by Janet Dailey
“Did the police tell you why they thought she was on drugs?”
“They claim she was seen in the company of known users. Maybe she did get mixed up in it. Maybe I should have seen it.” He opened his hands, turning them palm up. “They tell me changes in behavior are a sign of drug use. The moodiness, the dropping of old friends, the occasional sullenness—I suppose I should have questioned that. Instead I just held my tongue and waited for her to grow out of it.”
“What if she is on drugs, Jared?” She idly swirled the beer in her glass.
“If she is, then she’s more lost than I thought. And—it’s all the more reason I have to find her.”
“Why are you convinced she’s in L.A.? She could have gone anywhere.”
“Los Angeles is the only place she ever talked about. The ocean, the palm trees, the warm winters, the Rose Bowl Parade, Disneyland. She and Connie had planned to come out after graduation. Then summer came and everything changed. Kelly changed.” He paused, then gave a shrug of his shoulders. “I know it’s a shot in the dark looking here, but it’s the only one I have.”
“What does she look like? Do you have a picture?”
In answer, he reached into his hip pocket and took out a billfold. He opened it, then turned it around to show Delaney the photo inside. “Her senior picture.”
The dim light in the lounge and the clear plastic encasing the picture obscured the girl’s image. “May I?” Delaney asked as she reached to take the wallet from him.
“Sure.”
Delaney held it to one side, positioning it directly beneath the recessed ceiling light above their table. The smiling girl in the photo had angular features, long, honey-blonde hair, and a faint sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. Hardly a beauty, but not unattractive, either. Her looks were…average, Delaney decided. Kelly appeared to be the kind of girl you’d want for your best friend—someone who was sometimes serious and sometimes not, but always someone you could count on. A little like her brother in that respect, Delaney thought.
“Did Kelly have any secret dreams? Any secret aspirations?” She passed the billfold back to him.
“What do you mean?” Jared frowned.
“A lot of people, when they think of Los Angeles, think of Hollywood. And, as you pointed out earlier, a lot of Hollywood types frequent Aspen.”
His frown deepened, this time with disbelief. “You think Kelly may have wanted to get into the movies.”
Delaney laughed softly. “Girls have been known to have stranger dreams than that. Was she in any of the plays in school? Take drama, maybe? Or speech?”
He seemed to think a minute before answering. “No. She played Mary once in a Christmas pageant at our church, but she was only nine years old then. And I don’t remember hearing her talk about acting—even to her friends. As far as I know, she never idolized any movie star either. Rock singers, that’s something altogether different.”
“Can she sing?”
Jared came close to smiling with his mouth, not just his eyes. “About as well as I can.”
Delaney couldn’t resist asking, “How well is that?”
“Let’s just say a bull bellowing in the pasture sounds better than I do.”
“Considering the way you play the piano, I find that hard to believe.”
“That’s something you’re never going to find out,” he insisted.
Delaney realized that was true—although not necessarily the way he meant it. They were meeting just this one time. There wouldn’t be another. Jared was here to find his sister and there wasn’t anything she could do to help him in his search. Which meant there’d be no reason to see him again. She was stunned to discover she wanted to.
A second later, she heard herself ask, “How long will you be in town?”
“Three weeks. Less than that now. I can’t be away from the ranch any longer than this.”
“Of course not.” She took another sip of her beer, its former icy coolness now merely cool. “When Kelly left, do you know how much money she had with her?”
“Three hundred dollars, maybe. She’d been waitressing at a restaurant in town. Three hundred dollars is roughly what she made a week in tips.”
“That’s all she took? She didn’t have any other money?”
“She has a savings account at the bank with about a thousand dollars in it, but she didn’t touch it.”
“I wonder why?”
“Aspen’s a small town,” he reminded her. “Everybody knows everybody. She probably didn’t want to answer any questions about why she was withdrawing it.”
“But three hundred dollars won’t last long.” Not if she was on drugs, Delaney was thinking. Not unless, as the police theorized, she was traveling with someone, someone who maybe had more money, but that person was probably on drugs, too. And drugs had a way of using up money fast. “Did she take anything else of value? Anything she could sell?”
“No. All she took was her clothes and a few personal things like her diary and an old teddy bear.”
“What about jewelry?”
“She had her class ring, a few pieces of costume stuff…And for her sixteenth birthday, I bought her two gold chains.”
“Was that all?” Without thinking, Delaney took her notebook out of her purse and began jotting the items down.
“Kelly never wore much jewelry.”
“What about a watch?”
“She had a Lady Bulova. White gold.”
“Anything else?”
“No—yes. Mom’s locket,” he remembered. “I gave it to Kelly after…I thought she should have something that belonged to our mother.”
“What kind of locket was it? Small? Big? Heart-shaped? Any pictures in it?”
“It was a round gold locket—about the size of a silver dollar. It had a flower design on the front with ruby chips for centers. Inside there was a picture of Mom and one of Dad.” He paused and tipped his head to one side. “Why?”
“It’s possible Kelly may have sold one or more of these items to have money to live on. Unfortunately, the gold chains and wristwatch would be practically impossible to trace. But the class ring and locket, they’re more distinctive.”
“Kelly wouldn’t sell them. Especially not the locket,” he insisted.
“Probably not.” But Delaney also knew that drug users frequently attached little importance to sentimental value—or else justified the sale of something by promising themselves they’d buy it back. “If you don’t mind, I’ll make copies of this jewelry list and send it to the pawnshops in the L.A. area. I doubt if it will turn up anything, but it might.”
Jared studied her with a curious and thoughtful look. “I thought you said you couldn’t help me.”
“I’m not sure how much help this will prove to be. It’s a long shot. Like you said, she probably won’t sell them. But”—she picked up her beer glass and lifted it in his direction—“it’s the least I can do to pay you back for the beer.”
“Payment isn’t necessary. I appreciate the willing ear,” he said, then remarked, “You’re easy to talk to, Delaney.”
“It’s usually easier to talk to strangers.”
“I guess it is.”
She sipped at her beer, finding the sudden silence that had fallen between them awkward. “How about if I call around and get you the names of agencies known for their solid investigative work—a company that will do more than pass around missing person posters.”
“That would be helpful,” he agreed with a touch of wryness.
“Jared…” Delaney hesitated, then plunged on, feeling it had to be said. “There is every possibility your sister doesn’t want to be found—that she’ll make it hard for you to find her.”
“I’ve thought about that.” He nodded his understanding. “But I don’t see that it changes anything.”
“I didn’t think it would.” She smiled and gave the pilsner glass a push toward the center of the small cocktail table, then slipped the noteboo
k back into her purse. “I think it’s time I was going.” Smoothly, Jared was on his feet and helping her push the heavy chair back. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I have something,” she said and extended a hand to him. His fingers closed around it, their grip sure, their texture a little rough. “I wish you luck in your search, Jared.”
“I’m afraid I’ll need it.” He released her hand.
There was a lightness to her step when she crossed the lounge. She had an excuse to see him again; she’d deliberately created it. Was it foolish? Perhaps. But she wouldn’t know until she had explored further.
EIGHT
GLENDA PETERS PEERED DOWN at Delaney over the top of her granny glasses. The gold chain clipped to the side of them swooped forward. “You want a copy of this list sent to all the pawnshops in the Los Angeles area? Do you realize how many there are?”
“The exact number doesn’t matter. It needs to go to all of them and I’d like to get them in the mail today.” Delaney swung away from the reception desk and crossed to her door.
“And I’d like to go on a ninety-day cruise around the world.” Glenda picked up one of the Yellow Pages directories for the Los Angeles area and dropped it on her desk, the mountainous volume making a resounding plop! “I have about as much chance of doing that as you have of accomplishing this—today.”
Delaney pushed her door open and paused in the frame of it. “Then call Zelda in and have her help type the envelope labels.”
“As long as she stays to fold, stuff, lick, and stamp,” she added tartly.
“And maybe answer the phone, too,” Delaney mocked.
Glenda turned a cool stare on her. “I thought you could do that.”
“Wait a minute.” Delaney shifted her weight to her other foot. “Who’s the boss here, Glenda?”
“I am, of course,” she replied, her gray eyes showing a hint of a twinkle. “I thought you knew the secretary is always the boss of any office. We merely let you hold the title.”
“And sign the paychecks?” Delaney challenged.
“Ah, yes, there’s that, too.” Glenda smiled openly.
“Ah, yes,” Delaney repeated, shaking her head in amusement as she turned and went into her office.
She crossed to her desk, slipped her purse in a bottom drawer, and sat down to go through her messages from yesterday. She took care of the calls that needed to be returned and any follow-ups they required, then dialed the phone number of her old law firm.
She recognized the receptionist’s voice. “Hi, Betty. It’s Delaney Wescott.”
“Delaney, how are you? We sane ones miss you over here.”
“I’m not surprised. Is Andy in?”
“His line was busy a minute ago. Let me check—as long-winded as that man is—it’s free. I’ll put you through.”
A second later, a male voice came somewhat absently on the line. “Grissom here.”
“Andy. Delaney Wescott.”
“Delaney. How’s the bodyguard business? Still more guards than bodies?”
“Cute, Andy. Very cute.”
“You can guard mine anytime,” he murmured, his voice lowering to a deliberately suggestive pitch.
“As usual, Andy, your wit is surpassed only by your lechery.”
“You’re a cruel woman. Cruel.”
“So you’ve told me before. Can we cut through all this thrust and parry—”
“Thrust and parry. God, Delaney, you do talk sexy.”
“Andy,” she said in a taut warning voice. “This is a business call. I need the name of reliable private investigation companies, preferably ones that had some success in locating missing persons or runaways. I know the firm has used several in the past.”
“True. Mostly in divorce and criminal cases. Do you want to hold or should I call you back?”
“I’ll hold.”
Within five minutes he was back on the line with the names and phone numbers of three agencies. Delaney wrote them down, refused his dinner invitation—fully aware she would be the one on the menu—and managed to hang up with a minimum of hassle. After that, she called three more attorneys she knew at different firms and obtained their recommendations. She compared the four lists and found three agencies that had been mentioned more than twice. Those she marked on a separate sheet of paper to pass on to Jared.
As she reached for the phone to call Jared, Riley strolled in, dressed in a pair of gray canvas pants, deck shoes, and a pink, gray, and yellow plaid sportshirt. Delaney looked at him in surprise. “I thought you had a charter this morning.”
“It was a couple from Ohio. The red flag was flying. They took one look at the swells in the open water and got cold feet. I thought I’d come over here and see what was stirring. By the way”—he tipped his head in the direction of the reception office, where two computers clackety-clacked away—“what’s all that about? Glenda wouldn’t tell me. She just glared at me over the top of her glasses and jerked her head in the direction of your door.”
Briefly Delaney told him about her meeting with Jared McCallister, concluding with, “I was about to call him with the names of three agencies when you came in.”
“The pawnshops were a good idea.” Riley hooked a leg over the corner of her desk and pulled out a cigarette to light it.
“I probably shouldn’t have offered. It really isn’t our line of work, but—”
“Think of it as your good deed for the week,” he suggested.
“I suppose you could call it that.” It sounded better than admitting she had gotten herself personally involved for a more selfish reason. Namely, seeing Jared again.
“He didn’t happen to give you his sister’s Social Security number, did he?”
“No, why?”
“If you’re right and she needs money, she might have gone to work somewhere. She might even have used her own Social Security number. I’ve got a connection in Sacramento that could run her number through the computer and see if she’s shown up on any of the employers’ quarterly wage reports. It might be too soon, but it’s worth a shot.” He tapped his cigarette in the ashtray on her desk.
“Now that’s a good idea. I’ll call him now, give him these names, and find out her Social Security number.” Delaney picked up the phone and dialed his hotel. But Jared wasn’t there.
She tried again before she went to lunch and again when she returned—with the same results. At midafter-noon, there was still no answer in his room. When she tried at four-thirty and he still wasn’t back, she left her home phone number with the hotel operator. She slipped the list of names in her purse and walked out of her office into the reception area. Glenda was at her desk, methodically stamping a stack of envelopes.
Delaney glanced around. “Where’s Zelda?”
“She went home. She cut her tongue on an envelope flap. I told her to use a damp sponge to moisten them, but she wouldn’t listen to me,” Glenda replied in a serves-her-right tone.
“How close are you to being finished?”
She checked the stack of sealed envelopes in front of her. “About twenty more stamps.” She looked up at Delaney. “I didn’t think it could be done, but it looks like they’ll be mailed tonight. Maybe I will get my round-the-world cruise yet.”
“Not soon, I hope. A ninety-day vacation for secretaries isn’t in the cards for Wescott and Associates.”
“Yet.”
“See you tomorrow.” Delaney walked out the door, somehow certain the day would come that Glenda would get her ninety-day vacation and a cruise around the world.
In the office building’s small parking lot, she unlocked the door to her compact Ford, a bland shade of blue, and slipped behind the wheel, promising herself again she’d get a new car as soon as the business was solidly on its feet. She pulled out of the lot onto the street and headed toward the Santa Monica Freeway, then, on impulse, she changed directions and drove to Jared’s hotel.
She parked under the hotel’s canopy and handed the car keys to an attendant. As sh
e turned from him, Delaney caught sight of a man in a dark cowboy hat, plaid shirt, and faded jeans coming up the sidewalk at an unhurried pace. His head was down and his hat was pulled low, his fingers tucked in the front pockets of his jeans. She couldn’t see his face and had only a glimpse of pale brown hair beneath his hat, but she knew it had to be Jared. She set out to meet him.
He passed the spiked leaves and flowering stalks of a bird-of-paradise and turned into the hotel entrance. He was a scant five feet away before he looked up and saw her. His mouth twitched at the corners with a near smile. “Hello, Delaney.”
“Jared. I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”
“I’ve been out.”
“So I gathered,” she said with a small smile. “Have you had dinner yet?”
“No.”
“Good. I know a great little steak and seafood place by the ocean.”
The parking attendant opened the driver’s door for her and returned the keys. She climbed in and waited for Jared to close his door, then turned the key in the ignition, starting the car.
It was early yet for the dinner crowd. Delaney and Jared had their pick of tables next to the oceanside windows. After he saw Delaney into her chair, Jared sat down in his own and hooked his hat onto a back corner of it.
“Some view.” With a tip of his head at the window, he indicated the wide expanse of ocean beyond the tinted glass. Its deceptively smooth surface was tinted a shimmering gold by a down-traveling sun.
Delaney nodded in agreement. “I come here a lot. There’s something about watching the ocean that’s very soothing.”
“Do you suppose it can soothe the heart of an angry beast?” he asked in jest, and Delaney knew he was referring to himself.
“I think it’s ‘savage breast.’”
“Maybe it is.”
A waiter stopped at their table. “Good evening. What would you like from the bar this evening?”
