by Pat Warren
“Yes. Jonathan had owned the lot forever. I worked with one of his architect friends, trying to come up with a design I could live with.” The need for roots, for a solid home was a big part of him. “Plenty of windows and open space. I can’t stand small places that make me feel closed in.” He bent to acknowledge King who’d come to him after giving up on Fallon. “I’m like King about freedom. He’s a stray I ran across a couple of years ago. He’d been free too long to be penned up, so I had that dog door built in for him so he can come and go as he pleases. He can jump any fence I’d put up, but he always comes back because he knows I won’t keep him confined.”
Yes, just like his owner, Fallon couldn’t help thinking. She drank the juice thirstily, recognizing it as freshly squeezed. His housekeeper must be in the kitchen.
Michael loosened the top on the carafe and reached for two cups stacked on a wooden tray. “Would you like some hot coffee? I’m surprised you were able to run without a jump start.”
She smiled. “It wasn’t easy.” Gratefully, she took the cup and inhaled the wonderful aroma before tasting the rich brew.
Overhead, the flapping of wings had them both looking out to sea where a group of pelicans was flying north. Fallon studied the birds for long minutes. “They fly in formation,” she commented. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah. A lot of birds do.”
Sort of like me, Fallon thought. Always in formation. Regimented, unwavering, steadfast, conventional. And another word came to mind: boring.
She turned to Michael. “What’s it like to be free, to answer to no one?” She’d never asked anyone that before, but then, she’d never known anyone independent and confident enough, financially and otherwise, to be able to exercise true freedom in their daily life. That description fit Michael.
The question surprised him; he wondered if she realized how much it revealed about her. “It’s a good feeling. Why don’t you try it?”
She sipped her coffee thoughtfully, wanting to give him an honest answer. “To live exactly as you want takes two things I don’t have in abundance: money and courage.”
Michael poured himself more coffee. “I agree that it takes courage. Hell, living takes courage. But not money.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, the cup cradled in both hands. “I’ve met men, and women, in all walks of life who live exactly as they choose without much funds. There’s this homeless fellow who lives around Balboa Park. Matter of fact, I think we need to talk with him because he knows literally everyone who’s out on the street these days. He calls himself Sherlock, though it’s probably not his real name. He used to be a well-paid executive with a big house in the suburbs, cars, boats, the whole nine yards. But he wasn’t happy so he walked away from that life and now, he’s much happier, though he lives very unconventionally.”
Fallon wrinkled her forehead. “I’ve heard that there are some people who don’t have a regular address, yet aren’t on the streets because of financial problems but because they actually choose to be. I find that difficult to believe.”
“Believe it. Sherlock’s educated, bright, even well traveled. But he hates rules, confinement, monotony. Corporate life was killing him, or so he told me.”
“Did he walk away from a family?”
“Yes, but he left all his assets behind and told his wife to divorce him, which I believe she did. He never mentioned children.”
Fallon shook her head. “I still don’t get it. There’s no security, no safety, no future.”
“Jonathan taught me that security is within a person, not what you own.”
“Easy for him to say since he’s got plenty of everything. I notice it’s always the wealthy who make those kinds of comments.”
He could tell she was remembering the lean days when her real father was alive. That time seemed to have influenced Fallon nearly as much as her mother. “Maybe. But there’s a lot to be said for being confident in your own mind, controlling your own destiny.”
Fallon sighed, thinking of her manager, Craig Miller, and wondering if she would have a job when she returned. Everyone had someone they had to answer to, didn’t they? “That’s not as easy to achieve as you make it sound. Oh, I suppose I could quit my job and live on the streets, but I doubt that would make me happy, even though I’d be living without rules, so to speak.”
“There are always rules, even on the street. Kids and adults who are there learn them fast in order to survive. I don’t want you to think I agree with Sherlock’s choices or his way of life. But it suits him, makes him happy.” He reached across the table and touched her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Are you happy?”
She felt boxed in and didn’t like it. She angled her face away from his hand. “Much of the time, but not always. No one is. Are you?”
Michael frowned, considering. “Basically, I am.”
“Then we’re back to square one. You’re happy because you can live as you please. Some of us don’t have that luxury. We have to work to eat, to put a roof over our heads, to —”
“I’ve met a lot of unhappy successful people, Fallon. I give dozens of speeches to all sorts of business people in the private sector when I’m fund-raising for my runaways. Some people are so busy playing one-upmanship or trying to get to the top, to marry well, live in the right neighborhood, belong to the right club, and so on, that I don’t even think they stop to ask themselves if they’re happy.”
She was growing weary of the topic, especially since she was certain they would never agree. “Right now, I’d be happy if we could get going on our search.”
She did that often, changed the subject when their conversation hit too close to home. “I’ve already started. I called Donovan and had him get the flyers from your car. He’s faxing a copy to all the runaway hotline numbers we have in the entire Southwest.”
Impressed, she sat back. “Well, I guess you weren’t just sleeping in. Okay, what’s next?”
“Breakfast. Eldora’s in there rattling the old pots and pans even as we speak. Things are quiet at the house, according to Opal, so I’ve got time. I would like to stop at the hospital to make sure Wendy’s okay.”
Fallon’s heart went out to the young girl who’d lost her baby. “I’d like to go with you, if you think she wouldn’t mind.”
“Fine. She might open up more to a woman. I’ve set her up to talk with the rape counselor later, when she recovers. I tried a while back to get her to go, but she wouldn’t. Maybe now she will. She really wanted this baby. Not that she had any means to support the child. She’s still a kid herself, at fifteen. It’s just that she wants someone of her own to love.”
Was that what Laurie wanted? Fallon asked herself. Had she left because Roy loved only Danny and Mom didn’t seem to care and, of course, she herself had brushed her off? Guilt settled on her shoulders like a heavy woolen blanket.
“Don’t, Fallon,” Michael said. He’d been watching her face and could guess what she’d been thinking. “Laurie isn’t Wendy. We’ll find your sister. I think we should talk with Sherlock. It shouldn’t be too hard to locate him.”
Fallon shifted in her chair, blinking to hold back the tears. Crying wouldn’t help find Laurie. She would have to set aside her own emotions for now.
He noticed and wanted to reassure her. “Fallon, why do you blame yourself for your sister’s disappearance? You’re not the problem and you’re not the solution. Don’t add unnecessary guilt to the heavy load you’re already carrying. Give it some time.”
“I know.” Her gaze landed on a large piece of sculpture at the far end of the red-tiled patio, and she zeroed in, needing a diversion. “Venus. I’ve always liked that piece.” Rising, she walked over for a closer look, buying a little time to compose herself.
Michael followed. “Jonathan coaxed me to this art auction one day at a gallery owned by one of his friends.” He reached around her to point out a hairline crack. “She wouldn’t have sold to a serious collector, but I like her better this way. Flaw
ed, like all of us.”
She swung about to study him instead. “We are, aren’t we?” she asked softly.
He gave in to the urge to touch her, trailing the backs of his fingers along one satiny cheek. “Yeah, we are. We all make mistakes. That’s why they put erasers on the ends of pencils.”
Fallon felt a rush of awareness at his touch, a reaction that both warmed and annoyed her. She needed to keep her distance from this man, she reminded herself. Sidestepping him, she headed for the door. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. Let’s go have breakfast.”
Smiling, Michael followed her. She wasn’t fooling him for a minute. It hadn’t been breakfast on her mind when he’d touched her just now.
Sherlock had gray hair and a full beard, a weighty paunch and resembled Jerry Garcia, right down to the baggy jeans and the tie-dyed shirt. He smiled in the same friendly manner as Michael introduced Fallon.
“Step over to my office,” Sherlock said, indicating a somewhat secluded picnic table nestled among several thick shrubs in Balboa Park. At ten in the morning under a cloudless sky, there were few people around. A couple of mothers with children around the swings and slides, a vagrant asleep on the grass under a shady tree and some bicyclers trailing along the paths.
“Fallon has a picture she wants to show you, to see if you recognize the girl. Her sister, Laurie, has been on the run for about three weeks.” Michael sat down on the bench opposite Sherlock.
Fallon settled herself next to Michael and handed Sherlock one of the flyers. “She’s only sixteen,” she added.
Sherlock shoved his tinted wire-rimmed glasses higher on his nose, tilted his head back and studied the flyer but a moment before laying it down on the table. “She’s from Colorado, right?”
Fallon’s eyes widened. “Yes. You’ve seen her?”
The burly man rubbed his shaggy beard and nodded. “It was a week ago, maybe less. She was with this redheaded kid they call T.J.”
Aware of Fallon’s excitement, Michael placed a calming hand on her arm. “Do you have any idea where T.J. hangs out?”
Sherlock shrugged, then narrowed his eyes as he studied Fallon, his friendly manner no longer apparent. “You planning to take your sister back?”
She felt Michael’s fingers tighten on her wrist before she could answer.
“She just wants to talk with Laurie, make sure she’s all right. Fallon doesn’t live with the parents. If there’s a problem back there, maybe she can help.” He gave Sherlock a reassuring smile. “She’s not going to drag her back if she doesn’t want to return.”
Sherlock stuck a toothpick in his mouth and chewed on it as he considered the situation. “A lot of these kids are better off here than back home, if you get my drift.” His gaze slid to Michael. “You know that. You work with ’em.”
“I do know that,” Michael said. “And I’ve never forced anyone to return if they didn’t want to. But we feel that something might have happened that caused Laurie to leave home. We don’t know what. Fallon’s willing to work with her.”
Fallon was getting awfully annoyed at having Michael speak for her. “I love my sister. I want only to find her, to talk with her and help her if I can. And I’m sure I can.”
The blue eyes magnified by the glasses shifted to her. “A lot of kids get hurt in the name of love.”
She didn’t want to debate the issue with this man, but she had a feeling he knew something and didn’t trust them enough to reveal it. “I swear, I don’t intend to force Laurie to return”
Sherlock was silent for several moments before finally coming to a decision. “T.J. drops in at the Rodeo Bar most evenings.”
“I know the bartender there,” Michael added. “Rollie.”
“Yeah, that’s right. There’s also a beach house up around Newport where a bunch of the young people hang out. Guy by the name of Alex seems to be the head man there.”
“I’ve met Alex, too,” Michael said. “What’s T.J.’s story, do you know?”
Another shrug. “He’s sixteen or seventeen. Been on the streets a couple of years. His mother died and his father remarried. The stepmother’s a bitch, to hear him tell it. So he took off.”
That would give Laurie and this boy something in common, Fallon thought immediately. Then another fear surfaced. “Are they...involved?”
Sherlock smiled. “I don’t keep track of that kind of thing. Live and let live, that’s my motto.”
Fallon was grateful for the leads, slim as they were, and she told him so.
“Sure.” He glanced down at the flyer on the table. “Funny thing, you’re the second person who’s come around asking about that girl.”
Fallon was stunned. “Who was the other one?”
“A big guy, probably in his forties, with a dark beard.”
“When was he here?” Michael asked.
“Just yesterday, before the rain. It wasn’t that flyer. He showed me two snapshots. But it was her, all right.”
“Did you ever see him before?” Michael wanted to know.
Sherlock shook his head. “Drove up in a big old Cadillac. He’s a dick. I can spot John Law clear across the park.”
“A regular cop or a P.I.?” Michael persisted.
“P.I.” Sherlock frowned. “Wait a second.” He reached under the table and brought out a cigar box, then rummaged around in it until he found what he was looking for. “He gave me this. Told me to call him if I ran across her. Offered me fifty bucks if I could tell him where she was.”
“What’d you tell him?” Michael asked.
Sherlock shifted the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “Nothin’, man. I hate those guys. Always nosin’ around.”
Fallon studied the card. Raymond T. Tompkins, Private Investigator. Colorado Springs. “He wanted you to call him in Colorado?”
Again, Sherlock shook his head. “He wrote a local number on the back. Motel 6 or something like that.”
She turned it over and read the phone number. “Mind if I keep this?”
Sherlock put his box back. “I have no use for it.”
Michael’s hand reached to grasp Fallon’s as he got up.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate your help.” His other hand slipped into his pocket and curled around a folded bill before he stretched to shake Sherlock’s hand.
The meeting over, the older man rose and pocketed the money. “See you around, Michael.” He sauntered off toward the paved pathway.
“You paid him for information?” Fallon asked as they headed back to the van.
“The man’s got to eat, Fallon. He had something we needed. We paid him for it. Do you have a problem with that?”
“I guess not. Sorry. I’m a little on edge.” She studied the card as they walked. “I never heard of this guy, but I think I know who hired him. And I must say I’m surprised.”
At the van, Michael unlocked the door. “Your mom?”
“Mom doesn’t have money of her own and she wouldn’t risk upsetting Roy if she did.” She climbed up. “It bad to be Roy. But why when he was so against me looking for Laurie?”
Michael got behind the wheel. “Maybe he had a change of heart.”
“Roy? The day pigs fly.” She slipped the card into her pocket. “There’s something funny here. I need to talk with him.”
Michael headed for the house. “You can call from my office. Less static than on the car phone, especially on long distance.”
It was Sunday so Fallon knew Roy would probably be home. But Jane Gifford answered the phone. She heard the anxious tone and knew that her mother wasn’t any calmer than when she’d left. Fallon took a few minutes to update her, then mentioned that she’d discovered that a private investigator was also in San Diego making inquiries about Laurie. “What’s going on, Mom?”
“Why, I don’t know.” Jane sounded flustered. “What’s his name?” She listened while her daughter told her, then called out to her husband. “Roy, do you know anything about a man named Raymond Hopk
ins, an investigator?”
Fallon heard a cough and the scrape of a chair, then her stepfather’s voice. “Fallon, is that you?”
“Yes, I’m here. Did you hire a P.I. to track down Laurie?”
“Yes, I hired him. I know how worried your mother is and I wanted to put her mind at ease. So I sent a professional to look for your sister. Hopkins is very good. Comes highly recommended. So you can come on home and get back to your job where you belong. Leave the detecting to the trained investigator.”
Fallon struggled with her temper, hoping for her mother’s sake to keep from irritating her stepfather, knowing he would take it out on Jane after they hung up. “I thought you were against finding Laurie, that you said she’d come home on her own.”
“I don’t believe I said that in so many words. At any rate, this has gone on long enough. Your mother’s a nervous wreck and I just want to end it. So I hired Hopkins. You needn’t worry. He’ll get the job done. Just catch the next plane back to Denver and I’ll handle your sister.” His voice, as always, was curt and commanding, as if expecting her to leap to his bidding.
Fallon noticed that she was gripping the phone so hard, her knuckles had turned white. She forced herself to relax.
“Have you heard from Mr. Hopkins? Has he found any traces of Laurie?” Odd that the man hadn’t stopped in at Michael’s House, even though Roy knew that Laurie had been headed there.
“He reports to me daily, at the office. He hasn’t actually seen Laurie, but he has several good leads he’s following up on.” His tone sharpened as his aggravation increased. Roy Gifford wasn’t used to explaining himself to people, especially to his stepdaughter. “Enough of this, Fallon. You get on the next plane, you hear? Need I remind you that you have obligations to the people who sign your checks? Good jobs don’t grow on trees, you know, and the rent comes due every month.”
In his office sitting across the desk from Fallon, Michael watched her green eyes blaze and her face flush. Seeing her determination, he almost felt sorry for Roy Gifford.
“Need I remind you that you have nothing to say about my checks nor have you ever paid my rent? And, for your information, I’ll leave here when I’m good and ready.” She slammed the receiver down, so furious she was shaking.
