Hidden Falls

by Newport, Olivia

Liam pushed pieces of the booth against the wall, out of the way. Zeke continued his path toward the kitchen. The line for the booth scattered.

  Back at the table, Jessica said, “What was all that?”

  “An unfortunate mishap.” Liam squeezed her hand.

  “The evening seems to be full of those,” she said.

  “Let’s relax.” Cooper picked up a pitcher of iced tea from the center of the table. “Can I top anybody off?”

  Jessica nudged Liam’s elbow. “Does your brother not see that no one has even touched the glasses yet?”

  “I’m just trying to help.” Cooper reached across Liam and splashed a few drops into Jessica’s brimming goblet.

  “I don’t need your kindly efforts at distraction,” Jessica said.

  Mrs. Mueller lifted a water glass. “Actually, I’ve been sipping on this and wouldn’t mind a refill.”

  “Gladly.” Cooper exchanged the tea for the water pitcher, rose to circle the table, and filled the glass.

  Liam stood as well. “I’ll be right back.”

  “You just got back.”

  Liam pretended not to hear the warning in Jessica’s voice.

  “Quinn is not in the men’s room,” Dani said.

  “I didn’t say I was going to look for him there.” Liam didn’t meet his cousin’s eye, instead looking at his fiancée. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart.”

  He cut through the line of slouching waitstaff and exited the banquet room into a side hall that ran the length of the building. The restrooms were at the far end, and a handful of people straggled in search of them. Obviously Quinn had left the stage area. The reason didn’t matter to Liam. What mattered was finding Quinn, who more than likely had ducked into one of several rooms generally considered to be off-limits to the public but also unlikely to be locked. Liam wanted to find him to get the evening back on track before Jessica lost her patience altogether. And a moment alone with Quinn wouldn’t hurt. Liam could drop a hint about his ideas for investments and casually suggest a meeting time to lay out the full plan. Soon.

  And then he would have to construct a full, convincing plan and practice his presentation so no vestige of doubt remained about the strength of the plan—for Quinn or for himself. He could give Jessica the attention she wanted tonight and work on the presentation the next day while she was at her friend’s baby shower. The papers would be printed and ready for Quinn to sign. Liam took out his phone and entered a note about a fund to suggest to Quinn—one that few at the corporate offices paid attention to. It would only be temporary.

  Quinn. Jessica. The money. It would all work out. It had to.

  Liam jiggled a door he was fairly certain led to a storage closet. When it opened, he felt along the wall for a light switch before swinging his hand into the middle of the room to catch hold of a string. He pulled it, and the bulb in the ceiling illuminated the cramped space full of folders and records from years gone by and ladders in three sizes. The bottom drawer of a file cabinet hung open.

  He moved down the hall to the next door. The identifying tag on the wall next to it said it was the marketing coordinator’s office. When, to Liam’s surprise, it was locked, he slipped a credit card out of his pocket and easily entered. A few things he’d learned during college proved handy in real life, and Quinn somehow could have trapped himself in this office. Liam left the door cracked for a shaft of hallway light. His eyes adjusted quickly. It was a tidy office with the computer turned off and folders neatly stacked in a silver wire rack. He saw no sign that it had been disturbed. Even the guest chair remained at a precise angle.

  Only one item appeared untended, an ordinary business envelope laid at a peculiar slant in a room of right angles, as if left out for particular attention and perhaps forgotten. Liam flipped it over. The printed label was addressed to the marketing coordinator at her business address, but it was the return address that caught Liam’s eyes. A Chicago bank with a branch in Birch Bend.

  The envelope seemed to burn his fingers as Liam slid it into his inside suit pocket. His heart pounded at the thought that the contents would include an account number—maybe more than one. A random account number with which Liam had no trail of history could be an even better way to buy time than new legitimate accounts. Liam had several clients who used the Birch Bend branch of this Chicago institution. Somewhere in his system he must have routing numbers for moving funds. The account number would complete the equation.

  It would be a short-term loan, that’s all.

  Liam opened several more doors, telling himself Quinn might have needed a quiet place to sit down.

  But, of course, he didn’t find Quinn. It was like looking for lost keys. Mayor Alexander, Principal Devon, the banquet hall staff, and half the town council would have already scurried through all the obvious places where Quinn might have taken refuge.

  Refusing to let himself hurry, Liam shuffled back toward the banquet hall. When he reached the door, he paused and let his eyes settle on the table he had left a few minutes ago. Cabe Mueller was still out of his seat, and now Dani’s chair was empty as well. Liam was grateful for an angle from which Jessica could not see him unless she turned halfway around. Nearly twenty minutes had passed since the spotlight turned up empty. Around the room, people had begun to slouch in their seats. Not Jessica. In the six and a half years Liam had known her, he never saw Jessica slouch. She maintained poise under every circumstance, her hair wavy in a controlled yet casual manner and her posture upright with relaxed shoulders.

  Beneath her demeanor, irritation simmered. The angle of her neck was slightly off as she listened to conversation. Even from the side and partially behind her, Liam could tell she looked attentive and had a smile on her face, but she had tilted her head in that way that meant she was making no effort to store any information coming through her ears. She was being polite. And could not wait to get out of there.

  “Find anything interesting?”

  Liam startled and turned. Dani.

  “She’s a poster child of manners, all right.” Dani stared at Jessica.

  “You’ve never made any effort to get to know Jessica.”

  “Like she would have any interest in knowing me.”

  “You’re being unfair.”

  “Am I? It’s a good thing I’m your cousin and not your sister. If you get married, she won’t have to pretend to like me.”

  There’s no if.”

  “Whatever.”

  Liam put his hands in his pants pockets. “Maybe you wouldn’t be such a misfit if you tried to get along with people.”

  “Maybe I wouldn’t be such a misfit if people tried to get along with me.” Dani slapped his shoulder.

  Liam examined Dani from head to toe. “You don’t look half bad when you make an effort.”

  “Wow. Melt my heart.” Dani tugged on the braid hanging forward over her shoulder. “This was your idea. I wanted to go to the lake.”

  8:06 p.m.

  Ethan looked up at the night sky, wishing he were doing so in order to admire it rather than to manage his temper.

  “I arranged this weekend off two months ago,” he said into the phone against his ear.

  “I’m standing here in front of the surgical schedule board,” Phil Brinkman said, “and I’m telling you, Dressler is out. Flu. They’re not letting her near the OR for at least another week. Sutton is in Atlantic City at some family emergency.”

  “What exactly are you expecting me to do, Brinkman?” Ethan pressed the heel of his free hand to his forehead.

  “Get yourself back here and do surgery tomorrow.”

  “Not gonna happen. Monday morning at seven is the best I’m going to offer.”

  “What makes you think this is negotiable?”

  “What makes you think you’re in charge of my surgical schedule?” Heat rose through Ethan’s gullet. Brinkman was not the surgical chief or even chief resident. They had begun residency together. Brinkman was another Ken Lauder, trying to get ahead o
n somebody else’s back.

  “The chief told me to figure out the schedule and bring him a solution,” Brinkman said.

  “So figure it out, but I’m not your solution.” Ethan punched END on the phone and cut off the call. He depressed the button at the top of the phone and waited for the red bar instructing him to swipe the screen to power it off. With a finger hovering over the screen, Ethan considered his options.

  All he really wanted was to hear why Quinn sent that note. What was so urgent that Quinn would extend an invitation for Ethan to stay at his house?

  The red bar blinked at him. Ethan hit CANCEL. He would leave the phone on, but when he went back inside to eat bland chicken, he would turn the sound off. No matter how many times Brinkman called back, Ethan would hit IGNORE. He had called in favors and gotten triple signatures just to get two days off. Brinkman puffing his chest and raising his voice was not going to change that.

  Ethan eyed the far end of the parking lot. A walk there and back would help him compose himself before he went inside. He was enough of a doctor to know the adrenaline rush Brinkman’s call had triggered would take hours to clear his system, but he could at least go into the banquet appearing more placid than he felt. Ethan was not sure what bothered him more—Brinkman’s persistent arrogance or the way he let Brinkman get to him.

  He paced down the center aisle of the parking lot to burn off steam.

  It was more than Brinkman. He handled Brinkman every day, and had for the last five years. It was being in Hidden Falls, seeing Quinn, driving past his family home, circling the lake, running into Nicole—twice—all in the space of a few hours. Everything he separated himself from, intentionally or unintentionally, in the last ten years was here. He had one night in Hidden Falls, and perhaps the morning. He would find out what Quinn wanted. Nothing else mattered. Then he’d go back to Columbus. Ethan doubted he would return to Hidden Falls for another ten years.

  At the end of the parking aisle, he pivoted. The gray building lost its shape against the blackness advancing behind it. Light seeping from the windows ringed the hall in a misty halo.

  A lone figure came out the front door and lit a cigarette. Ethan followed the tiny point of light as if it were a beacon to find the main door.

  “Jordan? Is that you?”

  A voice was like a fingerprint or smell from the past. You just had to hear its timbre scattered over a few syllables, Ethan thought, and every memory it carried rushed toward you. He refused to interrupt his stride, though any ground he had gained reducing the flood of adrenaline was now lost. He walked forward until features emerged from the shadows.

  “Hello, Ken.” Ethan paused on the wide sidewalk.

  “Haven’t heard much about you in a long time,” Ken said.

  “I live in Columbus.”

  “Got a good job there?”

  “Pretty good. Neurosurgeon.”

  “Whoa. Who would have thought you were that smart?”

  Ethan let it pass. “What are you up to?”

  “Shift supervisor at the screw factory in Birch Bend. Been there since a year after graduation.”

  “From college?”

  “You always were a little slow.” Ken puffed on the cigarette. “It only took me one semester at the University of Illinois to know that higher education wasn’t everything those high school counselors made it out to be.”

  Ethan almost choked on the effort to restrain his retort. Instead, he said, “So you came back and started working.”

  “Nothing wrong with good, honest, hard work.”

  “Nope. Can’t disagree with you there.” Ethan’s stomach soured. This man stole Ethan’s valedictorian status and did nothing more than flunk out of one semester at the state university.

  Ken offered the cigarette.

  “No thanks,” Ethan said.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think you would smoke. You never would admit you needed something to help you get by.” Ken took a final puff, dropped his cigarette, and crushed it underfoot. “Can you believe what happened in there?”

  Ethan shrugged. “I’ve been out here.”

  “So you don’t know Quinn’s gone?”

  “What do you mean, gone?” Fresh adrenaline surged.

  “The mayor introduced him, they opened the curtain, and he wasn’t there. Gone.”

  Gone.

  “If you’ve been out here,” Ken said, “you must have seen something.”

  “That is not exactly impeccable logic.”

  “You and your big words.”

  Ethan wondered what Ken’s score had been on the verbal portion of the SAT if he thought impeccable was a big word. Maybe he cheated on that test, too.

  “The building has multiple exits,” Ethan pointed out. “Even if Quinn came out this door, I had my back turned. Being outside doesn’t mean I saw anything.”

  “Yeah, well, tell that to the police.”

  “Are they involved?”

  “They should be. He’s been missing almost half an hour now.”

  Don’t you ever watch crime shows on TV? Ethan thought. Nobody is missing after thirty minutes.

  “And you’d better get your story together,” Ken said. “You’re sure to be a person of interest. The only possible witness and all that.”

  “Don’t go telling tales. I didn’t see anything.” The sharpness in his own voice surprised Ethan, but he was glad for it.

  “No need to flip out, bro.” Ken turned around and paced toward the door. “I’m going to see if they’re serving dinner.”

  Ethan wished he had seen something. What kind of nonsense was this about Quinn being gone? Where would he go? And why?

  Tasteless chicken was the last thing on Ethan’s mind now.

  The note. The urgency. The invitation. The promise that they would talk later tonight.

  Yes, the promise. Ethan allowed himself a satisfying exhale. Quinn would turn up and they would talk later.

  Ethan startled when his phone buzzed, and he fumbled it out of his pocket. Already he was prepared to bark at Brinkman one last time.

  GONZALEZ, the caller ID said. Ethan moaned. In ten minutes’ time, Brinkman had gone running to their surgical chief. Ethan didn’t dare hit IGNORE on this call.

  “Hello, Dr. Gonzalez.” Ethan wandered out among the parked cars again.

  “Hello yourself, Dr. Jordan.”

  Ethan scrunched up his face, glad Carlos Gonzalez couldn’t see him.

  “I understand you and Dr. Brinkman are having a difference of opinion about your responsibility to the hospital.”

  Ethan chewed the inside of his mouth for a couple of seconds before responding. “I merely pointed out, sir, that my absence was properly approved quite some time ago, and I am a considerable distance from Columbus at the moment.”

  “Valid points, but I need you and Brinkman to be on the same team if you’re going to continue on in my service.”

  Another of Gonzalez’s veiled threats. After five years, Ethan was nearly as tired of his chief as he was of Brinkman. If he didn’t think Gonzalez was a brilliant surgeon, Ethan would have walked away a long time ago.

  “We’re on the same team, sir. I assure you.”

  “Set aside the competitiveness of your residency and focus on being a good doctor.”

  “I want nothing more than to do just that.”

  “So I will expect you for rounds Monday morning.”

  “Yes sir. That’s my plan.”

  “Well, don’t change it, and I don’t want to hear excuses. I have five doctors who would jump at the chance to take the spot you’re filling.”

  By the time Ethan’s mind formulated his next sentence, he realized Gonzalez had ended the call. Ethan returned the phone to his pocket, leaned against the back of a beige SUV, and squeezed his head between his hands. He couldn’t leave now.

  He had to know what Quinn’s note was about.

  He had to be certain Quinn was all right. Surely it would all be cleared up tomorrow.

&
nbsp; What Gonzalez saw in Brinkman, Ethan didn’t know. Brinkman might one day play hospital politics well enough to land himself an administrator job, but Ethan would be the better surgeon.

  He spoke aloud to the blackness. “And whose hands would you rather put your brain in?”

  8:14 p.m.

  “I need some air.” Nicole straightened her dress as she stood.

  “You’re not leaving, are you?” Lauren tilted her head up with the question.

  “No. I just need to think.” Nicole fished a pen and small notepad out of her purse, jotted down a number, and slid the sheet beside the set of forks defining Lauren’s place setting. “Call me if you hear something. I’ll only be outside.”

  When she reached the exit, before stepping out of the banquet hall, Nicole turned around for a panoramic view of the room. Conversation buzzed, and she didn’t think people were reminiscing about the good old days of living in Hidden Falls.

  Quinn had been missing for twenty-five minutes, maybe as many as thirty if he stepped off his mark behind the curtain at the same moment Sylvia Alexander began her remarks.

  In the last ten years, Nicole had reported enough stories involving crimes to know that twenty-five minutes was a bigger head start than most people realized, precious minutes while people went about their lives unsuspecting that something had gone wrong in one life. Even in a smallish city of 320,000, like St. Louis, it was enough time to be miles away. In Hidden Falls, it was a sufficient interlude to reach the interstate, choose a direction, and enter a web of alternatives. If five people saw you at a rest stop, they would provide five different descriptions to the police—or a reporter.

  Nicole scanned the hall, trying to freeze-frame the moment of Saturday at 8:14 p.m. Between four and five hundred people gathered at tables, some sitting and some standing or drifting across the aisles. Dozens had left the room for innocent reasons: a wrap left in the car, a need for the restrooms, a call from the babysitter.

  Looking for Quinn.

  The room was not secured. Nicole saw not even one uniformed officer on duty for the event.

  And why should there be? Hidden Falls was the kind of town where visitors ignoring the speed limit got most of the attention from law enforcement. Occasionally kids took their vandalism too far and faced the consequences. And no doubt in the last ten years drugs had become more available than when Nicole was in high school, as they had everywhere. But if the local newspaper depended on a police blotter for stories to follow up on, the publisher would have been out of business years ago.