Crystalline Crypt

by Mary Coley

“Maybe Jenna came in and they’re talking. Maybe they’re arguing. Maybe they’ve gone to bed. It isn’t any of our business.”

  Mandy wanted to agree with him, but an alarm rang inside her head. “It doesn’t feel right. Don’t you think he would have called me if he’d found her, if everything was all right?”

  At her feet, the dog whined.

  “Well, let’s see. Would he expect you to drop everything in your life because of this weirdness with Jenna? You have, haven’t you?”

  “She’s my best friend, Mike.”

  “Your best friend, but she’s got a secret big enough to make her run for it. Like she’s in the Witness Protection Program or something. Didn’t you tell me she didn’t have any relatives? No one from her family came to her wedding when she and Sean got married? Now that’s shady, if you ask me.”

  “It’s sad. Can you imagine not having any family?” Mandy would be in the same position if not for her aunt. She looked down at the dog. He responded with a tail wag and a sigh.

  “Can you imagine leaving your job, your husband, and your best friend without saying a word? Apparently, she’s pretty good at not only imagining, but doing,” Mike quipped.

  Mandy grabbed a sofa pillow and heaved it across the room at him. “Damn you. You have no idea how upsetting this is. Go away. You’re not helping.”

  He caught the pillow, tucked it behind his head, adjusted his body, and extended his legs. “I’m helping by keeping you from going off the deep end. Since Will’s not here, somebody has to keep you sane.”

  “I am sane.”

  “I’m not sure anymore. Not to mention you brought that stinky dog home and gave it a bath.”

  “I’ll call animal control tomorrow. Someone will report him missing. I think he’s a goldendoodle, and they’re expensive.”

  “Expensive? Smelly, if you ask me. Not a dog lover.”

  “Well, I am. You need to go. I’m not kidding.”

  He stood. “Okay. But first, promise me—and Will, since I’m speaking for him in his absence—you won’t go over to Jenna and Sean’s house. Not unless one of them calls and invites you. Okay?”

  Mandy clutched the bed pillow to her chest and rocked back and forth. Her boyfriend Will’s voice, even over the telephone, comforted her and calmed her down. “Will, it’s all so crazy. I have to do something.”

  “Nothing you can do. And you weren’t invited. Besides, it’s late. Wait until morning. Then, drive by. You may hear from one of them in the morning.”

  Will was calm, but his voice sounded odd. Was he disturbed about Jenna, too?

  “You know, that empty office…” he began. “Do you suppose the guard opened the wrong room? Maybe Sean gave him the wrong office number? Chances are this is a series of coincidences.”

  “You can’t tell me that painting was a coincidence. It was weird.”

  “I’m not saying it wasn’t. You said it depicted a woman inside a glass crypt. Features distorted. It could have been anybody. Too bad the gallery’s gone. I would like to see that painting.”

  “Believe me, it wasn’t pleasant. Dark colors except for the light from above. Old-fashioned. Almost Baroque. Not your style of painting. Certainly not a Van Gogh or a Cezanne.”

  “I appreciate other artistic styles besides the Post-Impressionists.”

  “I didn’t know you cared much about art, Will.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, honey. Maybe we should start taking care of that when I get back next week. We haven’t spent as much time together lately as I’d like. We ought to think about moving in together.”

  “What?” The fluttering in her chest was not a new sensation. Had she heard him correctly? Did he really want to take the next step? Did she?

  The dog jumped up on the bed and laid his big head in her lap.

  PART 2 - WEDNESDAY

  ~ Chapter 7 ~

  Mandy

  Mandy woke to her alarm and rain lashing the window. Another unusually wet August day. Four more days until Will came home. He’d kept her up late on the phone, talking about sharing an apartment or house. It had wiped Jenna and her disappearance temporarily out of her mind. But in the daylight, with the prospect of going into work and finding out whether Jenna really was gone, the feelings of anxiety and fear rushed back.

  The dog shifted against her and thumped his tail. Mandy had to find out who he belonged to. She ran her fingers through the curly blond hair on his head and scratched his long ears. He grunted and looked through shaggy bangs at her, his tongue lolling from his mouth. She pulled him close and examined him for an owner’s tattoo. It was possible he had a microchip.

  An hour later, Mandy walked down the long empty hall in Empire Marketing. Where was everybody? Had she forgotten it was a holiday? She remembered—there was a sales conference downtown, most of the salespeople were attending. Marketing staff wasn’t included.

  She glanced into one empty office after another. Few employees were at work, but the office doors were open. Company policy: office doors to be left open, inviting fellow workers to stop in unless you were in conference.

  Jenna didn’t have an open-door policy. As one of the fiscal managers, she had the right to privacy. Her phone calls and her work in general were done behind closed doors. Primarily, Mandy thought, to prevent the spread of rumors of financial problems.

  She took the elevator up to the sixth floor and strolled toward the gatekeeper stationed outside the executive offices. The assistant, Mark Barnes, was one of several accountants who tracked client account expenses and payments. He worked primarily for Jenna.

  Barnes glanced up from his computer as Mandy approached, his face blank. Usually unfriendly, he’d joined the marketing firm a year ago. Mandy agreed with Jenna’s assessment: he had his sights set on inhabiting one of the offices for which he served as gatekeeper.

  “Jenna in?” Mandy stopped in front of his desk.

  “Who?” He blinked.

  The guy needed to clean out his hairy ears. “Jenna. Mrs. Wade, CFO. Office 616.”

  He looked at her blankly. “Mrs. Wade no longer works here.” His gray eyes were cold behind the lenses of black glasses. The corners of his mouth turned down.

  Jenna no longer works here? A dozen questions popped into her head. “Wh— What do you mean?” She stammered. Her heart stopped beating.

  “I’m not at liberty to say.” Barnes grinned, baring his large white teeth.

  He was feeding off her surprise like a vulture. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking any other questions or displaying any emotion.

  Mandy did her best to saunter nonchalantly down the corridor, away from the gatekeeper. She plucked her cell phone out of her jacket pocket and called Mike’s number.

  “Mike McNally. How can I help you?”

  “Mike, Barnes just told me Jenna no longer works here.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I’m calling her house.” Mandy hit Jenna’s home phone number on her speed dial.

  On the other end, the phone rang and rang again. No one picked up.

  She tried Jenna’s cell. A recorded voice announced, “This number is no longer in service. If you dialed this number in error, please hang up and try again.”

  Mandy plunged down the stairs to her floor and jogged the empty hallway to her cubicle. The message light flashed on her desk phone.

  As she reached for the phone, someone pounded on the cubicle panels.

  Mike stepped in. “Anything?”

  “Jenna’s cell phone has been disconnected. And no one answers at their house.” Mandy slumped into the padded desk chair.

  Mike leaned against her modular desk. His forehead furrowed. He touched the bandage taped across his left temple. “What do you think is going on?”

  Mandy frowned. “Something’s terribly wrong.”

  “No kidding.”

  “You agree? You no longer think this is all coincidence?”

  “Do you have Sean’s cell number
?”

  Mandy grabbed her phone, pushed Sean’s autodial, and listened to the recorded message before leaving her own. “Sean, it’s Mandy. Call me, please.” She disconnected. “Let’s go over there.”

  ~ Chapter 8 ~

  Sean

  Someone must have hit him over the head with a hammer. That was the only explanation for why his head felt as it did. But it didn’t jive with his memories, and it didn’t jive with where he found himself.

  The room was unfamiliar, with hotel furnishings. White sheets and a duvet cover tri-folded at the end of the bed. Curtains with a gray geometric design covered one entire wall, but most likely, the window was much smaller, centered in the wall behind only the central portion of the drapes.

  He tried to drill through the pain in his head to remember why he was here. Slowly, his mental fog thinned. He’d been at the house, looking for Jenna. Someone was upstairs. He was on the step stool in the utility room, looking for his missing gun when the door opened.

  Sean checked one arm and the other, threw off the sheets and checked his legs and torso. Most likely the large bandage on his left thigh covered an injury. He remembered a gun blast, didn’t he?

  And he remembered Jenna, there, in the house.

  The fog thickened again. He’d taken something. And now he couldn’t remember.

  “Damn it!”

  He needed to remember. He rubbed his temples, squeezed his eyelids together.

  Jenna had been there. She had cried when she realized she’d shot him. She’d helped him to the bathroom, where they’d cleaned the wound.

  But she hadn’t come to this hotel room. He’d come alone, then taken a tablet to ease the pain and help him sleep. He looked around the room for a sign someone else had been here. Nothing. He lowered his head to the pillow and sniffed. No scent of Jenna’s shampoo. No scent of her at all.

  Wisps of the memory fog began to dissipate.

  Last night, before the pain pill had kicked in, he’d thought long and hard about her empty office. Two years ago, they’d created a contingency plan. It was always possible that he—and therefore they—would have to be on the move quickly. She’d allowed him to keep a few secrets. She’d requested it; said she didn’t want to know everything. In exchange, he had to stop asking for details about her past.

  Jokingly, he’d said, “Are you wanted?”

  And jokingly, she’d said, “I hope so. You want me, don’t you?”

  Ten minutes later, they’d continued the conversation. “I would like to know if you were involved in criminal activity.”

  Her eyes had clouded over. She’d never gotten around to answering the question, even though he’d clarified that his own activities were not criminal. In fact, they were the opposite. He was undercover, an insurance fraud investigator.

  His wife was intelligent and capable. He wished he also knew whether she was in danger. With all his connections, it should be easy to find Jenna, but he sensed there was a time frame, something she had to accomplish in a short few days. And she didn’t want his help.

  Sean eased out of bed and limped to the bathroom shower.

  The explosion at the art gallery, followed by the explosion at Arnie’s and the drive-by shooting all shouted illegal activity. Most likely at the gallery. It was a cover for something, probably art fraud. Copies, replicas, maybe pastiches or even false documents of provenance.

  The Tulsa Arts District was up and coming, and that little gallery was no doubt on someone’s list to buy and renovate. The district was featuring small museums, including collections from Tulsa musicians. Galleries showcasing local artists as well as southwestern and Native American art were located on every street.

  He’d been at Yolanda’s before, looking for fakes after his company had been alerted that someone here in Tulsa was dealing in fraudulent art.

  Sean had a few calls to make before trying to learn more about the gallery destroyed in last night’s fire.

  He should have bought the painting the first time he’d seen it, weeks ago, when this investigation began. Even if he hadn’t bought it, he should have asked about the artist. But he hadn’t. He didn’t want to call attention to himself, making it possible he would be recognized during future visits. He couldn’t create any possible tipoffs.

  The woman painted clawing the sides of the crystalline crypt had looked like Jenna. Except for the platinum blond hair.

  ~ Chapter 9 ~

  Mike

  Mike parked his truck near the curb across the street from the Wades’ two-story craftsman-style house. Although the rain had stopped, the street was slick. A rivulet ran beside the curb.

  When Mandy started to get out, Mike put his hand on her arm. “Wait. Let’s check it out first,” he suggested. “Looks deserted.” There was no need to barge in. Who knew what was happening inside? Sean Wade was no idiot.

  They waited. A dark-haired woman pushed a stroller down the sidewalk. Not bad looking. She’d lost her pregnancy weight. She leaned over and spoke to the baby.

  A small boy on a bicycle with training wheels wobbled down the sidewalk. The kid’s safety helmet looked too big. Mike had never worn a helmet, and he’d never scrambled his brains by falling off his bike as a kid.

  Behind the boy, an elderly man wearing a rain jacket hurried to keep up. His shirt protruded in the front with his beer belly. Mike would never allow himself to develop a pot like that.

  A florist’s delivery truck passed, and a plumbing service van. Ah, the joys of home ownership.

  “I’m going to ring the bell. See if Sean’s there.” Mandy announced as she slipped out of the truck. “You coming?” She walked in front of Mike’s truck and started to cross the street.

  Tires squealed as a white SUV accelerated down the street. Mandy leaped for Jenna’s front yard seconds before the vehicle zoomed past without slowing. A few houses down, the SUV made a U-turn.

  Mike hopped out of the car and dashed to Mandy. He huddled over her as the roaring motor neared again. “Crap!” Mike protected his head with his arms.

  The vehicle, a GMC Yukon Denali with a chrome cattle guard attached to the front bumper, zoomed past.

  Nothing happened.

  Mike released the breath he’d been holding. “You okay? Too close for comfort.” He checked the street. No Denali. He reached for her hand. “Let’s go,” Mike urged as he helped Mandy stand.

  “You go back to your place. This is my deal. Jenna was my friend. I won’t let her down.” Mandy crossed the lawn toward the porch and the wide oak front door.

  Mike didn’t want to go inside. But how would it look if he let her go alone?

  She pushed the doorbell. A few seconds later, she pushed it again. “There’s no one here,” she announced as she dug in her purse. “But I have a key, and I know the security code.”

  Mike glanced over his shoulder at the street. “Then why are we waiting around out here? That crazy driver might come back.”

  Mandy inserted the key and pushed the door open. She darted across the wood floor to the keypad. The alarm blinked silently. She punched in the code. “Sean? Jenna?” she called. “Anyone here?” Her voice echoed through the still house.

  Mike closed the front door after glancing at the street again. “Now what?”

  “We look around. Upstairs. Let’s check their bedroom.”

  Mike trailed behind her as she raced up the stairs to the second-floor landing and into the first open doorway. Mandy didn’t need to know he’d been here before. But not in the daytime. No one had been home then, either.

  “In here.” She led him into the master bathroom and the adjoining closet. Racks of clothes hung in the closet, and every inch of space on the shoe shelf was full. Suitcases were stacked on the upper shelves. “She didn’t leave here on her own, or she would have taken a suitcase.”

  Mike considered the king-sized four-poster bed. “Bed probably wasn’t slept in. If Sean was here, he didn’t stay. The comforter isn’t even wrinkled.”

&nb
sp; “Or else they made the bed this morning,” Mandy said.

  They stepped out into the hallway and checked the other bedrooms and adjoining bath. Back downstairs, Mike followed Mandy through the living room, dining room, and the office.

  Mail had been piled in the center of Jenna’s desk, and her closed laptop had been pushed to one side. Mandy thumbed through the stack of mail. “The usual bills.”

  They walked to the kitchen. Mike glanced at the notes and photographs stuck by magnets to the refrigerator door before pulling the cabinet doors open one after another.

  Mike remembered the layout of the house. Laundry room down the hall, and the garage. He headed that direction, pausing to open doors to closets and to the half-bath. He opened the door to the laundry room and looked inside. “Mandy?”

  When she appeared in the doorway, he pointed to a spatter of dark red that clung to the painted wall. “What’s this? And this?” Mike motioned to the tile floor.

  Dark red spots trailed into the hallway and toward the small half-bath. They stepped carefully around them. The bathroom was spotless, the blood trail ended. When Mike opened the door to the garage, Sean’s black BMW was parked on the left side of the large space.

  Out on the wet street, tires squealed.

  Mike jabbed the garage door opener panel beside the back door. He dashed to the front of the garage and ducked beneath the rising door.

  “What the hell—” Mike yelled. “Stop!”

  The white Denali slammed into the back of Mike’s little truck.

  “Hey!” He shouted.

  The Denali changed gears, backed up, and slammed into the side of the truck.

  Mike charged into the street. The vehicle’s engine roared. He glowered as it sped away.

  The Denali had crumpled the driver’s side door, flattened and mangled the front left tire. The bed of the truck tilted.

  Mike fisted his hands. What the ––?

  ~ Chapter 10 ~

  Mandy

  Two hours later, the same policeman who had responded to her 911 call at the Wades’ house dropped Mandy off at her office.