She gave a nod, indicating the dresser. “They’re on the dresser,” she replied, lacking enthusiasm.
Once Harlan left the motel room, Sidney searched through his bag and found a pair of black sweat shorts and a sweatshirt that would hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. The sweatshirt would be fine for a few hours in the morning, but it would quickly become too warm by late morning. Sidney took a quick shower and changed into Harlan’s clothing. She had just finished brushing her hair when Harlan returned to the room. He set a paper bag on the dresser and handed her a large, Styrofoam cup.
“I hope you still like tea,” he remarked.
Sidney smiled with a soft laugh. “I’m surprised you remember that.”
“I remember more than you’d think,” he said simply. “Bagels okay?”
“I’m not very hungry,” she said and took a sip of tea from the cup.
“You have to eat,” he remarked sternly. “We have much ground to cover today.” He set his cup on the dresser, handed her a bagel, then retrieved his notepad and placed it in his jacket pocket. He cast a look at her. “Are you ready?”
“I just want to get my things and put them in my car,” she said then set her bagel and tea on the dresser.
Sidney retrieved her damp clothing and her jacket from the bathroom. She hesitated when she realized the knife was missing. She returned to the bedroom then looked around with some confusion. She remembered taking it off in the bathroom along with her wet clothing.
“Something wrong?” Harlan asked.
She looked back at him, forced a smile, and shook her head. “Uh, no.”
“Okay, let’s go then,” he announced then eyed her. “We’d better take your car if you intend to stop at your parents later today to change.”
§
By the time Sidney and Harlan reached Trisha’s house, Mary Allister was a nervous wreck. She hurried Sidney into the house and only briefly eyed Harlan.
“I don’t know where she is,” Mary said while nervously wringing her fingers together as she paced the hallway. “She never came home last night. I was hoping she was with you. Then, when I called your house this morning, your father said you hadn’t been home either. Where is she?”
“I was supposed to meet her last night, but she didn’t show up,” Sidney said timidly, hating that she had to lie to Trisha’s already frantic mother.
Mary looked at Harlan several times, possibly recognizing him. “What if something happened to her? I told the sheriff about the threat, but he said there was nothing he could do about it. I never should’ve allowed her to go to work yesterday.” She looked at Harlan once more. “Who’s your friend?” she finally asked without changing her expression.
Sidney saw no point to deceiving Mary. Her father would soon discover she was in his company anyway.
“This is Harlan Brendan,” Sidney replied gently.
“Harlan?” Mary questioned as if attempting to place the name. Her eyes then widened. “Oh, you’re that photographer who used to work--” Mary suddenly placed her hand to her mouth, withholding her gasp. She lowered her hand and looked at Sidney. “Does your father know he’s here?”
“Yes, Harlan stopped by my father’s place yesterday,” she replied while conveniently leaving out her father’s strong disapproval. “Could we look around Trisha’s room? I’m hoping there might be something there to indicate where she went.”
Mary continued to stare at Harlan with a look that alarmed Sidney then finally met her gaze. “Yes, of course. Do you think she just went somewhere without telling me?”
“It’s possible with Trisha. She gets an idea into her head and follows through with it,” Sidney attempted to reassure Trisha’s mother although she was positive that wasn’t the case.
“I hope you’re right,” Mary remarked timidly then looked at Harlan with the same, strange look of distrust.
Sidney and Harlan went upstairs to Trisha’s room and searched through her things. She found Trisha’s journal in the nightstand drawer. She sat on the bed and scanned through the most recent entries since she had copies of the older ones. Harlan went through her drawers and sifted through her clothing.
“She really pissed off a lot of people,” Sidney stated while scanning through several pages. “I hadn’t seen most of these entries in the papers she gave me. According to this, Malcolm had Sheriff Drukard remove her from Sam’s for disorderly conduct. She was fined and spent a night in jail.” Sidney studied Harlan’s back. “What if her disappearance doesn’t have anything to do with Emily Fisher’s death? Is it possible she just rubbed someone the wrong way?”
“We’ll have to look at her disappearance as a separate issue,” he informed her from the dresser. “Keep running tabs on everyone that despised her.”
“I don’t think they so much despised her as they feared her. She was disrupting what they felt to be their safety zone. She created doubt,” Sidney announced.
Trisha’s mother paused in the doorway. “Have you found anything?” she asked with some nervousness.
Sidney stood and set the journal on the bed. “Mrs. Allister, is there anyone Trisha feared? Were there any people in town who may have disliked her?”
Mary inhaled deeply and eyed Harlan briefly while his back was turned. “You know what Trisha was up to, Sidney. She angered many people. Paul Malcolm hates her with a passion. Sheriff Drukard thinks she’s a nuisance. He even suggested I have her committed,” she announced then shook her head. “Trisha isn’t crazy; she’s just confused. As far as town gossip goes, it’s been all over town about what she’s been doing the last couple of months. Mrs. Cooper and Mrs. Randall seem to have nothing better to talk about. Then there was that incident with Persha Palmer.”
“Ms. Palmer?” Sidney asked with surprise. “What happened with her?”
“There was this kid writing a school report on the murder. He wanted to interview Trisha,” Mary explained, appearing bothered. “Ms. Palmer put a stop to it and said some hateful things about Trisha. She told the boy Trisha was insane and didn’t have her facts straight. The boy must have told someone what Persha said, and it got back to Trisha.”
Sidney gently bit her lower lip and gave Mary a sympathetic look. “Do you believe Alex Trexler is innocent?”
Mary stared at Sidney a long moment in silence. “I’m not sure what I believe anymore. I’ve heard everything Trisha’s had to say about the murder,” she replied as she rubbed her chilled shoulders. “We’ve argued, we’ve debated, we’ve speculated, but there was never anything concrete to prove Alex wasn’t the killer.” She stared at Sidney with concern. “Do you think I should call the sheriff and tell him Trisha’s disappeared? I know he’s completely useless, but I feel like I should do something.”
“I suggest you call him and convince him he has to do something,” Sidney said firmly. “You know what he’s like. You’ll have to be persuasive. If Trisha left town on her own, she’ll be calling you soon.” Sidney held her breath. “But if someone was involved in her disappearance, we want the sheriff to be looking for her.”
Mary nodded with some insecurity. “I’ll call right away.” She hurried from the room.
Harlan opened the closet door and searched the shelf above the hanging clothing. He then looked to the floor. “Her bag’s here,” he informed Sidney.
Sidney approached the closet and saw Trisha’s overnight bag on the closet floor. It was the same one she’d used for their trip to California.
“She didn’t plan to leave town,” Sidney said softly.
“Does Trisha have her own car?” Harlan asked as he turned to face her.
“No,” Sidney replied and sighed gently. “She used her mother’s car to travel any distance. For the most part, she walked everywhere.”
“Isn’t there a house across the street from the library?” he questioned. “Maybe someone was home last night and saw something.”
“Mrs. Lamont lives in that house. She’s a younger version of Mrs. Cooper
and Mrs. Randall,” Sidney explained. “Then there’s Mr. Taylor to the right of her house. His house is directly across from the library parking lot.”
“We should question both of them,” Harlan stated. “We’d better go there right away. If the sheriff does decide to investigate her disappearance, they may not be willing to talk to us if he gets to them first.”
Sidney nodded and grabbed Trisha’s journal. “Mrs. Allister won’t mind if I take this with me.”
“As long as you’re sure.”
They left the bedroom and headed down the stairs. Mary could be heard in the kitchen talking to someone on the phone. Sidney was about to enter the kitchen and tell her they were leaving when she overheard Harlan’s name being mentioned. Sidney stopped Harlan and listened to her conversation.
“What do you want me to do, Herb?” Mary asked sternly. “I’m having enough problems of my own right now.”
Sidney backed away from the kitchen archway. “We should go,” she remarked with disapproval. “Mrs. Allister’s on the phone with my father.”
Harlan groaned while frowning. “I’m really not in the mood to deal with him right now.”
“Me either,” she replied and headed for the door. “Especially since I didn’t go home last night, and I’m wearing your clothes. I can’t stress enough how bad that would look.”
“Yeah, you’re not kidding,” Harlan scoffed.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Sidney parked her car in the back of the library parking lot. She wanted to be sure if her father drove past, he wouldn’t see it. From the library parking lot, they walked across the street to Mrs. Lamont’s house and knocked on her door. Mrs. Lamont opened the door and immediately smiled when she saw Sidney.
“What an unexpected surprise,” she announced happily. “What brings you here?”
Mrs. Lamont was a moderately attractive woman in her early forties with naturally curly, peroxide blonde hair that touched her shoulders. According to Mrs. Randall, Mrs. Lamont frequented the hairdresser once a week. She wore heavy make-up, giving her all the appeal of a streetwalker. Her bright, red lipstick glistened, having been freshly applied. She had professionally manicured nails, and the scent of toxic perfume seemed to linger out the doorway and onto the porch, possibly indicating she was on her way out.
“I wish it were under better circumstances, Mrs. Lamont,” Sidney said gently. “But Trisha disappeared from the library last night. Could we come inside and ask you a couple of questions?”
Mrs. Lamont’s eyes swept over Harlan. She returned her attention to Sidney then nodded and stepped away from the door, allowing them to enter. Harlan entered behind Sidney. Mrs. Lamont led them into the living room.
“I hope nothing’s happened to the poor girl,” Mrs. Lamont said with concern.
She offered them a seat on the red, velvet sofa. Mrs. Lamont’s house was uncluttered, though there appeared to be a thick coating of dust on everything. Cobwebs dangled from each corner of the living room and off the light fixtures. Apparently, Mrs. Lamont didn’t spend much time at home.
“That’s what we’re attempting to figure out,” Sidney announced gently. “You live across from the library, where she was last seen. I was wondering if you saw her leave anytime between closing and eight o’clock.”
Mrs. Lamont considered the question a moment and once more eyed Harlan. Sidney shifted uncomfortably. Harlan seemed to attract a lot of attention. Was there more to his leaving then she was being told?
“I’m afraid I left around seven o’clock for a card game with some of the girls in Brighten. I didn’t get home until after two in the morning,” she said with a sinister smile. “When I was walking out to my car, I did see some cars in the parking lot just as the library was about to close. The only one I recognized was Persha Palmer’s car.”
There was a name that came up on more than one occasion. “And you didn’t see Trisha leave the library at any time?” Sidney asked.
“No,” she replied. “Even if I had been home, I don’t pay much attention to what happens at the library. Too dull for me,” she boasted. “Of course, Mr. Taylor spends much time peering out the window. That man has nothing better to do than sit in front of the window all day. Could I interest either of you in something to drink?” she asked then smiled almost seductively at Harlan.
Sidney noted Mrs. Lamont’s come-hither look then shook her head. “No, thank you,” she announced a little too quickly. “We’ve taken enough of your time already.”
“Don’t be silly,” Mrs. Lamont said. “I adore visitors. It gets very lonely with Mr. Lamont gone so much.” She then looked at Harlan and raised her brows in suggestion. “What can I get you to drink? I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”
“It’s Harlan, madam,” he said pleasantly.
She suddenly beamed with delight and let a slight gasp escape. “An Englishman. How exciting,” she said with enthusiasm. “I’m afraid this town lacks culture.” She seductively leaned closer to him. “So what can I get you, Harlan? Just name it.”
“Nothing, really,” he announced and offered a moderately embarrassed look. “We have to be going.”
Sidney couldn’t believe Mrs. Lamont hadn’t even remembered Harlan. She swore she had by the way she’d been staring, but it was obvious there was something else on the woman’s mind. Sidney then remembered the story of the priest with whom Mrs. Lamont supposedly had an affair.
Sidney suddenly bolted up from her seat. “Yes, it’s been good talking to you, Mrs. Lamont,” she announced. “Perhaps we’ll stop by another time.”
Harlan was quick to stand as well. He’d obviously felt the sexual tension the older woman projected toward him. Mrs. Lamont sprang to her feet.
“Must you go so soon,” she announced pleasantly and added a swing to her hips as she tossed her blonde hair off her shoulder.
Both nodded, equally eager to leave. Sidney walked toward the door with Harlan practically pushing her from the house. Mrs. Lamont followed them to the door.
“It was good seeing you, Sidney,” she announced then made eyes at Harlan. “And it was a pleasure to meet you, Harlan. Stop by anytime.”
As they stepped onto the porch, Harlan suddenly cast a look back into the house. Sidney saw Mrs. Lamont smile seductively, wave, and shut the door.
“I can’t believe she did that,” Harlan snorted and hurried off the porch.
“Did what?” Sidney snapped with a hint of jealousy in her tone.
“She grabbed me when we walked out the door,” he said and shook his head.
“She did?” Sidney gasped with a surprised look then immediately frowned. “I’m sure you’re not too distraught over it.”
“What? You think I enjoy being grabbed by married women?” he asked sternly while glaring at her. “What kind of bloody pig do you think I am?”
“Just the average kind,” she said simply.
§
Harlan and Sidney crossed the tidy yard to Mr. Taylor’s small, blue house that was in desperate need of some TLC. The paint was chipped, the porch was starting to rot, and the hedges were out of control. Sidney walked onto the less than sturdy porch and rang the doorbell. They had to wait a few minutes for Mr. Taylor to reach the door. Mr. Taylor was about eighty years old now, though Sidney swore he was eighty back when she was a teen. He was a little thinner than she had remembered, although his taste in wardrobe hadn’t changed much. He wore a blue, flannel shirt and red, plaid pants held up to his chest by suspenders. He appeared unshaven for days, his hair was uncombed, and his gray eyebrows were almost as bushy as the hair growing out of his ears.
“Good morning, Mr. Taylor,” Sidney announced warmly.
“Who’re you?” he asked and squinted through cloudy, thick glasses.
“I’m Sidney McBride, Herb McBride’s daughter,” she said a little more loudly.
“No need to yell. I’m old, not deaf,” he said then looked at Harlan and nodded. “Who’s this? Husband?”
&nbs
p; Sidney looked at Harlan and raised her brows. “No, his name is Harlan. He’s a reporter,” she said in a normal voice.
“Speak up, child. I can’t hear ya when ya mumble,” he practically shouted. He then squinted while looking at Harlan. “A reporter, huh? Looks more like that goddamned photographer fella to me.”
Sidney looked at Harlan and gently bit her lower lip while hiding her mocking smile. She looked back at Mr. Taylor. “We’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”
He grunted and gave a slight nod.
“Were you home last night?” Sidney asked.
“Where the hell else would I be?” he demanded to know. “I’m too old to chase girls.”
“Can we come inside?” Sidney asked, feeling herself becoming slightly impatient.
“Why not?” he groaned and shuffled away from the door without lifting his feet. “Won’t go away if I don’t.”
Sidney looked at his feet and noticed he wore old, pink slippers. Sidney and Harlan followed him into his small, cluttered home. It appeared to be clean, but he had boxes of old magazines, empty soda bottles from twenty years ago, and lawn ornaments setting along the hall and throughout the living room. They followed him through the narrow path between the clutter and into his front sitting room. Harlan looked out the smudged window. The library and its parking lot were in direct line of sight with his sitting room window. Mr. Taylor sat in the easy chair facing the window and reclined his fuzzy, pink feet. Sidney sat in a nearby chair while Harlan moved several crossword puzzles from the sofa and uncertainly sat. As Mr. Taylor picked up his crossword puzzle and pencil, they remained and watched him.
Sidney cleared her throat. “Mr. Taylor?”
He looked across the room at them. “Oh, you’re still here,” he said louder than necessary. “What do ya want? Haven’t got all day.”
Sidney shifted in her seat with some embarrassment. “About last night,” she asked gently. “Were you sitting in your front room as you are now?”
“Nope,” he replied simply and again raised his crossword puzzle.
The Deadliest Institution Collection Page 81
