Vanishing Act (6 page)

“Forget it. That's the stupidest thing I've heard. Who told you that?' ”

I waved my hand in the air. “It doesn't matter.” I changed the subject. “Who were Melissa's friends?”

Chris answered that question immediately. “After Jill died, Beth was about it. Except that once in a while she'd hang out with Holland and Brandy. Her suitemates,” he explained.

I wrote down their names.

“And then, of course, there's Tommy.”

“You sound as if you know him.”

“I do.”

“What kind of person is he?”

Chris shrugged. “A regular guy.”

“Meaning?”

“You know.” He hesitated while searching for the right word. “Normal.”

Well, you couldn't get more specific than that. “As opposed to Bryan?”

“I didn't say that,” Chris objected.

“That's true. I did.” I walked over to the heat register and absentmindedly picked up a teddy bear. It had the dilapidated look of a much-loved stuffed animal. “Whose are these?” I asked.

Chris smiled and folded his arms over his chest. “Beth's. She collects them.” He pointed to the three in the corner. “I gave her those.”

“Nice.” I put down the bear I was holding. “Maybe you can tell me something?” Chris cocked his head, waiting for my question. “I hear that Tommy and Melissa fought all the time, that she was going to leave him, and that he wasn't real happy about that.”

Chris laughed derisively. “I don't know where you're getting your information from, but it's not true.” It was the first time I'd heard real emotion in his voice. He was about to add something else, when there was a knock on the door. A moment later a guy stuck his head in.

“Can I speak to you?” he asked Chris.

Chris excused himself and stepped out into the hall.

I went back to looking out the window, imagining myself watching Melissa leave the dorm four months ago, willing myself to see what had happened to her, but the only thing I saw was a man dressed in a bright red and blue jogging suit, yellow lab in tow, laboring up the path that twisted through Tyler. Two spots of color in a black and white photo. Which wasn't much help. So much for visualization. When the jogger rounded the bend, I turned and headed toward the sugar glider's cage, thinking I'd get another glimpse of him. Maybe we should carry them in the store after all. On the way, I walked past a desk piled high with books. A piece of paper lay on top. I glanced at it.

“Chris,
” I read.
“Went to library. Usual spot. Meet me there when you're hungry. Love, Beth. ”

“I wouldn't have let you in if I'd have known you'd go snooping around Beth's things.”

I jerked my head up. Chris was standing in the doorway, watching me. His arms were crossed over his chest. His eyes were narrowed.

“Too bad.” I grabbed his jacket off the chair and threw it at him. “Now, let's go.”

I
t took me twenty minutes to find a parking space near the library—even the illegal spaces were taken—and in the end I capitulated and did the unspeakable, parked in a lot. The building made me wish for the one it had replaced. Even if the old one hadn't been efficient, the wood, the stained glass, the slight musty smell of old paper, had made me feel as if I were home. Walking inside here made me feel as if I were entering the corporate world, but then, that was what universities were these days—big business.

We got in the elevator and Chris pressed the button for the third floor. When we got off, he led me through the maze of cubicles to where Beth Wright was sitting.

“That's her,” he said as we approached, pointing to the left and indicating the girl with short blond hair sitting at a table piled high with books.

Beth Wright was fine-featured, small-boned, and very pretty in a classic, understated way. Her only flaw, a nose that was ever so slightly pushed over to one side, served to underline the regularity of her other features. The color on her cheeks rose, making her even prettier, when she saw Chris coming toward her. They held hands as he explained why I wanted to speak to her. She leaned against him as he talked, and when he left, her eyes followed his progress out the door.

Watching them brought on an attack of nostalgia. I don't think I will ever have that intensity of feeling for someone again. Then, while I was wondering if I wanted to, Beth rose and beckoned for me to follow her. She was even shorter and smaller than she appeared sitting down. She must have been five two and ninety-eight pounds at the most.

She stopped in the hallway and turned and faced me. Her expression was worried. She began fingering the cardigan she was wearing. “I've already spoken to the police,” she said. “I don't think there's anything I can tell you that I haven't told them.”

“Sometimes if you retell something you remember a small detail or two you might have forgotten before, something that's more important than you realize,” I told her, hoping that that would indeed be the case.

She frowned. “There are no details. That's the problem. I have nothing to tell anyone.”

“Don't be too sure.”

“But I am.” Her voice rose slightly. “I'm sorry you had to waste your time coming, but I really have nothing to say.”

“That's what Chris said.”

“He's right.”

She reminds me of a sparrow, I thought as I told her to let me be the judge of what was important and what wasn't. “Unless, of course, you don't want to help,” I added.

“Oh, I do, I do,” Beth cried. “It's not that.” She fingered one of her buttons. “I just hate talking about it, that's all. It's so upsetting, thinking that someone can just disappear.” Her eyes misted over. “And I feel guilty. I mean, I thought she'd be back. I thought she just needed to get away from things for a while.”

Watching her, I understood why Chris hadn't wanted to bring me here. He wasn't hiding anything. He'd known this conversation was going to upset her. He'd been trying to protect her.

Beth straightened her shoulders and tried for a smile. “I'm such a dunce, I don't know how Chris puts up with me.”

“I don't think he minds.”

“I know.” She grinned. “Isn't he great?”

I agreed that he was, and guided the conversation back to Melissa. This time Beth was willing to answer my questions. I asked her to start by telling me what had happened that day. Once Beth began talking, she kept on going. Despite what she said, it was obvious to me she was eager to share her thoughts.

“Well,” she began, “Melissa left the room before I did because she had a nine o‘clock and I had a ten o'clock class. ”

“What class?”

“Clinical psych. She said she was going to get some breakfast and she grabbed her backpack and walked out the door.” The corners of Beth's mouth twitched and were still. “That was the last time I saw her.”

“Did you return to the dorm at any point during the day?”

Beth shook her head. “I had classes all day. After I was done, I went to the library, then I hung out with some friends at the Rhino. I didn't get back to my room till after five. Bryan was waiting for me when I walked in. He was really upset.” Beth nervously unbuttoned and then rebuttoned the bottom two buttons on her cardigan. “He got even more upset when I told him I didn't know where Melissa was. After my suitemates came in and told him they hadn't seen her either, he flipped out and called the police. They told him to wait until the next day and see if she came back. He went nuts.” Beth bit her lip.

“I tried to calm him down. I tried to tell him Missy was just off doing whatever, but he wouldn't listen. He kept on pacing back and forth like a lunatic. It was making me crazy. Finally I suggested we go look for her. I figured it would give Bryan something to do. Give him an avenue to express his emotions.”

I looked at her quizzically.

She laughed ruefully. “I guess I've been taking too many psych courses. Anyway, we went all over the dorm that night. We called everyone we could think of. We even walked through Tyler Park. The only people we found were a man walking his dog and a group of high school kids drinking beer.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I was sure Missy would turn up. But it looks as if Bryan was right after all.”

“What made you so certain?”

“Because there was no reason she shouldn't.”

I leaned against the wall. “Had she done this type of thing before, gone off without telling anyone?”

“No, but she was under a lot of pressure. I thought maybe she just needed a little time to think.”

“You're talking about her mother, right?”

“Yeah. That and—” Beth put her hand to her mouth.

“And what?” I prompted her, my pulse quickening the way a hunter's does when he spots his prey.

Beth looked away. The two spots of color were back on her cheekbones. “I don't know if I sh-should tell you,” she stammered.

“Is it that bad?”

“No,” Beth said indignantly.

“Then why not tell me?”

“She didn't want anyone to know.”

“Given the circumstances, don't you think the time for confidences is past?”

“I suppose you're right.” Beth let out the breath she'd been holding. She drew herself up. “She and Tommy were planning on getting married.”

I thought about Bryan's reaction in the Yellow Rhino when he'd spotted Tommy and raised an eyebrow. “I can see why she'd want to keep it a secret.”

Beth nodded.

“Who else knew about this?”

“No one as far as I know. I don't think she would have even have told me if I hadn't been in the room when she came in. She was so excited, she just couldn't stop herself from talking.” Beth fingered the bottom of her cardigan. “I just figured maybe she'd had second thoughts and had gone away to think things through.”

“I could see why you didn't want to say anything to Bryan.”

“He was bad enough as it was. I didn't want to make anything worse. I didn't want to cause trouble for Tommy. Poor guy.”

“Poor guy?”

“He's just one of those people who always has things happening to them. If it isn't one thing, it's another.”

I could relate. “So,” I said, going back to what we were talking about, “you didn't tell the police because you were afraid they would tell Bryan.”

Beth looked as if she wanted to cry. “I thought she'd be back.”

“I would have thought so too.” I patted her shoulder.

She gave me a timorous smile and turned slightly to let a crowd of students go by her.

“I puzzled about something though.”

“What?” she asked.

“Bryan told me she and Tommy fought all the time. That she was getting ready to leave him, but he didn't want her to go.”

“I think that was just wishful thinking on Bryan's part.”

“So they didn't fight?”

“No. They were always going at it.” More students were coming in now. “They argued a lot, but Melissa enjoyed it. She liked dramatic relationships. Big fights. Reconcilations. One moment they were screaming on the phone at each other, the next they were cooing. Sometimes when they fought she'd scratch Tommy. She though it proved how much she loved him.” Beth's expression left no doubt what she thought about such behavior.

I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. Beth's statement certainly didn't square with Bryan's description of his sister or with the picture I'd formed of Melissa by looking at her room. “And what did Tommy do?”

“Nothing. He never lifted a finger to her. Personally, I think that kind of thing gets real old, real fast, but, hey, that's just me.” Beth fingered the buttons on her sweater again. It was beige and blended in with her white T-shirt and navy pants. “I always thought her relationship with Tommy kept her from thinking about other things.”

“How do you mean?”

“All that drama takes your mind off things.”

“And Melissa had a lot on her mind.”

“Well, her best friend had died and her mother was in the hospital, dying. What do you think?”

“I think that's a lot for anyone to deal with.”

Beth readjusted the collar of her sweater. “She was doing okay. At least I thought she was. But with her it was hard to tell sometimes.”

“I thought she talked to you.”

“She talked to me as much as she talked to anyone—which isn't saying a whole lot.” Beth put her finger to her lips. “Maybe you should go speak to Professor Fell.”

“Who's he?”

“Melissa's psych professor. She really liked him. If she confided in anyone, it would have been him.”

I
got Fell's extension from the university operator and called him on my cell phone when I got to my cab, but he wasn't in his office, so I left a message on his machine and drove back over to Schaefer. Maybe Missy's suitemates were in their rooms. As I maneuvered around the groups of students that insisted on stopping to talk in the middle of the street, I lit a cigarette and thought about what I'd learned so far. Four salient facts had emerged. Melissa was planning on eloping. Her brother hated her boyfriend. Her best friend had recently taken a header out the window and her mother lay dying in the hospital.

I'd say the girl's stress level was over a thousand. Given the circumstances, I could certainly see Missy taking that three hundred dollars and leaving town for a while. But Marks had said they'd checked the airport, and the bus and train stations, without turning up anything. Of course Missy could always have decided to hitch a ride and been unlucky enough to have been picked up by the wrong person. If that was true, what I was doing was pointless, but that was a thought I couldn't entertain. At least, not yet.

I sighed and flicked my cigarette out the window as I pulled up in front of Schaefer. When I was younger I thought that hope was the most important thing to have. Now I'm beginning to think that closure is. I parked in front of a fire hydrant and ran upstairs, but I could have saved myself the trouble, because Holland Adams and Brandy Weinstein still weren't in. I wrote a note on the back of one of my business cards telling them I'd be back, wedged it in the crack above the door lock, and drove to the store. The first thing I saw when I stepped inside was George.

He was leaning against the counter. His weight was on his right foot, while his left one was going up and down so fast, I wouldn't have been surprised if it wore a hole in the floor. I could feel the tension radiating from him from across the room. Less than twenty-four hours with Raymond, and he was wound as tight as the string on a top.

“Having a bad day?” I asked as I closed the door.

“Bad day doesn't begin to describe it,” George replied. He rubbed his forehead with his hand. “This whole day has been a total waste. I haven't gotten one thing done. Not one.” His tone was incredulous. For a control freak, this was truly a fate worse than death.

I glanced past George to Tim, who was standing a little ways off, out of George's line of sight. He looked relieved I was there. George had probably been regaling Tim with tales of Raymond's wrongdoings while he was waiting for me to return.

“I'm going to start writing out the signs for tomorrow's sale,” Tim told me, making his escape into the back room as quickly as possible.

Obviously, he didn't want to hear the story that was coming again. Something told me I didn't want to either.

“Aren't you going to ask me why?” George demanded before I could think of a way to get out of it.

“Of course.” I bent down to pet Zsa Zsa. Not that it would have mattered if I hadn't. George was so fired up, he'd be talking even if we were in the middle of a hurricane. I automatically pulled a small mat of hair off Zsa Zsa's front leg. She whined and licked my hand.

“Just getting Raymond ready to go to school this morning took me two hours.” George's voice rose in righteous wrath. “We were screaming at each other in the driveway. I finally had to pick him up and throw him in the car. I can't imagine what my neighbors thought. I wouldn't have blamed them if one of them had called it in.”

“If they have kids, they understand,” I assured him after I straightened up.

“None of their kids act like Raymond. I can tell you that. Then,” George continued, unwilling even to entertain the notion of the meager solace I was offering him, “just as I'm finally settling down in front of my computer and beginning to work on my paper—I've got my coffee to one side of me, my notes to the other”—he moved his hand to show me where everything had been—“and I'm calmed down from the morning—the nurse at Wellington High calls to tell me Raymond is sick and I should come and pick him up. Naturally I race down there. He's clutching his side. I think he has appendicitis.”

I took off my jacket and threw it behind the counter. “Let me guess. Nothing was wrong with him.”

“I should have had you go get him,” George replied, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable. “On the way to the doctor's he miraculously starts feeling better.”

“What did you do?”

George's scowl could have peeled the paint off the wall. “What do you think I did? I took him back and marched him right into the principal's office.” George chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Now he has Saturday school.”

Zsa Zsa stood up on her hind legs and clawed at my legs to get my attention. I rubbed her chest before replying. “Naturally, he thanked you for your kindness and attention.”

George slammed the counter with the palm of his hand. Zsa Zsa, startled by the noise, ran off. “That kid has to learn, and he's going to—one way or another—that, I can promise.”

“Learn what?”

“Why?” George demanded, glaring at me. “What would you have done?”

“Probably given him a break, taken him out to Friendly's, bought him a sundae.”

George stared at me as if I'd lost my mind. “As a reward for cutting school? Maybe when he fails out, I'll buy him a mountain bike.”

I ignored the sarcasm. “No. As a way to get to know him.” I knew I sounded self-righteous and smarmy, but I couldn't help myself. The words came out anyway.

“I think you're dead wrong.”

I shrugged. No surprise there. “Fine.”

“That's the kind of muzzy-headed ...”

“Liberal?” I supplied as I watched Tim come back out and start rooting around under the other side of counter for something.

“Yes,” George said, taking up where he'd left off. “Muzzy-headed liberal thinking I would have to put up with when I—”

“Ladies. Gentlemen,” Tim interrupted, straightening up. He was holding a packet of Magic Markers. “Enough.”

I brushed my hair out of my eyes. “Okay with me.”

“Me too,” George said even though I could tell he was itching to continue the conversation.

“One last thing,” I couldn't resist adding. I was beginning to understand how children can make relationships worse, not better.

“That would be a miracle,” George muttered.

I ignored the jibe. “I think you should get Raymond a pet, something he can take care of, something that will help—”

“I wouldn't even get him a goldfish right now,” George snapped. “I wouldn't get him a cricket. That kid wants something, he's going to have to earn it. You know,” George added, “contrary to what you believe, animals are not the solution for every problem.”

“I never said they were.”

We spent the next half hour arguing.

“Maybe things will calm down in a week or so,” Tim commented after George had left. He was making dinner for Raymond courtesy of Taco Bell.

“Actually,” I said as I glanced through the day's mail, “I think they're going to get worse.”

Tim made a popping sound with his mouth. “Why is that?”

“Because Raymond really wants to go home. I think he figures if he acts bad enough, George will put him back on the bus.”

“Will he?”

“I
probably would, but George is such a stubborn—”

“Determined. ”

“Same thing.”

Tim absentmindedly twirled the diamond stud in his ear. “I'm glad the kid isn't my problem.”

“I wish he weren't mine.”

“He's not.”

What Tim said was true. Up to a point. George and I weren't married—his family was his problem, not mine—but his problem was beginning to spill over into our relationship, which made it my problem too.

“Keep out of it,” Tim advised.

“I'm going to try.” I went into the back room to feed Zsa Zsa. Unfortunately, I didn't see how I was going to be able to.

I was trying out a sample of a brand of low-cal dog food I'd just gotten in, but I guess it wasn't very appetizing, because Zsa Zsa took one sniff, growled, and walked away. I was telling her she couldn't live on beer, pretzels, and Big Macs, when the phone rang. It was Mary Margaret Hayes, Bryan's mother. Her voice was low and I had to strain to hear. Her son had just told her he'd hired me, she said. That being the case, could I come over to Crouse tonight and talk?

I lied and told her I'd be happy to, even though I was tired and had been looking forward to going home after work, watching TV, taking a bath, and going to sleep. I spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening cleaning out the bird room, arguing with a sales rep about why I wasn't going to carry an all-natural kibble that retailed for thirty dollars a twenty-pound bag, recapturing two skinks that had escaped from their aquarium, and explaining to a man why a ten-foot ball python was not a good snake to start out with. By seven-thirty I'd managed to finish most of what I had to do, so I packed it in and Zsa Zsa and I headed for the hospital.

“Leaving?” Tim asked, looking up from the book he was reading as I got my backpack from behind the counter.

“Yes. ”

Tim grunted and turned a page.

“Is it good?”

“Very,” he replied, not bothering to look up.

As I headed toward the door, it occurred to me I didn't read anything but the newspaper anymore and that it was an activity I sorely missed. Then I realized that somewhere along the way I wasn't doing a lot of things I enjoyed anymore and that maybe it was time I got back to them.

Now, if I could just remember what they were.