CHAPTER FOUR

The Traylor home was a two-storied, rambling house of pale white brick. It wasn’t quite a McMansion, but it was close. The house sat on a tree-lined street in one of Wellman’s newest subdivisions, surrounded by thirty or so identical houses. Griffin parked in front of a two-car garage and stepped out of his truck. He was immediately assaulted by the late-August humidity, and he could feel a trickle of sweat on his back. He shook his head. Nine in the morning and the temperature was already eighty-eight degrees. Welcome to summertime in Georgia.

Griffin climbed three stairs to the front door and knocked. A moment later the door was opened by a tall man with thinning, sandy-blond hair and wire-rimmed glasses.

“Mister Griffin,” the man said. “I’m Paul Traylor. Thank you for coming.”

Traylor motioned for Griffin to enter and he stepped into the welcome oasis of air conditioning. Traylor said, “Amazing how hot it is this early, eh?”

“It is,” said Griffin, following Traylor into a tastefully furnished living room. Everything was done in pastels and shades of gray. Soothing. Griffin sat on the edge of a gray chair and Traylor took the couch across from him.

Traylor said, “My wife Claire may join us, or she may not. She’s extremely upset as you can imagine.”

Griffin nodded. “You said your daughter has disappeared. Any theories at all as to where she’s gone?”

“She ran away,” Traylor said. “Beyond that, I haven’t a clue.”

“But you’re sure she ran away?”

“Lynn’s suitcase is gone and some of her clothes.”

“Sounds like you’re right then. Can you think of any reason she would run away, Mister Traylor?”

Traylor slumped back on the couch. “Meaning were we having any trouble at home. Fights and such.”

“I have to ask.”

“Of course. Well here’s the odd thing, Mister Griffin. Had you asked me that three months ago I’d have said yes, we were having problems. Lynn is sixteen and for the last year she’s been the stereotype of the difficult teenage girl. She got into a Goth phase. You know what that’s like?”

“I do,” said Griffin, thinking of Charon.

“She and her mother were fighting all the time and there were all kinds of problems, but then out of the blue it just all cleared up. Lynn stopped hanging around with her Goth friends and started dressing normally. Her grades improved and she suddenly seemed focused. Her mother and I were mystified, but obviously pleased.”

“You’ve no idea what brought about the change?”

“None. If we asked Lynn about it she would just smile and say she had just learned what was important in life. That was all we could get out of her. Since things were going well and she seemed happy, we didn’t press her.”

“Had she made any new friends by chance? Anyone who could have influenced her?”

“None that we knew of. She didn’t bring anyone home, as far as that goes. Thinking back, I probably should have paid more attention to where she was in the afternoons and evenings. But she wasn’t staying out late, and as I said, she seemed more normal than she had in a long time.”

Griffin said, “I’ll be honest with you. Finding missing persons is something the police are very good at. They have the resources and the manpower. I’m not sure you need a private investigator at this point.”

Traylor waved a hand as if dismissing Griffin’s remark. “I’ve already spoken to the Wellman police Chief. He said he’d put the wheels in motion, but he warned me that runaways aren’t classified as ‘critical missing persons’ unless there’s evidence the kid’s life is in danger.”

“That’s standard procedure. If she’s gone for much longer he’ll contact state authorities and the various organizations for missing children.”

“I know all that. Thing is, Mister Griffin, I’m a man who believes in doing everything he can. Don’t let my apparent calm fool you. My little girl is missing and my guts are churning. You were recommended to me by a business associate and he said you got things done.”

“Can you tell me who it was that recommended me?”

“He asked me not to use his name, but he said you helped him in a hostage situation once.”

Griffin had a good idea of who Traylor was talking about, and that meant Traylor traveled in some interesting circles. “What sort of business are you in, Mister Traylor?”

“Stocks and bonds. On an international scale. I get things done too. I’m not used to twiddling my thumbs when something goes wrong.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do. I’d like to have a look at Lynn’s room if I could. And I’ll need a recent photograph.”

“I’ll take you to her room right now.” Traylor rose and Griffin followed him back into the front hall. They went up a flight of stairs and down a long hallway. Lynn’s room was large and built on one corner of the house.

“I’ll leave you to look around,” Traylor said. “And I’ll go find you a picture of Lynn.”

Griffin walked slowly, letting his gaze sweep the room. Pastels predominated here as well. The girl had apparently liked to read, as there were two bookshelves against one wall. The bed was neatly made and a poster for the movie Twilight hung on the wall behind it.

Griffin crossed to a chest of drawers and began going through them, carefully looking under all the expected contents. Nothing of interest. No drugs, condoms, or anything else that might give a clue to what had caused Lynn Traylor to take off.

In the closet, clothes hung in neat rows. Shoes lined up on the floor. Either the reformed Lynn really was a neat freak or her mother did her cleaning. Taller than most people, Griffin was able to look on the closet’s upper shelf without needing something to stand on. He saw a small cardboard box in the back corner behind some bedding and lifted it out.

He sat on the bed and opened the box. Not much to see. Some CDs. A few pictures of a blonde girl in black clothes and fishnets. Lynn as a Goth? Another young girl was in most of the pictures. She had raven dark hair cut punk-rocker short and sported a nose ring.

“Find something?” Traylor said as he came back into the room.

“Maybe.” Griffin held up one of the photos of both girls. “I assume this is Lynn and one of her Goth-phase friends.”

Traylor looked at the picture. “Yes, that’s Irene... Candler or Chandler. Something like that. They were really tight until Lynn gave up the black nail polish and fishnets.”

“Do you know if they were still in touch?”

“I don’t think so, but I’m not sure.” He held out the picture he had brought. “Here’s a recent picture of Lynn. You can see what she looks like without all the mascara.”

The photograph showed an attractive girl with a narrow face and a high forehead. She was wearing a pale pink sweater over a white, button down shirt. About as far as one could get from the girl in the other pictures. “She’s a pretty girl. If anyone has seen her, they’ll remember her.”

Traylor nodded, but said nothing. For the first time Griffin thought he could see a break in the man’s calm exterior. Griffin looked back in the box to give Traylor a moment. A bit of lavender colored plastic under the other objects caught his attention. He fished it out. It was a plastic bag. The logo was familiar. It read: Baba Yaga’s.

Traylor said, “That’s some store over in Gatesville. Lynn used to beg her mother to drive her over there. I think it’s some kind of occult book store.”

“I know the place,” Griffin said.

“That’s right. Your office is in Gatesville.”

“It is, but I’m living here in Wellman now.”

“Like I said, Lynn gave up the Goth thing. You think someone at that store might know something that would help?”

“You never know.”