Then There Were None

by V. B. Tenery

  Armstrong opened the massive door, dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved sweater, denim jacket, and boots. I must have missed the casual-dress memo. A little insecure in my business suit and overcoat, I shook his hand.

  My touch let me see the man perhaps better than he knew himself. I’d met few with his credentials. An honorable man with a strict code of ethics, and living proof that wealth doesn’t guarantee happiness.

  Armstrong stepped outside and the door made a soft click behind him. “Let’s walk.”

  In silence, he led me to a pathway that meandered toward the lake through tall ponderosa pines and mountain cedars. As we walked, the lake played peek-a-boo through thick snow-laden limbs in the dense woods.

  The spectacular shoreline came into view. The smooth surface showed only an occasional ripple as snow sludge washed ashore, the water so blue it looked unreal against the white backdrop. A light breeze tickled the tips of branches and left a whiff of cedar in the air. We reached a sheltered redwood bench close to the lake’s edge. Armstrong dusted snow away with a gloved hand and motioned for me to sit.

  He remained standing. “Abby and I came here often before her...” He paused. “It may sound irrational, but I feel her presence when I come here.” He turned and gazed at the horizon for a moment.

  I took the time to study him. Distinguished best described Lincoln Armstrong. Refined, not handsome. Neat gray hair covered a well-shaped head. His confident, direct gaze spelled power in capital letters.

  “When we met, Abigail was this frail, ethereal beauty with lovely, haunted eyes. She brought out the knight-in-shining-armor in me. Before we married, Abby never spoke about the past, but I knew she’d lived a hard life. I wanted to protect her, to erase the shadows in her eyes. I succeeded for more than five years.” He expelled a deep breath. “I let her down in the end. Someone got to her, and I wasn’t there to protect her.”

  Perhaps if she had confided in Armstrong, he could have prevented the tragedy. “I doubt you could have done anything to stop it.”

  He shrugged. “For more than two years the authorities tried to pin her disappearance on me. By the time the police decided to look elsewhere, any trace evidence had long since vanished. Witnesses disappeared, or their memories dimmed. Six months ago, after I realized the police had given up, I investigated Abby’s past on my own.”

  “The authorities still have her listed as missing.” I stated the obvious.

  Armstrong shook his head. “If Abby was alive, she would have contacted me.”

  “You think someone from her past killed her?”

  “That was my initial thought. It seemed the logical place to start. Now, I’m not sure.” Armstrong tore his gaze from the view, punched his hands into his jacket pockets, and sat beside me. “My contact in California couldn’t find anyone there who wished her harm. At that point, I realized I needed a professional investigator. That’s when I decided to hire you.”

  He shifted his position on the seat, and his features tightened—a sea of sorrow in his gaze. “Abigail was married before we met. She had a son. At first, she wouldn’t talk about that part of her life. Over time, I learned the ex-husband died in a riot while a prisoner at San Quentin and her five-year-old son was killed in an auto accident in San Francisco.”

  “I’ll need copies of any reports you have. Who handled the California investigation for you?”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “A friend in the San Francisco district attorney’s office, for all the good it did. You’re welcome to the report, but I doubt it will be of much help.”

  “Did you notice any change in your wife’s behavior before she disappeared?”

  He heaved a deep breath and nodded. “I covered all that with the police when she first went missing. Four days before Abby vanished, we went to a charity dinner at the country club. About an hour after we arrived, she asked me to take her home, said she had a headache. We left right away.” Armstrong rose from the bench, paced a few steps, and then turned back. “The old haunted expression was back in her eyes. I asked what happened, but she wouldn’t tell me. For the next four days, she took all meals in our bedroom. On the fourth day, she received a phone call and left home at noon. No one has seen her since.”

  “Did the police know who made the call?”

  He shook his head. “It originated from an untraceable cell phone. The police never found out who placed it.”

  “Did you notice who she talked with at the country club that evening?”

  “The usual club members. I’ve plumbed my memory for years trying to remember everything...but I never noticed any strange faces.”

  Banks of clouds moved in and the temperature dropped. I had to concentrate to keep my teeth from chattering. “You gave this information to the authorities? They checked out the country club members and staff?”

  Armstrong seemed oblivious to the sudden chill. “As far as I know. It’s all in the report I obtained from the police.” He grinned. “I had to pull some strings to get copies.”

  He stared at the lake again before shifting his gaze back to me. Deep creases ran across his brow, giving him a tired expression. When he spoke, it seemed almost a plea. “Find out what happened to my wife, Noah. She deserves a proper end to her life. I owe her that much. A final place to rest—here by the lake.”

  A surge of compassion ran through me. I’d never become immune to the unhappiness that came with my job. I got to my feet and clasped his hand. “I’ll do all that’s within my power to make that happen, sir.”

  He appeared to notice me for the first time. “You’ll have to forgive me, Noah. I’ve kept you out in the cold too long. Come. Let’s go back to the house. I’ll give you those reports and some hot coffee and we’ll settle the financial arrangements.”

  ***

  Noah’s Home, Hebron, Wyoming

  The predawn nightmare returned, and refused to loosen its grip. The images swirled and engulfed me in their depths. My heart squeezed with fright, foreshadowing events to come, and I couldn’t breathe. The sequence varied, but the scenes never changed.

  It’s my tenth birthday and a bright Sunday afternoon. I ride home with my grandmother. I’ve spent the weekend with her. Warmth and happiness envelop me as we ease around the corner onto my street.

  The day turns dark as the car pulls to the curb. I get out. Foreboding washes away the pleasure. A street lamp snaps on, shattering the blackness that suddenly settles over the neighborhood.

  I trudge along the broken sidewalk toward the front door. My feet drag on the cement as I move forward. What lies beyond the entrance terrifies me. Each time I reach the door, it leaps farther away. Finally, I grab hold with a desperate grip and turn the knob.

  On quiet feet, I ease inside.

  Shouts and curses blast at me like noise from a boom box. Sounds become a physical force that drive me back into the entrance. My little brother sits wide-eyed, scrunched into the sofa’s corner, his thumb in his mouth. I drop my overnight bag near the stairs and move toward the tirade that washes over me like waves before a hurricane.

  ***

  Damp and breathless, I woke up hard. The familiar fear of the recurring nightmare—that didn’t want to let go. After a few gulps of air, my sleep-fogged brain relaxed.

  My heavy lids open, greeted by two pairs of hazel eyes just inches from my nose.

  Bella and Brutus, two-year-old Saint Bernard’s, smiled at me. The pups didn’t bark. They just grinned and stared. Staring can be incredibly effective.

  I slipped into the warmth of a wool bathrobe and my gaze fell on a photograph of my father on the dresser. He wore his Air Force dress uniform, his cap position according to regulations, over dark hair. Square jawed, and deep blue eyes that sparkled with life. I didn’t remember him, his plane was shot down over a Vietnamese jungle when I was four. At six-feet-four, I’d inherited my height from him. My grandmother said I was his spittin’ image, and her assessment was confirmed every time I looked in the mirror.

&nb
sp; Half asleep, I stumbled downstairs and picked up the newspaper on the front stoop. Bella and Brutus plunged ahead into the kitchen, where I tossed them a couple of fake-bacon treats. I filled a mug with hot, black liquid. Thank God for whoever invented the automatic coffee maker.

  Bella nosed my arm. I scratched her ear with one hand and unfolded the Sunday newspaper with the other. The dogs were family. Their presence kept me grounded.

  Insistent door chimes ended doggie family time.

  Craning my neck to the right, I checked the time on the microwave. 8:00 AM. That would be my neighbor, Ted Bennett. Coordinated Universal Time called Ted to verify their accuracy. I left my cup on the table, and hurried to answer the summons.

  I’d given Ted a key more than two years ago when he started walking the animals for me. Even so, whenever my car was in the drive, he always rang the bell.

  At thirty, Ted was a little overweight with the mentality of an eager fourth-grader. He lived across the street with his grandmother, Mabel Bennett.

  The pups rushed past me to greet Ted––their second favorite human in the world. Ted dropped to his knees, relishing the affectionate slobber the dogs spread across his face. “Mornin’, Noah. Can I walk the dogs now?”

  “Sure, Ted. Come over after church and we’ll watch the game together.”

  In a flurry of white and brown fur, Ted leashed the animals and grinned at me. “I’ll come back soon. I like to see the Cowboys play.” Brutus strained to get through the door, Bella following in his paw prints.

  Ted turned honest brown eyes toward me. “Grandma gets on my nerves a little, sometimes.”

  There was a story behind that, but I knew better than to ask. I clapped Ted on the back as he let the dogs pull him out the door.

  While Ted was gone, I cleaned house. I checked in with Rachel to make sure things were still good, and the situation still under control. A Marine trained neatnik I caught up on my laundry and housework, and then dressed for church.

  After the service ended, I came home and grilled burgers, made a big bowl of popcorn, and went next door to find Ted.

  Mabel answered my knock, a smile in her blue eyes. “Hi, neighbor.”

  “Hi, Mabel. Ted wanted to watch the game with me. Is he around? You’re invited too, if you want to hang out with a couple of jocks.”

  She laughed. “Thanks, but I have to go back to the restaurant.”

  “How did the court hearing go?”

  She motioned me into the entryway. “We won. I’m now and forever officially Ted’s legal guardian.”

  Mabel rescued Ted two years ago from the state mental institution where her son had placed him.

  I pulled her into a hug. “Congratulations.”

  “Your grandmother wears combat boots” was a description that fit Mabel Bennett perfectly—her attitude––not her dress code. She had three passions in life. God, Ted, and her business, the Chateau Bennett, Hebron’s only steak house. Mabel handled Ted like a fully functioning adult. And heaven help anyone who treated him otherwise in her presence.

  She returned the hug with gusto. “Thanks. Wait a minute and I’ll get Ted for you.” She moved to the bottom of the stairs and called his name.

  Soon, Ted hurried into the room in his weeble-wobble gait, and we strolled back to my place.

  A navy blue sedan that caught my attention earlier in the morning still sat down the street. I’d never seen the car in the neighborhood before. Tinted windows hid the occupant from view.

  I nodded at the car. “Did a new family move into the Clarkson place?”

  Ted rooted his feet in the middle of the street and stared at the vehicle. He shook his head. “Nope. The Clarksons left to spend Christmas in Louisiana.”

  Ted knew almost everything about the neighbors. They shared their lives with him as though he was the neighborhood mascot.

  “Wait for me on the curb, Ted. I’m going to introduce myself.”

  “I’ll come with you, Noah. I like to meet new people.”

  “No, Ted. Wait on the curb like I asked.” I spoke sharper than I intended, but there was no way of knowing who or what the automobile contained.

  Ted dropped his head and shuffled to the curb.

  With Ted stationed a safe distance away, I walked toward the car. Six feet from the vehicle, the motor revved and the car whipped around me, too fast to get a good look at the driver. The car disappeared around the corner.

  Real unfriendly for neighbors.

  Big surprise, the license plate’s surface was caked with a mixture of snow and mud, making the tag illegible.

  “Why’d the car do that, Noah?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe they were late for an appointment.”

  We entered the front door and I opened a couple of soft drinks. We took the burgers down to my man-cave in the basement, and I gave two to the pups. Ted and I settled in to stuff ourselves and watch the game. Life didn’t get any better.

  At half time, I took Bella and Brutus outside for a stretch.

  The blue sedan hadn’t returned.