked her to come here? Did Sally expect her to appear on the air and talk to Bud, too—should he call? If that was so, then surely Sally or someone in the studio would have told her that she might be appearing on the show. They’d have at least patted her down with a little HDTV makeup. Of course, knowing Sally, maybe she wanted Anna to look terrible for the telecast.

  It was weird to be in the enemy camp. Everyone there was nice enough, but it was strange nevertheless. At the moment, things at Sally’s Taylor-Made Productions seemed pretty chaotic. Of course, Sally’s daughter had been abducted today. And if that wasn’t enough to throw the place into a tailspin, Sally’s soundman for the last six years hadn’t shown up for work. Apparently, no one could get ahold of him. Anna had overheard a crew member mention that the guy was an alcoholic with gambling debts. Everyone had scrambled around to find a last-minute replacement.

  Most of Sally’s production staff had seemed surprised when Anna had shown up at the studio about a half hour ago. Apparently, Sally hadn’t briefed more than a couple of people about her arrival.

  Anna had been answering questions at the police station with Sally’s private investigator Jim Larson when Sally had called him and asked to talk with her. That had been around two o’clock this afternoon.

  “Can we put our differences aside for a spell?” Sally had asked her over Larson’s phone. “I’m on my way to the police station. But I think you’ll be gone by the time I get there. Would it be possible for you to drop by my studio around airtime tonight so we can talk?”

  Anna had reluctantly agreed.

  She was reluctant because she didn’t want to tell Sally about Gloria Tolman.

  Anna had talked with the police for nearly two hours and hadn’t said a thing to them about Dr. Tolman. Instead, she’d lied and said she’d come by Taylor’s apartment because Taylor was tutoring her in sign language. She’d had to manufacture some excuse for being there four afternoons in a row. Anna had learned a bit of sign language in preparation for working with Courtney—not much, but a few basics that someone just starting out might know. She wasn’t sure what explanation Taylor had given her mother for her presence in the apartment when Sally had walked in on them on Wednesday afternoon, but Anna figured she would find out soon enough.

  She hated not being more transparent with the police—especially when Taylor was in apparent danger. But if she’d told them about Dr. Tolman, she may as well have told them about her recorded “confession.” And Anna just wasn’t ready to do that.

  She needed to talk to Dr. Tolman before anyone else did.

  She told herself that Tolman probably didn’t have anything to do with Taylor’s disappearance anyway. The creep calling himself Bud was almost certainly behind what had happened today.

  But Anna couldn’t deny there was a connection. Obviously, in order to get to her, Gloria Tolman had used Sally’s naive daughter. With a combination of drugs and hypnosis, she’d coaxed Anna into making that bogus confession. Anna wondered if it was all part of some blackmail scheme. What if Taylor had been abducted because she’d discovered the recording was a phony?

  If that was the case, wasn’t it essential that the police and Sally know about Tolman? But Anna couldn’t tell them, not without incriminating herself.

  Earlier today, before the police had arrived at Taylor’s apartment, she and Jim Larson had looked around the place. He’d been searching for clues. But Anna had found herself furtively looking for that damn digital recorder. She’d never found it.

  They hadn’t seen Taylor’s phone or purse anyplace. Larson had assumed Taylor’s abductor had taken them. Anna figured the recorder must have been inside the purse.

  She kept thinking about how Taylor had gone out of her way to help her. Now, when the poor young woman was in trouble, Anna could think only about saving her own skin. And that made her feel too low for the snakes, as her mom used to say.

  She gazed up at the TV monitor bracketed to the wall. Sally was showing a photo of Taylor, looking sweet—but also a bit mousy. “Anyone with information regarding my daughter’s whereabouts is urged to call into the show on our special hotline: 1-800-4TAYLOR,” Sally said—and signed. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “We’ll keep the lines open all night.”

  The Sally Justice Show theme music swelled up, and they cut to a commercial for cat food.

  Anna looked at her phone again. There was an Andrew Tolman in Bellevue. She decided to try the number—in case he was related to Gloria. Maybe he’d have her address or a home phone number.

  She was about to scribble down his number when her phone rang. Anna checked the caller ID: Unknown Caller.

  She automatically tensed up, and then tapped the phone screen. “Hello?” she asked tentatively.

  She heard a click—and then her own voice: “I reached for the first thing I could. She had this writing award on the bookshelf, a big, heavy glass object. I grabbed it. I remember hitting her in the head with that thing. It’s so clear to me now. I can almost hear the crack . . .”

  There was another click, and the line went dead.

  For a few moments, Anna couldn’t breathe.

  Bud had found the recording.

  And that big, heavy glass object was now hidden somewhere on her houseboat. If she’d actually killed Courtney, she’d hidden it. But if she was being set up, someone else had hidden it. Either way, Courtney’s writing award—with a crack in it—was somewhere in her home.

  “Anna? Are you okay? You look sick.”

  Startled, she looked over toward the greenroom door. She hadn’t realized someone had stepped into the room. It was Sally.

  Looking up at the TV, Anna did a double take. Sally was back up on the screen, too—only in a completely different outfit.

  “We switched to The Best of Sally Justice for the rest of the show,” Sally explained. She had a Kleenex in her hand and dabbed her nose. She took off her black jacket and hung it over the back of the desk chair with her purse. Anna noticed a little makeup smear on her white blouse. Sally fished her phone out of the bag. “I just don’t have it in me to do a show tonight. Are you okay?”

  Anna nodded. “Fine,” she murmured. She glanced at Sally on TV again. As Sally talked to a caller, at the bottom of the screen, a notice ran: YOU ARE WATCHING THE BEST OF SALLY JUSTICE FROM AN EARLIER BROADCAST . . . OUR HOTLINE IS OPEN 24 HOURS TO REPORT INFORMATION REGARDING THE WHEREABOUTS OF TAYLOR HOFSTAD . . . CALL 1-800-4TAYLOR . . .

  Sally stopped to glance at the basket of snacks and bottled water. She seemed to notice that she had the Kleenex and her phone in her hand. She turned to Anna and shrugged. “This is what I’ve been carrying around all day—ever since I got the call. Can I get you anything? There are sodas in the mini-fridge.”

  “No, thanks,” Anna said. A part of her wanted so much to tell Sally about the call from Bud. But her survival instincts kicked in, and she couldn’t say anything except, “I’m so sorry about Taylor.”

  Sally opened a bottled water and sat down beside her on the sofa. “Well, thanks for coming. After you left Taylor’s place the other afternoon, she told me that she’d helped you and your brother reunite.”

  “That’s right. I’m very grateful to her,” Anna replied.

  “Well, maybe you can help me reunite with my daughter by being completely honest with me.” Sally took a swig of water. “According to Tayl
or, she originally contacted you and invited you over. Is that true? It’s not the other way around? You didn’t decide to get back at mean, old Sally Justice by going after her very vulnerable, fragile daughter—and maybe screwing with the girl’s head?”

  “No, Sally,” she answered quietly. “Taylor was telling you the truth. And I like her. She’s been very kind to me. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.”

  “When I spoke with the police today, they said you’d been over at my daughter’s apartment for the past four afternoons. They said that Taylor was tutoring you in sign language. I’m having a hard time buying that, Anna.”

  Anna thought a moment before answering. “You’re right. That wasn’t quite the truth. Listen, Sally, our afternoon get-togethers have nothing to do with Taylor’s disappearance, I’m pretty certain of that. Taylor’s been—well, Taylor and I have been helping each other out. I can’t really talk about it without betraying a confidence. There’s nothing fishy or salacious or illegal going on. It’s just personal. I’m not trying to pit her against you or anything—if that’s what you’re worried about. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

  Sally slowly shook her head. “How can you expect me to hear that Mount Everest of shit and not wonder what the hell is going on between you and my daughter?”

  “It has nothing to do with what happened today, I’m pretty sure of that.”

  Sally stared at her—that trademark, intimidating Sally stare. “Anna, you got to be fast friends with Courtney Knoll, and she suddenly disappeared. Then you got chummy-chummy with my daughter, and now she’s vanished. What am I supposed to think? When you say these meetings with my daughter have nothing to do with what’s happened today, I’m not buying it.”

  Anna squirmed beside her. “I told you, I like Taylor. She’s a very sweet girl. I don’t want any harm to come to her. I think it’s obvious that this Bud must have taken her. You said so yourself just the other day. You were concerned about him going after Taylor.”

  It dawned on Anna that maybe Bud was working with Dr. Tolman. But then, what were the two of them after?

  “What is it?” Sally asked. “What are you thinking?”

  Anna shook her head. “Nothing, I’m trying to figure out why this is happening.”

  Sally took another swig of water and frowned. “In these deeply personal, private meetings with my daughter, did she ever mention any other friends or boyfriends?”

  Anna shook her head. “I think Taylor’s kind of lonely. She doesn’t have any friends that I know of. But a guy stopped by just as I was leaving there on Tuesday. I forget his name. He was a tall, deaf guy with one of those initial names—like RJ or TJ.”

  Sally scowled. “You mean CJ? He’s younger than Taylor—kind of pale and impish-looking?”

  Anna nodded. “That’s him. Taylor said he was more a friend than a boyfriend, and not even much of a friend at that.”

  “She told me a month ago that she’d stopped seeing him.” Sally rolled her eyes and sighed. “She keeps attracting these loser con-artist types who are after her for her money—or because she’s the daughter of a celebrity. She brought that CJ character here to the studio a couple of times. I was about to have him investigated when Taylor said she’d dropped him.”

  “Are you serious?” Anna asked. “You mean, if a guy shows interest in your daughter, you have him investigated?”

  “I’ve had to,” Sally replied. “Like I said, she’s had her share of lowlifes who just want to take advantage of her. She’s a naive, vulnerable girl.”

  “Did it occur to you that CJ—or one of these other guys—might be the one who abducted Taylor? Maybe one of them is Bud.”

  “What do you think I was talking to the police about for two hours today?” Sally answered.

  A young woman with a headset stepped into the greenroom doorway. “Sally, FYI, the first TV news van just pulled up in front of the studio. I think we can expect more of the same soon. If you want to make a clean getaway tonight—”

  “All right, all right, thanks!” she said, waving the woman away.

  Anna took this as a cue to leave—before Sally grilled her again about her afternoon visits to Taylor’s apartment. She was also thinking that Courtney’s award might be hidden somewhere in her own home, and it gnawed at her.

  She stood up. “I’ve pretty much had enough of my fellow journalists in the past week. I’d like to make a clean getaway myself.”

  Sally got to her feet. “You know, when I was going through Taylor’s dating history with the police this afternoon, I didn’t even consider CJ, probably because she’d told me they were kaput. Plus, he wasn’t on the scene for very long. I had no idea she was still seeing him. I’ll pass that along to the police—and my own people. You’ve been very helpful, Anna. Thank you.”

  Walking her out of the greenroom, Sally showed her to the side door of the studio. It led out to the parking lot. Through the window in the door, Anna didn’t see any reporters. She turned to Sally. “Will you let me know if you hear anything?”

  Sally nodded. “Of course. You know, Anna, I’m not through with you yet. This Courtney Knoll murder case is still a mystery. And I think there’s still a lot you’re not telling me about Taylor.”

  Sally opened the door for her. “The tidbit about CJ is helpful. So I’m going easy on you tonight—out of gratitude. But if my daughter is still missing tomorrow afternoon, I’ll find out what you’re hiding, Anna. And the gloves are coming off. Do we understand each other?”

  Anna’s eyes wrestled with hers, and she finally nodded. “I understand, Sally.”

  Then she headed out to the parking lot and hurried toward her car.

  Saturday, July 25—2:27 A.M.

  Anna’s living room was a mess.

  She’d cleared out the front closet, and everything had ended up in the living room. The sofa was piled with coats, jackets, and sweaters.

  Courtney’s Northwest Literary Society’s Best Fiction Debut Award could have been hidden anywhere. Maybe it was tucked in a coat pocket and concealed inside a sleeve, or stashed in a boot. It might have been hidden among the cleaning supplies or in the rag bin. Maybe the incriminating objet d’art was in with the recycled grocery bags or among the twenty or so free tote bags she’d picked up over the years. Everything had to be examined. What had started out as a very organized search had turned into something desperate and muddled. Several times, she’d almost tripped over the junk scattered on her living room floor.

  Anna had already been through her clothes closet and the little crawl space off her bedroom upstairs. Her bed was still covered with clothes, boxes full of holiday decorations, and stuff that had belonged to her mother. She’d even taken the fake Christmas tree out of its box—in case the murder weapon was hidden amid the collapsed tree sections. It would take hours to put everything back where it belonged.

  While searching the bedroom closet, she’d made one important discovery. She’d figured out which sweater was missing—along with her comfy jeans and her sneakers. It was a casual gray pullover from Banana Republic. Had the missing shoes and clothes really been tossed in the dumpster? Or would the police find them hidden somewhere near here—stained with Courtney’s dried blood?

  All it would take was a search warrant, and the police would discover Courtney’s writing award, too—if Anna didn’t find it first.

  She hadn’t even started a search of the kitchen, linen closet, study, or bathroom; then there were the toolshed and the dinghy outside.

  Stepping over more junk in the living room, she lugged the stepladder from the kitchen to the front closet. On the top shelf were puzzles and old board games she hadn’t touched since those rare overnights when her family had stayed here. But Anna couldn’t bear throwing them away. She figured Courtney’s award couldn’t have fit inside any of those shallow boxes anyway.

  But the glass quill easily could have been tucked away in one of three big Nordstrom boxes full of family mementos. Anna started up
the stepladder, but when she reached for the first box, she banged the top of her head against the closet doorway frame. It hurt like hell. With one hand braced against the shelf, she stood there on the little ladder and tried not to fall apart. She was tired and at the end of her rope. She hadn’t eaten anything all day. Her nerves were scraped raw, worrying about poor Taylor and that bizarre recorded confession. Her hands were filthy—and now her head was throbbing.

  After a few deep breaths, Anna took the heavy boxes down from the shelf and carried them into the living room. She plopped down on the floor and opened the first box. It was full of photographs, old cards, and letters. There, on the top, was a photo of her and Stu from when she was about eleven. It had been taken during a family day trip to Snoqualmie Falls. They were posed with the twin falls in the background, each of them bent forward with their mouths open so it looked like they were vomiting the waterfalls.

  Gazing at it, Anna started laughing—but only for a moment.

  She thought about Stu—and what had happened to him. He’d taken drugs as a way out; her mother had turned to alcohol; and her father and Russ had committed suicide when things became impossible for them. They’d all given up in one way or another.

  There, amid the pile of junk on her living room floor, Anna started crying.

  Like everyone who had ever really mattered in her life, she was ready to give up, too.

  * * *

  Sitting in a small rowboat in the middle of Lake Union, someone looked through a pair of binoculars at Anna. There was no way Anna could have seen the little skiff on the silvery-black water in the darkness of night. She was on her living room floor, surrounded by boxes and piles of clothes. It looked like she was crying. Obviously, she’d been searching for that heavy, glass quill award with the little crack at the top.

  “You’ll . . . never . . . find . . . it, Anna,” her observer whispered in a raspy voice. “You’re not even warm. You’re . . . cold . . . cold . . . dead cold . . .”