The Orchid Sister

by LeClaire, Anne D.

  “There isn’t much more we can do, Ms. DiMarco. We’ve entered her in the system. There’s no evidence of foul play. She made arrangements for her neighbor to pick up her mail, which suggests she planned to be away for a while. But, like I said, she’s in the system. If something comes up, we’ll let you know.”

  “Right,” Maddie said. After she hung up, she turned to gaze out the window, dull with exhaustion and disappointment. She couldn’t escape the sense that Miller had not pursued Kat’s disappearance vigorously enough. It occurred to her that maybe Kat had said more to Izzy but, confident that Kat was safe, Izzy had chosen not to confide this to the detective. It wasn’t totally beyond possibility that Kat was involved in a romantic affair. She retrieved the envelope Kat had given her, shuffled through the papers until she came to a list of names and numbers. Lawyer. Accountant.

  A boy answered the phone. “Hello?”

  “This is Madison DiMarco. Is Izzy there?”

  “Gram, hey, Gram. It’s for you. Some woman named Madison wants to talk to you.”

  “Maddie, dear,” Izzy said. “How are you?”

  How was she? Alone. Afraid. Her gaze fell on the overnight bag. Worried to distraction about Kat. That’s how she was. “Okay,” she said.

  “I was going to call you later,” Izzy said. “A detective was here asking about Katherine.”

  “I know. He just called. He told me Kat asked you to take in her mail.”

  “She did. I’ve got a sackful for her. The detective didn’t seem interested in it. Said I should just keep it. He said Katherine would probably be showing up any day now.”

  “I know. That’s what he told me, too. But I’m worried. It isn’t like Kat to just disappear and not let me know where she was going. Did she say anything to you about her plans? Something you didn’t want to tell the police. Something private.”

  “No. She didn’t.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Don’t touch that, dear.”

  It was a moment before Maddie realized Izzy was speaking to the child.

  “You’re worried, aren’t you?” Izzy said.

  “Yes. I am.”

  She was relieved when Izzy didn’t try and tell her that she was overreacting or that Kat could take care of herself.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know.” A helpless weariness settled on her. “I don’t know what I can do.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No. Well, yes, actually, there is. You have a key, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you take care of her orchids?”

  “Of course, dear.”

  “I watered them before I left, so they’ll be okay for a week.”

  “With any luck, Katherine will be back to water them herself.”

  “With any luck.” The words sounded false to her own ears. Something wasn’t right. She lifted a hand to her mouth and bit at a thumbnail.

  “And what about her mail? Shall I keep it here?”

  The mail. “Izzy,” she said. “I just had an idea. Would you sort through it, pull out anything from her credit card company? It’s Bank of America.”

  “Sure. Do you want to hold on, or shall I call you back?”

  “I’ll wait while you look.”

  “Tommy,” Izzy called out. “Tommy, will you get that big bag that’s out in the hall and bring it to me?”

  While Izzy sorted through Kat’s mail, Maddie put the phone on speaker and paced the kitchen.

  “Got it,” Izzy finally said.

  “Open it,” Maddie said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. I promise that Kat won’t mind.” She listened to the sound of paper ripping.

  “Well, there’s only one charge. For American Airlines. That’s it.”

  She took in the news, the first solid clue as to where Kat might be. “And just the one?”

  “Yes. For American Airlines.”

  “Can you read me the transaction number?” She scribbled it down as Izzy recited it.

  After she hung up, Maddie shuffled through the papers in Kat’s envelope until she found the one with the usernames and passwords, grateful for Kat’s obsessive organization. She went on the bank’s site and logged onto Kat’s account. An hour later and two calls to customer service and she had more information. It wasn’t much, but she was making progress. More than Detective Miller and the Georgetown police had.

  Miller wasn’t at his desk, so Maddie left a message. He returned the call a half hour later.

  “I think Kat’s in Mexico.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The last charge on her credit card was for an American Airlines flight to Mexico. And nothing since then.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “No. That’s not like Kat. She charges everything. Even groceries. She uses the points she accrues for travel.”

  “Okay. This is a help, Ms. DiMarco. You did good work.”

  His praise warmed her.

  “We’ll start by contacting TSA,” he continued. “We’ll have them do a passport check of her exit and entry records. We can see if she reentered the States after her last trip there.”

  “And then what?”

  “Let’s take this a step at a time. We’ll begin with TSA. I’ll get back to you as soon as we know anything.”

  “Thank you.” After she hung up, she paced from room to room, as if by constantly moving she could expedite Miller’s work. How long would it take for a TSA check? It couldn’t require much. Everything was computerized. She stopped pacing long enough to make a sandwich—she hadn’t eaten lunch, but, too hyped to eat, she managed no more than one bite. Finally, she turned to work, her ever-reliable method of coping.

  Maddie spent the next two hours in her studio with Lady Macbeth. The riven mask seemed more haunted than ever. It was late afternoon before she heard from Miller.

  “Does your sister know anyone in Mexico? Friends or family or business associates? Specifically in the Yucatán?”

  “Kat. No. Why?”

  “Are you certain? Or just not that you know of?”

  “Why?”

  “According to TSA records, Katherine Clayton has booked flights to Cancún four times since December. Do you know of any reason she might want to do that? Why she would take multiple trips to Mexico?”

  “No. No, I don’t.”

  The syringe. What about drugs? Any problems there?

  “During the time of the first trip, there was also a charge for a hotel in a village down the coast from Cancún. The Hotel Molcas in a place called Playa del Pedro. She stayed there two nights.”

  “What do we do now? Have you called the hotel? Or checked with the Mexican police?” Maddie recalled news reports of crime on the other side of the border. Abductions. Rapes. Murders. Crimes even in places one would expect to be safe. All-inclusive resorts. High-end hotels.

  “Well, since there is no record of her returning to the States from the last trip, it’s now out of our jurisdiction. We’ll transfer it to the State Department. They’ll be the ones to follow up.”

  “Does that mean you’ll stop looking? Do you even care?” The accusation was unfair, she knew.

  He paused as if considering whether to say more. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy. “Ms. DiMarco—Madison—” he began. He paused again.

  “What?”

  “The State Department will do everything they can. They care. We care. We care about the hundreds of women who are reported missing.”

  “Are you actually telling me that hundreds of women are missing?”

  A long pause. “No. In reality, it’s probably much more.”

  Her body went rigid. Why on earth would he tell her this? He had told her not to worry, that Kat would probably call or show up any day. Did he really believe that? Why even mention that hundreds of women were missing?

  Kat, she thought. Kat, where are you?


  KATHERINE

  Night became day. Day became night.

  Kat watched and waited. In front of Verner and Mercer, she presented a docile and beaten facade. She made no more mention about revealing his protocol. It had been a mistake to threaten him. How could she have not seen that? Her new approach was to appeal to his vanity, to pretend to admire his genius, to pretend that he could correct what had happened to her. She confessed boredom and asked him if, while she was there, there was some way she could be of assistance, anything she could do to help out. He had been suspicious. She had forced herself to hold his gaze. “Perhaps I will think of something,” he had said. When he and Mercer left, he did not lock the door. Suspecting it was a test, she forced herself not to open it, determined to win at his cat-and-mouse game. She asked for books, for paper and pencil or pen, and was given the books, two romance novels, but not the writing materials. She continued to try to befriend Rosa and was aware of the small signs she was succeeding. One evening the Mayan woman brought in salve, which she rubbed into Kat’s scalp and her thinning hair. When she left, she did not lock the door. Kat waited impatiently, and when she was unable to be patient any longer, she opened it and slipped out into the corridor, scouting like a spy. She found that the outer doors were locked. She prowled a bit, opening two doors and peering into empty rooms. As far as she could tell, she and the girl she had heard crying were currently the only occupants of the building at night, although during the day, she often heard activity in the halls. She tried the girl’s door but it was locked, and when she knocked and called out, there had been no response.

  She thought about men and women who had been imprisoned, some, like her, in solitary confinement. What had kept them sane? What kept them from sinking into despair? She thought of prisoners, famous and unknown, who had not only survived but had emerged from the experience whole.

  Kat resolved to be one of the survivors. She felt stronger and dared to hope that now that she was no longer taking the injections, her body was healing itself. She would find a way to escape. In spite of what she had promised him, she knew Verner had to be stopped.

  Day became night. Night became day.

  Kat plotted and schemed and considered ways of escape.

  On one dark night of despair, she counted the white pills. Now she had fifteen.

  MADISON

  Hundreds of missing women. The more she thought about Miller’s callous statement, the angrier Maddie became. Of course it wasn’t true. Ridiculous. Why would he toss such a statistic out? If it were remotely true, wouldn’t there be a national outcry? International outrage?

  She logged on at her computer and typed “missing women” in the search box on her home page. Within minutes she was caught up in the world of vanished women. Miller had been wrong. Not hundreds. Thousands of women were reported missing every year in the United States alone. Thousands more throughout the world. An epidemic, one article proclaimed.

  How was it possible? Maddie’s hand trembled on the mouse. How was it conceivable that such a huge number of women went missing? Disappeared. Vanished, never to be found. Like some immense act performed by an evil magician.

  The stories and statistics she read as she scrolled through the internet were haunting, and she was sickened by them. The voices of the missing seemed to echo through her house. At last she clicked off the computer, grabbed her car keys, and headed out to escape them and the fear they engendered. As she drove, without destination, just following the streets around and out of town and then doubling back, she thought over what she had learned thus far. Although discredited by the police as not particularly unusual, she thought about the dying orchids. The rotting food in the trash. The souring milk in the refrigerator. The series of appointments that Kat had missed. She tried to imagine what would have caused Kat to rush off, leaving such disarray in her wake. She could think of nothing further than she had during the call with Izzy. Kat had only expected to be away for a short time.

  She reviewed what the bank had relayed about the charges on Kat’s credit card statements. And, lastly, she listened to her own intuition. Kat was in trouble. As she headed back to town, the car, as if of its own volition, slowed as she passed the airport. Jack’s Harley wasn’t in the parking lot. Nor was the jeep he used in foul weather. And if he had been there, what then? Would she have stopped? What could she have said to him? Even if she wanted to see him, she had burned that bridge when she’d made it clear to him that he was out of her life. Recalling their last conversation, her coldness and accusations, she felt ashamed. He had deserved better.

  The need to talk with someone was overwhelming. She continued on and drove straight to the Gallery on Main. Lonnie was alone, sitting at her desk catching up on paperwork. “Hey,” she said when she saw Maddie. “Great haircut.”

  Maddie fingered the short strands, wondered how long it would take to grow out. It had been a rash act, and all for nothing, as she hadn’t learned one more thing at the salon. Well, that’s what came of acting out of desperation instead of careful thought.

  “It was a mistake.”

  Lonnie shot her a crooked grin. “In my experience, when a woman decides to radically change her hair, it is rarely a mistake. So what’s up?”

  “Kat’s missing.” The words, propelled by her concern for her sister, burst out.

  Lonnie set her pen down. “What do you mean, missing?”

  “She’s gone. She’s disappeared.”

  “Holy cow,” she said. “First of all, sit down. You look like you haven’t slept in a month.” She paused and gave her a more searching look. “Actually, you look like you could use a drink. If it weren’t ten in the morning, I’d bring out the Johnnie Black I keep in the back room.” She came around the desk and sat next to Maddie. “So what’s going on?”

  Maddie took a ragged breath and tried to get her thoughts in order. Would Lonnie think she was being melodramatic? She could have used the scotch. Bit by bit, stumbling at first, she told her everything. Kat’s disappearance. The trip she had taken to DC and the conversations she’d had with Detective Miller, what the detective had said about missing women. She told her what she had learned about Kat’s credit card charges for trips to Mexico. All of it. When she was done, Lonnie got up and went into the back room, returning minutes later with a bottle and two glasses.

  “So are you going to go?” she asked.

  “Go where?”

  “Mexico.”

  “Mexico? God, no.” Just the thought of going there, of flying, shot adrenaline through her body. “Why would I do that?” Maddie stared at Lonnie as if she had suggested she walk across the ceiling, but her friend was calmly pouring a shot in each glass.

  “Because that’s the last place you know for sure that Kat was.”

  “What can I do there? Like I just told you, the State Department is going to follow up on this. What do you think I can do that the authorities can’t? They have the resources and the connections.”

  Lonnie handed her one of the glasses. “Do you think Kat is really in trouble?”

  She looked away. She thought of what she had read about the thousands of missing women. Lonnie waited. “Yes,” she said, relieved to finally share her fears openly. “I do. And I’m scared.”

  “And if you were missing, what would Kat do?”

  “That’s unfair.” She knew if she were missing, Kat would do whatever it took, move whatever mountain blocked the path, in her determination to find her. But she wasn’t as gritty or as strong as Kat. Never had been. Even before the accident. Kat was indomitable, not her. Kat was like the mythical warriors. Hippolyta. Antiope. An Amazon. Even as Maddie rejected and dismissed any idea of her own strength, the thought of the origami sword Jack had given her came, unbidden, to mind.

  “Is it?”

  “Yes.” Why did Lonnie keep pushing? She knew about her fear of flying, about her panic attacks. She took a sip of scotch, stalling. “I don’t even speak Spanish.”

  Lonnie surprised her b
y laughing. “So get a dictionary.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Pushing me like this. Suggesting I fly off on some wild goose chase.”

  “But it isn’t wild, Maddie. Didn’t you just tell me that the last record of Kat going anywhere is the flight she charged to Mexico? And there’s no record of her returning?”

  “But Mexico?”

  “Stop acting like this. It’s not China, for cripe’s sake.”

  “I’d have to fly.”

  “Yes. You would.” Lonnie’s voice was firm. And kind. “You would have to fly. So get some pills, knock yourself out for the duration of the flight. People do that all the time.”

  “Does this make sense? I mean, what can I even do there?”

  “For starters, you said you have the name of the village where Kat stayed on one of her trips. You have the name of the hotel. You can canvass the town, show Kat’s photo to everyone you see. At least try.”

  “And what if I can’t find out anything? What if I can’t find Kat?” Her desire for action had been fueling her all day, but now, with Lonnie pushing, she pulled back, full of doubt. And fear.

  “At least you will have tried. And you will know you have done everything you can. What’s the alternative? To sit at home waiting? And waiting? Not knowing? You’d be taking action, and believe me, that always feels better.”

  Lonnie’s confidence surprised her. She wished she could match it. “But I’m not you. And I’m not Kat. I don’t know if I can.”

  Lonnie placed her hand on Maddie’s arm. “I do. I know you can.”

  “If I did go, would you come with me?” It nearly killed her to ask this favor.

  “Oh jeez, honey, I wish I could. And if I could, I would. You know that, right?”

  Maddie nodded.

  “Look at it this way: you probably won’t be gone much longer than you were when you went to Washington. Just a little further away. And you’ll know you will have done what Kat would have done for you.”

  Maddie winced. “That’s your last shot? Guilt?”