Steve retreated. “Vicky, could you give Grace a hand with the delivery boxes? They’re stacked out back on the loading dock.” He held out his hand. “Plus I’ll be needing those keys back from you.”
Vicky dropped a set of keys into his outstretched hand. “Changing the subject won’t save you. I know Grace will tell me everything.”
Vicky helped Grace load the boxes onto a hand truck. Vicky was almost as tall as Steve and outweighed Grace by at least sixty pounds. She played for the local roller derby team and was a bit of a celebrity around Bolton. She was often covered in bruises.
“Did Steve ask you out?” Vicky barely seemed to notice that she was manhandling a stack of boxes that looked as if they weighed as much as Grace. “He’s been wanting to for ages.”
Grace struggled to pick up a box from the pallet.
“God, Grace you have such skinny little chicken arms. I’ll deal with the heavy stuff,” said Vicky. “You grab the paper towels.”
Grace trailed behind Vicky, feeling like a child.
“God knows what Steve was thinking, asking you to carry this stuff.” Vicky laughed. “Maybe he wanted to be the one who came to your rescue.”
She and Vicky made their way single file along the narrow walkway to the employee entrance.
“He did ask me out,” said Grace.
“He’s a nice guy. You should definitely say yes.”
“I did.”
“Good,” said Vicky. “And don’t listen to what Lara has to say about him. They don’t get along. Never have.”
“Lara thinks he’s too old for me.”
“Steve is only twenty-eight. That’s not too old.”
“Lara knew his last girlfriend. She said it didn’t go well.”
Vicky headed for the storage room. “Do you like him?”
“I think so.”
“What do you mean you ‘think so’? You’ve worked for him for two years.”
“That’s different.”
“I suppose it is.”
“I think someone broke into my locker,” said Grace.
“Anything missing?”
“Some personal stuff.”
“Did you tell Steve?”
“It’s nothing of value. Doesn’t seem right to bother him about it.”
On their last trip out to the loading dock, Grace’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She didn’t recognize the number. She told Vicky she’d be inside in a minute.
“Hello,” said Grace. “Who is this?”
“It’s Jordan. We need to talk.”
“I’m going to call the police if you don’t quit following me.”
“Why would you do that, when all I want to do is have a conversation with you?”
“You don’t scare me.”
“Then what do you have to lose by talking to me?”
“Please don’t call me again,” said Grace.
Grace hung up the phone and slipped it in her apron’s front pocket. Aside from a couple of people quietly smoking their cigarettes behind the shop next door, she was alone. Jordan’s Bronco wasn’t parked anywhere along the road.
* * *
The stress of not knowing when Jordan would show his face again was taking its toll. Grace jumped every time the café’s front door opened. She couldn’t focus so she was messing up people’s orders. Steve eventually told her to go bus tables, something she hadn’t done in a long time. She spent her break on the loading dock with her phone pressed to her ear. When Taylor’s ex-boyfriend Alex finally answered he sounded more angry than sad.
“She dumped me. Why should I care where she is?”
“We’re all worried about her,” said Grace. “She was very close to Peter and Hannah Granger.”
“I know you mean well, but it’s none of my business now.”
“I’m going over to her house to have a look. Can you meet me there?”
Alex hung up.
Grace went and asked Steve for the rest of the day off. He walked her to the employee entrance and gave her a long hug.
“I’d give you a ride home but I can’t leave,” he said.
Grace felt guilty. She couldn’t look him in the eye.
“I’ll be okay,” she promised.
“Are you still up for Friday?”
“Yes, definitely. I’m really looking forward to it.”
Grace ducked outside before he could say anything more. The hug he’d given her had gone on a little too long and there was a brief moment that she worried he might try to kiss her. She liked Steve well enough but no longer trusted her own judgment, given how many times she’d been wrong about men in the past. Grace checked that Jordan’s Bronco wasn’t parked nearby before making her way to a neighborhood north of Main Street.
Taylor’s house was a sky blue bungalow situated on Black Avenue. There was a park across the street where Taylor spent a lot of time in the summer. A cold wind rattled the bare trees and lifted Grace’s skirt. The park was empty save a large black dog and its pint-size owner.
Taylor’s housemates were a couple of grad students who’d recently gotten married during a trip to India. Nobody believed the ceremony was legal but they liked to pretend they were newlyweds anyway. Taylor had always complained about how loud they were when they were having sex, but apparently the volume had increased tenfold since they’d returned from India. Grace rang the bell several times before calling Taylor’s name through the mail slot. There was no answer so she let herself in. She stepped over a couple of long-haired cats that were lazing near the front door and made her way down the hallway. Taylor’s room was the last one on the left.
The north-facing windows let in very little natural light. A dresser, a double bed, a desk, and a closet were squeezed into the small space. A doorway led into Taylor’s one luxury, an en-suite bathroom. The bed was made and everything was in good order. Wherever Taylor had gone, it didn’t appear that she’d been in a huge hurry to get there.
Grace started with the papers that were stacked on the desk. There were a couple of unopened credit-card applications, notes on scraps of paper, articles she’d printed out to read, and a handful of receipts. Unlike the other members in Peter’s writing group, Taylor was no longer a student at Bolton College. She’d graduated a year early, but instead of leaving Bolton to take a job she’d been offered in Chicago, she’d stayed on because she’d become attached to Peter’s writing group. She held down two waitressing jobs and worked as a private tutor to make enough money to support herself. While everyone else slept she was up half the night working. Grace checked the desk drawers and beneath the bed. Wherever Taylor was, she had her laptop with her.
Having found nothing on the desk, Grace moved to the chest of drawers. Grace felt around the back corners and beneath the carefully folded clothing before searching the bedside table where she found a small bag of weed, a couple of condoms, and some loose change. Grace went through the closet, pulling wadded-up receipts from coat pockets, tissues and the odd bit of change from a couple of pairs of jeans. If the number of empty hangars was any indication, it appeared that her clothes were all accounted for, including her winter coats.
Grace saved the en-suite bathroom for last. Taylor’s toiletry kit sat open next to the sink. There was a single toothbrush in the cup. Her hairbrush was under the sink next to a blow dryer. Her cosmetics were in a clear box beneath the mirror. Grace shut the door so she could use the toilet. The seat was as cold as ice. The toilet paper had fallen off the holder and rolled behind the toilet. As she was reaching for it, something in the trash can caught her eye. What looked like packaging for a pregnancy test poked out from a pile of wadded-up tissues. Grace flushed the toilet and pulled up her tights.
The white pregnancy-test wand was at the bottom of the trash can, a blue cross clearly visible in the little window. Taylor had been raised by devout Catholics. Giving up a child would not have been an option. If Taylor really was pregnant, she’d want to keep the baby. Grace wondered what her boyfriend, Alex,
thought about having a child. They’d not been going out for that long. Maybe this was why they’d split up.
* * *
Alex opened Taylor’s bedroom door just as Grace was leaving. He looked past Grace like he was expecting to see Taylor standing there with her.
“She’s not here,” said Grace, backing farther into the room.
Alex sat down on the edge of the bed. Like Grace, he was still wearing a jacket.
“I’m sorry I was such a dick on the phone,” he said. “It’s not your fault Taylor dumped me.”
“When’s the last time you spoke to her?”
“Thursday afternoon. She came by my place and told me it was over. I felt like an idiot. I knew things weren’t perfect between us, but I didn’t think it had gotten that bad.”
“Did she give you a reason?”
He shrugged. “She said we wanted different things. I’ve been hoping she’d change her mind.”
“Did she say if she was going away?”
“She went to see her parents.”
“Her parents live in Denver,” said Grace.
“Yeah, I know. It’s like she couldn’t get far enough away from me.”
Grace studied Alex’s profile. He was a big South African man with a full beard but he sat with his shoulders slumped. Taylor had said that he’d played rugby for the national team when he was younger. Grace couldn’t imagine it. The man next to her seemed so diminished. She wanted to shake him. It was time for him to quit feeling sorry for himself.
“Aside from her laptop, most of her stuff is here. If she was going away you’d think she’d at least pack a toothbrush,” said Grace.
“She was pretty upset. Maybe she just got in her car and drove.”
“Why was she upset?”
“That’s a good question. She was the one that was breaking it off with me, not the other way around. She swore there was no one else, but I’m not sure I believe her. She’s been a little weird over the last couple of months.” His voice trailed off. “We haven’t been together as much as we used to. At first I thought it was sort of nice. Things couldn’t stay as intense as they’d been, but then I started to worry. Did she say anything to you about it?”
“No, but then I’m not sure she would have. Taylor and I aren’t as close as we used to be.”
“I guess that’s my fault.”
“It had nothing to do with you. Things got a little weird between her, Clare, and Lara. I think she wanted to get away from them for a while and since we’re always together that meant getting away from me too. Do you have her parent’s phone number? I’d like to call them to make sure she’s okay.”
“No, but I know their address. It’s logged into the navigation system in my car.”
“Could I have it? I promise to let you know if I manage to speak to her.”
He nodded. “I’d appreciate that, but don’t tell her I was in her room. It would piss her off.”
Grace thought about the pregnancy test. It was in the inside pocket of her backpack. She’d put it in a Ziploc bag she’d found in the kitchen. She wasn’t sure why she was taking it with her, and she was pretty sure Taylor would be angry if she found out. She followed Alex down the hallway. His wide back filled the narrow space.
“Alex, have you spoken to Taylor’s housemates? Have they seen her since Thursday?”
“No, but they’ve been putting a lot of hours in on campus, so they haven’t really been paying attention.”
6
Wednesday
Macy parked next to the wide walkway leading up to the Bridger Cultural Center, where Peter Granger rented office space. Surrounded by sloping lawns and shaded by mature trees, the two-story brick building took up an entire block of downtown Bolton. It had once been a school but now housed galleries, offices, a restaurant, and a theater. Ryan was waiting in front of one of the three arched doorways. He wore dark sunglasses even though the sky was overcast. He handed a cup of coffee to Macy as a way of greeting.
“You took your time getting here this morning,” he said, pushing his sunglasses back on his head. “I hope I didn’t keep you awake too late yesterday evening.”
“Breakfast meeting with my new assistant, Alisa. She should be joining us soon.”
Macy tried one of the doors but it was locked.
“Doors open at ten,” said Ryan. “Who is Alisa and why is she joining us?”
“She’s the new recruit I was telling you about last night. She’s refreshingly keen, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spoil it for me.” Macy held up a copy of Peter Granger’s latest novel that she’d stashed in her bag. “She’s also a big fan of Granger’s work and has read all his books. As I’ve read none, I feel her insight will be invaluable.”
“I heard that his star has been falling for some time. Apparently he was a bit sour about it.”
“Then you already know more than I do. Any news on the fire?”
“They’re confident I’ll have access this afternoon, at the latest, which is good as it looks like it’s going to snow tonight.”
A patrol car pulled into a space behind Macy’s SUV. Alisa practically skipped up the walkway. She pumped Ryan’s outstretched hand as Macy introduced them.
“Is it morbid to say I’m excited to be in Peter Granger’s office?” asked Alisa.
Ryan tried to open the door again. “I collect body parts for a living. From my point of view, nothing is particularly morbid. But I do draw the line at taking selfies at crime scenes. That goes ditto for autopsies.”
Alisa held up a set of keys. “I picked up the keys to Peter Granger’s office yesterday afternoon, so we’re all set.”
“That may be so, but they won’t open these doors,” said Ryan.
Macy peered into the darkened entryway. There was a tall woman with sloped shoulders moving around a small office that was off to one side. She didn’t seem to be in any hurry to open the doors. Macy tapped on the window and watched as the woman approached them. She used three separate keys to undo the locks. She craned her long neck and blinked at the trio.
“Detective Greeley?” she asked, making a point to study each one of them in turn.
Macy held out her hand. “Mrs. Holland, I spoke to you on the phone very briefly yesterday. These are my colleagues, Officer Montgomery and Special Investigator Ryan Marshall.”
The door was opened a little wider and they were ushered inside. Mrs. Holland was dressed in a bright blue pantsuit and spoke with a Southern accent.
“We’re all heartbroken,” she said. “We have a lot of talented writers in Montana, but to have someone of Peter’s caliber living on your doorstep is something else entirely.”
“How often did he come in?” asked Macy.
“As far as I know he was here pretty much every day, but as we have no requirement for our tenants to sign in, I can’t say much beyond that.”
“Did he use the facility in the evenings as well?”
“Yes, but not as often.”
“I understand he had a writing workshop that met here on Tuesday evenings.”
“That is correct. I’m not normally here in the evenings, but I have caught sight of him and his group on occasions when I’ve had to be here to attend an event that was scheduled in the evening.”
“Do you know a Ms. Cornelia Hart?”
“Of course; she made all the arrangements for Peter’s office rental. She let me know that you’d be needing the spare keys.”
“I noticed the keys don’t open the main doors. Is there any way tenants can get in after hours?”
Mrs. Holland pursed her lips. “Peter would have had keys for the front door as well. The set of spares you’ve been given only has his office keys.” She directed them to a set of stairs. “Mr. Granger’s office is on the second floor.”
“Is there an alarm?”
“No, ma’am. Bolton really isn’t the type of place people need alarms.”
Ryan held up his phone. “Sorry, Macy, I’ve just heard from
the crew working over at the house. I’m needed, so you’re going to have to get started without me.”
* * *
Macy had expected shelves full of books, but there wasn’t a single volume in Peter Granger’s office. A low cabinet that was a good fifteen feet wide sat beneath the west-facing windows and the only thing hanging on the opposite wall was a framed pencil drawing. Macy stood in front of the image for a few minutes. The man’s pose was similar to depictions of the crucifixion, but instead of a cross, Jesus was entangled in the branches of a tree. Gray water swirled inches beneath his bare feet. There was no signature. Macy slipped on a pair of latex gloves and took the frame down from the wall. The artist’s name wasn’t on the back either.
“Find something interesting?” asked Alisa.
She was standing at Macy’s shoulder. The light coming in the east-facing window settled on Alisa’s throat. The skin was mottled and scarred from where it looked like she’d been badly burned. Alisa pulled up the collar of her shirt when she realized Macy had noticed.
“Sorry for staring,” said Macy. “I’m so used to looking for evidence I sometimes forget myself.”
“No worries. It happened a long time ago.”
It was the first time since they’d met that Alisa had let her guard down. For a split second the smile was gone. The burns to her neck may have happened a long time ago, but Alisa wasn’t fooling anyone. She hadn’t gotten over it.
Macy placed the frame back on the wall. “I feel like I’ve seen this image before. Do you know who the artist is?”
“Way outside my field of expertise.”
Macy stepped away. “Mine too.”
Peter Granger’s polished metal desk looked like it had been manufactured in the 1930s. It faced a white wall that was blank aside from a crude crucifix carved from a piece of driftwood. This time there was no mistaking the religious reference. On the far end of the room things were less austere. A comfortable-looking brown leather chair and three two-seater sofas surrounded a low wooden coffee table that looked like it had been made from a set of antique doors. Other than an ashtray crowded with half-smoked cigarettes and a few magazines, the table was empty. The Persian carpet was old and threadbare but it looked like it had been recently vacuumed. Macy knelt down to inspect a dark stain at the foot of one of the sofas. She rubbed it lightly with her gloved finger and it came up clean. She pulled the carpet up and checked underneath. Nothing had seeped through onto the wooden floors.
Silent Rain Page 8
