by Merry Jones
Sty was panting, stopped to catch his breath. ‘Jesus. What the hell happened?’
‘You all right?’
‘Fine. Peachy.’
Evan stood beside him, put a hand on Sty’s shoulder. ‘I guess you didn’t plan on this.’
‘So?’
‘So, all your planning didn’t prevent this unexpected event.’
Sty stiffened. ‘You think this is funny?’
Harper heard Evan’s smirk. ‘Actually, yes. I do. All your great genius and painstaking preparations are thwarted by the unpredictable pranks of a woman.’
‘Nothing has been thwarted. This is just another obstacle. We’ll deal with it.’
Silence. Harper shivered, wondered if they could hear the rattle of her bones.
‘I can’t wait to hear how she got in there. Oh, and how she got along with her travel companion.’ Evan laughed out loud, almost a cough. ‘Christ. Imagine being locked in with that thing.’
Sty wasn’t amused. ‘Just find her.’ He took a breath and pressed ahead toward the lake. After they’d passed, Harper waited a few seconds and darted out of the trees, across the open field to the barn. It didn’t look sturdy or warm, and undoubtedly, they’d see her footprints leading there. Still, she might be able to climb up a level and get the advantage of elevation. And who knew? There might be something inside – an old pitchfork or rake. Something she could use as a weapon.
When she neared the barn door, a contraction began, and she leaned into the shadows, breathing evenly, holding her middle until it eased. ‘Okay, baby,’ she whispered. ‘Calm down. We’re okay.’ Then slowly, silently, she slid the door open and stepped into total darkness, reaching her arms out, groping air, hoping that the floor had not rotted through, that the ground ahead wouldn’t swallow her. That she and the baby would survive until another dawn.
Back at her desk, Rivers tried to absorb the news. She blinked at Sgt. Lavoy, who had just told her that yet another young man had gone missing. The third disappearance in a week.
She took a swig of watery coffee and eyed her notebook.
‘Brad Sterling.’
‘I took the call myself. Parents say they haven’t talked to him in weeks. They don’t even have a current address, said he was about to move into a new place with a friend.’
Rivers stared at him. Lavoy must have been dieting; his uniform didn’t seem as tight.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Lavoy went on. ‘If they never talk to him, what makes them think he’s missing? I asked them that very question.’
‘And they said?’
‘It’s Christmas. They expected him.’
Rivers sighed. ‘Yeah. Well, not showing up at Christmas doesn’t mean he’s missing. He might be in the Bahamas.’
‘That’s what I told them. Only I said Cancun.’ Lavoy wandered away.
Rivers looked back at her notebook, reviewing Harper Jennings’ disappearance. Going over events of the past week, trying to see a pattern. She reread her notes about Mrs Jennings’ various calls, making sure she’d been thorough enough. Of course, she had. She’d investigated the brawl, even searched the woods for signs of an assault. She’d gone next door to the fraternity to follow up on Mrs Jennings’ reports of a shining light and moving curtain. She’d tried out the key Mrs Jennings had found in the woods and interviewed the only two fraternity members who were present, observing their demeanors, checking the interior of the house. She had followed protocol to the letter. And she’d found nothing – no evidence of wrongdoing. No evidence of anything except a stressed-out pregnant woman.
Still, Mrs Jennings was missing. Clearly, she had stumbled into something that Rivers had missed. But what? Rivers was furious that she hadn’t spotted it, hadn’t prevented the disappearance. She strained to figure out what she wasn’t seeing. The pieces were all there; Rivers just had to fit them together. Three people were missing, two of them young men. And those frat boys – Evan and Sty. They bothered her; their smarmy attitude set her off. Could they be behind all this?
Just for the sake of it, she followed that possibility. What if the naked guy Mrs Jennings had seen was Sebastian? What if Sty and Evan had kidnapped him, and he’d tried to escape – that would explain the fight. And, if Harper had been onto them, they’d have taken her, too.
So far, it all made sense. It was a good theory.
But Rivers had not a shred of evidence to back it up.
She picked up a pencil, doodled. Wrote the word: Why?
Why, indeed? Why would two rich college boys suddenly go around kidnapping people? They had no motive. Rivers felt physically ill, angry with herself. She got up and went to the coffee pot, poured another cup, set it down. Couldn’t swallow it. Damn. Where was Harper Jennings? How could she have just disappeared? She was tough – a veteran. She’d survived combat and serious injuries. Was not likely to be duped or taken by force. How could two puny college kids get the best of her?
She thought of Mr Jennings, the husband, his frantic rage. And the mother’s drunken stupor. The mother’s boyfriend, holding her head in his lap . . . Speaking of the boyfriend, he’d been acting strange, hadn’t he? Jittery. Tiptoeing around. Peeking from the hallway. Rivers frowned. Had he had something to do with Harper’s disappearance? Her instincts said no, but she needed to be thorough, couldn’t make assumptions. Should have him checked out.
‘Hey, Lavoy.’ She wrote down Lou’s name, handed it to him. ‘Check this guy out, okay?’
Lavoy ambled over to her desk, took the paper, didn’t leave. Stood there, watching her.
‘What?’
‘You okay, Detective?’
She shook her head. ‘Peachy.’
Lavoy rested a hip on the edge of her desk. ‘Hell of a way to spend Christmas week.’
She shook her head. ‘I keep thinking I’m missing something.’
‘Sometimes it helps to talk things over. Saying it to someone else can shake things loose.’
Rivers pulled a chair over, offered him a seat. Started over, from the top, reviewing her notes about Sebastian and Harper again. Looking for leads she knew she didn’t have. When she finished, Lavoy summarized the facts about the newest missing person, Brad Sterling. He was twenty-two, a former Ithaca College student. He was from Florida but was staying in the area, moving to a new place with his room-mate.
‘That’s the connection, of course.’
‘What’s the key?’ Rivers frowned. ‘One pregnant woman and two young men who don’t seem to have common friends or live in the same neighborhoods. Other than all of them being in Ithaca, I don’t see any connections. I just don’t.’
‘Well, you got to admit. If the thing about Brad’s not a connection, it’s a pretty damn big coincidence.’
Coincidence? ‘What is?’
Lavoy reached over, picked up a paper from the pile on her desk. ‘Charlene, have you even looked at this?’
‘What is it? I haven’t had a chance.’ Lord, why didn’t he just tell her what it was? ‘I’ve been focusing on the Jennings—’
‘The room-mate? The guy Brad Sterling was moving in with – it was the first missing kid. Sebastian Levering.’
Rivers sat back, rubbed her temples. Her head hurt. She didn’t know what else to do, so she reached for her notes, and started reading again.
Lou sat in the dark in the guest room, trying to keep up with his mind. Why would Wally want to meet him face to face? Why was he coming to pick him up and drive off someplace? Lou was pretty sure he knew why: Wally was planning to do more than just accept his money and Lou’s sincere appreciation for loaning it to him.
Wally was going to kill him.
Lou had already called Rita to try to wangle out of the meeting. ‘I mean as long as he gets the money,’ he’d said, ‘I don’t see why I can’t just drop it off—’
‘He wants to see you, man to man.’
‘But why?’ Lou had persisted. ‘Does he want to talk? Because we can talk on the phone—’
Finally, Lou had given in. He’d agreed to hand over the money and interest personally, and face whatever fate Wally had in mind.
He’d agreed, but that didn’t mean he’d accepted it. Maybe he’d stand Wally up, simply not show at the meeting. He thought about it. Thought about grabbing Vivian and taking off – but he’d already decided he couldn’t risk it.
Poor Vivian. He was going to break her heart. He was going to join the list of men who’d dumped her, literally every man in her life. He pictured her eyelids raw and puffy, her body limp on the bed. If only he could do right by her. But that seemed impossible.
Because as far as he could see, he was cooked. Even if he could convince Wally to let Harper go, Wally would probably kill him. And even if Wally didn’t, Ritchie would. Not that Ritchie had a right to complain; in all fairness, Ritchie shouldn’t have made him the loan to begin with. He knew that Lou had no collateral, no actual income besides what he earned from Wally, who obviously would no longer employ a man who’d skimmed – rather, borrowed – from him. No. Ritchie should have figured out that Lou wouldn’t be able to pay him back. So, Ritchie’s loss should be on Ritchie. Not that Ritchie would accept that fact.
Either way, the thing with Ritchie had to wait. First things first. In just a day, Lou had to deal with Wally. He glanced at the duffel bag. Damn, he liked having all that money. Imagined Vivian in a hammock under a palm tree, drinking pina coladas, listening to tin drums. Someplace where it never snowed.
If only he could keep the frickin’ money.
He rubbed his forehead, thought again of Vivian, the way she smelled of booze and flowers. The way she laughed, her voice deep as a crater, scarred from staying alive. He thought of how he was going to make her cry.
But all his thinking was getting him nowhere. In a day, he was going to drop a bomb on his life, destroy his happiness, hurt the woman he loved. There was no escape; it had to be done. Lou reached onto the nightstand, picked up the remote, turned on the television. Popped a few aspirin into his mouth. Wished his head would stop throbbing.
He wanted to go downstairs and be with Vivian. Didn’t dare because he’d fall apart. He covered his eyes with his hands, wiped them. Cursed. His mouth tasted bitter from the aspirin. He opened the bottle, took a couple more.
The news was on. Some drunk driver had killed a whole family on their way to a church meeting. A dog had identified a suitcase full of heroin at Newark airport. Lou eyed the duffel bag, wondered how much money a suitcase of heroin was worth. The anchor reported that another young man had been reported missing. Some kid from Florida. And an elderly woman had been found frozen in a state park.
Lou leaned back on the bed, gazed out the window at the night. Listened to the weather report; it was supposed to snow again the next day. Perfect. Wally’s car would skid and slide all the way to wherever he was going to kill him.
When he closed his eyes, he imagined the woman’s frozen body in the park. Why was he thinking about that? It was just a news story, nothing to him. And then – Eureka – it came to him – a way out.
Lou sat up, whooping out loud. He was giddy, laughing despite his troubles. Finally, he had a plan. A way to keep the cash, get both Wally and Ritchie off his back, and live happily ever after with Vivian. Thanks to that frozen dead woman, he was going to be okay.
All he had to do was die.
Rivers stood, moved around to get her blood circulating. Then sat again, rereading her notes. After talking to Lavoy, she was sure that the disappearances were related. Now she was determined to find a fact, a comment – anything she’d written down that could help her. After a while, she gave up, let out a breath, rubbed her eyes.
Lavoy ambled over to her. ‘You’re not going to like this.’
Rivers waited.
‘Another missing persons call. This one’s premature. He’s only been missing a few hours, but his mother’s frantic. He lives alone on the lake. She hasn’t been able to reach him and asked a neighbor to check. His place is empty and his car is gone—’
Rivers ran her hands through her hair. ‘He’s not even been gone twenty-four hours—’
‘I know. It’s probably nothing. But under the circumstances, I thought you’d want to know.’ He started to walk away.
‘Hey, Lavoy? What’s the kid’s name?’
‘Steven. Steven Mills.’
‘Let me know if he turns up.’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’
Rivers sighed, turning back to her notes. Trying to remember where she’d left off.
She couldn’t remember, so she started over. Brad, Sebastian, Harper. And maybe Steven. What linked them? Who knew all of them? Brad and Sebastian were linked; they were planning to live together. But Harper? She had no apparent connection to either. And who knew about Steven?
Rivers drew a map, connecting Brad to Sebastian.
She added Evan and Sty, connected them to Harper. Drew a dotted line from them to Sebastian, in case he’d been the naked kid.
Rivers’ desk phone rang. Lavoy had yet more information, wasn’t sure it was relevant.
‘Shoot.’
‘Just got another call from Florida. Mom says that her son and Sebastian weren’t just room-mates. They were honeys.’
‘Gay?’ Rivers was confused; Sebastian’s friends had said he’d had a girlfriend.
‘Brad was open about it. But according to Brad’s mother, Sebastian hadn’t come out. Brad said he going to tell his family over Christmas.’
Rivers thought about it. Maybe the girlfriend was really a boyfriend – none of Sebastian’s friends had met her. In fact – were Sty and Evan gay, too? Had either of them been involved with any of the missing men? That might be the connection. Except: what would their relationships have to do with Harper Jennings?
Her mind was tangling. She started over. Began with Sty and Evan. Read her notes about meeting them at the fraternity with Mrs Jennings. Going inside, looking up the dim staircase. Walking into the dining room, the sitting room. Moving awkwardly around that ugly oversized wardrobe – they’d called it an ‘armoire’ – which was smack in the middle of the foyer. They’d claimed that they’d sold it and were about to deliver it to the buyer.
Rivers froze. Suddenly, she had it: the wheel and tire tracks outside the fraternity. The empty space inside the front door. Of course. She knew where Harper Jennings was. Now, all she had to do was find that hideous wardrobe.
Harper moved slowly in the darkness, her arms stretched ahead, searching for obstacles, her toes tentative, testing the floor. Gradually, she became accustomed to the shadows, made out shapes in light that filtered through the barn’s shattered roof. Saw lumps of what was probably hay. A ladder leading to a loft.
Behind her, the door swung open. Damn. They’d found her. Harper’s left leg buckled and she stumbled, but she righted herself and ran for the ladder, forgetting about testing the strength of the floorboards. Moving fast, before their eyes could get used to the dark, taking advantage of their temporary blindness.
‘There!’ Evan shouted. ‘I see her!’
‘Where?’ Sty bolted into something, sent it clattering to the floor, howled in pain. ‘Shit.’
Harper didn’t slow down. Felt Evan’s heartbeat, his breath closing in. Wished she had something – a hoe or a shovel. Took a leap, grabbed the ladder, felt for a rung with her left foot. Began to climb.
Sty was back on his feet. ‘Where the fuck are you, Evan?’
Evan’s voice was alarmingly close. Inches away. ‘I’ve got her.’ It was almost a whisper, meant not for Sty but for her.
Harper scrambled upward. Evan got to the ladder and shook it, trying to knock her off. She hung on, was almost to the loft, but she felt Evan’s weight beneath her. He’d climbed onto the first rung, was reaching up, trying to grab her ankles. His hand brushed her foot, almost nabbed it.
Harper pushed on, was eye-level with the edge o
f the loft. She lifted her right leg up two rungs, pushed off and swung her hips, landing sideways in the loft. Winded, she hopped up, put both hands on the ladder and centered her strength so she could shove it away, knocking it over before Evan made it to the top. Harper stepped back, then forward, thrusting the ladder . . .
‘Gotcha.’ A hand firmly gripped her wrist, promising to take her with it if it fell.
She rolled and twisted her wrist, trying to wrest it away, but Evan wouldn’t release it. He was climbing onto the loft when she swung, connecting with his eye, but he pounced on her with savage force, pummeling her head. Harper fell, dizzy, having the sensation that, like her unborn baby, she was doing flip turns.
Okay. Lou knew what he had to do. He had to fake his death. When he was officially dead, no one would bother to look for him. They’d try for a while to find the money, but after a while, they’d give up. Meantime, he’d become someone else. He’d start over like he’d done before. Become a new man with a new name. Use one of the identities in his suitcase. Something he could grow old with, maybe Oliver Hines. He said it out loud: Oliver Hines. Ollie. It was a good name, but was it him? Wasn’t it too fussy? Truth was, he was a simple guy, needed a simple, regular sounding name. But he’d already used most of those. Had been a Pete and a Bill. Maybe it was time for something classier. As long as Wally and Ritchie couldn’t trace him – shit, he’d be Linda if he could be sure it was safe. Anyway, he’d use a name those guys didn’t know about, and when he got himself set up, he’d send for Vivian, and they’d live the dream south of the border, with sombreros and siestas, mambos and margaritas.
Lou laughed out loud, got out of bed, grabbed the satchel of money and started dancing with it, singing out loud. ‘Wastin’ away again in Margaritaville. Searching for my lost shaker of salt . . . Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame, but I know . . .’
Suddenly, his mood took a dive. He slumped on the side of the bed, letting the satchel slide to the floor. What the hell was he doing, living in fantasy land? He had details to work out. Lots of them. For example, he needed an exact location for the accident. Someplace not too far away so that when he died, he’d be identified right away. Well, not him; the car. Vivian’s old Camry was going to be mangled and burned in a terrible accident, smashed at the bottom of a gorge. Very sad.
