by P. J. Conn
"Well, in this case you should. My wife's missing, and I think you might know where she's gone. I'll be there in a few minutes."
"What do you mean she's missing?" Joe asked.
"Is there any way to misunderstand? She's disappeared. We'll discuss it when I get there." He hung up before Joe could argue and yanked on his jacket. With everything else that had gone wrong, a surly private detective was the last straw.
Chapter 8
Joe Ezell feared there was no way to avoid talking with Hal Marten, and he'd try and make the best of it. He quickly made a fresh pot of coffee and reviewed the file containing what little information he'd gained for Faye Marten. If she'd been so disheartened by his report that she'd left her husband, he certainly didn't deserve the blame. For once, he might have an answer as to what had happened after he'd ended a case, but this wasn't good news at all.
He got up to look out his window but didn't see Hal Marten coming before he knocked on his door. He quickly let him in. "Mr. Marten?"
"Yes, I don't care how discreet your investigations might be, my wife didn't come home last night. The police can't find her and believe she'll turn up on her own, but I don't. She had your card in her dresser. Tell me why."
Joe gestured toward one of the two visitor chairs. "Please, have a seat." He took his own place behind his desk, grateful it formed a sturdy barrier between them. "You've no idea where she's gone?"
Hal took a chair. "None whatsoever, or I wouldn't be here. Why did she hire you?"
"I didn't say that she had," Joe hedged.
Hal banged his fist on the desk so hard Joe jumped in fright. "Do you want trouble with the police?"
"No, of course not," Joe exclaimed.
"Then tell me what you do know, or I'll give your card to the detective I've spoken with, and he'll interview you."
Joe raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Let's take a moment to compose ourselves, Mr. Marten, and then I'll tell you what little I know."
Hal spit out his words between clenched teeth, "I am composed." He very seldom lost his temper. In fact, he'd been praised at California West for the cool adept way he handled problems. Today, he possessed none of his usual restraint.
"Would you like coffee?"
"No, I wouldn't like coffee."
Joe squirmed in his chair. He couldn't think of a way to avoid telling Hal what he knew, so he drew in a deep breath, stopped stalling and got on with it. "Your wife came to me because she thought you might be having an affair."
"What? Are you serious? What prompted her to believe such a ridiculous thing?"
Joe stared up at the ceiling, but found no helpful advice written there. He opened Faye's file and ran his finger along the list. "She described you as having become restless and always wanting to go somewhere when previously you'd been content to stay home. She mentioned you'd bought new suits, and...."
"Is that it?" Hal leaned forward in his chair. "What did she hire you to do?"
"She said you often came home late on Thursday nights."
Hal swore under his breath. "Yes, I usually stay at my desk a while after my salesmen leave to prepare for Friday morning meetings. Did she actually believe I stopped at a brothel on the way home?"
Joe drew in a deep breath. "No, of course not, but I followed you to the Golden Bear Lounge last week, and mentioned in my report that you'd spoken to a beautiful woman there."
Hal felt his heart lurch. "She paid you to spy on me?"
"Please, Mr. Marten, all I did was observe you for a day or two. I told her a simple conversation in a bar didn't amount to anything, and advised her to work on your marriage."
Hal got up and began to pace. "What wonderful advice. The beautiful woman, Pearl LaFosse, was shot and killed last night when she left the Golden Bear, and my wife has disappeared. What do you think now?"
The detective's voice became a hoarse croak, "My god!"
"Exactly. The detective on the case thinks it's an odd coincidence, don't you?"
Joe balanced his elbows on his desk and cradled his head in his hands. "Your wife didn't strike me as a woman who'd resort to violence, or I'd never have taken her case."
"My wife isn't in the least bit violent," Hal countered. "Last night the police insisted upon questioning everyone who'd been at the bar, making me late to get home. Maybe after what you'd told her, she feared I'd stayed with Pearl, and she didn't want to be there when I finally arrived."
Completely flummoxed, Joe shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you."
"I didn't come here for advice. I want you to find Faye, and fast."
Joe sat back. "She's not been missing a day yet, and she'll probably come home on her own."
Hal put his hands on Joe's desk and leaned toward him. "That's what the police say, but I'm not going to wait until whatever trail there might have been grows cold."
"All right fine. She's most likely gone to stay with family or a girlfriend. What names can you give me?"
Hal sank into his chair. "She has no living family, and she never mentioned any friends."
"Doesn't that strike you as odd?"
"Odd how?" Hal asked.
"Your wife is very pretty, personable, why wouldn't she have made friends, perhaps among your neighbors?"
"She's well-acquainted with the woman who lives next door, but Carmen has no idea where Faye is. Faye isn't reclusive, not at all. She simply prefers to spend her time at home."
"Doing what?"
"She likes to sew."
"There's a lead right there," Joe announced. "Do you know where she shopped for fabric? She might have made a friend among the clerks."
Hal's headache was coming back, and he rubbed his temple. He'd seen the green bags from the store and recalled the name. "It's Fiona's Fabrics, right around the corner."
"I know it. I'll go over this afternoon and see what they know about your wife. Do you have a photo of her I could show around?"
Hal pulled one from his wallet. "Don't lose this, I don't have many of her."
"Really? Don't you have photos from your wedding?"
"No, we were married at the courthouse and left to celebrate rather than wait for the free-lance photographer taking photos to get to us."
Joe held the photo by the corner. "This is a good photo of Faye. She's smiling and looks real sweet. I'll be careful with it." He waited for Hal to ask about his fees, but he just sat there staring at him. Joe cleared his throat. "We should discuss my fee. I'll need a retainer, shall we say fifty dollars?"
Hal stood, pulled the wallet from his hip pocket and pulled out the bills. "I'd like a receipt."
"Of course." Joe opened the top drawer on his desk and removed a receipt book. He hadn't used it much and hoped Hal Marten didn't realize he had only limited experience. He wrote the receipt with a firm hand and handed it to Hal. "I'll keep the duplicate in the file. If Faye's there when you get home, call me, and I'll refund your money."
Hal went to the door. "I wish to hell my wife had never come to you."
Joe let him go without responding, but he did too.
Hal nearly ran into Cleotis Cotton as he left the Discreet Investigations office. "I'm sorry. I should watch where I'm going."
"No harm done, sir. You have a nice afternoon now."
Hal glanced over his shoulder. "Thanks, you have one too."
Cleotis opened Joe's office door and looked in. "A man just left here in an awful rush. Did you give him bad news?"
"No, but he gave me some. Do you remember that pretty girl who came in last week?"
"Yes, sir, I do."
"That was her husband, and she's disappeared."
"You mean she's up and left him?"
"I don't know, maybe. Apparently the police believe she might have shot a woman leaving the Golden Bear Lounge last night. I told her that was where her husband stopped on Thursdays."
CC leaned against the doorjamb. "Oh my, that's very bad news."
"What an understatement." Joe stood and
picked up the notebook he used in his investigations. "I need to find her before the police do."
"You do that, Mr. Ezell. I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to such a nice lady."
"Neither would I, CC. See you tomorrow."
"Good-bye, sir. You have a nice afternoon now."
* * *
Joe walked into Fiona's Fabrics and instantly recalled going shopping with his mother in just such a warm, comforting shop. Bolts of colorful fabric were displayed on shelves along the walls. File cabinets were filled with clothing patterns, and standing racks held buttons, zippers and thread. His mother was a talented seamstress who often made prom gowns for high school girls. It seemed like a long time ago. He went up to the counter and waited while the clerk cut some blue and white gingham fabric for a dark-haired young woman and rang up the sale.
The clerk was tall and thin with frizzy red hair caught in a knot atop of her head. Her glasses were tethered around her neck with a beaded cord. She wore more make-up than needed, but Joe didn't care to see her without it. When she was free, he introduced himself. She offered her hand.
"Fiona Walters, owner of this proud establishment. How may I help you?"
He showed her Faye Marten's photo. "She shopped here often, and I'm hoping you can help us. She didn't come home last night, and her husband is afraid she's met with some misadventure. It's also possible she just didn't feel like going home."
Fiona grew thoughtful and pursed her lips. "I remember Faye. She's one of my best customers and while I don't carry anything I'd describe as gaudy, she does like prints in bright colors."
"That's very interesting," Joe replied. "I'm hoping you might have gotten to know her well enough to offer a suggestion of where she might be."
"We might have exchanged a few words about the weather, plenty on fabric, of course, I can talk all day long about fabric, but we weren't close. She was friendly, never crowded the counter when the store was full, but I've no idea where she might be. Her husband must be worried sick."
"Yes, he is. Please keep my card, and if you remember anything that might be helpful, give me a call."
Fiona pinned the card to the bulletin board behind her, and then turned to face him with a quizzically raised brow. "Could Faye have had a good reason to go missing?" she asked.
Joe never gave the specifics of a case, and especially not when he might have contributed to its disastrous outcome. Still, her question alarmed him. "Did she ever come in with a black eye, or with obvious bruises?"
Fiona frowned slightly, then paused to greet a woman who'd entered the store. "No, Faye has beautiful fair skin, and I never saw any sign that she'd been abused."
"That's good news. I hope she comes home soon."
"Should I call you if she comes in?" she asked.
"It's likely she would have gone home first, but yes, do give me a call if you have the time."
She nodded, and left the register to answer a customer's question about patterns. Joe was disappointed that Faye hadn't grown close to Fiona, or at least exchanged phone numbers. He dreaded having to call Hal Marten to report his lack of progress.
When he returned to his office, he made a list of places Faye might have frequented. Even a woman who sticks close to home goes out sometimes. Holding his breath, he dialed Hal's number, and he answered on the first ring.
"This is Joe Ezell. I had no luck with Fiona. She remembers your wife and the fabrics she bought, but nothing in the least bit enlightening."
"Damn."
"Exactly my feeling too," Joe replied. "Did Faye have her hair done at a salon? Women often share secrets with their hairdresser that they wouldn't tell another soul."
"No, her hair has a natural curl, and she told me once that hairdressers were a waste of time and money. I dropped off and picked up the dry cleaning on Saturdays, so she didn't go there. She did the grocery shopping every week. The clerks are friendly; they're paid to be. Maybe she stuck up a friendship with one of them and just never mentioned it."
Joe wrote down the name of the market. "I'll go right now. I might need another day to catch all the clerks on their shift, but it's possible one of them knows something. Keep thinking about what routine she had, where she went each week..."
"The library," Hal offered. "She's been going to the library for books about ghosts, and someone might remember her."
"Ghosts?"
"It doesn't matter why now. Do you want me to check the library while you go to the market?"
"No, it's better if a person not so closely connected to the case asks the questions. People will be more open with me than they would be with you."
Joe hung up grateful the conversation had gone better than he'd hoped. He needed to pick up a few things at the market, and went to the one where Faye had shopped. He introduced himself to the manager and showed him her photo.
The manager studied it closely. "She does look familiar, but I don't know her name. Go ahead and ask around. Someone in the bakery or meat department might know her."
Joe thanked him and began in the back of the store in the produce section. The clerk putting out fresh heads of lettuce shook his head. "Sorry, I don't know her. Is she in some kind of trouble?"
"No, not at all," Joe responded. He had more luck with the butcher.
"Yes, I know Faye. She comes in for the same order every week, ham, ground beef and pork for meat loaf, a roasting chicken. I encouraged her to try our pork chops, but apparently she isn't one for experimenting." He laughed at the thought.
The butcher was a large man with an apron stretched over his broad stomach. He seemed to be a good-natured sort, but not a man Faye would have confided in. Joe thanked him and hoped for better luck at the bakery counter where there were women clerks.
The woman adding freshly baked rolls into the case stopped to look at the photo Joe showed her. "Sure I know her. She buys a loaf of white bread every week and has us slice it for her. Occasionally she'll buy parker house rolls, but it isn't often."
Joe sighed. Fiona knew fabrics, the butcher knew meat, and the bakery lady knew baked goods, otherwise Faye was invisible to them. "While I'm here, give me a dozen of those rolls and what about one glazed donut." He paid for his purchase and ate the donut when he returned to his office. There was nothing better than a freshly baked donut, but it provided scant compensation for his lack of progress.
He licked the glaze off his fingers. It was nice to take a delicious break from the case, but he couldn't stop worrying. For all they knew, Faye might have shot Pearl LaFosse and headed for the Arizona border. She might bleach her hair, change her name and marry a geologist before they caught up with her.
He called Hal again. "Sorry, no luck at the market. Did Faye ever mention anyone living in Arizona or Oregon?"
"Not that I recall. Do you think she's left the state?"
"We don't want to think the worst, of course, but she might have rather than stick around to answer questions."
"If she hadn't gone missing, no one would be asking any questions," Hal argued.
"True, but she might not have been thinking very clearly if she'd shot Miss LaFosse."
"She couldn't have. We don't even own a gun, so where would she have gotten one?"
"Excellent question. Your wife apparently stayed pretty close to home, so I'll check with the local pawnshops. I don't suppose you found a receipt for a weapon?"
"No, all I found was your card, but if Faye has turned into a master criminal, which I refuse to believe, she'd have destroyed it. She'd not have left her pet cat, Mr. Cuddles, here with me if she were leaving for good."
"That's something to consider. When do they pick up your trash?"
"You want me to search through our trash?"
"Couldn't hurt, and I should have suggested it earlier. People make notes, and she might have jotted down a name or address, something that will be useful. I'll get back to you after I visit the library tomorrow."
"Thank you."
Joe poured himself
another cup of coffee and thought the day hadn't ended too badly after all. When CC came by to empty the trash, he was in a more positive mood than he had been earlier in the day. "Do you like donuts, CC?"
"Oh yes, sir, I love them."
"Next time I'm in the market I'll get you one."
"You needn't do that." CC grabbed the wastebasket and carried it out to the large trashcan. He returned it to the office and set it down gently. "Did you find the missing lady?"
"All I've found is where she isn't," Joe confided. "I still hope she'll return home on her own."
"I'll hold that thought too. Have yourself a nice afternoon now."
"You too, CC."
Joe kept his golf clubs in his car, and he left the office intent upon spending more time at the driving range. It was a great place to take out the frustrations nearly overwhelming him that day.
* * *
Hal had been reading Lust for Life, the book Pearl had given him. He kept thinking of her and had to re-read the opening paragraphs over and over. He ran his hands across the cover as if he could still feel her touch, but the book held no promises of any kind. He laid it aside and went to search through the trash.
He glanced toward Carmen's duplex and hoped she wouldn't come out while he was riffling through the week's garbage. Faye cooked such conservative amounts of food there weren't piles of discarded leftovers. There were the newspapers rolled into a neat clump, and a few tissues with pale pink lipstick prints. He caught sight of a piece of paper near the bottom of the can and leaned in to get it. It was a list of the yardage needed for a new pattern. He tossed it back into the trash.
He went inside and washed his hands, then thought to look under the sink for yesterday's trash, but all he found was a wrinkled paper towel. It was going to be a very long night, and because they ate spaghetti every Friday night, he put a pot on the stove to boil water for the pasta. He wouldn't add the meatloaf though, just a few fresh vegetables and sauce would be more than enough.
* * *
Early Saturday morning, Hal felt a weight ease onto the end of the bed. He sat up expecting to find Faye had finally come home, but it was only Mr. Cuddles making himself comfortable. "You aren't allowed on the bed," he reminded him, but too frustrated to deal with the blasted cat, he lay back down and punched his pillow. He couldn't get back to sleep before his alarm went off, and he got up expecting another wretched day.
