Now, as he stood at the kitchen counter, memories came flowing back: Allison’s gorgeous smile; her warm laugh; her lovely, resonant voice. And there was also a hint of sadness that he never quite understood.
For the next two weeks they met almost daily. He was the tour guide, taking her to all his favorite beaches from Arcadia to Northport. They climbed the dunes, walked the sandy shorelines, and ate picnics that he carefully packed for each day’s excursion. And each evening, before it was dark, he returned her to her car at the beach in Empire and watched her drive away.
The day before she flew back to California, she met him in the late afternoon. This time she brought the picnic in a large wicker hamper—cucumber and watercress sandwiches and a bottle of French champagne. They found a protective alcove in the ridge of sand high above the beach. They ran down to the beach, swam out to the second sand bar, and played in the rolling surf until they were thoroughly chilled by the Lake Michigan water. They toweled off and, hand in hand, walked the beach for more than an hour.
Tired and hungry they returned to their bower high above the shore and ate, sipped champagne, and watched the sun slowly descend toward the horizon. There were bits of conversation and long periods of silence. In the final glow of the setting sun Allison crawled on top of him and kissed him passionately. He felt her pull her top loose, her warm breasts falling against his bare chest. She moved her moist lips along his neck and then kissed him again, her tongue meeting his. Even with the passing of so many years, Ray could remember the intensity of their lovemaking. They stayed for several more hours, wrapped in a blanket, looking at the stars, and talking quietly. At her urging they finally returned to their cars. As he held her door, she retrieved the copy of Ulysses.“A small gift,” she said. Then they embraced for a last time. Ray remembered standing a long time, watching the taillights of her car disappear.
A few days after her departure a letter arrived—general delivery—at the village post office. There was no return address, just a California postmark. He remembered reading the two sentence note several times, standing on the sidewalk in front of the post office. The letter was in his shirt pocket when he boarded the North Central Airlines flight in Traverse City on his way back to Germany. The copy of Ulysses was in his bag. He thought that after he was mustered out, he’d go to California and find her. But it never happened. A year later he was starting graduate school and trying to find ways to support himself. He picked up construction jobs during the summer and worked as a bouncer in a campus bar the first few terms. Eventually he picked up work as a teaching assistant and did legwork on some of his professors’ funded research projects.
During the next several years, on the occasional weekends Ray came north, he looked for Allie. And a number of times during the ensuing decades he thought he caught sight of her in Leland, or Empire, or Glen Arbor, or Frankfort. But when he got close, it was always someone else—similar hair color, or facial structure, but not Allie.
Ray thought back to what Jack, the owner of the Last Chance, had said, that the local boys didn’t hit on Ashleigh because they knew she was out of their class. That’s probably what kept him from pursuing Allison; she was out of his class, beyond his milieu. His feelings of love and loss were mitigated by fears of humiliation and thoughts of inadequacy. He recognized long ago that he was into his thirties before he got beyond the psychological constraints of growing up poor in the woods of northern Michigan.
45
Nora Jennings met Sue in the driveway as she and her dogs were leaving Ray’s house after she had returned and made him lunch. “I’m glad to see you,” Nora said. “I’m concerned about Ray; he doesn’t seem himself. I think you need to get him to the doctor.” “What’s going on?” asked Sue.
“He’s tense and tetchy. I’ve never seen Ray like this. He’s behaving like my Hugh did before he had his stroke.”
“How about his lunch—is he eating?”
“He made me go away for several hours, said he needed sleep. When I came back, he was up, asking me to mail this package,” Nora showed Sue a package she had been carrying between the handles of her picnic basket. “I don’t think he ever really napped. It was half past two when I finally served him lunch. I made him Welsh Rarebit, it’s something he loves. And he just picked at it.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Sue responded. “He’s lucky he has such a good friend, Nora. Thanks.” She opened the tailgate of Nora’s Explorer and helped her with the ponderous basket. She lifted the package off the top, scanned the addressee, Orchid Genescreen, and held it out to Nora. “Do you want this back here?”
“No, I’ll take it up front. I promised Ray I’d get this in the mail this afternoon.”
Sue stood by as Nora loaded the dogs in the back. She wondered about the contents of the mysterious package as she watched Nora’s vehicle disappear down the steep drive. Then she looked toward Ray’s house; she loved the small dwelling’s clean, modern design and the way it blended with the wooded hillside.
Entering, she found Ray in the kitchen, sitting in his wheelchair, his leg elevated.
“I thought we were going to Leiston this morning,” he snapped.
“There were other things that needed to be done.”
“Well, why didn’t you call and tell me?”
“I tried. Your landline was busy, and your cell was turned off.” Sue sat down next to him and looked into his eyes. “Ray, are you taking the pain pills?”
“Yes.”
“Today?”
“Maybe not today.”
“Why not?”
“They make me feel depressed, cloud my thinking. So, where have you been?” he demanded.
“Let’s see,” Sue looked off at the ceiling, as if she was trying to remember; she then responded in a mocking tone. “What did I do this morning? I had my nails done. Then I went in for a massage. Those hot rocks, Ray, you’ve got to try them. And then the facial. I had my hair touched up. Let’s see, after that I met some of the
“Okay, okay, enough. Tell me what you were really doing.”
“All your paperwork. Reviewing timesheets, signing off on the payroll, completing requisitions. I will be so glad when you are well, and I can hand this all back to you.”
“I thought we were going to visit Warrington?”
“We are, but there are other things that need to be done. And there have been some new developments.”
“What kind of developments?” Ray asked, his tone finally becoming less grumpy.
I don’t know if this is in any way related to the case, but some incredible things have happened this morning,” Sue said as she pulled a stack of 8-by-11 sheets from her soft leather case. She laid them out in front of Ray and, moving from left to right, started her briefing. “Early on I did criminal checks on the faculty and staff at Leiston.”
“I remember,” said Ray, nodding.
“I’ve now gone a step further.”
“Meaning?”
“Curricula vitae. The curricula vitae for the faculty members and the administration are posted on the Leiston School website. I started checking them, Ian Warrington first.” She took a paper clip off the first group of papers.
“Nothing much on Warrington. He got his degrees when he said he did. His job history has no discrepancies. Interesting enough, his publications seem to be padded a bit.”
“What do you mean?”
“His record of publications is extensive and looks very impressive,” she pointed to a long list of bibliographic citations, “but I couldn’t find many of them. I think he even made up the names of a few journals.”
“Unfortunately, that happens in the academic world,” observed Ray.
“Your friend, Sarah James, seems to be who she says she is,” Sue said in a light tone.
“Good,” said Ray, allowing her statement to pass without comment.
“But Helen Warrington,” she said, her tone becoming serious, “there are some major problems with her resume.”
“How so?”
“According to the information on the Leiston website, Helen did her undergraduate and graduate work at Wisconsin, and she holds a Ph.D. in clinical psychology. But the woman I talked to at UW could find no record that Helen had ever been enrolled in the graduate school.”
“You had her maiden name?” Ray asked.
A long silence followed. Sue looked mildly irritated.
“Sorry,” Ray said.
“Her maiden name is Gardner, Helen Gardner. The woman in the registrar’s office then did a search using Helen’s social security number. It turns out she did go to Wisconsin, but she dropped out in the middle of her junior year.”
“Did you confront Warrington with this?”
“I was going to, but I got a call from Helen’s sister, a Mary Hayden. She lives in San Diego. She had been trying to reach her sister, and Warrington told her that he hadn’t seen Helen for several days and didn’t know where she was.”
“What?” asked Ray in an incredulous tone.
“That’s right. Hayden called, wondering if she could file a missing person’s report. She was upset that Warrington did not seem concerned about his wife’s disappearance and felt something strange was going on. I took down the pertinent data and was indirectly able to learn a lot about Helen.”
“Like?”
“She has a long history of mental illness, alcoholism, and drug abuse. She left college before graduation and spent years in and out of the Menninger Clinic.” Sue stopped and looked at Ray, “You know about the Menninger Clinic?”
“Yes,” he responded.
“I didn’t,” she continued. “I had to look it up on the Internet. Guess its got a big reputation in mental health circles. Anyway, eventually Helen returned to college part-time at the University of Kansas and got a degree in art history. I asked if she had done any graduate work.”
“And?”
“Nada.”
“Mary is the older sister and says that she and Helen haven’t been in close contact for a number of years, but in the last few months Helen had seemed more interested in reestablishing a relationship; they had been phoning on a weekly basis. Mary said she sensed that things weren’t right with Helen.”
“But she hasn’t been out to visit?”
“No. She’s never been here. She’s offered to come, but Helen discouraged her.”
“Did you ask her about Warrington, their marriage, that type of… ”
“Yes,” she responded, placing a carefully printed page of notes in front of Ray. “Mary said that after Helen married Warrington, she didn’t seem to want any contact with her or other members of the family. So, she couldn’t tell me much about the marriage. I did learn that they’ve been married for about seven years, and they supposedly met on a flight from Chicago to L.A. or San Francisco. I also learned that Helen had inherited a fairly substantial sum of money when her mother died.”
“I think we should pay Mr. Warrington a visit.”
“We can do that. But first you have to shower and shave.”
“That takes so long, Sue. I have to cover my cast with this plastic… ”
“Ray, do you want me to play Nurse Kratchet?”
“I’ll take a shower,” he answered and moved off toward his bedroom.
46
It was late afternoon by the time Ray completed his ablutions and they drove over to Leiston School. Ian Warrington was standing outside his office talking to a student in an otherwise empty hall as Ray, Sue at his side, came slowly hobbling down the hall on crutches. Warrington quickly ended his conversation and moved to greet them. “Sheriff, I’m surprised to see you up and around. I was enormously concerned when I heard about your injuries.” He reached up and placed a hand on Ray’s shoulder.
“We need to talk, Dr. Warrington,” Ray responded.
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Warrington, slowing his normally brisk pace as he led them to his office. “Why don’t you sit here, I think it’s probably the most comfortable chair?”
“I think I’ll stand, it’s easier. What we have to talk about won’t take long.”
“So, how can I help you?” responded Warrington, his tone cooler and becoming guarded.
“Would you ask your wife to step in here for a few minutes; we’ve found some discrepancies in the vitae she posted on the Leiston website. We’d like her help in clearing them up,” said Ray.
“She’s not here right now,” Warrington responded, a mild look of panic spreading across his face. “She’s away.”
“Away where?”
“At a professional conference. Philadelphia, a conference of independent schools.”
Ray waited for several moments, holding Warrington in his gaze. “Where is your wife?”
“I’ve just told you.”
“You’re a very poor liar, Dr. Warrington. Where is your wife?”
Warrington remained silent. He looked at the floor and then looked back up at Ray. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“Just that,” he paused. “Sheriff, my wife is an alcoholic. Occasionally she disappears for a while. And it would kill her to know I’m telling you this. She’s a very private person.”
“This has happened before?”
“Yes, many times.” Warrington stared at the floor, resigned to the sheriff’s questioning.
“How long is she usually gone?” probed Ray.
“Some times a few days, sometimes a week or more.”
“Where does she go, what does she do?”
“She drives off somewhere. Two, three, fours hours away, far enough that I can’t easily find her. She buys enough liquor to stay smashed for days, checks into a motel, and drinks until she runs out of booze.”
“And then?”
“She eventually starts sobering up. Is embarrassed by what she’s done and calls AA for help. When she’s back in control, she phones me to tell me she’s on her way home. She goes away so no one can see she has this problem. It would annihilate her if people knew. She wants everyone to believe she’s flawless.”
“When did you last see your wife, Mr. Warrington?” Ray asked.
“Saturday, last Saturday, the day after the fire. I came over here to do some work. When I went back to the house she was gone.”
“When was that?” Sue asked.
“After lunch, probably before two.”
“And the car was gone, also?” she pursued.
“Yes, I was planning to run to town,but she had taken it. I ended up using one of the school’s vans.”
“Did she leave a note?” Ray asked.
“No. Actually, I wasn’t worried until evening. I thought she’d gone off somewhere and forgotten to tell me beforehand.”
“She’s been gone almost a week and you didn’t consider… ”
“Sheriff, this has almost become the norm. I didn’t think there was any special reason for concern.”
“And even the events of the last two weeks… ”
“No, in fact they made things even more understandable. This is all more than poor Helen can take.”
“We’ve had a call from a Mary Hayden who identified herself as Mrs. Warrington’s sister. She was concerned that she couldn’t reach Helen, and she stated that you have been less than helpful. She’s filed a missing person’s report.”
“Really, well… ” Warrington paused. “Mary is quite meddlesome, and I don’t think the situation is improved by having her mucking about. Helen’s been clear with me that she wants no one to know about these episodes, and she means no one, not even her own sister. Helen’s public image is vitally important to her—it’s the one thing she can hang onto, it seems, and gossip or her sister’s intrusions would only exacerbate her drinking problem. It could push Helen over the edge. I think most of Helen’s problems go back to a very troubled childhood.”
Sue and Ray left Warrington in his office and slowly retreated down the two long hallways to the mansion�
�s entrance. With Sue’s help Ray settled into the car seat and gingerly pulled his casted leg into the vehicle. Sue closed the passenger side door after he was finally situated and belted. She noted the perspiration on his face. He looked clammy.
“We should get you back in bed. This isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing,” she said as she slid into the driver’s seat and prepared to start the car.
“Interesting that Helen Warrington disappears after the Medford fire. We need to talk to her. Put out an APB.”
Ray allowed his body to collapse against the seat and closed his eyes.
“I thought you’d ask Warrington about Helen’s being a psychologist,” said Sue.
“It can wait. There are other things I’m more interested in than her padded credentials,” responded Ray without opening his eyes. “Warrington has spent so much time lying to cover for Helen that I doubt if he remembers what’s truth and what’s fabrication.”
“How about the disappearance bit?” Sue asked.
“That’s probably true. We need to find her.”
Sue started the engine. “I’m taking you home so you can get that leg up. I’ll go back to the office and get the APB out. Are you covered for dinner?”
“Marc and Lisa are coming over.” Ray turned his head toward Sue. “Seems like I’m in custodial care. I’ve even noticed that there’s a deputy lurking about all the time, too.”
Sue smiled, but she didn’t respond.
47
Ray was sleeping when Marc and Lisa arrived. He slowly became aware of noise from the kitchen, the sounds of food being warmed and carefully modulated conversation. Eventually his bedroom door was partially opened, a wedge of soft light illuminating the sparsely furnished room. “Ray, are you awake?” asked Marc in a muted voice.
“Yes,” Ray answered in a drowsy tone as he slowly pulled the world back into focus, the effects of exhaustion and prescription pain pills dulling his responses.
Ray Elkins mystery - 02 - Color Tour Page 23
