Layover

by David Bell

  “This is why you ran? Because you took a ring worth a lot of money, and you think this guy is really going to bring the hammer down on you with the police?”

  She nodded, finished her beer, and stared at the empty bottle in her hand. “Maybe later, one of us—and by one of us I mean you—might have to go out and get us something else to drink.”

  “Will you be hungry?” I asked.

  “Hungry? In a way.” She put the bottle down on the floor, then reached over and placed her hand on my knee, just rested it there. Her touch hit me like a shock, one that traveled through my body with a crackling jolt. “It’s good to finally tell someone about this. Finally. You know, it’s not the police so much. And it’s not me I’m worried about. It’s my mom.”

  “Right. Cancer?”

  “Yes. And I’m the only one who can take care of her. If anything happens to me . . . if I get in trouble . . .”

  “Who’s with her now?” I asked.

  “She’s being cared for. My mom and I . . . We’ve had a complicated relationship. But we’re working on it now. I don’t want that to slip away. But if I go back . . .”

  “You might get in trouble.”

  “I will get in trouble. Or . . .”

  “Or what?” I asked.

  “There’s something else.”

  “Okay, what is it?” I asked.

  “After I took the ring and left the house . . . Well, my boss has this brother. I’d met him at a couple of work functions. You know, the office holiday party and stuff like that. He was kind of weird, like my boss, but so what. Right?”

  “What does he have to do with this?”

  “Yesterday, while I was out of town, the brother showed up at the hospice facility where my mom is staying. He was looking for me, I assume, but I wasn’t there.”

  “Where were you?” I asked. “Why were you flying through Atlanta?”

  She sighed, but she told me. “I have an aunt who lives in Norfolk. Virginia. My mom’s sister. They’ve been estranged, but I flew there to tell her about how bad my mom’s condition has become. And because I wanted her to come and help. To visit and sit with her as things, you know, get near the end. Since I might be in this trouble . . . I wanted to make sure Mom wouldn’t be alone.”

  “Sounds like it didn’t work.”

  “It didn’t. Aunt Linda . . . Well, she’s not budging.”

  “So, what about your boss’s brother?” I asked.

  “Okay. He came to the hospice, and he really wanted the ring. He told my mom how much it meant to him and to the family. That it belonged to his mother and I needed to give it back.”

  “If you’d been there, you could have done it right then,” I said. “Just handed it to the brother.”

  Morgan turned to me quickly. “That’s not helpful. If I’d been there . . . who knows what he would have done? The guy scares me. And my mother.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll keep my retroactive suggestions to myself.”

  She calmed a little. “Sure, now I wish I’d been able to give it back. But I couldn’t. And then . . . the brother told my mom if I didn’t give the ring back and come clean, something bad would happen to me. And to her.” She lifted her hand to her head as though she’d been struck by a piercing pain. The strain, the fear, was etched on her face.

  “You didn’t tell the police?” I asked. Then I figured it out before she spoke. “If you’d told the police, then you’d be admitting the crime. But if you don’t tell the police, you worry your mom is in jeopardy.”

  “I am worried about her,” she said. “That’s why I’m here. The brother scared the hell out of me. The more I thought about it, the more I worried about what he might do. To me. Or to Mom.”

  “Aren’t you worried he might try again?” I asked. “Go back to the hospice or whatever?”

  “That’s why . . . I’m trying to take care of things. I’m gambling that he won’t go back. And that he’ll have enough decency not to harass my dying mother.” Morgan groaned, then shook her head. “It’s a risk, sure. But she’s getting round-the-clock care. It was a struggle getting her admitted in the first place. She only has weeks left. She may not last the month. The last few days have been hard; they’ve taken something out of her. I came to Wyckoff because I thought I could make it right.”

  “Make it right here?” I asked. “How?”

  “I want to end it, once and for all.”

  “But I don’t understand. . . . What’s here?”

  I looked down. Her hand had inched halfway up my thigh. I swallowed hard, my mind unable to think about much else.

  I reached down, placed my hand on top of hers. She smiled at me, then adjusted her grip so our fingers intertwined.

  “I think if you go home and come clean,” I said, “then nothing too bad will happen. They’re not going to send you to prison over this ring. Talk to a lawyer. Tell them about the stress and strain of caring for your mother. Say you need to help her. Plead for mercy.”

  Her grip tightened on my hand. “They have money. He does. And power. I just don’t know if any of it can go the right way for me.”

  “It can. It will.” I started to move away, reaching into my pocket for my phone. “You could call right now. Call the police or a lawyer and explain everything to them. You could go to the cops here in Wyckoff and start the process. They could tell you what to do—”

  She shook her head. “No, no.” She reached out and placed her long index finger over my lips. “Let’s just . . . let’s just not think about that tonight.” She stopped shaking her head and her eyes bored in on mine. “Tomorrow, okay? It will be okay until tomorrow.”

  And then she leaned toward me. We moved closer to each other.

  And then we were kissing again. It was as good as it had been in the airport bar. Better.

  Our lips pressed, our tongues found each other. Our hands explored.

  Tomorrow.

  Morgan was right.

  It could all wait until tomorrow.

  29

  Kimberly parked in front of the imposing brick house in Laurel Falls. She checked the clock on the dash before turning the car off: 7:43. She reminded herself not to think about what she could have been doing with Maria if the day had been normal. Going home early, cooking a good meal, talking about school over dinner . . .

  Maria would do all of those things, and she’d have a perfectly pleasant evening. She would just do them with Peter instead of with her. And that was fine. Absolutely fine.

  Kimberly told herself that over and over. She was still trying to convince herself when the phone rang before she could get out of the car. “Hello, Brandon. Aren’t you supposed to be at home?”

  “I’m on my way,” he said. “But I wanted to give you an update on our mystery man, Joshua Fields.”

  “What about him?” she asked as she silently thanked the officers of the Nashville airport for taking down the man’s information. The man who kissed and then followed Morgan Reynolds onto her flight to Tennessee.

  “Nothing too exciting. Clean record. Twenty-six years old. Works in commercial real estate. His dad’s company. He lives in Chicago, a neighborhood called Rogers Park. I guess he’s a big-city boy.”

  “And you haven’t been able to get hold of him?” Kimberly asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Anything on social media?” she asked.

  “Nothing. No connection to Morgan Reynolds. No indication they knew each other.”

  “But this guy Fields travels a lot for work?”

  “All over, it looks like.”

  “So they could have met,” Kimberly said. “Somewhere. Otherwise why is this guy running around with her when she’s missing?”

  “You don’t believe his story? That he just met her in the airport?”

  “I don’t know.” T
he wheels turned in Kimberly’s mind. “It’s weird. You think Giles Caldwell and Morgan Reynolds could have been involved? A boss and an employee running off together? Older man, younger woman? It happens.”

  “Kind of gross. But, yes, it happens.”

  “He’s not that old,” Kimberly said. “Well, keep trying. Short of that, we’ll keep talking to people they know. Thanks, Brandon. Now you really should head home.”

  “You don’t need help with these interviews?”

  “Only a few more left. Tell Marcie hello. And kiss the baby for me.”

  “You should come over and see him again. Anytime you want.”

  “As soon as things quiet down, I will. I promise.”

  She hung up and stepped into the cool evening air. The sun had disappeared, leaving the sky dark, the stars popping into view one by one. She heard the voices of kids from a distant yard, shouts and yelps as their games wound down for the night. Free-range kids playing something wild and unstructured, a rarity these days.

  The neighborhood was certainly safe, a recently built subdivision for the upper middle class. No interlopers here, no obvious dangers. The yards were all uniformly neat, the bushes trimmed, the minivans and SUVs washed and waxed. No cops lived there, no firefighters or factory workers. Kimberly thought again of her career choices, couldn’t imagine the job she’d need in order to land in one of these houses. She couldn’t imagine the man she would have to marry to keep her there either. Peter was a lawyer, but he worked nonprofit. That meant he did okay, but not okay enough to buy into that neighborhood.

  She walked up the drive and approached the front door. The house glowed from the inside. The lights were bright, the windows clean. She smelled fresh-cut grass and the lingering odor of grilled meat, which made her stomach rumble. She looked through the big window by the front door and, seeing no one, rang the bell. It chimed through the house, loud and long, needing the extra volume and length to reach all corners of what must have been close to four thousand square feet.

  It didn’t take long for a figure to emerge. Kimberly had called, asked if she could come by. The door swung inward, and a young, smiling face greeted her. Mid-twenties, pretty, blond hair pulled back. Her snug jeans were perfectly tucked into tall boots, the zipper on her hoodie expertly placed midchest to reveal the low-cut T-shirt underneath.

  “Hi. Detective Givens?”

  Kimberly flashed her badge. “Ashley Clarke?”

  “Come on in.”

  Kimberly followed her into a high-ceilinged entryway. The chandelier above glowed like the sun. Kimberly looked around, saw no discarded shoes, no dropped jackets. All of that would be out of sight, in the garage or in a mudroom at the back of the house. People who lived like this had whole rooms for their junk and debris.

  “Thanks for making time for me,” Kimberly said. “I know it’s getting late.”

  “I just put the baby down, and my husband will be home from work soon. He got held up. Again.” She rolled her eyes. “So this is great.”

  Ashley sounded breathless, happy. Excited about everything. And why not? She was a stunning young woman with a wealthy husband and a new baby. Kimberly would arrest the kid if she weren’t happy.

  They left the foyer for a sitting room that looked unused. Ashley took a spot on the couch, and Kimberly settled into a love seat that felt stiff beneath her butt. She spotted a photo of Ashley with her baby and her husband on a small end table. He looked like the handsome star of a toothpaste ad. She’d dealt with so many losers and abusers and dead enders that she’d forgotten people like that even existed. People who shined. People for whom the road of life stretched ahead without so much as a pothole in the way.

  “You wanted to know something about Morgan?” Ashley confidently held Kimberly’s gaze as she asked the question, but after she spoke, her top teeth—straight and white—settled on her bottom lip and remained there, digging in. Nobody ever felt truly at ease when a cop showed up at their house.

  “You’re friends with her. Right?”

  “Yes. Well, used to be, I guess.”

  “Used to be?”

  “She moved away,” Ashley said. “And Brianna is nine months old. She doesn’t allow me time for much else.”

  “Ah, I remember those days. I have a daughter too.”

  Ashley’s face relaxed. She stopped gnawing her lip. “How old is your daughter?”

  “Twelve. She’s a little more challenging than an infant.”

  “I bet. I remember the way I used to talk to my mom.” She made an exaggerated frown. “I guess I need to prepare for that.”

  “Someday,” Kimberly said, projecting a smile, glad to see Ashley relax a little. “So, Morgan Reynolds. You’re not as close as you once were. But you were friends at one time?”

  “Oh, yeah. We met a couple of years ago. We went to the same gym. This was before I got married, before the baby. We’re the same age, so we started hanging out. We weren’t superclose but there was a group of us who went out for drinks after work. Or we exercised together. I guess most of us have been getting married, and even having babies now.” Ashley leaned forward, tilting her head down, a strand of hair swinging loose across her face. “Is what they’re saying on Facebook true? Is she really missing?”

  “We’re trying to figure all that out. So tell me, did anything unusual happen before she moved away?”

  Ashley shook her head. She sat back, brushed the loose strand away, and placed the tip of her index finger in her mouth as she thought about it. Kimberly waited patiently. And then she realized Ashley might be closer in age to Maria than to herself.

  Ouch.

  “Not really. I only saw her once right before she moved.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  Ashley’s face scrunched. “A few months at least. And we didn’t talk long. I ran into her at the grocery store. I hadn’t seen her in a while. And when I said she could come out to the house and see Brianna, she told me she was moving. She’d quit her job and was heading down to Nashville. She said her mom was sick.”

  Ashley’s face remained scrunched.

  “What is it?” Kimberly asked.

  “She went to school at Henry Clay. I went to Centre College, over in Danville. I guess I don’t know when or why her mom moved to Nashville. But maybe I’m not remembering that right. Morgan’s from Wyckoff, right?”

  “She is. Originally. Did she talk about her job at all? Why she was quitting?”

  “No. She said she just needed a change. I thought she was doing really well there. She worked a lot, which is why I didn’t see her much. And she was developing apps. I figured she had it all.”

  “Did she ever talk about her boss? Giles Caldwell?”

  “Not that I can remember.” Then recognition spread across Ashley’s face. Her mouth formed a small, perfect O. “He’s the guy who’s missing, right? And Morgan . . . you think . . .”

  “I don’t know if there’s any connection yet. But Morgan never mentioned him?”

  “I don’t remember her saying anything about him.”

  “Did she ever talk about her boss’s brother? Simon Caldwell?”

  “I don’t know that name either.”

  “Her coworkers?” Kimberly asked. “Anyone at the company?”

  “Just in passing. That was it.”

  “A boyfriend? A girlfriend?”

  “No one serious. Just, you know, guys. A date here or there.”

  “So, you say she never mentioned Giles Caldwell or a boyfriend,” Kimberly said. “Was she the type to keep that private? If she was dating anyone?”

  “She was a little private. But she talked about dates and stuff.”

  “But no mention of Giles Caldwell?”

  “I don’t think so.” Ashley made a sour-lemon face. “You don’t think they’re a couple, do you?”

>   “I’m not sure. How about a man named Joshua Fields? Did she ever mention him?”

  Ashley shook her head. “I don’t think so. Is he a suspect?”

  “Just a name right now. Would you say you knew Morgan well?” Kimberly asked.

  Ashley gave the question a good amount of thought. While she did, a grandfather clock chimed in another room. It seemed out of place in the brand-new, shining house.

  “Not terribly well. No. We weren’t best friends or anything.”

  “Was anybody close to her?” Kimberly asked.

  Ashley’s brow furrowed. “She had lots of other friends.”

  “You’re the fifth friend of hers I’ve talked with today. A couple on the phone and a couple in person. None of them have really stayed in touch with her. Why do you think that is?”

  Ashley’s brow remained furrowed, her face serious. “I guess she was kind of closed off. Like I said, I didn’t think we had a whole lot in common. I was settling down, and she wasn’t.”

  Kimberly waited. Ashley still seemed to be thinking. She stared at a spot in space just to the left of Kimberly’s head.

  Kimberly gave her time.

  “She said once she had a rough childhood. That . . . I don’t know. It just wasn’t very pleasant.”

  “Any details?”

  “No. I guess she implied her mom wasn’t very stable and had some issues. She never seemed to want to open up about what happened, though. And I like to give people their privacy. Tony says I just want everybody to be happy.” She shrugged, as if she was powerless to change her sunny outlook.

  “It happens to some people,” Kimberly said.

  “What does?”

  “Rough childhoods.”

  “Oh, yeah. Right. But that’s why it was weird when she told me she was moving to Nashville to be close to her mother. She never mentioned her family, never went into any details about them. But then all of a sudden she was going to move to be close to her mom. I guess . . . well, I guess something changed.”