The Way You Look Tonight (6 page)

She wanted to ask more questions, but for some reason Evan wasn't talking, so she gave up. ‘Sure, Evan. Tell Barbara hello for me. And thanks.'

‘For what? I wasn't much help. But you take care and keep your doors and windows locked. Around Christmas there's always a lot of breaking and entering.'

Evan had always been friendly, but never overly concerned or protective. Apprehension fluttered through Deborah. ‘Evan,
what
is going on?' she asked, thoroughly frustrated.

‘Nothing. Just give me a call in a little while,' he said briskly. ‘If Steve's not back, Barb and I'll come over and keep you company.'

Deborah hung up the phone and looked out the window, more troubled than she had been before she called Evan. A heavy cloud cover obliterated the stars and moon. Only the dusk-to-dawn light broke the utter darkness. Then, to her dismay, the light blinked a couple of times and went out. She gasped before reminding herself that the light had been blinking for weeks. The bulb was going and should have been replaced long before this. Still, its dying at this particular time, when she had such a creeping, uneasy feeling about Steve, seemed ominous. But she was not a superstitious woman. The light going out had nothing to do with Steve.

‘Did Evan know where Daddy is?' Brian asked, making her jump as his young voice piped up behind her.

‘No, honey, he didn't. I think we should go ahead and start unpacking the train. Then when Daddy gets here, we'll have everything ready.'

But by 8.15, when all the train cars, tracks, snow, houses, and tiny animals and trees stood in disarray around the tree, Steve still had not appeared. Angry and worried, Deborah put another album of Christmas carols on the stereo. ‘God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen' reverberated through the living room.

‘I hate that song,' Kim said. ‘I want “Jingle Bells”.'

‘We've listened to that a hundred times,' Brian complained. ‘I want MTV.'

Steve didn't like the children watching the often sexually graphic videos on MTV, but tonight she was certain they were too engrossed with the train to really watch. They'd just listen to the rock music. Besides, she thought she'd scream if she heard another Christmas carol.

She turned off the stereo and flipped on the television. Steven Tyler of Aerosmith was singing ‘Janie's Got a Gun'. Images of blood and a body being covered by a sheet flashed across the screen. She cringed, but as she'd expected, the children weren't really watching. Brian was pretending to play the guitar while Kim danced around him, her long, fine blonde hair flying. They were so wound up tonight, the activity would probably be good for them, Deborah thought. But what about her? Pretend guitar-playing and dancing weren't going to help. What should her next move be?

Impulsively, she called Mrs Dillman. The old woman's voice sounded feeble at the other end. ‘I hope I didn't wake you,' Deborah said.

‘I was taking a cat-nap.'

‘I see. I'm sorry I disturbed you, Mrs Dillman, but I wondered if you'd seen my husband leave the house this afternoon.'

‘Two-thirty.' The woman's voice turned crisp. ‘I just happened to be looking out that way and I saw your husband's car leave.' Mrs Dillman was
always
looking out their way when she wasn't asleep.

‘Two-thirty. Are you sure?'

‘Certainly. I'm not beyond telling the time.' Deborah wasn't sure about that, although Mrs Dillman had bouts when she was as alert and observant as Sherlock Holmes.

‘Was my husband alone?'

‘Yes. You and the children were gone. Left a good hour ahead of him.'

‘We went Christmas shopping.'

‘That's what I thought.' Mrs Dillman paused, then asked sympathetically, ‘My dear, you don't think your husband has abandoned you, do you?'

Deborah blinked. ‘You mean left me? Oh, Mrs Dillman, I don't think so.'

‘I only ask because my husband abandoned me. Said he was going out for bread and never came back. That was forty years ago.'

Deborah knew this wasn't true. Alfred Dillman had died eight years previously in a car wreck.

‘It caused a terrible scandal,' Mrs Dillman continued, warming to her fantasy. ‘Everyone felt so sorry for me. What a foolish man, they all said, leaving a fine woman like you. I tell you, my dear, I don't know how I lived through it, but I have backbone. That's what my mama always said.' She sighed. ‘Well, that's men for you. They're all alike.'

Deborah wanted to argue the point, but it was useless. Acquiescence was the key to keeping the woman calm and amiable. ‘I suppose you're right.'

‘Your husband could be in Las Vegas,' Mrs Dillman added helpfully. ‘He could be with my Alfred drinking and gambling and cavorting with tarts.'

In spite of her alarm, Deborah almost laughed at the thought of either the aged Alfred Dillman, a former Presbyterian minister, or Steve slipping into Mrs Dillman's picture of debauchery. ‘That's a possibility,' she said kindly. ‘I'll certainly check into it.'

‘All right. But if you find Alfred, tell him not to come home. I will not have him back, no matter how repentant he is!'

‘I'll tell him. And thank you again, Mrs Dillman.'

She hung up the phone and rubbed her temples, which were beginning to throb. That call certainly hadn't gotten her anywhere, and every other house in the cul-de-sac was deserted.

So now what? Deborah thought. If Steve
had
left at 2.30 as Mrs Dillman claimed, he'd been gone six hours. But if he'd left much later…

She went back into the living room. Kim and Brian were collapsed on the couch, giggling after their rock and roll performance. ‘I want to look like
that
,' Kim said, pointing to an impossibly buxom woman with tousled hair slinking across the screen.

‘You're much prettier,' Deborah said absently, then came to herself. Steve would have a fit if he walked in and saw the children watching the video. ‘Let's see what else is on.'

She punched buttons on the remote control until she found an innocuous-looking movie on the Disney channel. Both children immediately lost interest in the television. ‘Where's Daddy?' Brian asked.

‘I'm not sure. Maybe we should start putting the train tracks together. Or would you rather just go to bed?'

‘
Bed!
' both children echoed in horrified tones as if Deborah had just asked if they wanted to be burned at the stake. ‘Our bedtime is 8.30.' Brian looked at the Regulator clock above the gray-and-maroon-striped couch. ‘It's only 8:13,' he announced triumphantly.

‘I'm sick of you tellin' the time,' Kim stormed. ‘It's
boring
.'

‘You're just mad 'cause you can't do it.'

‘I can, too. I just don't want to.'

The children were exhausted and cranky after their day in the mall. They needed sleep, but neither was willing to admit defeat and go to bed. Deborah's voice was taut. ‘Okay, tonight you can stay up late. Start on the train tracks. Do you know how to put them together?'

‘Sure,' Brian said.

‘Good. I'm going to make some more calls.'

She listened to the children squabbling in the living room as she retreated to the kitchen where they couldn't hear her. They weren't worried yet – not like she was – only disappointed. She dialed the Prosecutor's office, hoping that maybe Steve had gone in to work on a few things and forgotten the time. No answer.

Frustrated, she fixed another cup of instant coffee, this time something called French Vanilla Café, which was sweet and fragrant. The women who sipped it on television commercials looked well groomed and insouciant, as if they hadn't a care in the world. They certainly wouldn't want me in one of those commercials, Deborah thought as she caught a glimpse of herself in the kitchen mirror. With her lipstick worn off, her hair stringing down from its long braid, and her eyes slightly bloodshot beneath their contacts, she looked tired and messy. And she was dying for a cigarette.

On impulse, she rummaged through a drawer until she found a half-empty pack of Salems. She looked at it for a moment and even sniffed the stale cigarettes inside. ‘No, I
won't
,' she said determinedly. She dropped the pack of cigarettes and closed the drawer.

She drummed her fingers on the counter, wondering what to do next. Her eyes fell on the address book beside the phone. She flipped through it and found the number for the nursing home in Wheeling where Steve's sister Emily stayed. The nurse sounded baffled when she introduced herself and asked if Steve were there.

‘Why, no. Mr Robinson was just here last weekend. He only comes every couple of months, and he's
never
here on a Sunday night.' The nurse's tone changed to one of curiosity. ‘Can't you find him?'

Frazzled and worried, Deborah wanted to bark, ‘Would I be calling there if I could?' ‘No, actually I can't,' she managed with relative calm. ‘We seem to have gotten our wires crossed today. I just thought maybe he'd come up to visit Emily one last time before Christmas.'

‘I haven't seen him since last Sunday afternoon. But you tell him Emily's doing just fine. She even spoke today.'

‘She did?' Deborah asked in amazement.

‘Yes indeed. She said “Steve” plain as day.'

‘That's wonderful. I didn't know she ever said anything.'

The nurse sounded surprised again. ‘Oh, yes, ma'am. Not often, but occasionally. Funny your husband didn't tell you. Most of the time she does it when he's here.'

Deborah had visited Emily with Steve only once, when they were first married. She looked like a young teenager then, not the twenty-three-year-old woman she was. She had mahogany-brown hair, much darker than Steve's, which had been allowed to grow long and glossy. But it was her eyes Deborah remembered the most vividly. Long-lashed and a clear willow-green, they would have been beautiful if they hadn't stared so vacantly directly in front of her. Deborah had asked to visit Emily again, but Steve discouraged her. ‘No sense in it,' he'd said. ‘She doesn't know you're there.'

‘But you go,' Deborah argued.

‘I'm her brother. Besides, it's because of me she's that way. I owe her.'

Deborah hung up the phone. Of course Steve wouldn't have taken off for Wheeling without letting her know. Wheeling was 160 miles away. She thought of calling Steve's parents, but that was useless. They spent every Christmas in Hawaii. Besides, Steve hadn't visited them for ten years.

She tried Pete Griffin. Pete's son Adam answered the phone. Rock music blared in the background and Adam told her his father had made a quick run to a discount store to buy a lighted reindeer for the front yard. ‘The guy acts like I'm eight,' Adam grumbled, although humor edged his voice. ‘We've already got about a thousand lights strung over every hedge and tree in the yard. I expect the fire marshal to stop by any minute.'

‘You'd better be more appreciative or you'll find a lump of coal in your stocking,' Deborah warned.

‘A lump of coal?' Adam asked in confusion.

‘Never mind. Just an old custom.'

‘Why are old customs always so
weird
?'

Deborah smiled. Adam Griffin enjoyed adopting the pose of a rather shallow teenager to hide his remarkable sensitivity and astounding intelligence. He'd confided to her one time he planned on becoming a biophysicist. ‘Don't tell Dad, though,' he'd said. ‘It's too much fun to make him think I'm going into some different daredevil career every week.' And as intelligent as Pete was himself, he always seemed to believe Adam.

‘Have you seen Steve today, Adam? I can't locate him,' Deborah said.

‘No, and I've been home all day, but I'll ask Dad when he comes in, although he's been in and out since morning. Is something wrong?'

‘I don't think so. It's just odd that he'd vanish like this…oh, never mind. I'm probably getting all worked up for nothing. Just ask Pete to call me when he comes in.'

‘I sure will.'

‘Oh, and please make a big deal over the reindeer your dad buys. This kind of thing means a lot to him.

Adam laughed. ‘I know. And don't worry. I'll tell him it's the coolest thing I've ever seen, no matter how corny it looks.'

Well, no luck at Pete's. The uneasy feeling she'd had all day was becoming overpowering. In desperation, she called Evan again. ‘I still can't find Steve,' she said. ‘It's a quarter to nine.'

‘He's not at the office.'

‘I know. I already tried there. Evan, do you have any idea where he might have gone?'

‘No, but I'll make some calls. You sit tight.'

Sit tight. Deborah had always wondered what that phrase meant. Sit tightened with anxiety?

She flipped through the address book for the number of Joe Pierce. After all, it had been Joe who'd called last night and thrown Steve into such a state of agitation. She should have called him earlier, she thought as she dialed. The busy signal. She slammed down the phone.
Now
what?

She went into the living room again. ‘You're gettin' sparkles all
over
,' Brian ranted as Kim took the decorated cotton from the box.

‘I am
not
. Besides, they just fall off.'

‘We're not ready for the cotton! Mommy, tell her the cotton doesn't go around the train until the train's set up!'

‘I
know
that,' Kim said furiously. ‘I'm just taking the wrinkles out, but I won't
touch
your stupid cotton any more!'

‘Kids, knock it off,' Deborah said, rubbing a hand across her forehead. Pain throbbed behind her eyes.

‘Where's Daddy?' Brian demanded again.

‘I don't
know
.'