Hidden Falls

by Newport, Olivia

  And he savored it in all its unfamiliarity.

  He’d lost the entire afternoon. With a start, Jack remembered his promise to Sylvia Alexander to drive out to the lake and look for Dani Roose to see if she would help restore the mayor’s bookshop. There seemed no point in driving out there now. Sylvia would have already tracked down Dani or made other arrangements. Whatever opportunity he’d seen that morning on the sidewalk with Sylvia and Lauren had evaporated.

  A timer sounded in the kitchen, and Gianna left the puppy frolics to respond to whatever the noise meant. Jack followed her and went to the sink to wash his hands.

  “Thank you.” Gianna opened the oven and pulled out a casserole. “I don’t know what we would have done with Brooke if you hadn’t found the dog.”

  “Brooke found her.” Jack snapped a paper towel off the roll and dried his hands. “I just did the driving.”

  “We have to stop talking about puppy training and actually find someone to help us.” Gianna poked a fork into the hot dish and tasted the concoction. “I don’t ever want to go through this again.”

  “I agree.”

  Gianna took a bagged salad out of the refrigerator. “I’ll make some calls first thing in the morning.”

  Jack opened a cupboard and removed five plates. He had watched deep dread roll through his youngest child that afternoon, but he’d also seen powerful resolve he’d never suspected she possessed.

  5:03 p.m.

  Sweat pooled at Liam Elliott’s hairline all day, dripping onto the collar of his blue dress shirt and wicking through its fibers in a ring of perspiration that choked him every time he swallowed. He drank nine cups of coffee in a desperate effort to force his brain to see a way out. The piles on his desk, lugged from his apartment, were less haphazard now. He had sorted and re-sorted the papers and made his eyes bloodshot comparing printed numbers with the ones on the screen as he tried every display option available in the software.

  An auditor would have to be an idiot not to conclude that Liam had embezzled seventy-three thousand dollars of his investors’ money. Clearly the money was missing. Two thousand here. Four thousand there. Seven hundred from one of the smaller individual accounts, but seven thousand from a more robust company retirement fund. If he were going to embezzle, this would be the way to do it—amounts that would suggest an individual merely had an off quarter. The funds Liam managed were meant to yield well over the long term. An occasional dip didn’t cause alarm.

  But Liam hadn’t done this.

  And he couldn’t take the chance that anyone would think he had—or reach the same suspicion that made more and more sense to him. Liam needed time. If he could get a couple of major investments, perhaps he could camouflage the records while he sorted out what really happened. The key was not to make things worse.

  Liam clicked open his own account. For someone who made a living by impressing on people the necessity to plan for the future, he hadn’t done a very good job for himself. It wasn’t enough, and most of it was locked in at a disappointing rate for several more years anyway. If he invaded the joint wedding savings account he and Jessica held, he would have to come up with a credible explanation. He couldn’t just tell her what he was doing.

  Now that would make things worse. There wasn’t nearly enough money in the account anyway.

  He rummaged on his desk for the new-leads file he should have been working on all day. With his Bluetooth in place to free up his hands, he dialed a number.

  “Hello, Mr. Plainfield. This is Liam Elliott, just following up on our conversation a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Oh, right. You’re the investments guy.”

  Liam had learned long ago to push past the lukewarm reception he initially heard in people’s voices. He wasn’t trying to sell people something they didn’t need, but a service to help them achieve an important financial goal.

  “We only chatted for a few minutes,” Liam said. “What evening would be convenient for me to meet with you and talk further?”

  “I appreciate your interest, but we’re not really in a position to consider investments right now.”

  “It doesn’t take much each month to make a big difference down the line.” Sweat trickled down the center of Liam’s back.

  “I know that’s what they say,” Dave Plainfield said, “but we’re just not there.”

  “I’d be happy to look at your budget with you. Confidentially, of course. That’s one of my free services. My clients are often surprised at how painless it is to find a few dollars.”

  “I have your card,” Dave said. “When we’re at a better place, I’ll call you.”

  The call cut off. Liam would never hear from Dave Plainfield again. He dialed another number.

  “Mrs. Gallagher? This is Liam Elliott at Midwest Answers. We met the other night at the banquet.”

  “Oh yes. That certainly was an evening none of us can forget. Have you heard anything about Quinn?”

  “No, I’m afraid I haven’t. I’m sure he’ll turn up soon.” Not soon enough, Liam thought. If Liam still believed he would be managing Quinn’s money soon enough to camouflage the missing funds—at least temporarily—he wouldn’t have called a long shot like the Gallaghers or toyed with a stolen bank account number. “Would it be more convenient for me to drop by on Wednesday or on Thursday to talk with you and your husband?”

  A baby squalled in the background. Liam heard Raisa Gallagher shuffle across the room.

  “I’ll ask my husband to call you,” she said. “He’s the one who handles most of our financial matters.”

  “Of course. Can I leave my number?”

  “Let me find a pencil.”

  Raisa shuffled around again. Liam heard the baby, probably on her hip now, cooing. He rattled off two phone numbers and hung up.

  These two pitiful calls had been his best leads. He had meetings set up with three businesses to discuss retirement plans, but not for another two weeks. That could be too late.

  Missing or not, Quinn was his best shot. But if Jack Parker was right and Quinn was taken against his will, Quinn would be another dead end.

  Liam rubbed his eyes, as if he could rub out the word that had crossed his mind. Dead. Even if Quinn didn’t come on as a client, Liam certainly didn’t want to imagine him dead.

  There was still the mayor’s office. Liam needed a way to jump over a lesser official who was the gatekeeper of town finances and have a direct conversation with Sylvia Alexander. He opened a new file on his computer to put together a fast proposal for what he could do for the town’s investments if she gave him a chance.

  He heard footsteps on the stairs leading to his second-floor office in one of the old downtown buildings and clicked open his calendar. Had he forgotten an appointment, someone coming by after work?

  No.

  That would have been too easy. Liam’s entire day had been appointment-free, not a good sign in his line of work.

  The footsteps stopped at the top of the stairs, outside Liam’s office, rather than passing down the hall to one of the other businesses, perhaps to Jack Parker’s office. His door opened.

  Jessica entered and immediately leaned across the desk to offer a juicy kiss.

  “Let’s go to dinner.” Her voice was velvet. “We can drive over to Birch Bend and get away from the doom and gloom around here.”

  “Doom and gloom?” Liam’s head tilted back. What did Jessica know?

  “About Quinn,” she said. “Everywhere I go, it’s all anyone is talking about. The world didn’t spin off its axis.”

  Liam clicked the space bar on his keyboard, tempted to say he needed to spend the evening working. The truth was, he wasn’t sure he could keep hiding from Jessica the reason for his recent intense burst of work. Just the day before yesterday he promised to spend more time with her.

  Jessica came around the desk for a proper embrace and settled her lips on his again. She was still in the dress she wore to work, with no jacket. Liam could feel the
heat of her skin under his hands at her waist.

  She broke the kiss, cocked her head, and smiled. “You’re not seriously going to tell me you have a better offer.”

  He swallowed and stepped back to turn off his computer.

  6:34 p.m.

  Nicole always preferred to run. Ethan wondered if she still did. As children, though he was stronger, Nicole was nimbler than Ethan. Inevitability this was her advantage.

  Ethan had spent the afternoon hiking the sloped banks of the river, the shore circling the lake, the path cutting across the top of the falls. While he took advantage of the opportunity for photos, he also looked for people. Theoretically it was possible someone living closer to nature than to downtown would not have heard of Quinn’s disappearance and perhaps had seen him and not thought it unusual. It was also conceivable that among the visitors who were a routine sight among the waterways was someone whose behavior made a Hidden Falls resident take pause.

  It was a matter of asking the right questions, a diagnostic process that sifted symptoms until settling on the answer that made sense to pursue. Ethan did it every day. Now he had spent most of Monday doing the same thing around the lake.

  He found a stump and sat down to read again the hours-long exchange of text messages with Nicole.

  It had started when she wrote, THEY FOUND HIS GLASSES. QUINN WASN’T DRIVING.

  FOUL PLAY NOW? he answered.

  OFFICIALLY NO COMMENT.

  WHAT’S UP WITH THIS COOPER DUDE?

  NOT MUCH. TIGHT-LIPPED.

  Ethan couldn’t blame Cooper Elliott for withstanding the temptation to speculate. In itself, the fact that Quinn wasn’t driving meant nothing about his volition at the moment of departure from the banquet hall. It did, however, increase the odds that someone out there had seen Quinn.

  Unless …

  Unless Quinn’s disappearance and his car’s disappearance were unrelated. Ethan turned the theory over in his mind, not quite persuaded. He scrolled to a later message.

  I’M FINDING DIDDLY-SQUAT IN THE NEWSPAPER ARCHIVES.

  NOTHING OUT HERE EITHER, he had answered. NO ONE I’VE RUN INTO HAS SEEN ANYTHING UNUSUAL.

  I’LL GO TO BIRCH BEND TOMORROW.

  WHAT’S THERE?

  COUNTY CLERK’S OFFICE. YOU NEVER KNOW.

  Ethan wasn’t sure what Nicole could expect to find among mundane public records. And hadn’t she said she already checked out property taxes and the like on the Internet? Since he would be rounding at the hospital in Columbus by the time Nicole woke up, he held his questions. Apparently her experience as a reporter told her public records could yield secrets—or at least bread crumbs on the trail—if she looked hard enough.

  His phone sounded a text alert.

  STILL UP FOR DINNER? Nicole’s message said.

  Ethan would need a few minutes to walk back to his car.

  He thumbed, 7:30?

  SEE YOU THERE.

  Almost immediately the phone rang, and Ethan touched ANSWER on the screen. “Hansen, I don’t want bad news.”

  “The chief is going out of town. It just came up a couple hours ago. Some convention where the hospital needs him to fill in at the last minute.”

  Ethan began striding along the path back to his car, aware that his pulse had just accelerated. “How long?”

  “His admin says three days. They’ve culled the surgical schedule to emergencies only. You know how he is.”

  “Likes to see everything that goes on.”

  “Right.”

  “So he won’t know if I’m not there,” Ethan said.

  “No guarantees. Right now you’re not on the board for any procedures. Take your chances.”

  “I just might. Thanks, Hansen.”

  Ethan walked faster. He was still a good fifteen minutes from his Lexus. Leaves crunched under his feet as he hustled toward the orange span of the setting sun. His hand was on the driver’s door handle when his phone rang again. Brinkman. Ethan answered.

  “Just checking to see if you’re on your way.”

  Ethan had no patience for the sneer he heard in Brinkman’s tone. “Change of plans.”

  “No can do. We’re busy.”

  “You’re losing your edge, Brinkman.” Ethan sat in the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition. “I know Gonzalez left town.”

  “Which makes us three surgeons short instead of two.”

  “We all know what happens to the surgical schedule when Gonzalez leaves town. You don’t need me.”

  “People still get sick.”

  “I’ve got some stuff here to take care of. I’ll let you know.” Ethan ended the call before Brinkman could bluster further, sure that he had just bought himself an additional day in Hidden Falls.

  Nicole had reached the restaurant first. Ethan saw her sitting at the table in the Main Street window of Eat Right Here. She always wanted to be where she could see what was going on, even in their tree house and comic book days. An amber light in a tightly woven wicker shade hung over her head, creating a dome of golden illumination that made Ethan sit in his parked car to savor the sight of Nicole studying the menu. The years shivered through him—a decade of lost years, and decades more ahead. As long as he didn’t see Nicole, he’d persuaded himself the past was behind him. Now he wasn’t so sure. Bound together again by Quinn even in his absence, Ethan and Nicole had sampled their old familiarity, the recognition of fleeting expression, the memories they alone would share if Quinn didn’t come home.

  And whether or not Quinn returned, when Ethan left Hidden Falls, this spell would break. How could it not? He pulled the key from the ignition, got out of his car, stowed his camera out of sight, and clicked the LOCK button on his keychain. When he opened the door of the restaurant, Nicole looked up and smiled. Her dark hair hung loose around her face above a peach sweater.

  Ethan slid into a chair across from her. “Good news. I’m not leaving tonight.”

  Her gasp delighted him.

  “Can you go to Birch Bend with me tomorrow?” she said.

  “I don’t see why not.”

  Her face clouded over. “You know the trail is two days cold now.”

  Ethan accepted the menu the waiter handed him. “If it’s any comfort, I don’t think Quinn is sick. We’ve covered a lot of ground along the water and trails and talked to a lot of people who would’ve noticed him. Nothing.”

  “But you said he could have wandered off disoriented from the accident.”

  “That’s when we assumed he was in the car in the first place.”

  “I know. Maybe he was, but maybe he wasn’t. But that makes even less sense.” Nicole unwrapped the napkin around her flatware and put it in her lap. “I’m so frustrated—and worried.”

  Ethan laid down the menu that refused to come into focus. He would just ask for a hamburger and keep the decisions easy. He said, “I would lay odds that Quinn left town.”

  “But people in Birch Bend know to be looking for him. Somebody would have called Cooper Elliott.”

  “What if he went farther than Birch Bend?”

  “You think that Quinn left on his own and that he left the county?”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  Nicole shook her head. “I’ve talked to Marv Stanford, Sylvia Alexander, Lauren Nock, and a dozen people I’ve run into in town. They all say Quinn still doesn’t leave the county.”

  “No one can know everything another person does.”

  She pressed her lips together. Ethan could almost see the synapses firing in her brain as she tried to construct meaning from their conversation.

  “His car is smashed,” Nicole said, “and the bus stop is pretty far out on the highway. No trains run through Birch Bend after five o’clock on a Saturday night.”

  “I don’t claim to have all the answers. We have to be sure we’re asking the right questions.”

  The waiter appeared. Ethan deferred to Nicole to order first and wasn’t surprised when she made the sam
e choice of a no-fuss burger and avoided protracted conversation about side dishes.

  “What do you make of the break-in at the mayor’s shop?” Ethan picked up his water glass, suddenly realizing how thirsty he was.

  “Lauren seemed pretty rattled when I ran into her.” Anticipating the arrival of a plate, Nicole arranged her fork on one side and knife and spoon on the other. “She’s pretty close to Quinn these days, and now the news about her aunt’s shop … It’s a lot to take in, but she says she’s trusting God. It turns out she walks as much as she does because that’s how she prays.”

  Ethan flicked up his eyebrows. He’d left behind that way of looking at the world. Lauren’s exercise would be good for her health, but praying wasn’t going to find Quinn.

  8:18 p.m.

  Liam hardly ate any dinner, but he drank a lot of coffee.

  Jessica, though, lingered over both calamari alla piastra and insalata caprese before the ziti boscaliola and spinaci arrived. Now she flipped the dessert card back and forth.

  “I can’t decide between the tiramisu or the chocolate-filled cinnamon pumpkin roll.”

  “You can always get one to go,” Liam said. Beneath the table, his left leg jiggled and he wasn’t sure he could stop it even if he tried. When the server came by with a fresh pot of coffee, Liam nudged his cup to within her easy reach.

  “Are you planning an all-nighter?” Jessica put a finger on the picture of the tiramisu.

  If she had any idea how much coffee Liam had consumed before arriving at Vittorio’s nearly two hours earlier, she didn’t let on. But even what she had seen him drink was considerable this late in the evening.

  “I had a rough day.” Liam forced himself not to guzzle the steaming coffee.

  “Then you should relax. If you weren’t happy with what you ordered, you could still get something else. I’m in no hurry.”