Last Seen Alive

by Carlene Thompson

  “He wouldn’t take his wallet with all of his identification in it, Chyna. And he sure wouldn’t take a truck with ’Ridge-way Construction’ plastered on the side of it.”

  Chyna had to agree with Scott, yet some things didn’t add up. She’d seen two fifty-dollar bills in Gage’s wallet. He would have needed cash. And naturally he wouldn’t have taken the truck, but what about the motorcycle? Chyna made up her mind. Whether or not Gage had abducted Deirdre, he had not made a run for it after she was found. Something else accounted for his disappearance—something terribly wrong.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  1

  When Chyna and Scott reached the Greer house, both garage doors had been raised and she saw Rex’s car sitting beside hers. “I didn’t even notice earlier,” she said. “When we left this morning, was Rex’s car here?”

  Scott shook his head. “The garage doors were down and my car was in the driveway. I didn’t notice, either. I’m sure he didn’t stay out all night, though.”

  “I’m not,” Chyna fumed. “Honest to God, if he spent the night with some woman and left me here all alone …”

  Scott looked troubled. “Don’t blow a gasket yet, Chyna. You said he was going to Owen Burtram’s, probably to prevent trouble between him and Rusty. Maybe something happened. …”

  Chyna fumbled with her key, suddenly nervous, more frightened than she’d been invading Gage Ridgeway’s house, and burst through the house. “Rex!” she yelled. “Rex, are you here?”

  “In the kitchen,” he called, but he didn’t sound right. He sounded weak and … she didn’t want to think about the possibilities. She grabbed Scott’s hand and dragged him behind her as she ran for the kitchen.

  When she reached the doorway, she stopped so fast Scott bumped into the back of her, knocking him back a step.

  “Sorry,” he said, but she didn’t hear him. She’d fully expected to find Rex lying on the floor, probably having suffered from a heart attack just like her mother.

  Instead, Rex sat at the table with a mug of coffee and the morning newspaper. He wore an old flannel robe over pajamas. In the many times Rex had stayed in this house, Chyna had never seen him in his nightclothes. He always came downstairs freshly shaven, his thick hair carefully combed, and wearing a shirt or sweater with designer jeans or khakis. This morning, stubble covered the grayish-tinted skin of his face. He looked up and Chyna saw that his eyes were sunken, almost lost in hollows and shadows. He didn’t even nod a greeting to them. He just held out the newspaper and said, “Rusty Burtram is dead.”

  “Dead,” Chyna repeated blankly. Then the import of Rex’s words hit her. “Dead! How? Oh my God, not Owen?”

  “I don’t know.” Rex’s usually buoyant voice was flat. “Read the details for yourself, not that they’ll tell you much.”

  Chyna nearly snatched the newspaper from Rex’s hand. He was right. All she learned was that Rusty had fallen through a sliding glass door in his home and died of massive blood loss caused by lacerations. Not even a time of death was given, although a neighbor was quoted as saying she’d heard a “loud crashing sound” at Rusty’s house around nine o’clock. Chyna looked at Rex. “How long did you stay with Owen?”

  “Twenty minutes, tops,” Rex said dully. “He got a call and said he had to go to the funeral home. I told him I’d wait until he got back, but he said he’d be gone quite a while. He obviously wanted to get rid of me. I went to Ned’s for a little while, but he had to leave, too, and I could tell Bev was in a hurry to get the kids ready for bed, so I left there, too.”

  Chyna said sharply, “And just figured Rusty was safe and went off on another one of your mysterious jaunts.”

  “No, I did not!” For the first time, Rex’s voice sounded normal. “After I left Ned’s, I parked down the street from Rusty’s house. Thought I’d do a little surveillance. I felt

  ridiculous, but I couldn’t forget the look on Owen’s face even after we got back to his place. It was scary, Chyna, and I don’t scare easily. Anyway, after I’d sat outside Rusty’s for over an hour, this woman kept looking out her window at me. Then she came out and glared at me from her porch a couple of times. I think it was the woman quoted in the newspaper as hearing the ’loud crashing sound’ at Rusty’s. I could tell she was suspicious of me—probably thought I was casing her house for a robbery-and she was going to call the cops.

  “So I left,” Rex continued. “I drove around for about twenty minutes with every intention of going back to Rusty’s. Then the car began losing power. I barely got over to the curb before it went dead. I just bought a battery last month, so I knew it was the alternator and there would be no help until morning. No cab service in this town at that time either. I started walking and finally I stopped at Harlon Watkins’s. Woke him and his wife up, but they were pretty gracious. They gave me a cup of coffee and she loaned me her car.

  “I drove back to Owen’s and saw his car in his driveway. Then I passed by Rusty’s. Everything looked calm there, too.” Rex grimaced. “No wonder. All the excitement had happened hours earlier. Rusty was already dead, the ambulance and police were gone, and the house was dark. The crime scene tape must have been in the back around the sliding glass doors and I didn’t see it. So I dragged myself home, thinking everything was all right. Then the morning paper came and I read the headline.” Rex smiled ruefully. “Some hero I am.” He looked at Chyna. “Not like you. I saw the other headline, too. You saved Deirdre.”

  Chyna scanned the article, then said, “Uncle Rex, my name isn’t mentioned. What makes you think I found her?”

  He smiled at her. “Just a feeling, Chyna. As soon as I read the article, I knew it had to be you. But if I had any doubts, someone called here just before you came in. A woman. She said something like, ’Big miracle. Who does she think she’s fooling? Chyna found Deirdre because Chyna took her!’”

  “Someone thinks I took Deirdre?” Chyna exclaimed.

  “You’re surprised after that little scene on the lawn the other day?” Rex asked drily. “I’m pretty sure the woman on the phone was that awful Vogel creature, but you have other enemies out there, Chyna. You must be careful, honey.”

  “I will,” Chyna mumbled, then couldn’t help adding, “I guess you haven’t been MIA so much because you were sneaking off to be with Irma Vogel, Mrs. Rex Greer number five.”

  Rex choked on his coffee and finally burst into the old, uncontrolled laughter she knew so well. In spite of her sadness and uneasiness about how Rusty had died, she was relieved to have her uncle acting normal, even though he suddenly looked old and haggard. “I’d swear off all women for good before I’d even touch her! Gee, Chyna, give me credit for having some taste!”

  “I’m going to call Ben’s cell phone and find out how Deirdre’s doing,” Scott interrupted. “She might be conscious by now.”

  Scott stepped into the other room, and in a moment, Chyna heard him speaking softly. She looked at Rex, whose laughter over Irma had disappeared. “Do you think while you were without your car, Owen went over and killed Rusty?”

  Rex closed his eyes and shook his head, almost hanging it. “I’ll never forgive myself if that happened. I knew there was going to be trouble. What’s that song by Phil Collins you loved so much? ’In the Air Tonight.’ Well, I felt trouble in the air last night. Serious trouble. I tried to stop it, but… well, making trouble, not preventing trouble, has always been my specialty.”

  Chyna reached across the kitchen table and covered his hand with hers. “Uncle Rex, you tried. You watched Owen; you watched Rusty. If your car breaking down prevented you from keeping an eye on Rusty, it’s not your fault.” She paused. “You could have called me. I would have taken up surveillance duties.”

  “Actually, I tried, Chyna. But you weren’t home and I didn’t know your cell phone number.” She felt the blood

  drain from her face, and remorse filled her. “Now, don’t look like that,” Rex said. “We don’t know anything except that Rusty fell through
those glass doors. Maybe he’d gotten so scared he took pills or got drunk or both and just fell, without any help from anyone. Besides, you were out saving another life last night. If it weren’t for you, Deirdre Mayhew would probably be dead.” A tear ran down Chyna’s cheek, though, as she thought of the agony of Rusty’s expression yesterday and the blind fear in his eyes when he saw his father at the door. “Chyna?” She looked at her uncle. “Not even you, special as you are, can save everyone, honey.”

  When Scott came back into the kitchen, Chyna looked at him hopefully. “Is Deirdre awake?”

  Scott shook his head. “Ben’s trying to sound upbeat, but I can tell he’s getting worried. He said the doctors claim she hasn’t suffered brain damage, but it’s what he fears.”

  “Deirdre just can’t have come so far only to slide away into perpetual unconsciousness,” Chyna said, “although as a doctor, I know it’s possible.”

  “I think I’ll go over to the hospital and see Ben,” Scott said.

  Chyna stood up. “I’ll go with you.”

  Scott looked troubled for a moment, as if he was searching for a kind way of saying something bad. Finally, he looked her directly in the eye and said, “You going with me isn’t a good idea. A lot of people are there. You know the Black Willow grapevine—word was all over town long before the newspaper came out that Deirdre had not only been found, but she’d been found by you. The trouble is that… well, it seems some idiot has started the rumor that Deirdre was found by you because you’re the one who took her.”

  Chyna stared at him for a moment, her face frozen. Then she spoke, her voice even. “Tell me truthfully. Does Ben believe that?”

  “Oh God, no,” Scott reassured her. “He’s so grateful, you’ll probably be drowned in free pastries for the rest of your life. But some of the other people …”

  Chyna swallowed, then nodded. “This attitude isn’t exactly

  new to me, Scott. A lot of people thought I had something to do with Zoey’s disappearance. And after the gang that gathered here on Sunday morning, I could hardly ignore the fact that bad feeling was building against me again.”

  Scott looked wretched. “The people who believe it are fools, Chyna. You can’t let it trouble you.”

  “I won’t.” She paused. “Well, it will bother me a little bit. I can’t help it. But I’ll survive. You don’t have to look like it’s the end of the world.”

  He smiled. “Okay. I am going to the hospital to see Ben in a little while. I’ll tell him you’d be there if you could.” She nodded again. “And I have an appointment with my orthopedist in Huntington this afternoon. He wants to take a few more X-rays of me. I’ve had so many already, I feel like I should be glowing. Anyway, why don’t you and I go out someplace quiet for dinner when I get back?”

  “That sounds nice,” Chyna said.

  “Great. I’ll pick you up around seven, all right?”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  She stood at the open door, smiling and waving as Scott drove away. As soon as he was out of sight, though, her smile disappeared. She hadn’t wanted to let him know how much it bothered her that so many people in town believed her capable of hurting Deirdre or any young girl.

  Also, Chyna didn’t want him to know that she couldn’t stop thinking of Rusty Burtram and Gage Ridgeway. One man appeared to have died in a fall, the other to have fled when die girl he’d kidnapped made her way to freedom.

  Nevertheless, Chyna could not shake the feeling that neither scenario told the real story.

  2

  Rex sat at the table, drinking cup after cup of coffee until Chyna had to make a second pot. When it finished, she poured herself a cup and sat down with him. “I’ve never

  known you to just sit in pajamas and drink coffee most of the morning,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  “I think my age finally caught up with me,” Rex said with a sad imitation of his insouciant smile.

  “In twenty-four hours? Because you weren’t like this yesterday.”

  “Maybe I just held on to youth, or the illusion of youth, too long. When you do that, it vanishes just like that.” He snapped his fingers sharply and Chyna jumped.

  “I would think vanishing so quickly would be caused by some precipitating incident,” Chyna said easily, trying not to show that Rex was making her uneasy. “I’m sure it wasn’t the death of Rusty Burtram. You hardly knew him.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Rex said casually, staring off in space. Then he looked at her. “Did you know your boyfriend was out and about last night?”

  She looked at him in puzzlement. “Of course I know. He was out with me.”

  “No. Later. Or should I say earlier this morning? When I got home, I came in here to get a drink of water. I looked outside and there was Scott Kendrick, sitting on the side of the fountain.”

  “At four in the morning?”

  “I didn’t get home until shortly before five.”

  Five in the morning. She thought. She and Scott hadn’t gotten home until two. They’d gone to bed, made love, and fallen asleep. She’d awakened to find him gone.

  “What was Scott doing at the fountain?” she asked casually.

  “I told you. He was just sitting there. Chyna, he was looking down staring at his hands as if they didn’t belong to him. I opened the back door and said his name. He glanced up, absolutely expressionless, then went back to looking at his hands. I don’t think he knew who I was. I’m not sure he even saw me, although I was standing in the light.”

  Rex paused. “Chyna, I have to say he gave me a fright, and I don’t frighten easily. But Scott Kendrick spooked me.

  I sat in the room next door until I heard him come in and go back upstairs. I followed him. I hovered for about five minutes, then peeked in your door and saw he was back in bed, murmuring to you, and finally you both went back to sleep. Sorry for the intrusion, honey, but I had to make sure you were safe.”

  Chyna took three sips of coffee before she could manage an easy, natural voice. “I’m sure there’s an explanation, Rex. I’ll ask him about it this evening.”

  “Are you sure you want to go out with him later?”

  “Yes. Yes, absolutely sure,” she said firmly, but all she could think about was the long, fresh scrape on Scott’s hand that extended over his wrist and disappeared under the sleeve of his sweater.

  It hadn’t been there when they’d gone to bed last night.

  3

  Chyna felt as if this had been the longest day of her life. Rex finally showered and dressed, but his spirits didn’t improve. He sat passive-faced in front of the television from morning into the afternoon. Around two o’clock, Chyna took Michelle for a walk, but the dog seemed to have absorbed the general malaise that consumed the Greer household. She ambled along, apparently uninterested in sniffing leaves and blas6 about the ducks floating on Lake Manicora. When a daredevil squirrel ran about one foot in front of her nose, Michelle merely gazed at it, showing no excitement, much less an urge to pursue. “I know,” Chyna said understandingly to the dog. “If the squirrel is that dumb, it’s not even worth chasing.”

  When they returned to the house, the phone rang. Chyna answered and Beverly chirped excitedly, “Chyna, you found Deirdre! Why didn’t you call and tell us? We had to hear it from neighbors.”

  “I was tired when we—I got home last night—”

  “I’m sure,” Beverly interrupted. “You found her in an

  open grave. God, I get goose bumps just thinking about it. But you did find her. It’s a miracle!”

  “Not everyone thinks so. I hear there’s a rumor going around that I knew where to find her because I abducted her. Apparently some people believe I was trying to get good publicity for myself.”

  “Oh, Chyna, anyone who thinks that is beyond stupid,” Beverly said hotly. “I think I know who started the rumor. Miss Irma Vogel. She called here just a little while ago. I told her to never come near me or my children again. She acted dumbfounded, even aft
er what she’d done at your house! And I’d bet a thousand dollars she’s the one who started that awful rumor about you taking Deirdre. I think she’s out of her mind.”

  “I do, too,” Chyna said listlessly. “I just wonder how long she’s been unbalanced, what other things she’s done beside throw rocks at my house and start rumors.”

  Beverly went silent for a moment. “Oh, Chyna, I never even thought about what she might have done in the past, but then, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with her except that she was a gossip and something of a pest, but considering how she’s acted over this Deirdre incident, the hatred she’s shown toward you …”

  “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Chyna, who’d answered the phone in the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, remembering that she hadn’t eaten anything all day. As she scanned the contents, she asked, “Why did Irma call, anyway?”

  “She wanted to tell us that Deirdre seems to be regaining consciousness. She’s still really muddled, but they hope that by tonight she’ll be able to say who abducted her.”

  4

  Chyna had brought a couple of medical books home with her. Around five o’clock she sat down with them and attempted to read. Try as she might, though, she simply could

  not concentrate on arthropod-borne viral fevers or acute liver abscesses. Finally, in such a funk she childishly decided she didn’t even care if she made it through her medical residency, she built a fire in the family room fireplace, went to the bookcase, found her old, well-worn copy of Wuthering Heights, and settled on the couch, pulling a colorful afghan over her, although the room was already warm. Michelle jumped up on the couch and laid her large blond head on Chyna’s lap. Chyna rubbed the dog’s ear with one hand and lost herself in the tragic, twisted love of Cathy and Heath-cliff.

  When the doorbell rang, Chyna looked up in surprise. She’d expected an influx of neighbors after Vivian’s death, but there had been few. Maybe everyone had been too preoccupied by Deirdre’s disappearance, she thought. Or maybe people had just wanted to avoid Vivian’s daughter.