“Yesterday morning.”
She walked inside Lizzie’s bedroom and flipped on the light switch.
Lizzie’s room was immaculate.
The bed was made. The dresser was free of clutter, and nothing was out of place.
Savannah said, “She was standing about where I am right now in the center of the room, and I was standing where you are in the doorway. I told her I was leaving for class, and she said she was about to walk out the door herself, but she wanted to go over her notes first.”
“What did she mean by her notes?”
She shrugged. “I just assumed she meant class notes or notes for a story she was writing. Lizzie likes to take notes.”
“Did she tell you her plans for the day?”
“No, she just said she’d see me after my last class. Usually, she eats dinner with her boyfriend, but on Mondays—”
“You mean Gus?”
“Yes, Gus Montgomery. On Mondays, Lizzie and I usually order a pizza or grab a burger somewhere because Gus likes to eat dinner with the guys and watch Monday Night Football.”
“Lizzie doesn’t like football?”
She shook her head. “No, she’s not into sports.”
“What’s she into?”
She crooked her finger and said, “Follow me. I’ll show you.”
Chapter 6
Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised when Savannah showed me Lizzie’s office, but I was.
She was a political junkie.
One entire wall in her office was taken up by a gigantic bulletin board, and from what I could tell, all the newspaper clippings, magazine articles, internet reprints, and photographs on the board were related to the hot political issues of the day and the rising stars in the political arena.
On the opposite wall was a bookcase containing political paraphernalia, everything from campaign buttons to bobblehead dolls to bumper stickers.
It didn’t stop there.
In the center of the room, facing the doorway, was Lizzie’s desk. On top of her desk was a pencil holder in the shape of the White House, plus a wooden carving of an elephant and a donkey tugging on a piece of rope strung between them.
I walked behind the desk and looked at her two computer monitors.
Both screens were dark.
I moved the mouse around to see if the computer was just in sleep mode, and one of the screens sprang to life.
It wanted a password.
“Do you know Lizzie’s password?” I asked.
“I have no idea. The cops asked me the same question.”
I sat down at the desk and began entering some innocuous passwords. “What else did the cops ask you?”
Savannah sat down on a dark blue futon and picked up one of the decorative chevron throw pillows, placing it in her lap. “More or less the same questions you’ve been asking me.”
“What about Gus? Did they ask him any questions?”
“They asked him if he and Lizzie had argued about something or if she had talked about leaving town. He answered no to both of those questions.”
I gave up on the passwords and leaned back in the desk chair.
“I understand Gus told the police he hadn’t seen Lizzie since Sunday. Do you know if he spoke to Lizzie on the phone or texted her yesterday?”
“He said he texted her around noon to see if they could have lunch together, but she said she was too busy.”
“Did he show that text to the police?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure.” She hugged the pillow close to her chest. “I was on the phone with Lizzie’s father when the police were questioning Gus.”
My foot hit something underneath the desk, and I reached down and pulled out a trash can. There were two empty water bottles inside and a crumpled sheet of paper from a yellow legal pad.
I retrieved the yellow sheet and smoothed it out.
“Would you happen to know if Lizzie attended her classes yesterday?”
“She only has one class on Mondays, and it meets at two o’clock. When I checked with Carolyn, she said Lizzie wasn’t there.”
“Who’s Carolyn?”
“Carolyn Bradberry. She’s a friend of mine who’s in her class.”
“And Gus? Do you know if he attended his classes yesterday?”
She looked surprised at my question. “Gus doesn’t go to Mizzou.”
“Oh? I didn’t realize that. Does he go to the community college?”
“I believe he took some classes there, or maybe it was the junior college, but he doesn’t go there now. Gus runs his own business. That’s how he and Lizzie met each other. He owns a car repair shop.”
“I see.”
She gave me a smile, the kind of smile I’d seen teenagers give their parents when they didn’t agree with their old-fashioned opinions.
She said, “You’re probably thinking a car mechanic and a senator’s daughter don’t have that much in common.”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Then you don’t know Lizzie very well.”
I shrugged. “I hardly know her at all. We’ve only spoken to each other a couple of times, and I don’t think I’ve seen her since she was in high school. I’m sure she’s changed a lot since then.”
“Lizzie and I met here at Mizzou, so I didn’t know her when she was in high school, but ever since I’ve known her, she’s always done the unexpected. I actually think she enjoys surprising people.”
“Give me some examples.”
“You mean besides dating Gus?”
When I nodded, she said, “The very fact that I’m living here with her is a good example. When these apartments became available, Lizzie could have chosen any of her sorority friends to be her roommate, someone a lot more like her. As you can probably tell, Lizzie’s a neat freak, and I’m not.”
“So you weren’t in her sorority?”
“No, joining a sorority wasn’t in my budget. I’m also not into politics. So, what I’m saying is that she surprised all her sorority friends when she asked me to move in here with her.”
“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’re probably not paying Lizzie very much to live here then.”
“She pays the rent and the utilities, and I only pay her for my room, the same amount it would cost me to live in the dorm.”
“I’m pretty sure Lizzie’s father is footing the bill for this place, but you’re right, that story tells me a lot about her.”
“Here’s another example,” she said, walking over to the bulletin board. “See this article from The Columbia Tribune? It’s about two elderly ladies being fined for feeding the homeless.”
I glanced over at the bulletin board and read the headline. “Why were the old ladies fined for feeding the homeless?”
“Because a person can’t hand out food that’s been prepared in a private home to the public without a permit. It’s a city ordinance.”
“So they needed to apply for a permit?”
“That’s right. When Lizzie read about these two old ladies being fined hundreds of dollars for giving out a few sandwiches to some hungry people, she went ballistic. She decided to—”
“Explain what you mean by ballistic.”
“I mean she wrote an editorial about it in the school paper, paid the fine herself, and went on a one-woman crusade to get the ordinance changed. Normally, Lizzie’s interests are centered around national politics. Until this story came out, I’d never seen her pay any attention to local issues before.”
“So you’re saying she surprised everyone by her actions.”
“Correct. She doesn’t always respond to things the way you’d expect her to, and it’s hard to predict what might pique her interest.”
I glanced back over at the bulletin board.
“Did Lizzie’s one-woman crusade happen recently?”
“No, it started back in January and ended before the semester was over last May.”
“What about recently? Do you know of anything going on with
her now? Could she have gone away for a few days to do research on a story? Maybe something similar to the story you just described?”
“I know Lizzie wouldn’t leave town without telling me. She knows I’d be worried about her. And, like I said, she specifically told me she would see me after my last class.”
I gestured across the hallway to Lizzie’s bedroom. “Would you be able to tell if any of her clothes were missing?”
“She didn’t pack a bag, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
“The police had me check to see if her suitcases were missing. The only thing missing is her red coat. Her suitcases are all there. It was the first thing I checked when she didn’t come home last night.”
“What was the second thing you checked?”
She walked over to the window and pointed out at the parking lot. “I checked to see if her car was parked in her parking space. Sometimes she just leaves her car here at the apartment complex and walks over to the campus.” She turned away from the window and shook her head. “Her car was gone.”
“What kind of car does she drive?”
“A black Lexus.”
I picked up the wrinkled sheet of paper I’d found in the trash can and handed it to Savannah. “Are these Lizzie’s drawings?”
She smiled when she saw it. “Lizzie was probably talking on the phone when she drew these. She always doodles when she’s on the phone.”
I pointed to one of the drawings. “What does this look like to you?”
“Umm . . . I’d say that was a camera.”
“And this?”
“A stack of logs?”
I asked her to identify three other drawings on the sheet of paper.
After thinking about it a minute, she came up with a coat, a laptop, and a monument. That sounded about right to me, but because Lizzie’s doodles had an abstract quality to them, I didn’t want to get locked into those labels.
The coat could just as easily have been a cape or a choir robe.
Not only was the abstract quality in Lizzie’s doodles an issue, her artistic ability—or lack of it—was also a factor.
I asked, “Why do you think she drew these particular objects?”
“Well, Lizzie’s doodles are always about the conversations she’s having. If she’s on the phone with Gus, she doodles about cars. If she’s talking to her father, she usually doodles about a piece of legislation he’s supporting or maybe another senator.”
“How would she doodle about a congressional bill?”
“If they’re discussing a farm bill, she might sketch some corn or a tractor. If it’s something about health insurance, I’ve seen her draw a stethoscope or a bottle of pills. If they’re talking about a person, then she usually draws a face and maybe an object related to that person.”
“Do you know if she only doodles about what the other person is saying? What I’m asking is, does she ever doodle about what she’s saying to the other person?”
“I think it probably goes both ways, but I couldn’t say for sure.”
I pointed to the camera in Lizzie’s doodles. “So, Lizzie could have been talking about taking some pictures, or she could have been talking about the other person taking some pictures?”
“I guess so. What else could a camera mean?”
Suddenly, Savannah’s eyes lit up. “When Lizzie’s doing a story for the school newspaper, she always takes her camera with her. She usually keeps it down here in this cabinet.”
She bent down and opened up a cabinet underneath the bookshelf.
“It’s not here. Maybe that means she was working on a story for The Columbian, and she doodled the camera when she was talking to someone about it.”
I gestured at the paper in her hand. “What about the other drawings?”
She stared at the doodles again. “Well, I guess the logs could mean a fireplace, but I’m not sure about these others. Lizzie is always complaining about not having a fireplace in this apartment. There’s a big stone fireplace in Gus’s living room, and Lizzie says it’s one of the reasons she likes to go over there.”
“Does she go over to his place very often?”
She shook her head. “Not really. They’ve only been dating a few months. To be truthful, I think he’s a lot more into their relationship than she is.”
“Would you mind giving me Gus’s phone number and address?”
“His information is on my phone,” she said, pulling her cell phone out of her back pocket. “If you don’t mind giving me your number, I’ll send it to you.”
I opened up my wallet and removed one of my business cards.
She looked impressed when I gave it to her.
My card often had that effect on people. It wasn’t because it was that fancy. Actually, it was pretty simple; a white background with my name centered in the middle and Chief Investigator underneath it.
However, since the blue and gold embossed seal of the United States Congress took up the upper left-hand corner of the card, and Davis Allen, United States Senator, Missouri, occupied the upper right-hand corner, it usually garnered some attention.
“If Lizzie shows up here, don’t hesitate to call me at that number; day or night, it doesn’t matter.”
When Savannah took my card, she handed me back the yellow sheet of paper with Lizzie’s doodles on it.
After I folded it up and slipped it inside my jacket, I said, “Thanks for your help, Savannah. I need to go now.”
“You’re leaving? What about your coffee?”
“I’ll have to take a raincheck on that coffee.”
When we returned to the living room, she held up my business card and asked, “Is a chief investigator like a detective?”
“Not really. Mostly, I investigate the backgrounds of potential federal judges for the Senate Judiciary Committee.”
“That sounds like detective work to me.”
“There’s a lot of difference between the two.”
Savannah walked over and opened the door for me. “Maybe so, but Mr. Lockett told me you’ll be working with the police to find Lizzie if she doesn’t turn up soon.”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary. More than likely, Lizzie will be back here by tomorrow.”
She smiled. “That’s exactly what Gus said.”
I thanked her once again and walked out to my car.
When I got inside, I noticed she was still standing at the front door of her apartment watching me. At that moment, I wondered if I should have stayed and had coffee with her.
She looked very lonely. I knew the feeling.
I gave her a brief wave and drove off.
* * * *
After leaving the apartment complex, I cut through the MU campus and turned on South Providence Road, a four-lane highway that led directly into downtown Columbia.
When I reached Broadway Street, I turned east.
Broadway was the main artery of The District, and the streets north and south of there had all been part of the city’s renovation.
The strip mall on 7th Street, where my father had rented office space when I was growing up, had been demolished three years ago. However, the demolition hadn’t really affected him because six years ago—not long after I’d become a very rich man—I’d purchased some commercial property in The Colonies on Chapel Hill Road.
Two upscale office buildings were located at the prestigious address, and the entire first floor of one of them had become the new home of the Kelvin Grey Detective Agency.
It was an emotional moment for both of us when I’d presented the deed to The Colonies property to my father on his sixtieth birthday.
Even though he’d been hesitant about changing locations, his agency had started attracting better clientele almost as soon as he’d moved in, and recently, he’d had to hire a couple of new part-time employees to handle the extra workload.
When I arrived at the Broadway Hilton, I discovered Toni had booked me into a two
-room suite on the hotel’s top floor. She’d also made sure the hotel management knew I was on Senator Allen’s staff.
Usually, the senator wanted me to work in the shadows while I was conducting an investigation—also my preference—but evidently, as long as I was in Columbia, that wouldn’t be the case.
While I was anxious to discuss this issue with Lockett, I decided to wait until the next morning to call him. I was hoping Lizzie would be back at her apartment by then, and the whole thing would be a non-issue because I’d be flying back to Washington.
Once I ordered a sandwich from room service, I sat down on the sofa and made a phone call.
Gus Montgomery answered his phone immediately.
“Montgomery Auto Service,” he said.
“Is this Gus?”
“That’s right. What can I do for you?”
“My car’s making a strange noise, and I wondered if you could take a look at it first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Sure. Tell me about the car, and what kind of noise it’s making.”
“It’s a 2017 Cadillac XTS and it’s making some kind of humming noise. I think it’s coming from the right rear wheel.”
“That could be a hub bearing failure. Bring it in about eight o’clock tomorrow morning, and I’ll have someone take a look at it.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look at it personally. According to my neighbor, you’re a great mechanic, and I’m kinda particular about this car.”
“Okay, sure. I’ll meet you here at eight. What’s the name?”
“Theodore McKinney. You can call me Mac.”
“Okay, see you at eight, Mac.”
Well, that answered one question.
Gus Montgomery didn’t have any plans to be out of town tomorrow.
* * * *
My father hated being disturbed when he was watching a news broadcast—a lesson Curtis and I learned at a young age—so I waited until I was sure he was finished watching the late news before I called him.
“Well, hello, Son. How are you?”
“I’m fine, Dad. It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Are you keeping those guys straight in Washington?”
“You know that’s impossible.”
One Day Gone Page 6
