by Joy Avon
Quinn wanted to say something, but Jamison turned away in his swivel chair. The leather back looked like an impenetrable wall he put up between himself and them. His voice was hoarse when he spoke: “Just go.”
Biscuit whined as if he didn’t understand the sudden change in atmosphere, and Callie made for the door, ushering out the confused dog.
Quinn followed her, whispering, “He was lying about not knowing anything. He worked on the case himself.”
“As you very well knew when you came here,” Callie hissed back. “Why did you play it this way? He’s upset now, and I can see why. How can we do a public call when you alienate the man who has to help us with it?”
“Like he runs the only newspaper around! And why not use TV? You can ask for information to be mailed to a special email address we’ll set up. We could buy a prepaid phone and use that number, but I think it could be useful to have email addresses. Better than phone calls, which can come from booths.”
Callie stopped. They were outside again, in the bright sunshine, with the sound of voices from tourists and their playful kids wafting around them. She said to Quinn, “What is this to you? Playing detective?”
Her heart was beating fast. Falk wouldn’t like this. She had to stay away from it.
Quinn lowered his voice and spoke earnestly, “Look, you just saw how he responded to our questions. He knows more about it than he’s telling us. Isn’t that the best proof that we’re onto something? You could get an explosive story for your party.”
“The party is supposed to be fun for everybody. Unite the town. Not drive people apart.” Callie handed Quinn the leash. “You look after Biscuit for a few minutes. I’m going back in to apologize to Jamison. You were very rude.”
Quinn called after her that he hadn’t been rude at all, but Callie didn’t listen. She marched through the room where the teens were still listening to the woman who was filling the whiteboard with notes about some criminal case, and knocked softly at the door. She couldn’t hear very well if there was a reply, as it was simply too noisy, so she pushed the handle down and stepped in.
Jamison sat at his desk with his head in his hands. Looking up at her, she noticed the sheer panic in his eyes. He tried to sit up and maintain a stern attitude, but it was obvious he was undone and not quite sure what to say or do.
Callie rushed to say, “I’m sorry about this. Quinn is working on my cottage, and he suggested to me that we could look into some big event for the Fourth of July party that Book Tea is setting up at Haywood Hall. He took me to the newspaper archives in the library, and that’s where we found the Monica Walker story. It does have certain appealing aspects. Supposing we could still find out what happened to her? But I had no idea it was somehow … sensitive. In that case, we can leave it alone.”
“He won’t let go.” Jamison leaned back in the chair and studied her with a weary look. “He’s been to my house and talked to my wife. Innocently, of course, over coffee after he had done a little job for us, repairing a leaky faucet. But he asked a lot of questions about how long we had lived here, and so forth, that I really didn’t like. I even fought with my wife about it. She defended him, saying he was just a nice handyman who meant no harm.”
Callie got a cold feeling as she listened to his revelations, but she didn’t speak up.
Jamison said, “I wasn’t happy when he came in with you. I’m not sure what he’s after.”
Callie sighed. “I can’t tell you either. I was under the impression that we hit on the Monica Walker story in the archives by accident, but I can’t vouch that Quinn wasn’t aware that it was there and that he didn’t consciously lead me to it.” She recalled the librarian remarking that she had seen Quinn at the library before, which Quinn had denied. Had he been there? Had he lied?
Jamison held her gaze. “So what does he want?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”
Jamison gestured to a chair. “Sit down.” He leaned on his desk, holding her gaze. “Yes, I reported on the Monica Walker story. It was hot news at the time. I interviewed people at the Cliff Hotel, where she had been staying, and at the marina. Talked to the fisherman whose boat was allegedly stolen on the night on which she vanished. I never had a good feeling about the case. I can’t explain that, but some people who work with news can tell you the same thing. You have a sort of gut feeling about the outcome. And my gut feeling wasn’t good.”
He knotted his fingers. “I was somehow certain that something had happened to her. That she had maybe met someone here who … put the squeeze on her? Threatened her? She was in the tabloids all the time, you know—she was interesting to people. She had ended a high-profile relationship just a few weeks before she vanished. Did her ex do her in? I can’t say for sure that I saw him around town during those days when she stayed here, but he was an actor, a master of disguise. With a wig, makeup, I doubt his own mother would have recognized him.”
Callie listened, fascinated in spite of her misgivings about this story.
Jamison said, “I started the assignment with a vague hope I would find her and interview her and show the world that I existed. That the case would be my big break into journalism away from this little town. But you see”—he gestured around him—“I’m still here today.”
“So you never found her? Or any trace of her?”
Jamison scoffed. “We never even found that boat that vanished along with her, and I can tell you it was a pretty big thing.”
He leaned back and sighed. “It was an odd case. People concluded she had simply wanted out of her life, the pressure it put on her. That she used her so-called ‘break’ here to disappear. I can’t say whether that’s possible or not. In the eighties it was easier to just start a new life somewhere. You didn’t have all that technology we have today, so I can’t say whether she could have slipped away, changed her identity, and is now quietly living someplace, acting like she was never Monica Walker.”
“You looked into it at the time. What did you believe?” Callie swallowed before adding, “Do you think someone hurt her?”
“Initially, yes. There was the ex I told you about, and there might have been some crazy fans too. You know, people who think they own a celebrity?”
Callie rubbed her cold hands together. This wasn’t the revelation she had been hoping for. “I’m sorry about that. I guess we should just forget about looking into this any further. It’s not suitable for our Fourth of July tea party. We want to keep that a family-friendly affair.”
Jamison leaned on his desk. “But later my opinion changed. I started to believe she had run away of her own accord. I can’t tell you any details, as I promised I’d protect the source, but I had every reason to believe Monica Walker survived. Maybe even is alive today.”
Callie stared at him. “But you said earlier you didn’t have a good feeling about the case.”
“That was my inner conviction, a gut feeling as a journalist. However, you can’t argue with irrefutable proof.”
“Proof? You have proof about Monica Walker’s disappearance?”
“I had a source. I …” Jamison stared into the distance for a moment. He seemed to be considering a difficult problem. “Like I just said, I doubt that this Mr. Quinn will give up. He came to Heart’s Harbor for a reason. I would appreciate it if you don’t tell him what I just told you. And if you continue to work with him …”
“What?” Callie stared at Jamison.
“I want to know what he’s after. You can tell me, if you stick to him.” Jamison leaned closer. “Just pretend I didn’t tell you anything worthwhile. Go to another paper or a local TV station, and ask them to cooperate. Take testimonies from people who claim to know something about that last night Monica Walker was in town. See if you can make the puzzle fit.”
Callie held his gaze, trying to read the emotion in his eyes. “Why? What do you think can come of that?”
Jamison sighed. “It was a big case at the time, and it left a lasting impr
ession with me. If this man, Quinn, is determined to dig up old dirt, he’ll do it anyway, with or without my cooperation. But I would like to know what he can turn up and, most of all, why he’s so interested in this old story. He might have plans to harm our town. If you keep an eye on him, you’re doing all of us a big favor. Also the police. I know for a fact that Falk is already onto this Quinn character. He seems to think he’s up to something, but he can’t put his finger on it.”
Callie sucked in air. Falk had acted hostile seeing her with Quinn in the newspaper archives at the library. But if he was really interested in Quinn’s actions around town, he might welcome her involvement if she could tell him a thing or two. Why not try it, at least for a while? She had already engaged Quinn to work on her cottage and could hardly go back on her given word unless she wanted to reveal to him that others had slandered him.
Was she even sure that Jamison was telling the truth?
Was Quinn really the problem? Or Jamison himself? Did he know much more about the old disappearance case than he was willing to tell? Wasn’t it odd that he had mentioned a vengeful ex who was a master of disguise, suggesting someone had been lurking in town, maybe to hurt Monica Walker, but then went on to assure her Monica had run away to start a new life somewhere and that he had proof of that?
Callie took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll continue my search with Quinn. I’ll keep Falk posted on everything we find out. He’s best positioned to judge what should be done about it.”
Jamison shifted his weight in his chair. She couldn’t quite determine whether he was relieved about her idea for handling it or upset at the suggestion that Falk would be in on all they discovered and even able to act on what they would learn.
Callie rose to her feet. “I’d better get back to Quinn, or he will think it’s suspicious.”
* * *
Outside Quinn had found a sunny spot on a bench and was sitting there quietly, Biscuit at his feet.
Callie walked over and smiled. “You calmed him down.”
Quinn looked up at her. “I jogged a few times around the block with him. He just has a lot of energy. You took your time in there.”
“Jamison isn’t happy about our plan, and he tried to talk me out of it. But I explained that we want to do something special for the Fourth of July, and that he can understand. I have a feeling he’s just frustrated that he couldn’t crack the case when he reported on it, and he’s worried he’ll look foolish if we figure out now what happened.”
It surprised her how easy it was to lie and how Quinn seemed to believe her right off the bat. He nodded. “I wouldn’t be happy either in his position. But it can’t be helped. Now we have to decide what paper to go to next. Or should we go the TV route?”
“It seems you have all of this worked out.” Callie stroked Biscuit. She was angry that Quinn had led her to the Monica Walker story on purpose, that the whole thing had been a setup on his part, while he kept smiling innocently at her. Did he take her for such a fool?
But she couldn’t let him know she was onto him. “Should we take your car? I do assume you have a car around here?”
Quinn got up and nodded. “Sure. Follow me.”
Chapter Four
“You’re on in a few moments,” the friendly student assistant said to Callie.
The TV station had been delighted about the idea of asking for information on a cold case, and Callie had been dragged through makeup, received some instructions on how to look best on camera, and studied her lines, all while listening to Quinn’s advice, calling Iphy to tell her to watch the show, and trying to keep Biscuit out of mischief. Fortunately, everybody seemed to love the perky border collie and was willing to keep an eye on him while she would be on TV.
The station had a daily live lunch program where people could call in with questions and ideas, and Callie’s appeal would be a part of it.
“Walk over there, please, and take the seat,” the assistant said. “Remember to keep your chin up, and don’t mumble. Speak clearly, as if you’re addressing a crowd. You don’t have to speak up, since you’ll be mic’d, but pronouncing everything clearly is very important.”
Callie nodded. Her tour guide experience had to come in handy now. Still, she had never been quite so nervous.
“Three, two, one—and you’re on!”
“Hello, viewers.” Callie tried to smile as if she was perfectly at ease. “My name is Callie Aspen, and I’m from the Book Tea tearoom in Heart’s Harbor. On the Fourth of July, we’re organizing a tea party at Haywood Hall, in cooperation with the Heart’s Harbor Historical Society, to celebrate the rich history of our little town. Volunteers from the Society will show how life on the coast has changed across the centuries, and exhibition dance group Swing It! will demonstrate how Golden Age dance contests pulled crowds to our beautiful Cliff Hotel.
“You can have your picture taken with an authentic forties fighter plane from a private collection and learn more about Heart Harbor’s own World War Two heroes. There will also be a sweet tea competition to celebrate family recipes, so if you have an old family recipe for the best sweet tea in the region, then bring your creations to the celebration, where they will be judged by an expert panel. The winning sweet tea will appear on the menu at Book Tea during the summer season, and the winner can bring five friends to an exclusive high tea at Book Tea. So dig through your recipe books and surprise us on the Fourth.
“But first, we need your help with something special. During our research into Heart’s Harbor’s illustrious past, we came across an unsolved mystery—something that made waves at the time and is still an intriguing story. In August 1989, TV star Monica Walker traveled here to stay at the Cliff Hotel. As a beloved member of the cast for the successful TV drama Magnates’ Wives, she wasn’t just an actress, but a celebrity that garnered attention wherever she went.”
Callie shifted her shoulders ever so slightly. “Therefore, it’s all the more remarkable that Monica Walker disappeared from the Cliff Hotel, from Heart’s Harbor, and wasn’t heard of again. There have been persistent rumors that she left with a man she loved, to start a new life. We’d like to find out where Monica Walker is today. Wouldn’t it be lovely if we could tell the people of our town that she lived happily ever after with the man she loved? The man for whom she gave up her glamorous life? If you know anything at all about Monica and her stay in Heart’s Harbor in 1989, please contact us via email or phone.”
She then gave the relevant contact information and ended her appeal with a heartfelt thanks to the public.
The assistant smiled at her. “Well done. You’re a natural.”
Callie rose from the seat. “Maybe, but I’m glad it’s over.” She felt her blouse sticking to her back. Her palms were covered in sweat, which she tried to remove by rubbing them together. This call for information was just the beginning. What would happen now?
She walked over to Quinn, who squatted, patting Biscuit, who didn’t like to be indoors. Or maybe the bright lights and bustle unnerved him?
Quinn looked up at her. “I still think we should have given a special email address, not the address from Book Tea. Who knows what cranks might respond to this call?”
Callie hitched a brow. “If you think it’s dangerous, you should have said so.”
“I said to use a separate address or a prepaid phone, but you didn’t want to.”
“I don’t see why I can’t give the Book Tea address, since I just told people on air that I’m from the Book Tea team in Heart’s Harbor.” Callie held Quinn’s gaze. “What do you know about Monica Walker that makes you so careful?”
“Nothing. I’m just helping you with this Fourth of July thing.” Quinn shrugged.
A young man came running up to them. “Our phones are ringing off the hook!” he yelled. “People want to know if we’re going to follow your quest to find the truth. They seem to want a TV show about it or something. Updates via social media maybe?”
“Not a chance,” Quinn sa
id, cutting him off. “We’re going to do this very discreetly to protect the people involved. Once we have some results, we will, of course, share them. But we’re not going to turn it into a media circus.”
“I have to agree with Quinn there,” Callie said quickly. “And we should be on our way now. Thank you for giving us time on the air.”
She pulled at Quinn’s sleeve to have him follow her.
Outside, Biscuit scratched in the grass, lifted his head to the skies, and yapped.
“I don’t like being locked up either, boy,” Quinn said, with a smile at the border collie.
Callie said to him, “You better drop me off at Book Tea and then get to the cottage to start on the repairs. Look after Biscuit for me, and I’ll be by later in the day to bring you some food and see how you’re coming along.”
“If you get an invite to a meeting,” Quinn said, “with a witness in the disappearance, you’re not going without me, are you?”
“Of course not. Now let’s get back to our normal lives. I doubt that we’ll hear anything relevant right away.”
* * *
Back at Book Tea, Callie found her great-aunt on the phone, writing down something the caller was telling her. Iphy gestured that she would be with her in a minute, and Callie shrugged out of her thin coat, hung it on the rack, and headed into the kitchen.
She had barely washed her hands and poured herself some coffee when Iphy ran in. “Take this before another call comes in.” She pushed three sheets full of dense handwriting into Callie’s hands. “Some people didn’t want to say their names or contact information, so you can’t call them back. Oh, there it goes again!”
She ran off to tend to the ringing phone.
Callie stared in mute surprise at the paperwork in her hands. She began to read at the top of the first sheet. “ ‘Caller doesn’t want to give his name. Saw dark car on the coastal road. Woman behind wheel, blonde like Monica Walker. Car at high speed. Reported to the police. Never took any action.’ ”
She pursed her lips and read the next entry. “ ‘Mr. Miller is certain he saw Monica Walker two years after her supposed disappearance, while on holiday in Florida. She was on the beach with a small child. He went over to her and said, “Monica Walker?” The woman immediately picked up her child and fled.’ ”
