Live in Person

by Lynda Fitzgerald

  For just an instant, Allie wondered if her mother would feel the same if she called and didn’t speak. Unworthy, but just the same… “Have you tried his hotel?”

  “Yes, I tried several times. And I’ve called his cell repeatedly with no results. I’m really worried, Allie.” It was the first time Vivian Grainger had called her that since her twelfth birthday. She really was worried. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but… could you go to his hotel and check? Is it far?”

  Allie felt something inside her melt. “No, it’s not far. I’ll be glad to check. Don’t worry. I’m sure Len is fine.”

  There was a long silence on the line. Allie tried to imagine her mother wherever she was—she always used her cell, so it was hard to tell—but she couldn’t. Vivian Grainger as a frantic mother was something outside her experience.

  “Thank you, Allison,” she said, her voice barely audible.

  So, their Allie moment was over. She couldn’t even resent it.

  ■ ■ ■

  Cord perched uneasily on one of Teresa’s living room wing chairs. He didn’t know why women even had these chairs in their homes. His wife had been the same, saying the chair lent an air of elegance to the décor. Who would notice? Cord could count on one hand the number of times he’d sat in his living room. Same here. The furniture looked unused, and Wally appeared to be as uncomfortable as Cord.

  “What brings you to see us, Cord?” Wally asked. He looked strained to Cord, not as affable as usual. Teresa sat rigid, looking at neither of them.

  “I have reason to believe Sidney might still be in the area,” Cord said, not willing to sugarcoat it.

  “What reason?” Teresa demanded.

  Cord noticed she didn’t seem surprised. For that matter, neither did Wally, although he seemed worried. “A number of incidents have occurred that can possibly be traced to Sidney.”

  “Has anyone been hurt?” Wally asked.

  “Not yet,” Cord said. “Terrified, but not physically injured. But it’s only a matter of time. I think we all know that. I wondered whether either of you knew anything about his whereabouts.”

  The room was deathly silent. Cord heard the hum of a lawn mower nearby. A dog barked in the distance. The air hung heavy with unspoken words.

  “He’s appeared in a number of disguises,” Cord said, and Teresa gasped. “I wondered if we could look around and see if anything’s missing. I’d like to check his old bedroom, too, if I may.”

  “You don’t have a search warrant,” Teresa shot out, her chin lifting in belligerence.

  “Teresa, for God’s sake,” Wally growled. He turned to Cord. “Of course, you can. If there’s anything missing, we’d like to know as well.”

  “There’s nothing missing,” Teresa said as she followed them up the stairs. “I’m the one who cleans this house, and I would know.”

  Both men ignored her. First, they went into the spare bedroom. The box where Teresa kept her theatrical makeup was open, half its contents strewn on the floor.

  “I was looking for something,” she said. “I didn’t have a chance to put it all away.”

  Cord and Wally exchanged glances, but neither said anything. It was obvious Wally had no idea what should be there, and if anything was missing, Teresa wasn’t going to tell them.

  Next, they went into Sidney’s bedroom. The room appeared as it might have looked when Sidney was arrested. It made Cord sad to see that Teresa had turned it into some kind of shrine.

  He looked around the room. If anything was missing, he had no way of knowing. On a whim, he knelt and looked under the bed. There was something dark there, something fabric. He pulled it out. A prison uniform and Raymond’s missing jacket, if his guess was right.

  Teresa gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

  “He’s been here,” Cord said unnecessarily. “Did you see him?” he asked Teresa.

  “No.”

  “Do you know when he was here?”

  “No.”

  “Teresa,” Wally said.

  “I don’t,” she cried. “Why don’t you both quit hounding him?” She spun on Cord. “He didn’t mean to shoot you. He was trying to stop that woman from ruining you. Why can’t you just leave him alone?”

  “Because he’s a dangerous man,” Cord answered quietly. “He’s not your little boy anymore, Teresa. He’s a grown man, and he’s shot a lot of people. You could cost your son his life by trying to protect him.”

  “And you could end his life trying to catch him,” she said, tears starting down her face. “If you’d all just leave him alone—” She spun on her heel and ran from the room.

  Cord and Wally looked after her. “I’m sorry,” Cord said.

  Wally shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. She’s never been rational where that boy is concerned.”

  “Except that he’s not a boy anymore.”

  Wally said nothing.

  After a minute, Cord said, “OK if I look in his closet?”

  “Sure. I’m not sure what should be in there.”

  Cord pulled open the closet door. The first thing he saw was one of Sidney’s uniforms hanging neatly in the middle. All his deputies had several uniforms. Cord motioned at the uniform. “Any idea where the rest of his uniforms are?”

  “Not a clue, really. Teresa has always been the one to clean this room. I don’t think I’ve ever seen inside his closet.”

  Cord nodded. He spotted the gun on the top closet shelf. “Is this Sidney’s?” he asked, motioning at the pistol.

  Wally’s face sagged. “I didn’t know he had a gun in the house. I know he’s an officer and all, but I’ve never held with having weapons around.”

  “May I take it?”

  Wally nodded without speaking.

  Cord pulled a tissue out of the box on the dresser and lifted the gun by the barrel. Then, the two boxes of ammunition. “I don’t suppose—”

  “I have a bag in the kitchen.”

  Cord could hear Teresa banging pots in the kitchen as they descended the stairs. He waited in the hall until Wally returned carrying a Ziploc bag.

  Wally walked him to the door. Cord stopped and turned to the man. “If you can get her to tell you about anything that might be missing, it might help us catch him before he does something we can’t help him with.”

  “I’ll try, but you know Teresa.”

  When Cord climbed in his cruiser, he studied the neighborhood. Sidney had been here in the last couple of days. He’d been in his parents’ house without being seen. At least from Teresa’s shock at seeing the navy jumper, he assumed she hadn’t seen him. But she knew he’d been there. So did Wally. He couldn’t see Wally protecting Sidney, not when he knew what his son had done. He might protect his wife, though. And he knew Teresa would protect Sidney with her last breath. If she kept it up, it might also be her son’s last breath.

  Sixteen

  Conversation stopped when Allie entered the newsroom. The place wasn’t crowded, just a few reporters who glanced up and then immediately away. Allie had stopped by hoping Rand had made it back to town, but Myrna said she didn’t expect him until the next day. For the first time since Allie had known her, Myrna didn’t invite her outside for a cigarette pow wow. She didn’t know whether Len had been back to cause more trouble or if this was residual damage from his first visit, and she wasn’t about to ask.

  She’d gone by the hotel the evening before, honoring her promise to her mother. One desk clerk—a young attractive woman, not surprisingly—confirmed that she’d seen Len go into the bar a little after noon, but she didn’t see him come out. The bartender said he’d just come on duty. She’d have to ask the day bartender. She would have gone up to Len’s room, but they wouldn’t tell her which room was his, not even when she pulled out her driver’s license to prove relationship. No wonder. What if she was a wife checking on her husband? They did ring his room and let her leave a message on his voice mail. “Call Mother,” she said.

  All this she dutifully reported
to Vivian Grainger, who seemed to think Allie hadn’t done enough, even though when pressed, her mother couldn’t suggest another course of action. She got in one stab about Allie’s job. “You’re supposed to be an investigative reporter. Why don’t you investigate?”

  Len was probably out to dinner, Allie suggested. Maybe he had butt-dialed Vivian, which earned her a reprimand for her crudeness. Maybe his cell phone battery was dead, and he couldn’t get to his charger. Maybe the charger was broken. There were a hundred reasons her mother shouldn’t worry, and none made a bit of difference. Allie was supposed to keep trying to find him. Sure. When pigs sprouted fluffy pink wings. She had another man on her mind, and since he was MIA as well, she decided to see if she could dispel some hard feelings Len had caused.

  Her first targets were Holly Miller and Tommy Saers, both new kids on the block at the paper like Allie herself. Both were fresh out of college. Tommy was still battling a moderate case of acne, and Holly looked like the sweet blonde cheerleader next door. She fairly exuded innocence. Allie liked them both a lot. They’d been her staunchest supporters at the newspaper, except for Myrna. She’d hate to lose their friendship over a misunderstanding caused by her jerk of a brother.

  She didn’t see Tommy, but Holly was at her desk. Allie sidled over and leaned on the corner of the next desk. “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “OK,” Holly said, her face troubled. “How about you?”

  “I’ve been better,” Allie said truthfully. “You know Sidney Finch escaped.”

  Holly nodded. “I heard.”

  “It’s not for public broadcast, but we think he’s still in the area. In fact, he’s been pulling some nasty pranks on me.”

  Holly’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding! Aren’t you scared?”

  “Terrified. I’m jumping at shadows. Who knows what he’ll do next?”

  The look Holly gave her now was sympathetic. “No wonder you were so upset with your brother. Under all that tension.”

  Allie knew she could go two ways. She could let Holly assume that Sidney had turned her into a bitch, or she could do it the difficult way. Typically, she chose the difficult way. “That’s not why, Holly. Listen.” She pulled up a chair and sat. “You don’t know Len. He’s not what he seems.”

  Holly averted her eyes. “He seems nice.”

  “That’s what I mean. He seems nice, he looks nice, and to some people, especially those who can further his career, he probably is nice. But to me…” How to convince her. “You know he was talking about my Aunt Lou?”

  “His aunt, too, he said.” The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

  “Yes, his aunt, too,” Allie agreed. “He knows how much I loved her, but he hated her. No, that’s not true. What he said was he didn’t care enough to hate her. He said he scorned her. He said she was a step above trailer trash.”

  “That’s awful! Why would he say such a thing?”

  “To hurt me. Don’t you see? Len knew it was a way to get to me, just like he knew coming here and embarrassing me in front of everyone I work with would get to me. He’s always been that way.”

  Holly frowned at her desk. “He didn’t seem that way.”

  “It was an act. He’s a lawyer. They’re all actors. I think they practice in front of mirrors.”

  A little smile lit Holly’s face. “Not Rand.”

  Allie smiled back, a goofy smile, she imagined. “Not like Rand at all. Unless he has me completely fooled. Rand is honest. He’s… sincere.” She could feel her face heat up.

  Holly was smiling at her openly now. Allie decided to press her advantage. “Tell the others, will you? If you get a chance. I’m not a monster out to cheat my brother out of his rightful share of my inheritance.”

  Holly’s face shut down. “What would it hurt to share with him? I mean, he was her family too.”

  Wasn’t the girl listening to her? “Aunt Lou left it to me. She specifically told me not to let my family bully me out of it.”

  Allie waited for Holly’s response. Finally, Holly shrugged. “Money does funny things to people,” was all she said before turning back to her computer.

  Allie waited for a moment. It was too late. Hurricane Len had been through. The damage was done, and Allie didn’t know when or how the cleaning up and rebuilding would begin. Clearly not today.

  After bidding Holly and then Myrna a brief goodbye, which either barely returned, Allie left.

  Her next stop was Lester’s, where she learned Del was teaching at one of his jobs. Allie had seen the place in passing, so she pointed her car in that direction.

  ■ ■ ■

  No one was in the reception area when she entered, but she heard a soft chime echo in the back. The space was Spartan to the point of ugliness—a Formica counter and little else. A large glass window divided the front from what she assumed was the studio or whatever they called it. Through it, she could see a dozen students in pajama-like uniforms going through a strange series of moves. As she watched, they all moved in unison, kneeling down first on one knee, then the other, before sitting on their legs. It looked painful to Allie. Del stood poised like a white-draped statue of Atlas in the front of the room.

  She didn’t want to interrupt the class, but she needed to know how long she would have to wait. A plain burlap curtain hung in the doorway to the studio. As Allie reached out to pull it aside, a young man slipped through.

  He smiled up at Allie and executed a little bow. “May I help you?”

  Allie stepped back. What a pretty child. Slight, dressed in a loose uniform thing like the rest of the students, with his long black hair caught up in multiple bands. “Uh—I’m looking for Del. Del Delaney.”

  “Sensei is with students now, but the class is almost over. May I tell him your name?”

  Hadn’t the child heard her? “Who’s Sensei?”

  His smile widened. “Sensei means teacher.”

  Allie felt her face burn. “Oh, it’s Allie. Allie Grainger.”

  “Please wait here.” As he walked away, Allie realized his feet were bare. That’s how he’d crept up so soundlessly. Glancing back through the window, she saw that everyone was barefooted, even Del. She watched as the boy slipped back into some formation. The students’ concentration was absolute. At a word from Del, they bowed low, then scooted around in another direction and bowed again. They began an exchange in a language Allie didn’t understand.

  She could hardly take her eyes off Del. Before, she’d only seen him as a bartender, friendly and big. Here, even barefooted and dressed in his pajama-like uniform, he exuded authority. Allie had often wondered what her militaristic friend Sheryl saw in the easygoing, genial bartender. Now, she knew. Allie had known that Del was a martial arts instructor in several disciplines, but knowing and seeing were two different things.

  As Allie watched, the students crossed their hands. Then, Del said something like “Mosquito!” and they each slashed their hands to the sides. The suddenness of the move startled Allie, and she stepped back, feeling like a voyeur.

  Moments later, the students began to emerge. As she watched, they transformed from a precision machine into young boys and girls, laughing and giggling as they crossed the room to retrieve their shoes from a shelving unit against the wall, punching each other’s shoulders and jostling as they went. She got curious looks as they filed out the front door in twos and threes. No wonder. She had to seem old and decrepit to these babies.

  Allie was about to pull aside the curtain when Del came through. “Allie,” he said, giving her a hug that threatened to crush her bones. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “I didn’t, either,” she said, extricating herself from his bearlike embrace. “I stopped by Lester’s, and they said you were here teaching. I thought I’d stop by and see the place.”

  He grinned. “What do you think?”

  “I think I’m overwhelmed. It’s all so… so different and… and ritualized. You don’t expect me to learn a
ll that stuff you were doing in there, do you?”

  Del laughed aloud. “Not unless you want to. Sheryl told me to show you some down-and-dirty street-fighting tricks. Ready?”

  “Now?”

  “Why not? I have almost an hour until my next class. We could at least get started.”

  “But—I—” She looked down at her clothes.

  “Don’t worry. We probably have some extra gi. We loan ‘em to the kids who can’t afford uniforms.

  “What’s a gee?”

  “It’s what you wear so you don’t tear your flimsy clothes. Come on back.”

  As they stepped in the studio, Del stopped so suddenly that Allie ran into his back. “Shoes,” he said, looking down at her feet. “No shoes in the dojo.” Humbled, Allie kicked off her shoes and followed Del.

  Just through the door was a storage unit. Del pulled open the door, and Allie stared. She expected the usual locker-room clutter. Instead, she saw uniforms, mats, blocks of wood, towels, and several things she didn’t recognize, all lined up with prefect precision.

  Del handed her a uniform. “There’s a bathroom over there,” he said motioning to the far corner of the room. “But hurry. We don’t want to waste a minute.”

  Allie wasn’t sure about not wasting a minute, but if Del was nice enough to help her, she would comply. She struggled out of her work clothes and into the coarse garment Del had furnished her. It hung off her like moss off an oak. She felt ridiculous as she stepped into the dojo. “I don’t think it fits,” she told Del.

  He grinned and handed her a cloth belt. “It fits fine. It’s supposed to be loose so you can move without resistance. Tie the sash around your waist. Next time you come, wear something spandex. You might be more comfortable.”

  The next hour flew by. Allie had expected a few tips and tricks, but Del took his self-defense seriously. “It begins with mental and physical discipline,” he told Allie.

  “Do I have time for that stuff?” she asked.

  “It’s essential.”