by Simon Wood
The computer completed its boot up. He rummaged through Sarah’s e-mail again but didn’t find anything that would indicate she was planning a trip or going on the run. And no more of her friends or contacts had replied to his plea.
Terry turned his attention to the address book from the night before. Now came the tricky part. Whom to call? He didn’t know one person from another, so he might as well start with the A’s and work his way through. Just as with the e-mail he’d sent out the night before, he learned all over again how remote Sarah seemed from the people in her life. The people he got through to knew her, but not well. They were ex-coworkers, old college classmates, business contacts, and even ex-boyfriends. They mentioned being close at one point, but somewhere along the way they’d lost touch. That aspect worried him. He felt closer to Sarah than anyone he’d ever known, but did she feel the same way? In five years would she lose touch with him? Had she already?
Don’t be a twat, he told himself. Sarah’s in trouble, and you’re going to find her.
He ran a highlighter over the last name and number he’d called. It was dark outside, and he hadn’t come up with one useful lead. He wondered if all police work was as fruitless as this. If it was, no wonder so many crimes went unsolved. He closed the address book with the intention of repeating the same disheartening task tomorrow.
But after closing the address book, he changed his mind. He’d give it one more shot and dial one last number. He flipped to another page to dial the first number his eyes fell upon. He punched it in and put the phone to his ear. He didn’t hear a dial tone. He heard silence, with the occasional hiss of static. It took a few seconds for Terry to realize it wasn’t static he was hearing, but breathing. He’d picked up the phone to dial at the precise moment someone had called him.
“Hello,” he said.
No one answered.
“Hello,” he said again with no answer. “Is anybody there?”
The reply was more breathing—not heavy or strained, just the sound of someone calmly breathing in and out. Something Terry wasn’t doing. Fear forced him to fight for breath like an asthmatic. He gripped the receiver more tightly.
“Hello,” Terry said for the third time. “I know you’re there.”
He paused. He went to say hello again, but the caller interrupted him with a mocking laugh.
CHAPTER FIVE
The following morning, Oscar arrived with a toot of his horn. Terry checked his watch. It was exactly 9:00. He emptied his coffee cup into the sink and locked up the house.
“Morning to you,” Oscar said, standing in front of his Toyota 4Runner.
“Right on time,” Terry said. “I like that.”
“Well, if I’m going to get you Americanized then we need to beat the rush. I thought we’d take my car.”
“Thanks. I need to find a car of my own soon.”
“Let me see what I can do,” Oscar said, getting back into the 4Runner.
Terry climbed inside the SUV alongside Oscar and buckled himself in.
“So how was your night?” Oscar asked. “Any word on Sarah?”
The strange phone call Terry had received last night flashed in his mind, but he didn’t share this with Oscar. They barely knew each other, and their burgeoning friendship wouldn’t be helped if he threw sinister callers in along with his missing wife. The guy was going above and beyond the call of duty helping out a stranger, and Terry didn’t want to spoil it by coming off crazy or paranoid.
“No, nothing.”
“Don’t lose heart. I have a feeling you’ll be back with your wife in no time.”
“I hope you’re right. Where to first?”
“Somewhere we can get you baptized as an honorary American—Social Security office, then the DMV.”
When Oscar explained the procedure for getting a Social Security number and driver’s license, Terry was surprised that so much had to be done in person. He never had much to do with these government agencies in England. The UK equivalent of these documents had been dealt with by mail. The only time he’d come in contact with the UK’s version of the DMV, the equally ominous DVLA, was when he took the test. He wished the US would adopt the same culture and save everybody time.
His encounter with the Social Security office wasn’t too bad. The building was smaller than he expected, with an even smaller waiting room. A daytime soap played on an eighteen-inch TV in the corner. He filled in the appropriate forms and stood at the counter while his information was processed. The clerk told him he could expect his card in a couple of weeks.
“That was easy,” Terry said, following Oscar back to his SUV.
“I’m easing you in nice and slow. Just wait until you get a load of the DMV. You’ll be singing a different tune then.”
The nearest DMV was some ways from the Social Security office, which meant a scenic drive across the county, giving Terry the chance to see more of his new surroundings. They bantered about the horrors that would await him when they reached the DMV.
“I want to ask you a personal question, and I don’t want you to take it the wrong way, okay?”
Terry didn’t know if he’d like what was coming, but he said okay.
“Have you contacted your family or friends back in England about what’s happened?”
Terry fidgeted in his seat. He’d thought about it after Holman had released him, but he had decided against the idea. He shook his head.
“Can I ask why?”
Terry exhaled. “My friends and family didn’t exactly approve of what Sarah and I were doing.”
“Is that why you came to the US?”
“No. It wasn’t a case of restless natives banging on the front door with pitchforks and flaming torches. People thought I was making a mistake marrying someone I’d met on holiday before I’d had a chance to get to know her. They were looking out for me, and I can understand that. What is it, one in three marriages fail?”
Oscar frowned. “Closer to one in two in the US.”
With that remark, Terry got the feeling Oscar was on the losing side of that statistic. “Well, there you are. They just care.”
Oscar was back on Solano Dam Road. He crossed the bridge spanning the dam and bore right with the road. The reservoir the dam held back was magnificent and millpond still.
“But if they care so much, why haven’t you let them know that something’s wrong?” Oscar asked. “They’d want to help, I’m sure.”
Terry didn’t want to answer this question. It was hard enough admitting the truth to himself, let alone to Oscar.
“Embarrassment,” he admitted. “I’m embarrassed. If I tell everyone, then they would have been right all along. I know it’s stupid and irrational, but I don’t want everyone thinking, Look at what sad, stupid Terry got himself into.”
“So you’d rather put your trust in strangers.”
“Can you blame me?”
“Not really. It’s a tough call either way.”
Oscar changed the subject by turning into a Santa Rita County tour guide. He talked about the history of the dam and several other landmarks. Before long, Oscar was pulling into the DMV parking lot.
“Remember,” Oscar said, “You gotta stay strong.”
Although only 10:30, the DMV was a cattle market. Three security officers were herding errant strays into various roped-off lines for something or other. Terry was glad he had Oscar as his guide or he would have wasted a lot of time.
Oscar grabbed a copy of the California driving rules and regulations and handed it to Terry. “Read that. You’ll need to know it for the written exam. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to read it.”
Terry jumped through the DMV’s hoops. In a battle of endurance, he waited in line to apply for his license then lined up to take the written test so that he could make an appointment for the driving test itself. It was early afternoon when they left.
“Thank God that’s over,” Terry said, pushing the door open.
“What did I tel
l you?” Oscar asked.
“It’s on a par with your immigration department.”
“When you get your license, whatever you do, don’t let it expire or you’ll have to do it all over again.”
Oscar held the door open for a teenager, obviously coming in for her first license. She didn’t acknowledge Oscar’s chivalry. From the stricken look on her face, her mind was focused on one thing and one thing only—her test. Her mother thanked him on her daughter’s behalf.
Oscar released the door then cried out. Somehow, he’d gotten his hand trapped between the closing doors. His hand was folded in half and his thumb flopped loosely against his palm at an unnatural angle. He cradled his hand to his chest.
The mother and daughter burst back out of the building at the commotion. The mother saw Oscar’s damaged hand, blanched, and turned away. The daughter just stared.
“Jesus,” Terry said. “Are you okay?”
“It’s nothing,” Oscar said, wincing. “It’s dislocated, that’s all. Happens all the time.”
Without any fuss, Oscar snapped his thumb back into place with a wet click. Terry’s stomach churned at the sound, and for a second he thought the mother was going to vomit.
“See, all fixed now. Nothing for anyone to worry about.”
“I feel so responsible,” the mother said. Although Oscar had demonstrated his hand was back to normal, her color wasn’t returning.
“Don’t be. It was my own stupid fault. My cuff got caught on the door handle.”
Seeing there was nothing more to be done, the mother took Oscar’s explanation as reason enough to leave. She apologized to him again and scurried back into the building dragging her daughter with her.
“Are you really okay?” Terry asked.
“Yeah, really. It tingles a bit, but honestly, it’s okay.”
“Can you drive?”
Oscar flexed his hand and winced. “It might be a better idea if you do.”
Oscar fished out his keys and gave them to Terry. They got into the 4Runner and Terry started the engine.
“Do you want to see a doctor?”
“No, it’s an old injury. There’s nothing they can do.” Oscar smiled. “C’mon, stop fussing and let’s get something to eat.”
Oscar directed Terry to drive to a small strip mall half a mile away. Terry pulled up in front of a sandwich shop. They got two made-to-order sandwiches, and Terry paid while Oscar found seats. As Terry brought their food over to the table and sat down, Oscar was still flexing his hand.
“Better?” Terry asked.
“Oh, yeah. Good as new.”
“You said that was an old injury.” Terry nodded at Oscar’s hand. “What happened?”
“I used to be a welder, and a ten-inch pipe rolled off my bench onto my hand. The thumb joint was damaged, so it dislocates easily. But it does go back just as easily.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No, not really. After the initial shock, it tingles like pins and needles.”
“Well, it’s an impressive party trick.”
“Oh, yeah, a real icebreaker.”
They unwrapped their bulging sandwiches and attacked them. Oscar mumbled through a mouthful of food that the sandwiches were good, and Terry grunted in the affirmative. Terry washed down his mouthful of food with his lemonade and wiped his mouth on a napkin.
“So if you were a welder, how come you own the Gold Rush?”
“I used to own a welding and fabrication company. I was doing really well, and I decided I wanted to retire early, so I sold the business. But I found retirement really boring, so when I saw the place up for sale, I bought it.”
Oscar was holding something back. Terry could feel it. He didn’t think Oscar was lying to him, but he was definitely leaving something out.
“So what is this job you’re starting next week, Terry?” Oscar asked, diverting attention away from himself.
“I’m a scientist.”
“Very cool. A real-life brainiac,” Oscar said, perking up.
Terry shook his head. “Not really. I’m no Nobel Prize–winning, changing-life-as-we-know-it kind of scientist. Scientist is a very common term. I don’t come up with the technology. I just prove whether it works or not. I’m no different than a car mechanic. It sounds fancy, that’s all.”
“Sounds very fancy compared to a guy who hands people rubber-headed golf clubs for a living.”
They finished up their lunch, and Oscar drove back to Edenville. Their next stop was the bank. The Wells Fargo bank was an old stucco-clad building with a brick facade.
“I didn’t know Wells Fargo was a real company. I thought it was a name made up for the movies.”
Oscar laughed. “Oh, no, they’re real enough.”
They went inside and Oscar asked a bank teller for the manager.
“And can I say who’s calling?” the woman asked.
“Yes, we have an appointment,” Oscar said. “Terry Sheffield and Oscar Mayer.”
“Oscar Mayer?” she asked with a smirk.
“Yes, Oscar Mayer,” he replied with a frown.
The woman hid a grin behind a hand. “I’ll get him for you.”
“What is it with your name?” Terry asked.
“You really don’t know?”
Terry shook his head.
Oscar eyed him for moment just in case Terry was messing with him. “Okay, I wish I could say it was a long story, but it isn’t. It’s the name of company that’s famous for their hot dogs and bologna here. They even have a damn song about their bologna. Go in the supermarket and you’ll see their stuff everywhere. It’s not the most ideal situation to be constantly equated with kids’ lunch food. As you can imagine, I took a lot of crap for it while growing up.”
“Oh,” Terry said after a moment. “I can see why that would bother you.”
“Mmm,” Oscar grunted. “They don’t carry Oscar Mayer in England?”
“Nope.”
“Maybe I should relocate.”
When the bank manager appeared, he took them into his office and Terry opened an account, relieving himself of the wad of cash he’d brought over on the flight. Within thirty minutes, the bank manager presented Terry with a temporary checkbook, an ATM card, and an opening balance statement.
Rising to his feet, the manager asked, “Now, is there anything else I can do for you today, Mr. Sheffield?”
“Yes,” Terry replied. “Could you tell me if my wife has an account at this bank?”
The bank manager chuckled. “Don’t you know?”
“She’s missing,” Oscar said.
The bank manager stiffened. “Oh, I see.”
Terry explained the situation. The bank manager nodded at the appropriate times and looked pained.
“Unfortunately, even if your wife does have an account with us, I can’t divulge any details, even to you, unless it’s a joint account. I hope you understand.”
“Yes, I do. Can you check for a joint account?”
“Oh, yes.” The bank manager typed away at his PC for a minute before shaking his head. “I’m afraid there aren’t any accounts listing you as a joint holder. Maybe she has her account with another bank.”
“You’re probably right. Thanks for trying.”
“Sorry that I couldn’t help further. I hope you find her.”
“So do I.”
Terry and Oscar crossed the street and tried Edenville’s other bank, the Solano Credit Union. Terry didn’t have a joint account with them either.
Standing in front of the credit union, Oscar asked, “What do you want to do now? Talk to Holman?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Well, if you don’t mind, can I take you home? Then I can get back to the Gold Rush before the after-school crowd starts.”
“Of course not. You’ve helped me enough today.”
On the short ride back to Sutter Drive, Terry found himself thinking about his mystery caller. He still didn’t know if the call was a random
prank or something more sinister. He hadn’t intended on discussing the issue with Oscar, but he’d proved today he was a friend and someone he could trust.
“I want run something by you.”
“Go for it.”
“I got a weird phone call yesterday.”
“And you’ll be getting lots more once the telemarketers know you live in this country.”
“I wish it had been a telemarketer.”
“Oh,” Oscar said. “What was the call?”
“I don’t know. If I said it was an obscene call, I’d be exaggerating.”
“Let me decide for you. What did they say?”
“They didn’t say anything,” Terry said and went on to explain about the caller who had laughed at him.
“Huh,” Oscar said when Terry was finished. “Do you think it could have been Sarah?”
Terry shook his head. “No, this was a man’s laugh.”
“So who do you think this guy is?”
“Don’t know.”
“But you think it’s related to Sarah’s disappearing act?”
Terry nodded. “Yes.”
“Have you told Holman?”
“No, I wasn’t sure what I’d tell him. I don’t think laughing at someone on the phone is a crime.”
“Yeah, it’s probably something to keep to yourself for now. But you can be certain of one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“If your caller was someone connected to Sarah’s disappearance, he’ll call again.”
CHAPTER SIX
Terry’s weekend passed without incident. The laughing caller didn’t call and neither did Sarah. Holman was his only caller and he had little to say. Terry didn’t see much point in sitting around the house driving himself crazy with worry, so he decided to go into Genavax on Monday, as scheduled.
At the reception desk, he asked for Pamela Dawson. When she arrived, she greeted him with the same offhand manner she’d used on the phone. She gave him a lightning-fast tour of the shared research, development, discovery, and testing labs punctuated with brief introductions to his new colleagues along the way. After the tour, Pamela dumped him with human resources.
