“Yes.” Jack tapped the eraser end of a pencil against his desk. Talking to Gianna on the phone was the main reason he kept pencils around. Most of the time he didn’t sharpen them. His own wife’s name on his caller ID made him jumpy, never sure whether she was calling about something ordinary or because he had disappointed her in a new way. Or an old way. Tapping an eraser she wouldn’t hear helped even his mood.
“So you’ll be home by seven?” Gianna said.
“Yes.” Tap. Tap. Tap. “Absolutely. I just have a few loose ends to tidy up while things are fresh in my mind.”
“Good. We can have a family dinner.”
Moving to Hidden Falls eight months ago had made Gianna Parker hunker down into domestic aspirations. Jack hadn’t thought it possible. No longer was it enough for the five Parkers to eat together a couple of times a week. Now Gianna aimed for five nights out of seven. And picking up take-out wasn’t good enough anymore, either. She had untethered a vast range of recipes and let them loose on her unsuspecting husband and children. Jack tried to be grateful. He knew plenty of lawyers who would have grabbed at a chance for a home-cooked meal at a table at seven rather than food they unwrapped to eat at their desks at nine o’clock at night.
But would they feel the same way if it meant practicing law in a small town like Hidden Falls?
Yesterday had been a throwaway day as far as his practice. He couldn’t point to one thing he’d accomplished to further his career. But it wasn’t a throwaway day for his family. Jack spent the afternoon with his youngest daughter looking for her lost puppy, and it turned into a day he wouldn’t trade for anything short of being exonerated from the career gaffe in Memphis that had exiled him to Hidden Falls. He’d taken Brooke to school this morning and wondered what it might be like to take her every day.
Jack had told Gianna the truth about having a few things to tidy up before he could leave. He reached for the yellow legal pad where he had made his list after he left the mayor’s office that morning. He’d written four names.
One of the private investigators Jack’s Memphis firm frequently hired.
A friend in the sheriff’s office in Memphis who primarily pursued missing persons cases.
A paralegal still employed by the Atlanta firm where Jack worked before Memphis, with a nose that could have made him an investigator if he wanted to be one.
A law school classmate who’d recently joined the staff of the Cook County State’s Attorney’s Office. Jack figured it could help to talk to someone in the State of Illinois, a conversation that might lead to someone closer to Hidden Falls who might have some inkling of how to get things done more efficiently.
So far Jack was underwhelmed at the efforts of the local sheriff’s office, and if the sheriff in Birch Bend didn’t stop farming out the work to low-levels like Cooper Elliott, Jack didn’t see how the case of Quinn’s disappearance would ever be solved.
He’d spent the entire afternoon strewing messages from Atlanta to Chicago. In the late afternoon the cryptic responses began.
The Memphis investigator asked a part-time clerical support person to call Jack and tell him she didn’t have time for any uncompensated cases right now.
“Who said anything about ‘uncompensated’?” Jack had snapped at the young woman.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Parker.”
Jack hadn’t pushed back. He knew what kind of fees private investigators commanded if they knew what they were doing, and he didn’t have that kind of money to spend on a case without a paying client to bill.
The friend in the Memphis sheriff’s office sent an e-mail saying that without more proof that the individual in question was actually missing or had fallen victim to a crime, it was probably too soon to worry about looking for an adult. His caseload, he said, was full of children who didn’t come home from the playground—and besides, he couldn’t offer much assistance from another state. He claimed he didn’t have the necessary connections in Illinois.
The paralegal in Atlanta rattled off a series of starting points for a search—public records, eyewitnesses, coworkers. He said nothing imaginative—leaving Jack wondering if he had overestimated the man’s abilities all these years—and his tone made clear he wasn’t supposed to be talking to Jack. What exactly had the Atlanta partners said to the staff after Jack’s departure?
Jack picked up his desk phone. He could make one last call to his buddy in Chicago. Certainly the fact that they both had joined the Illinois bar would provide a starting point of conversation if Jack could just catch him. It was only a little after six—early for someone in the state’s attorney’s office to quit for the day but late enough that the person who answered his phone during business hours might be gone.
His hunch paid off when he heard “Doug Davies” in his ear.
“Doug! Jack Parker here.”
“Oh. Hi, Jack. Sorry I haven’t had time to get back to you today.”
“No problem. I’m just glad I caught you now.” Jack gave the bare facts of the case as he knew them, beginning with Quinn’s disappearance and on through his smashed car, Sylvia’s vandalized shop, and Dani’s sabotaged rowboat.
“I’d like to help, Jack,” Doug said, “but it’s not a state’s attorney’s kind of case. Coincidence is not the same as causation, as you know.”
“You have to admit it’s peculiar,” Jack said. “Why should a little town like Hidden Falls suddenly have so much excitement?”
“I don’t really do small towns.”
Jack heard Doug shuffling papers in the background. “Come on, buddy. I’m sure if you put your thinking cap on, you can give me a name I can call.”
“’Fraid not. It sounds like petty crime to me, if that, and you should just let the system play out. I can’t get involved in overriding a local sheriff’s investigation.”
“It’s not much of an investigation.”
“Sorry, Jack. Call me if you ever come to Chicago. We’ll have lunch.”
The call disconnected, and Jack dropped the receiver into its cradle. He had expected more from Doug Davies.
Jack checked the time displayed on the base of the desk phone. He had his car in town today, so he could wait until the last minute and still be home by seven. He never should have promised the mayor he could make some calls. He should have just made them. If they’d turned up someone actually interested in helping solve small-town mysteries, Jack would have gotten what he wanted from the effort without the egg on his face. He kicked the side of his desk, and it was no accident.
Jack went through the motions of packing a briefcase, an old habit more than necessity. He had a commercial real estate contract to review at the request of a farmer who didn’t want to be swindled by the developer buying his land. And a woman from a town beyond the county line outside Birch Bend had sought Jack out to ask questions about a legal separation—without being seen doing so by anyone who knew her. He had taken notes on their conversation about marital assets. People around Hidden Falls expected a lawyer to be a generalist. While Jack was sure he could handle filing for a separation, he had done very little family law in Atlanta or Memphis. Even if he had, he would have to read up on the Illinois statutes.
Small potatoes. How was this ever going to be enough?
In the hall outside his office, Jack ran into Liam Elliott. “Heading out with that fiancée of yours?”
“I wish.” Liam ran his hands through his hair. “I still have a lot to do tonight. I’m just going over to Main Street to get some dinner and bring it back.”
“I’ll walk over with you,” Jack said.
Seven o’clock was far enough off that he could come back for his car. Jack had known a lot of nervous people in his law career. Either Liam was one of them, or Jack was no judge of character at all.
“Business is good?” Jack asked as they fell into stride.
“Business is. . .complicated.” Liam scratched the back of his head.
Yep. Nervous. But why?
Jack didn’t care why. Innocence, guilt, motivation. None of it mattered. Nervous people needed bulldog attorneys.
“I don’t think we’ve ever exchanged cards.” Jack casually reached into his breast pocket. “Obviously you know where to find me, just down the hall, but it can’t hurt to have me in your contacts.”
Jack waited for the hesitation that often came when he offered his card. Either people couldn’t imagine needing an attorney or they didn’t want him in particular. Jack was used to seeing people take his card and drop it in a purse or briefcase without even pretending to be interested in his services.
But Liam read the business card and carefully tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Thanks.”
They turned onto Main Street beside the barbershop.
“I think I’ll stop for a paper,” Jack said. He would play this cool and reel Liam in at the right moment. “Get food you like for dinner. If you have to work late, you should at least enjoy something about your evening. Listen to the voice of experience.”
Jack ducked into the barbershop, where he’d risked having his hair cut a few times, and waved at Henry Healy getting a trim in one of the three barber chairs.
Trace Hulett, the barber, made a couple of snips. “I’m getting ready to close up.”
“No problem. I just came in for a newspaper.” Jack picked up a copy of the Dispatch from the stack on the counter and left fifty cents.
Outside, he opened the paper, which he read more for amusement than information. The paper came out on Tuesdays but was printed on Monday nights. This edition had headlines about the failed banquet on Saturday night, the unknown driver of Quinn’s crashed car, and the vandalism and theft at the mayor’s bookshop. Marv Stanford was probably kicking rocks at the missed opportunity to cover the damage to Dani’s boat while it was fresh. It would be old news by next Tuesday.
It all would.
Jack leaned against the building, scanning the newspaper’s columns and finding nothing he hadn’t already heard by roaming the sidewalks. Voices approached, and Jack looked up to see Sylvia Alexander and Cooper Elliott, their arms full of food bags.
“Evening,” he said.
“Hello, Jack,” they said in unison. Both seemed equally surprised to see him there.
“Did Lauren tell you about Nicole’s ankle?” Jack said. “I took them to the hospital.”
“Yes,” Sylvia said. “We’re just heading up to Lauren’s with some food.”
“I haven’t forgotten about making those calls,” Jack said. “I’m still following up on a few things.”
“What calls?” Cooper held open the door to the hall leading to apartments above the barber and newspaper shops.
“Jack thought he might know some people who could help us.” Sylvia shifted the load in her arms.
“I see.” Cooper looked at Jack. “Our investigation is progressing satisfactorily, if not as rapidly as some might hope.”
Sylvia elbowed Cooper. “Jack’s only trying to help.”
“That’s right.” Jack folded the newspaper in half.
“Dani’s fine,” Sylvia said, “at least we think she is. We found someone who spoke to her this morning. She wasn’t in the boat when it went over the falls.”
“That’s good news.” Jack returned Cooper’s glare. “Do you have a suspect for that crime, or has it fallen into the same category as the others?”
Cooper cleared his throat. “As you know, the legal system runs on evidence. We’re not in the habit of making accusations prematurely.”
Jack stuck his tongue into a cheek.
“I’m sure you have matters in your own practice to attend to,” Cooper said. “You don’t have to feel any obligation to meddle in the sheriff’s affairs.”
Sylvia went through the door Cooper held open. Cooper followed without looking over his shoulder at Jack.
Meddle.
Jack wadded up the worthless newsprint people in Hidden Falls thought passed as a newspaper and stuffed it in a trashcan.