The Father's Disappearance (A Disappearance Mystery Thriller Book 1)

by Laura Greene

  LAURA GREENE

  A DISAPPEARANCE

  Mystery Thriller

  THE FATHER’S DISAPPEARANCE

  Copyright © 2021 Laura Greene – All rights Reserved

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Click here to get my upcoming books for FREE! Click the link below and join my newsletter and start accessing exclusive content and FREE books only sent to my newsletter!

  Click here to join my Newsletter and you won’t miss any of my new releases.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Also by Laura Greene

  {free bonus gift}

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  All five foot, six inches of Melody Harker is hungover. Last night should have been one to remember, but instead, the image is fuzzy. Too much tequila. Too much dancing. Too much... everything.

  She currently stares at the ceiling from her bed. She doesn't need to look in a mirror to know that her blond curls are tangled like a spider's web. A brush is needed: Stat. Her small Boston apartment is strewn with books – the yellowed pages of hundred year old volumes, stark against the white walls. If she had a boyfriend, he would think there had been a break-in. But Melody does not have a boyfriend. Why should she? That would mean being attached to the city, and the city is something Melody knows she will soon leave behind.

  Pulling herself up in bed, her head pounds, and the glare of the sun bouncing off the white walls around her is no help. She reaches out and grabs a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water on her oak nightstand. She must have left both there before collapsing into a drunken sleep in the early hours of the morning. Even that drunk, she knew the mother of all hangovers was on its way.

  The pills catch in her throat slightly as she tries to knock them back, half propped up by a pink pillow against the wall. She gags before finally getting them down.

  This is not the best start to her day. Not one as important as this.

  It is a Saturday, and it is supposed to be, for Melody... How does that saying go? "The first day of the rest of your life"? For the last six years, she has sweated and panicked her way through University. Six years of chaining herself in the bowels of libraries, finally resulting in a degree and now a Masters – the scroll of which is now tucked away in a closet somewhere. Melody doesn't believe in advertising her credentials. It's fine for others, but Melody wants to get involved in the practical side of life now, far away from letters after your name and research programs cleanly typed up from behind the glow of a computer monitor.

  Her tutors and professors want her to move into the PhD program, but there's just no way. Not for now. She's had enough of dreaming and thinking about the world. At 28 years old, she now wants to experience the world, and through her passion for history and mystery.

  Melody is sick of reading about the world in books. She is ready to see some of it. Last night was one final celebration with her college friends before packing her bags and leaving the city on Monday for a three month, once-in-a-lifetime, experience.

  She's saved up money to fund her own research project. A trip to the uninhabited Greek island of Falkonera to excavate evidence of an ancient tsunami; one Melody believes is connected to Plato's description of Atlantis. Not that Melody thinks there was ever a large civilization that was swept away by the sea, but she does think that all myths come from somewhere. In this case, an event four thousand years ago sunk a few islands in the Mediterranean and led to the story of Atlantis sprouting up from the remaining rock and wet sands. Falkonera is a small pinpoint of stone reaching up from the Mediterranean Sea, but for Melody, it's the tip of the iceberg. If she is right, and finds evidence for a lost chapter in Ancient Greek history, she will leapfrog her fellow students and make a name for herself in a way even her professors will envy.

  Though, it's not about fortune and glory; not for Melody. It's about the mystery. Ever since her estranged father told her about such mysteries, Melody has always yearned for them. It is something that burns in her blood.

  Melody rubs her brow with her hand, hoping the pain will soon release its grip, and then finally pulls herself out of bed. She feels like an 80-year-old woman. Cider has always made her bones ache. The room spins for a second before her vision rights itself. She feels sick, but she's been through this before. A decent breakfast and a warm shower should set her straight.

  Whether it's the hangover, the inertia of sleep, or the plain, unexpected nature of it all, Melody does not notice something strange in her bedroom as she pulls her sky blue dressing gown over her white night dress. Her apartment is always cold when she wakes up because the central heating makes her headaches worse, especially when they've been fueled by tequila and apple cider. But there's something different here. Something alive with a pulse that is readying itself to tear Melody from the life for which she hopes.

  It's only once she takes a few steps away from her bed that she hears it. The sound of something moving slightly in the corner. And that something is staring at her with two accusatory eyes.

  She screams.

  The man sitting in the corner of the room raises his leather gloved hand.

  "You left your door unlocked, Miss Harker." He stares at her intently, his lined brow and receding gray-black hair making it difficult to pin-point his age. 40's, 50's, 60's maybe? It's all possible. He looks like a man who has been withered by misguided deeds and a 60-cigarettes-a-day habit.

  Melody picks up the yellow porcelain lamp her aunt Millie gave her that sits next to her bed. Not much of a weapon, but it will have to do, and, besides, she never much cared for it. "Who... Who are you?"

  "Death by lamp?" the man laughs to himself, his crows feet apparent around his eyes.

  "I'll crack you with this, I swear," Melody says, breathing heavily and noticing the stale smell of nicotine in the air coming from the man.

  "Your uncle Tobias said you were feisty," the man says standing up. "But then, he hasn't seen you for a decade... You left your door unlocked, Miss Harker. Considering the potentially dangerous thing that has already happened to your father, I came in to make sure you were okay. Don't misunderstand me, of course. I don't want to be here. I was quite happily vacationing with a woman half my age in the South of France when your uncle sent a jet to get me and bring me to you."

  "Uncle Tobias?" Melody's grip on the lamp loosens. Melody trusted him about as much as she trusted her father. If negative trust could be a thing, it would describe the feeling precisely.

  "My name is George." The man pulls out a blue pack of Mayfair cigarettes. Melody instantly recognizes them as a British brand.

  "Don't smoke in here. I have valuable books that don't need your stains."

  George glances sideways at the piles of old books heaped on a desk in the corner and some propped up against a wall with no bookcase.

  "Quite," he says. "I see you're taking good care of them as it is."

  "Don't get cocky with me, George. Why has Tobias
sent you here?" Melody has little time for this. She has important preparations to make for her dig in Greece, and her hangover is still wearing away at any goodwill in her bones.

  George puts his cigarettes away and then clasps his hands in his lap to give them something to do. Idle hands are the devil's workshop, and George certainly looks like he'd be right at home in hell.

  "I work for your uncle," he says. "He asked me to come here to see if you have had any contact with your father recently."

  Reaching down, Melody opens the drawer to her nightstand and pulls out her black cellphone. "If you're really here for my uncle, you won't mind me using my phone?"

  "Of course, Miss Harker. Do what you want. I'd rather get this over with as quickly as possible, though. My lady is waiting for me back in France."

  Melody takes a photo of George and then sends it with a message to her friend, Bianca, with whom she used to room. Bianca is a gossip, and she's also a deep worrier. If Melody is out of touch for more than a day, she'll raise the alarm bells, even if they aren't justified.

  "They've seen your face now," Melody says nervously. "If you try anything, the police will come after you."

  "Good thinking, Miss Harker. I see you are resourceful as your uncle Tobias describes. Although, as I say, I'm merely here to ascertain whether you have had any contact with your father and what you intend to do if you haven't."

  Placing the lamp back on the nightstand, Melody walks past George, down the hallway and into her diminutive kitchen, complete with aging yellow floral patterns on the wall and blue floor tiles that could use a good scrub. A half-working coffee machine is about the only luxury apparent on the wooden worktop. Melody is not big into domesticity, she would rather be out on a rain-soaked field somewhere, digging at an ancient wall that might shine a light on a mystery or two.

  "Do you want coffee?" she asks as George follows her onto the cold tiles of the kitchen.

  "No, I'm more an Earl Grey man."

  "I figured as much... Where's the accent from? Sounds Yorkshire-ish."

  George smiles. "Well done, Miss Harker. Yes, I'm from the North of England. But I am on a schedule..."

  Melody pulls the jug out from the cheap drip coffee machine on the kitchen counter in front of her. She then opens a cupboard door revealing no food except for a half empty packet of penne pasta and picks a white coffee cup from the bottom shelf that declares proudly "I dig archaeology".

  "I haven't seen or heard from my father in nearly five years. Uncle Tobias, even longer than that. I consider that entire branch of my family withered." She takes a sip of the coffee. She hates it without milk or cream, but she knows it's the fastest way to cure her hangover, and her head is still banging. Having to think about her father's side of the family is not helping, either. It is not that she hates them, but more that she has been continually disappointed by them since she was a child.

  "That's a shame, your Uncle Tobias speaks so highly of you. He's been keeping an eye on your career from afar."

  Melody turns to George with an eyebrow raised, her blond curls still a mess. "Oh, really? If he was so interested, he could have helped me with my student debt. I've been working my ass off, two jobs while studying just to keep my head barely above the water. Look around you. This place is falling apart. I mean, Uncle Tobias is a millionaire after all. He could have lent a hand."

  But Melody does not mean this. Deep down, she likes getting her hands dirty and working from the ground up. She likes being self-made. If he sent money, she would be indebted to him, and owing anyone in her family money would put Melody in a very difficult situation. Being alone is what she is used to, and she would rather keep it that way.

  "Like my dad, Uncle Tobias is only ever interested if he needs something. Which, I am certain, is why you are really here, George. Not that I blame you, you're just another hired hand to help him with his dirty work."

  "You were your Uncle Tobias's last hope." George takes a small black notepad out of his inside pocket and jots something down. "If you have no interest in helping your father, I won't bother you anymore, Miss Harker. Have a good day."

  George steps towards the hallway. As he reaches the door something rings inside Melody's head. Something she always hopes to keep hidden but still burns bright within: it is her concern for her father. Despite his flaws, despite his running off time after time rather than raising his daughter, she still wants him to be, at the very least, safe.

  "Wait," she says with a sigh. "What's my father gotten himself into now?"

  George turns in the doorway to face Melody, his sharp features failing to hide an upturned grin at the side of his thin lips. "We're not sure. He was cutting a deal with a museum in Saudi Arabia up until a few months ago for your uncle – a prized artifact from the region that your uncle knew would garner exceptional bids from around the world, when, suddenly, your father took some time off. He wouldn't tell us what it entailed, but after he delivered the item to your uncle, he refused any offer of further work. We assumed it was some deal he wanted to keep hidden from Tobias. You know how they operate with each other."

  Melody shakes her head. Even after all these years, her father's side of the family is still trying to outmaneuver itself. Tobias and her father help each other out, but when more money is on the table, they've undercut each other on more than one occasion. Family loyalty only stretches so far with them, as far as Melody is concerned. This is one of the many reasons she dislikes being around them.

  "Sounds like they deserve each other if you ask me."

  "Miss Harker, my plane leaves shortly, so let me be blunt. Despite your father's rash ways, your uncle believes something terrible may have befallen him. No matter your uncle's resources, he cannot get to the bottom of it. Furthermore, someone with equally deep pockets is thwarting any attempt at uncovering the truth."

  Rubbing her temples as the pain of the previous night's excursion continues, Melody closes her eyes. "George, he's probably off somewhere with a woman half his age, sipping on a piña colada, paying for it all with some artifact he was supposed to get for my uncle. You know my father loves selling relics on the black market."

  "He's also one of the best in the business at finding such things," George continues. "This is different. He traveled to Scotland without giving reason and, if you haven't heard from him, we have very good reason to believe he's still there, dead or alive."

  George puts his hand in his pocket and pulls out a brown envelope. He places it gently on the kitchen counter.

  "What's that?" Melody stares curiously at the envelope. It is thick, and Melody wonders what all that paper inside could mean. She hopes it is not money.

  "Your uncle would like you to go to Scotland and..."

  "Find out what he might have stolen?"

  "In a word, yes. If, let's say... He's in hiding there, your uncle wants to know. And he believes you're the only person your father will break his cover for. Tobias also figures that you have an acumen for this sort of thing, you have always been good with puzzles, and,considering the scandal you uncovered at the University..."

  "So he has been watching. That's a private matter," Melody says bluntly.

  "That it is, Miss Harker. But, you did manage to figure out Professor Dunlop was stealing archived material from Boston University under difficult circumstances. And you refused to go to the press about it, allowing the university to save its blushes and deal with it internally. This is the type of ingenuity your uncle hopes you will apply in tracking down your father."

  "And what makes you think I'm going to drop my plans for this? My father has rarely been there for me, George. Dropping in and out of my childhood like a dream. Telling me I'd go off on adventures with him, only to find a note the next day saying he had to rush off and he would be back soon. He rarely was."

  "Your plans?" George says with a wry smile. "I assume you are referring to your trip to the Mediterranean, Miss Harker?"

  Melody feels her stomach sink. She has a bad fe
eling about what's coming next.

  "Your uncle has put pressure on the financiers of your dig. Let's just say, at the last moment, your project has been postponed."

  "That son of a..."

  "Now, now, Miss Harker," George laughs. "That's no way to talk about your uncle. If you do this one thing for him, he will not only make sure that your dig goes ahead in a few weeks, but he'll triple your financing."

  Melody feels sick. A combination of the hangover, coffee, and this bitter news. She was ready for adventure; ready to make a name for herself. Instead, the insidious ways of her family have wrapped their tentacles around, pulling her into the dark.

  "If I ever see Tobias, I'll..."

  "He is still family, Miss Harker," interrupts George. "I can't say I approve or disapprove one way or the other with your Uncle Tobias' methods, but I do know when he talks about you he does so with genuine affection. He feels that your family connection is worth something."