“First thing I’ve had to eat all day,” he explained.
I made a polite comment and took a sip of my beer.
Bryan reached for the third slice, then stopped, hand hovering. “Do you want this?”
I shook my head. “Go ahead.”
“So,” Bryan Hayes asked after he was through, “how do you know George?”
“We met through mutual friends.”
Bryan wiped his hands on a napkin. “He’s interesting.”
“Yes, he is.”
“He said he used to be a cop.”
“For eight years.”
“So how did he end up in grad school?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“I did. He said he wanted a change.”
I leaned forward. “But somehow you think there’s more, right?”
Bryan flushed and adjusted his hat. “It just s-seems unusual,” he stammered. “I mean, you don’t associate a guy who looks like that with medieval history.”
“A guy who looks like what?” I asked innocently, curious to see if Bryan would mention that George was black or that he was enormous or that he not only looked as if he could break someone in two with his hands, but that he would enjoy doing it.
“He could be a linebacker for the Oilers,” Bryan replied, skirting the issue. “You just don’t expect to find someone like that sitting next to you in a class on manors and land rights.”
“True,” I allowed. I guess the Ralph Lauren clothes George was wearing weren’t as effectively reshaping his image as he hoped.
“I’d hate to get on the wrong side of him,” Bryan observed.
“Me too.” Actually George was a sweetie pie, much nicer than I was, but why tell Bryan that and spoil the image. I changed the subject to the one we’d come here to discuss. “So tell me about your sister,” I said. Even though I remembered the story, I wanted to hear it in Bryan’s words.
“Right.” Bryan pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “Actually, I think you met her. She was in your store this summer. She wanted a sugar glider, but the guy who works behind the counter said they didn’t make good pets.”
“They don’t.” Sugar gliders were the latest in a long line of fad pets. Tiny gliding opossums that come from Indonesia, New Guinea, Australia, and New Zealand, they are small enough to carry around in your pocket.
“He said they have complicated nutritional needs.”
“Tim said that?”
Bryan nodded.
“Interesting. I always thought they did fine on fruits, vegetables, a little cheese, and mealworms, myself.”
“That’s what Melissa fed hers.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” The kids sitting at the table next to us were arguing about what kind of pizza to get, and I had to raise my voice to make myself heard.
“Melissa sent for it. From a magazine.”
“It’s amazing what you can get in the mail,” I said, thinking back to the viper someone had sent to one of my employees.
Bryan began folding the edge of the white paper plate back and forth. “George said you were pretty good at finding people.”
“I’ve had some successes in the past,” I allowed. “Why don’t you tell me what happened, and I’ll tell you if I think I can help you or not.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know. One moment Melissa was here, the next moment she wasn’t.” Bryan’s voice quivered for a second, then he regained control. “I dropped her off at the dorm, and when I went to pick her up, she wasn’t there.”
“That was how long ago?”
“Forever. Well, it seems like forever. Since right before Thanksgiving.”
“And it’s the middle of March now.”
Bryan looked embarrassed. “I know it’s a long time, but the police have been telling me to sit tight, to be patient. But I can’t be patient any longer.”
“When did you notify the police?”
“I called the campus police almost immediately. They told me to wait, so I called the city police. They said the same thing, that I had to wait twenty-four hours before I filed a missing person’s report.”
“Which you did.”
“Yes. But nothing’s happened. I keep calling and they keep telling me they’re doing everything they can, but I don’t think they are.” Bryan swallowed. “I’ve talked to the dean of the school here, I’ve talked to the head of security, I’ve talked to Missy’s R.A.” Bryan’s mouth tightened with anger as he remembered the responses he’d gotten. “Everyone keeps telling me she must have run off with someone and that she’ll be back. Well, she hasn’t come back.”
“Maybe it’s true. Maybe she has gone off with someone.”
“If you knew Missy, you wouldn’t say that. She’s very responsible.”
“You really never know what’s going on inside someone’s head,” I observed.
Bryan hit the table with the palm of his hand. It wobbled. “Believe me. I know my sister. She’d never walk off like that. She’s never even late.”
Sharon hadn’t been either. “Did she take her wallet?”
Bryan frowned. “Her bag’s missing,” he conceded. His voice was truculent. “But that doesn’t mean anything. She always takes it with her wherever she goes.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s had money stolen out of it a couple of times when she left it in her room. They never found out who took it either,” he said to what was going to be my next question.
“How about her clothes?”
“I don’t think anything is missing.” Bryan scratched the side of his neck.
“But you’re not one hundred percent sure.”
“I don’t keep an inventory of her wardrobe.” Bryan’s voice rose. “And even if a few things are gone, that doesn’t mean she took off. Something happened to her.”
“Maybe. But you have to realize thousands of people disappear in this country every year. Most of them have—for a variety of reasons—just decided to walk away from their lives. Maybe she’s one of them.”
“Not my sister.” Bryan’s voice was filled with certainty.
“What makes you so sure?”
“Our mother is dying,” he said, the look on his face daring me to utter any of the usual banalities of consolation.
I didn’t. I’ve never been good with that kind of stuff. Instead, I contented myself with observing that appearances to the contrary, maybe Melissa was having trouble dealing with what was happening in her life.
“No.” Bryan poked himself in his chest with his finger. “I’m the one who has the trouble going to the hospital, not her.” He swallowed, fighting to get himself back under control. “Jesus, all my mom does is ask for her. Every time I go to see her in the hospital, she wants to know if I’ve found Melissa. She wants to know what happened to her. She’s expecting me to find out.”
I chose my next words carefully. “Are you sure you want to?”
Bryan leaned forward. “I don’t have a choice. I have to find my sister. Whatever state she’s in, dead or alive, I have to find her and bring her home.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he informed me in a determined voice, “for once I want to do the right thing.”
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 1997 by Barbara Block
ISBN: 978-1-5756-6331-9
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Barbara Block, The Scent of Murder
The Scent of Murder Page 26
