Chapter 5

 

“It was awful,” I told Elsa.

We’d escaped police headquarters—with another dire warning from Ben Ortiz about keeping quiet—and made our way home, where Paul, Lorraine and Elsa waited.

“The attorney says we’ll issue a public statement in the morning. Meanwhile, we aren’t to answer the phone or the door to anyone who isn’t a close friend or relative.” I stared into the refrigerator, heedless of the cold air and waste of electricity, feeling that I should be coming up with food for the group.

Ron had gone into the guest room to shower and change clothes. Drake was outside, having said something about making sure our vehicles were locked.

“The attorney’s advice is surely for the best, dear,” Elsa said.

At this moment I had no idea what was for the best. Dusk had fallen quickly and Lorraine had dropped the hint that her kids were hungry. I didn’t have a scrap of appetite and knew Drake and Ron felt the same way because we’d discussed it on the way home.

Lorraine bustled into the kitchen, on her way to the back door, a twenty dollar bill in hand. “Annie texted. They’ve given up on us and ordered themselves a pizza.”

I hadn’t even thought to ask where Annie and Joe were. Obviously, they were doing a better job of focusing on dinner than I was.

“We all had chile three hours ago,” Elsa reminded. “I couldn’t hold another bite.”

“Okay, then. Anyone who’s hungry can join the kids.” I said in a half-hearted effort to simply get the problem solved. I closed the fridge door and turned toward the living room.

Paul had slumped into my favorite corner of the sofa, taking possession of Drake’s TV remote as if he actually lived here. Ron emerged from the guest room wearing the jeans and rugby shirt he’d had on last night, and in one of those horrible bad-coincidence moments the six o’clock news blared forth with the lead story: “An Albuquerque woman is missing, on what would have been her wedding night. No one is saying the fiancé, Ron Parker, is a suspect yet, but defense attorney Ben Ortiz was at the man’s side this afternoon at police headquarters.”

I froze. Ron froze.

Drake stepped inside with, “Did you know there’s a—” He stopped midsentence and took in the scene. “—news van outside?”

Ron headed for the front window.

“Don’t do it,” Drake said. He pulled the drapes shut. “They’re already setting up cameras.”

“I’m gonna tell them—”

But Drake grabbed his arm, reminding him what Ben Ortiz had said earlier.

“Shh,” I hissed. “Let’s listen.”

Channel 12 finished with a short clip of Blake Moore standing in front of the building where we’d been this afternoon, footage obviously taken shortly after we’d bolted. As is too often the case no real news was given, just a lot of speculation about what authorities may be investigating. As far as I could tell, their only hard facts were that police were called to Victoria’s home this morning when the bride-to-be was reported missing and the fiancé had been questioned. Of course, those tidbits were bad enough. Our phone immediately rang.

“Don’t answer it,” Drake advised. “It’s probably reporters from other stations.”

A sinking feeling hit the pit of my stomach. How could our lives have changed so much in the last twelve hours?

I heard a sound at the back door and immediately felt myself go on the attack. But when I raced in there, ready to bean some reporter with my handy brass candlestick, it turned out to be Lorraine, looking clueless as ever.

“Who wants pizza?” she offered. “We ordered two but you better get there before it’s been devoured.”

“You’ll have to ask the others,” I said. With an iron grip on her arm, I gave her the twenty-second version of how we needed to lock ourselves in and not answer doorbells or calls.

“Seriously? Even at Elsa’s place?”

“Especially at Elsa’s place. They’ll try their best to get the neighbors to talk to them. Do not do it!”

“Thank goodness the pizza guy got through before all this happened.”

Whatever. I followed her into the living room, where Paul was the only person interested in eating. Repeating my warnings, I saw the two of them out the back door and locked it behind them. We agreed that anyone wanting to go between the two houses should call ahead and we’d each do our best to sneak through the hedge in the dark of night.

The TV was off when I went back to the living room with Ron, Drake and Elsa sitting in gloomy lumps on the couch.

I joined them. “I feel like we have to do something. We can’t just let this whole thing happen without taking any action.”

“You three weren’t here for the chile earlier. You need food,” Elsa announced. “No wonder you have no energy.”

She got up, went to the kitchen and I heard cupboard doors opening and closing.

“She’s right.” I followed, discovering she’d already located fruit, cheese and crackers.

“It’s not the wedding buffet but at least it might give you the energy to think straight.” Once again I knew why I adored this lady.

We called the men and all sat around the kitchen table. Ron looked like an already-condemned man; Drake kept sending glances my way, silently asking how to handle this. I hadn’t a clue. Luckily, Elsa began to recover first.

“I say we spend the evening making posters with her picture. We’ll go around all over town tomorrow putting them up.”

It felt a little embarrassing that a private investigator, a search-and-rescue pilot and little old me had not thought of this much earlier.

“All we need is a good picture of her,” I said. “I can lay out a flyer on the computer and I’d bet Drake would let us have some of his office paper.”

“Take all you want.” At least we had a few bright eyes around the table as enthusiasm picked up.

“While I’m doing the computer stuff, Ron, you and Drake start calling her friends.”

The plateful of cheese and crackers quickly disappeared as we now had tasks ahead of us. The phone had not stopped ringing since the news story hit the airwaves and, much as I hated to, I volunteered to listen to the messages. One of them could be from a friend who knew something or, ideally, maybe we would hear from Victoria herself.

Even as I had that thought, I knew better. Vic would have called Ron’s cell phone if she was able to. Second choice would probably be mine. Both of those had stayed dreadfully quiet. As I listened, Drake’s earlier statement proved to be true. Seventeen messages were from media people, from the four local stations, two national networks, and a handful of newspapers. I dutifully jotted down all the names and numbers—we couldn’t know yet whether any of them might actually be of help.

Elsa cleared the plates away while I booted up Drake’s office computer. Ron had dozens of pictures on his phone and we quickly chose a couple that looked most like Victoria in natural light with a pose that wasn’t overdone. I soon had the facts and phone numbers typed below it and started the printer to crank out a few dozen. If this thing went on longer than a day or so (heaven forbid) we could have hundreds more done up at a print shop.

“Okay, thanks,” Ron was saying to his cell phone. By the look on his face, I knew it was another disappointing call.

“Here’s a list of the people I’ve called,” he said, handing it over to me. “Everyone wants to help but no one’s seen her.”

“Most of these would have been at the wedding,” I said.

My throat tightened at the thought—Ron and Victoria’s big day ruined, the friends and family disappointed, the unopened gifts, the uncut cake still sitting on my dining table, her gown. I wondered if the police had taken it away or just left it there in its sad heap of fairy-princess white. I suppressed a sniffle and pretended I had an urgent need for the bathroom.

“I can try a couple of her clients,” Ron was saying as I ducked out.

When I returned after a stern lecture to myself about holding it together, Elsa had found thumb tacks and tape, and had set them beside a nice stack of flyers on the table. We would be ready to hit the streets first thing in the morning.

“Okay, thanks,” Ron said to the phone. “If you think of anything she might have said in recent days, any ideas where she might have gone, please give me a call.” He gave the number for our office as well as his cell phone.

Drake handed me his written list of calls, mostly names Ron had provided, people I didn’t know personally. I felt myself spiraling downward again, wondering what else we could do. The thought that nothing could be done hung at the periphery but I refused to let it take hold.

By nine o’clock we’d cross-checked our call lists and compared notes, all with no results. I wanted to snatch up the phone book and start with the A’s to dial every household in the city, but realized that would not only be futile but rather rude. I peeked around the edge of the drapes to find that there were now three news vans out front.

“I’d better walk Elsa home,” I said. Having my elderly neighbor caught in the glare of those awful lights was unthinkable. Plus, I needed to reiterate some things to the rest of the gang. Who knew what two pubescent kids who thrived on reality TV might do when someone turned a camera and microphone on them?

“Of course we know better than to talk to the press,” Paul said, a little indignantly, when I brought it up to the little family I’d assembled in Elsa’s living room.

“I’m just saying. No talking to anyone about any aspect of this. Our attorney will be giving a statement in the morning and that’s that.” I aimed my words toward thirteen-year-old Annie who, alarmingly, seemed more titillated than horrified by what we were going through.

The kid had never shown me a lot of respect, but Paul and Lorraine both promised to rule with an iron hand. Since they’d never done this in the past, it was with a lot of trepidation I left and tippy-toed through the break in the hedge to my own back door.

The men were on the sofa, their cell phones sitting dark and silent on the coffee table in front of them, glasses of Scotch resting on coasters. Maybe it was a sign that Ron was beginning to unwind a little.

“Elsa said something to me while she was stacking those fliers earlier,” Drake said after offering me a drink. (I opted for the wine.) “She asked if Victoria had always lived in Albuquerque.”

“She has.” Ron didn’t even look up from his lap.

“I suppose we could try going way back in her past,” I said. “See if she’s been in touch with old school chums or previous co-workers?”

This time Ron did look up. “I wouldn’t know where to start. Ever since she opened her own business, it’s all been about clients and suppliers. It’s been years since she worked for an employer and she rarely talks about her childhood. All I know is that her mother raised her alone and died fairly young.”

“Maybe Kent Taylor will let us get to her business files so we can search out some more names.” Drake offered the idea but I had my doubts.

If Taylor had any reason to believe Victoria’s disappearance was tied to her business, he’d have already confiscated those files.