Last Seen Alive

by Carlene Thompson

  “No gifts. I just want a new car. Having a few dollars knocked off the price wouldn’t insult me, though.”

  “Do you have a model picked out?”

  “No,” Scott said slowly. “I thought I might get this girl I know to help me select one. I hear she’s smart and has excellent taste.”

  “If you mean me, I have to warn you that I know a lot about how a human body works but very little about how a car works. I purchase automobiles on the basis of their looks.”

  “Fine with me. We’ll have Ned there to tell us all about the car’s more technical points.”

  Suddenly something seemed to explode in the living room. Chyna and Scott jerked in their chairs. Michelle ran from one end of the kitchen to the other, barking fiercely.

  Scott jumped up and barely limped as he dashed to the corner of the living room, Chyna right behind him. She could have cried when she saw the beautiful bay window smashed, glass everywhere, and a rock the size of a cantaloupe lying beside the fireplace, where it had broken off a corner of the carved Italian marble mantle before falling to the floor.

  A man shouted, “Get away from here, Chyna Greer! Disappear just like you made all those other girls disappear or face this town’s wrath!”

  A babble of voices followed, some raised above the others, one woman screaming, “You’re death incarnate, Chyna. Go away! Leave innocent, God-fearing people alone, or so help me—”

  “That was Irma,” Scott said in quiet fury. “Innocent and God-fearing, my ass. She’s the danger to this town.” He turned. “Go back into the kitchen.”

  “Do you think they’ll try to come in?” Chyna asked incredulously.

  “Maybe,” Scott said as he headed toward the telephone. “I don’t know why the police haven’t shown up earlier, but they’d better get up here now before one of those fools does some real damage!”

  2

  Deirdre Mayhew needed to urinate. “Urinate”? she wondered. What had made that word come to her mind instead of “pee” or, as her mother used to say, “use the bathroom”?

  It’s because I’m so scared I don’t even sound like myself, Deirdre thought. I don’t even think like normal. I want my father. I want to be safe in my bedroom. I want to dream about going to college. I want to have at least one more Christmas. Hell, I’d even settle for watching Irma flirt with Dad.

  Instead, I’m probably going to join Mom, and much as I loved her, I don’t want to be with her now. She’s dead. Tears stung Deirdre’s eyes. Oh God, Mom, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to die, even to see you again. I’m only eighteen.

  Deirdre’s head throbbed from the blow that last night had cut her scalp. She lay on a blanket, but beneath it she could feel a gritty concrete floor. Also tape—what she feared was strong duct tape—had been plastered across her mouth and eyes. When they pull it off, my eyebrows and eyelashes will

  go with it, she thought. That was a certainty. Whether or not she would still be alive when they removed the tape was another matter.

  Deirdre wasn’t sure why the image of her face without brows and lashes made her want to cry even more. After all, that was the least of her worries now. Nevertheless, she knew how expressionless her face without its arched eyebrows and long lashes would look. Dead or alive, she wouldn’t be Deirdre Mayhew anymore.

  Maybe her taped eyes wouldn’t release her tears, but her nose was running over her upper lip, yet another indignity. Yesterday she’d felt sorry for herself. She’d seen Chyna Greer, beautiful, a doctor, obviously the center of Scott Kendrick’s interest. She’d been unhappy because she had to work instead of going to college. She’d missed her mother.

  Right now, though, Deirdre would have given anything to have back her old life, no matter how many hours she had to work at her father’s cafe, no matter that she hadn’t been able to go to college next fall like her friends, no matter, awful as it seemed, that she’d lost Mom. She had died young, but at least she’d had some life—and the romantic love of a man. Even yesterday, Deirdre had been certain that she, too, would have love and at least one child. Right now, though, she wasn’t so sure.

  Deirdre had been in a chloroform sleep when someone dragged her away from the party and put her in this cool, dusty space. Was it a garage? she wondered. She might have been rendered blind and mute with duct tape, but she’d still possessed her sense of smell, and she’d detected no odor of gasoline or motor oil. The only scents she could identify were of dust, mildew, and mouse droppings.

  Her captor had been thoughtful enough to throw a wool blanket under her and fold the extra part over her, but the chill of the concrete floor seeped through the blanket, sending ripples of cold over her naked body. He’d stripped her. The thought made her cringe even more than the realization that duct tape securely bound her ankles and held her wrists behind her. She writhed for a moment, knowing the movement

  was useless but feeling like she had to do something to free herself, not just lie here helplessly …

  Waiting for him to come back.

  The phrase shook Deirdre to the core. “Waiting for him to come back.” And then what would he do to her? Rape would be bad enough, but somehow she knew rape was not the objective of her captor. It might be a prelude to the goal, but it was not the goal itself.

  The goal was death.

  Deirdre let out a helpless moan beneath her duct tape, a moan she knew no one could hear. After all, she had heard nothing for hours—no voices, no starting of cars, no barking of dogs. Absolutely nothing because she was all alone.

  Waiting.

  3

  Ten minutes later the police arrived at Lake Manicora and quickly dispersed the angry crowd that had formed. Most of the people huddled near the water, but a few intrepid souls had begun climbing the hill toward the Greer house, one of these being Irma Vogel. Scott spotted her first, her wispy blond hair sticking out in all directions, her eyes even bigger with excitement, her mouth partially open as she drew in deep breaths. For the first time, Scott didn’t feel Irma’s ugly appearance wasn’t just the luck of having unfortunate genes. They were a window into a flickering, hateful soul looking for a target that could fan it to life.

  Scott marched to the front door. “What are you doing?” Chyna asked as he pulled open the door.

  “Stay out of the way,” he ordered.

  “But Scott, some of those people could have more rocks!”

  “Chyna, go in the other room.” His voice was firm, and while Chyna didn’t retreat from the living room, she did move away from the windows and the door. By now, Scott had the door completely open. He stood tall and unmoving,

  not even supported by his walking stick. His dark eyes fastened on Irma, whose pace up the hill slowed to a near halt.

  “Irma, get… off… this … hill.” His voice was so icy even Chyna felt its chill. Irma stopped but continued to stare at him.

  “Scott, you don’t understand—”

  “I said, get off this hill.”

  “But Chyna’s in there. And Deirdre’s missing. There’s a connection—”

  “Chyna Greer didn’t do anything to Deirdre and you know it. You’ve just found a good time to take out your jealousy on Chyna. But you don’t fool me, Irma, and I’m sure you aren’t fooling anyone else except for a few crazy zealots.” An angry murmur arose, although quite a few people were looking at one another blankly, not knowing what a zealot was. All they knew was that they were being insulted. Scott’s voice rose even louder. “Now Irma, I want you to gather up your dim-witted flock, go back down the hill, go home, and don’t you ever come near Chyna or me again!”

  “You?” Irma nearly squawked. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you, Scott. It’s all about her.” She’d started to sob. ”Besides, you need me!”

  “I don’t need you for anything, Irma. Now go. And the next time you come into my house uninvited, I’ll have you arrested for breaking and entering.”

  Scott slammed the door before Irma sank to her knees, wailing pitif
ully. Scott could tell part of her actions was an act for the audience behind her, though. In truth, she probably was already planning how she would get back at both Chyna and him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Twenty minutes later the crowd at the lake had been dispersed by the city cops. Scott had stood at the window drinking beer from a bottle as he watched Black Willow’s finest, if slowest, order people to move along or they would be given tickets. He’d expected the police to come up to the house to see what damage had been done, but instead the four cops who’d shown up had simply driven their two cruisers away as if nothing had happened. Well, something had happened, and Scott intended to call the sheriff, who was a personal friend of Mr. and Mrs. Kendrick, and not likely to ignore a complaint by their “hero” son, Scott.

  Chyna had lingered in the kitchen and he found her there, sitting on the floor sipping a Coke and petting a clearly unnerved Michelle. “Excitement too much for her?” Scott asked, nodding toward the dog.

  “The excitement was too much for both of us. Scott, this is insane. Are those people still out there?”

  “No.”

  “Thank goodness. They looked like they were out for blood. If I’d been here alone …”

  “But you weren’t alone, and it’s my guess that most of them wouldn’t have come close to the house. They were just trying to scare you.”

  “Irma wasn’t just trying to scare me.”

  “Wait until Mom hears about Irma,” Scott said drily. “She won’t have a thing to do with Irma again. And if it was Irma who threw the rock that chipped the Italian marble mantel in the living room, then God help her. Almost nothing makes Mom angrier than vandalizing antiques.”

  “Are you sure Irma’s gone?”

  “Definitely.” Scott stood watching Chyna for a few minutes, then said, “Well, are you going to get up or spend the rest of the day on the kitchen floor?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Oh, come on, Chyna,” Scott said sternly. “You’ve never been a coward. I can’t stand to see you huddled up like a… like a…”

  “Coward?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Okay,” Chyna said in a lackluster voice before rising. “I’m up.”

  “You’re still leaning against the kitchen counter.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Scott,” she snapped. “Do I have to stand at attention?”

  “That would be nice. Makes you look brave.”

  “Also shows off her figure,” Rex laughed from the kitchen doorway. “You don’t have me fooled, Kendrick.”

  Scott smiled, but Chyna felt unreasonably annoyed that Rex had not been present earlier. “Where have you been?” she nearly snarled.

  Rex looked taken aback. “I went to visit a friend.”

  “My, my, but you have a lot of friends around Black Willow lately.” Chyna heard the bitterness in her voice. “And how convenient that you left before the hate crowd congregated outside. Otherwise, they would have blocked the road and not let you by.”

  Rex frowned. ’The hate crowd? What crowd? Here? Why?”

  Chyna took off fast and furious. “You’d know if you would bother spending one hour in the house where your sister-in-law died this week instead of acting like this is a vacation,

  gallivanting all over town drinking and socializing with God know who—”

  “A bunch of people gathered at the foot of the hill,” Scott interrupted, his voice loud enough to drown out Chyna’s sudden shrillness. “They blocked the road to the house. I’d gotten wind of the little gathering planned to scare Chyna and hitched a ride with someone. When Chyna returned and they wouldn’t let her drive back to the house, I walked her up the hill. Then someone threw a rock through the front window and broke a piece off the mantle. I called the police and they finally arrived and dispersed the crowd, although they didn’t seem to take the whole thing too seriously.”

  Rex looked dumbfounded, his skin paling under its perpetual tan. “There was a crowd here? Someone threw a rock into the living room? Why?”

  “Because Deirdre Mayhew is missing,” Chyna said raggedly. “Because the people of this town have decided that a girl always goes missing when I come home, so I must be responsible.”

  Rex gaped. “That is …” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”

  “Not everyone in town subscribes to this brilliant theory,” Scott said scathingly. “Just a few people led by one deeply disturbed—oh, hell—one green-eyed monster masquerading as a do-gooder but who has a magnificent talent for agitating her fellow fruitcakes.”

  “Name, please?” Rex asked calmly.

  “Irma Vogel.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Rex said.

  “She used to work here when I was a teenager,” Chyna shouted. “And you’ve probably dated her. You’ve dated every other woman under fifty in Black Willow!”

  She then burst into tears. Rex took three swift steps toward her and enfolded her in his arms. “Honey, I haven’t dated quite all of the women under fifty. There aren’t that many places to go with one where you won’t run into another, and you know how embarrassing catfights can be.”

  Chyna cried and laughed at the same time. “I’m sorry. I was just so scared.”

  “She didn’t consider me adequate protection,” Scott said drily.

  “Yes, I did. Honestly I did, Scott. But Mother’s mantle, you know how she loved that mantle, Rex, and it’s ruined all because of me—”

  “Yes, I know how you begged someone to throw a rock through the window and break your mother’s marble mantle,” Rex said soothingly. “It’s all perfectly clear, now.”

  “I need a tissue,” Chyna nearly wailed.

  “You certainly do.” Rex produced a handkerchief from his pocket, and grinned. “So what are you most upset about, honey? The crowd that thinks you abducted the Mayhew girl, your mother’s damaged mantle, or your nose dripping in front of your boyfriend?”

  “He is not my boyfriend!” Chyna sniffled into Rex’s monogrammed handkerchief.

  “Of course he’s not. He’s taking the news very well, too, all stoic and manly, not an ounce of desolation showing on his face.” Chyna was well aware of the two men smiling at each other, but she couldn’t make herself look at either. Rex took her arm and quickly led her from the kitchen. “Now let’s go take a look at this mantle you’re so worked up about.”

  Chyna knew Rex wasn’t allowing her time to be embarrassed about her outbreak of tears. She’d never been the nervous type, but then, she’d never just lost her mother, either, and Rex was feeling guilty for not being there when a crowd appeared to accuse her of involvement in the Deirdre May-hew disappearance.

  She heard Michelle panting along behind her, then the tap of Scott’s walking stick on the vinyl floor in the kitchen before they strode across the carpet through the dining room and into the living room. Rex walked over and looked at the piece of marble, approximately two by three inches, lying near a much larger, rough-edged rock. “Yeah, Vivian would

  have a fit about this,” he said after turning it over a few times. “You say Irma Vogel threw it?”

  “We were in the other room when we heard the crash in here,” Scott said. “We didn’t see Irma do it, but she was closer than anyone else.”

  Chyna frowned. “How do you know Irma Vogel, Rex?”

  “I don’t really know her; I’m just acquainted with her, thank God. A couple of months ago when I was here, I stopped in at that little cafe downtown. She waited on me and when she brought my order she sat down, uninvited, and introduced herself. Seemed to think I’d remember her.”

  Chyna and Scott finally looked at each other. “Husband hunting,” they said together.

  “She said she’d never gotten a chance to talk to me when I was visiting or say hello at the Fourth of July parties because she was always with, and I quote, ’a very possessive date.’ I said that was okay because I’d always been with a very possessive
wife.”

  “Which one?” Chyna asked wryly.

  Rex smiled. “I don’t remember all of them, honey. There have been so many, as you invariably remind me. Anyway, all I could think about was Irma staring at my left hand with those bulging eyes of hers. I swear, if she’d had a microscope, she would have been searching for tan lines on my then ringless third finger. At that point, her boss asked her if she’d forgotten she had other customers.”

  “That would have been Ben Mayhew,” Scott said. “He’s the father of the missing girl, Deirdre.”

  “Would Deirdre have been around seventeen or eighteen? Auburn haired?” Rex asked. Scott nodded. “She came into the cafe that day, too, but headed straight for the kitchen. She was very pretty. She also seemed shy.” His gaze seemed to turn in on itself. “What a shame. Her father must be frantic.”

  “We don’t know that anything has happened to her,” Chyna said defensively. “She hasn’t even been gone twenty-four hours yet and everyone is going crazy!”

  Rex seemed to come back to them and gently stroked her hair. “Okay, honey. You’re probably right. It’s not like she’s

  been gone two or three days. Something perfectly harmless could have happened to keep her from coming home or calling. Just settle down, Chyna.”

  She could feel some of the tension leave her body as Rex spoke soothingly. “It’s just that the crowd down there suspecting me of having something to do with Deirdre’s disappearance upset me more than I would have imagined.” Chyna paused. “And I have to admit, only to the two of you, that the coincidence of another girl turning up gone when I’ve come home isn’t lost on me.”

  Rex put his hand under her chin and lifted her head, looking deep into her eyes. “Chyna, you can’t possibly think the same thing a few nuts in town do.”

  “Quite a few ’nuts’ thought I had something to do with Zoey’s … disappearance. Even her mother did.”

  “Anita Simms didn’t think you’d hurt Zoey—”