“That’s no big deal. Look at the size difference.” Jack patted Chandler’s stomach. “We’ve got to get Chandler here to jog.”
Chandler knocked his hand away. “Funny.”
“I’m not kidding.” Jack raised an eyebrow. “Did you run this morning?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of? Come on, Chandler. You’re supposed to be running every day.”
“Who’s being the mother now?”
“Touché.”
“I thought you were going to stop by and we’d both go for a run.” Chandler draped his arm across Makayla’s shoulders.
“I was tied up with the passport. You should have gone anyway.”
“I’ll go running tonight.”
“Really, when? We’re all going out tonight, remember? Bowling.”
“I’ll go right after this game.”
Makayla pouted. “You said you’d take me for an ice cream.”
Chandler rubbed his close-cropped head. “I can’t win.”
“Sure you can.” Jack crossed his arms. “Take her for ice cream at Wilbur’s, right near the school, but don’t get one for yourself. She can eat the ice cream while she watches you run laps at the track.”
“Works for me.” Makayla smiled.
“I don’t have my jogging sneakers.”
“Oh, boo-hoo. We’re going to be running in boots soon. It’ll be good for you.”
Chandler sighed, conceding defeat.
Makayla waved at a girl on the other side of the bleachers. “My sister’s here. I’ll be right back.” As she got up, she added, “Nice meeting you, Jack. See you tonight.”
When she was out of earshot, Jack said, “She’s a keeper, bro.”
“Yeah, I hope so.” Chandler stretched his legs out. “So, who’s your date tonight?”
“Kelly.”
“That girl you met at the galleria?”
“Yes.”
Chandler made the sound of a bomb falling and then blowing up. “Kelly, whoa. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
“What? You’ve never even met her yet.” Jack kicked a bottle cap off the bleachers.
“It’s just…you’ve talked about her some, and—”
“I never said anything bad about her.”
“She just doesn’t seem like your type.”
“My ‘type’?” Jack’s shoulders rose. “I don’t have a type. But if I did, blond cheerleader with a great bod is a good type to have, don’t ya think?”
“I’m talking about the super-rich part—drives Daddy’s BMW, lives in Knob Hill—that type.”
“You don’t like her because her family has money?”
“No …” Chandler stretched the word out. “It’s not her. It’s you. You’re not a country club, polo horse type of guy.”
Jack laughed. “You got that right. Let’s see how she feels about bowling.”
Chandler leaned back. “Look, I know you. Under your tough exterior, you got a big heart. You fall hard. This girl is gonna want fancy restaurants and exotic trips, not ice cream and b-ball.”
Jack shrugged. “Maybe she’s different.”
“Maybe …”
They watched the game for a bit, then Chandler said, “Pick us up at six thirty?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll be late.”
“Five bucks says I’m not.”
Chandler reached for his wallet. “Though it’s hardly a bet if the outcome is guaranteed. And it’s a guarantee you’ll be late. Easy money.”
“Shut up.” Jack stood.
“We on?” Chandler held out five bucks.
“No.”
Chandler laughed.
As Jack walked to his car, a police cruiser rolled into the parking lot, followed by a dark brown Crown Vic. Two officers hurried out of the cruiser, one male and one female.
Jack stopped when he saw the grizzled man riding shotgun in the Crown Vic: Detective Clark. When Jack was twelve, his adoptive father set up a couple of police station tours and ride-alongs. The detective took a liking to Jack, answered all his questions—and Jack had a lot of them—and gave him a real picture of what law enforcement was like, warts and all.
The car door opened and Clark got out, spoke to the uniformed cops, and handed them some papers. The two officers nodded and followed the other detective over to the basketball courts.
Detective Clark noticed Jack and strode over. His short gray hair was a few shades lighter than his suit. He gave Jack’s hand a firm shake. “Jack Stratton. How are you?”
Jack grinned. Clark’s voice sounded like a cement grinder chewing up rocks.
“I’m good.”
“I heard you’re headed into the Army. Why not go straight to college?”
“I thought the Army would be best.”
Detective Clark’s expression remained unchanged.
“My dad’s having to take early retirement because of his health,” Jack said. “It’s his heart. I didn’t want him to have the stress of paying for my college too.”
Detective Clark gave Jack an approving nod. “Well, the Army is a good way in. GI enrollment. Then college though, right? And after that, the police academy?”
“That’s the plan. I still have that shirt you gave me.”
“I never thought you’d grow into it. That thing had to be four sizes too big when I gave it to you.”
Jack briefly smiled. He had always known he would grow into it someday.
“Smart plan, Jack. That’s what my partner did.” Detective Clark watched one of the officers talking to a few people in the bleachers. “Just remember to stay out of trouble. Any kind of disciplinary record can kill your chances.”
“I will.” Jack followed the seasoned officer’s watchful stare. “What’s going on? I saw a lot of police cars down by H. T. Wells.”
Clark raised an eyebrow. “Observant.” He took out a cigarette.
His eyes, with dark circles under them, looked even grayer than usual, like the sky before a storm.
“Something happened last night,” Clark said. He handed Jack a flyer and lit his cigarette while Jack read.
MISSING
Stacy Shaw. Age 26. White female. Blond, blue eyes. 5'2". 110 pounds. Last seen wearing a gray blouse and a black skirt, and carrying a tan handbag with gold swirls. Stacy is a diabetic and may need immediate medical attention.
The picture showed a petite woman with shoulder-length honey-blond hair. Her bangs made her bright, cornflower-blue eyes and wide smile stand out in her heart-shaped face. The way she angled her head made her seem shy. She reminded Jack of a teacher he had a crush on once.
“What happened?” Jack asked.
“The young lady works over at Wells. We found her car a mile outside of town, in a ditch, at Ford’s Crossing last night. She went off the road, down the embankment, and hit a tree. We’re looking for anyone who may have seen her.”
Jack pointed to the cruisers. “Why so much manpower?”
Clark took a long draw on his cigarette. “I can’t say, but believe me, it’s critical we find her as soon as possible.” He looked at Jack. “Do me a favor—ask around, okay?”
“Yes, sir. Can I keep this?” Jack held up the flyer.
“Sure. Tell your old man I said hi. Nice to see you, Jack.” With a parting pat on the back, Clark turned to go.
Jack walked to the Impala. As he got into his car, he said aloud, “Someday…Detective Jack Stratton.”
As he was exiting the parking lot, he saw a policeman rush over to the detectives, followed by two teenage girls. Clark held the flyer out. One of the girls pointed at the picture and nodded. Clark reached for his notebook.
Jack hoped the detective had just gotten a good lead.
4
Dominoes
Jack tucked in his short-sleeved, black, button-up shirt that fit as though it was custom-made and studied himself in the mirror. Maybe this one?
Jack was not a big fan of the rituals and expectations that went along w
ith a first date, and in this case, instead of enjoying the anticipation of spending time with Kelly, he was concerned about her parents’ opinion of him. They sounded like they were kinda snobby, and he wouldn’t have a chance with her if he didn’t get past the parents first. He looked at the large pile of shirts on his bed and groaned.
Jack’s father, at his desk across the hall, leaned away to call out, “You look pretty enough. Get your butt in gear.”
Jack reluctantly settled on the black shirt. Nothing fancy, but it fit.
“Yoo-hoo! Jack?” his mother called from the bottom of the staircase.
Jack pulled on his sneakers and hurried down the hall. “What time is it?” He thundered down the stairs of their modest Cape Cod-style house.
“Five forty-two.” His dad followed him and tapped his watch and tilted his head as if to say, You wouldn’t have to ask if you wore the watch I gave you.
“I’m late!”
His mother was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. “No speeding. You can be fashionably late.” She brushed off a piece of lint as he passed and tucked a twenty-dollar bill in his front pocket. “It builds anticipation!”
A small, slender woman with hazel eyes, Laura Stratton had wanted the best for Jack from the first time he walked through the front door wearing a terrified expression, Chandler’s hand-me-downs, and shoes two sizes too big. The last thing he’d wanted was to leave Chandler, Michelle, and Aunt Haddie, but Laura had earned his trust.
He touched his pocket and winked at her. “Thanks.”
His father followed him down the stairs and patted him on the back. “Midnight, Cinderellie.” His blue eyes peered past his round glasses up at Jack. Short and heavy-set, Ted Stratton’s presence drew your attention. Jack didn’t know whether it was the years of teaching math or the way he carried himself, but when his father was in the room, the focus always shifted to him.
“Two o’clock?” Jack grinned.
“Eleven?”
“You’re going backward!”
“You should have gone for one o’clock.” His mother rubbed Jack’s shoulder as she cast an arbitrating glance her husband’s way.
“Midnight it is.” Jack’s father’s tone left no room for haggling.
“Fine.” Jack leaned down and kissed his mom’s cheek. She grinned at him like a proud mother smiling at a newborn baby. He expected her to pinch his cheek like she usually did, but instead she stretched up and kissed it.
“You’re picking up Chandler too?” his dad asked.
“Yeah, he’s bringing his new girlfriend, Makayla.”
Jack’s mom dashed away. “Ooh—let me get my camera.”
“Mom, it’s just a date.”
“It’s the first time you’re taking Kelly out. First dates are important.”
Jack looked to his father, who just shrugged.
“You look fly, son.”
“Thanks, Dad.” He had to fight not to laugh whenever his parents tried to use slang.
“There’s something we should talk about. You should—”
“Uh-oh…Is this the beginning of a be-careful speech?”
“Well…”
“Dad, I’m good.”
His father, who over the years had put thousands of rebellious teenagers in their place, was not to be deterred.
“Sorry, but there’s a lot at stake now. You’re about to enter the Army, and I know you wouldn’t do anything to mess that up. As your father, it’s my job to remind you that life is like dominoes.”
“I thought it was like a box of chocolates but without the little map on the cover,” Jack joked. “So be careful or you’ll end up with a goopy-centered one that tastes like old licorice.”
His father’s eyes narrowed in his teacher stare, and Jack knew he’d better at least pretend to listen. After making sure he had Jack’s attention, Ted Stratton said, “Dominoes. You knock one down and the rest fall. Now, if you do well in the Army, you’ll go to college and move right into law enforcement. But one night’s foolishness and bad decisions and the dominoes could fall the other way. You need to think every choice through. Let’s just say you’re out and someone gets their hands on some booze—”
“Dad, I’m not going to—”
“Let’s just say. You’re underage. You have one drink and you get pulled over by the police. There goes the Army. That’s one domino. Without the Army, how are you going to afford college? Another domino down. How are you going to get on the police force with no Army, no college, no job, and a DUI on your record? See? One bad decision can bring the whole thing down.”
Jack nodded. He saw it all right, a long snake of dominoes falling silently, nothing to stop it. On top of that, he had a bad feeling that his dad was going to find out about his brush with the law and the junkie in the alley. His father would see it pretty much like Chandler did—as one of the best examples of a domino they’d ever seen.
Ted put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Hey, why am I saying anything? I trust you. You know all this.”
Jack had just a second to reassure his dad, with a look, that he’d absorbed the message and acknowledged its good sense, before Laura rushed back into the room with her old-school camera.
“Okay. Stand together.”
Jack stood with his father for a picture, then his dad took the camera and his mom moved next to Jack. The camera flashed a few more times.
“Now that Laura’s made sure a record has been preserved for posterity,” Jack’s dad said, giving her a peck on the cheek, “you’re free to go.”
Jack grabbed his keys. As he headed for the door, he caught a glimpse of Detective Clark’s face on the silent TV, and doubled back to grab the remote off the couch and turn the sound on.
“Hey, it’s Derrick Clark,” his dad said.
“Yeah. I saw him at the park this afternoon. He said to say hi.” Jack turned up the volume. The shot switched to a young female reporter sitting at the news desk. Beside her was a screen showing the same photo of Stacy Shaw used in the flyer.
“Fairfield Police are asking for the public’s assistance in locating a missing woman thought to be in danger. Her name is Stacy Shaw. We join Channel 5’s Paula Thompson, reporting live from police headquarters.”
The camera cut to a young woman holding a microphone. “Thank you, Amy. I’m told that there will be an announcement momentarily.”
The shot switched back to the news desk. “Paula, given the amount of police involvement, do they suspect foul play?”
“Well, if they do, they’re not saying. All they will say is that Mrs. Shaw has a medical condition and that it’s imperative she be located as soon as possible.” She glanced behind her. “Hold on, I think they’re entering now.”
The camera panned to a doorway in the back of the room, from which a man in a gray suit emerged. He was short and barrel-chested and looked like a drill instructor who’d become a civilian: buzz cut, neatly pressed suit, tan skin, dark brown eyes.
“That’s the new detective, Tony Vargas,” Jack’s dad said. “You’d like him. He’s ex-Army.”
Detective Vargas was followed by a man and a woman, both visibly distraught. The man’s sandy-colored hair was mussed and his face was contorted in anguish. The woman next to him looked like a younger, female version of him—sister, perhaps?
Detective Vargas strode up to a podium and immediately began speaking. “I’m Detective Vargas of the Fairfield Police.” He nodded to the gathered reporters. “Thank you for assembling on such short notice. I appreciate your help in getting the word out to our communities.”
He cleared his throat. “By now you’ve all been informed of the disappearance of Stacy Shaw. Her abandoned car was found at Ford’s Crossing, where it went off the road and struck a tree. Stacy may be injured and disoriented and in need of medical assistance. Stacy is a diabetic and may have suffered an episode before the incident. It’s imperative that we locate Stacy as soon as possible. I’m here to ask for the public’s assistance. If you ha
ve any information about Stacy, please contact the police immediately.”
“Shouldn’t he refer to her as Mrs. Shaw?” Jack’s mom asked. “It sounds disrespectful.”
“They do that on purpose, right, Dad?” His father nodded. “They use the first name, in case…something else happened to her.”
“What do you mean?”
“In case she’s been kidnapped and whoever grabbed her is watching the press conference…” He trailed off. His mother had moped and drooped for weeks after Jack told her he wanted to join the Army, and often became distraught watching the news. He didn’t want to upset her right now.
His father finished for him. “They use the victim’s first name over and over, to try to humanize her.”
“Oh, I see.” She fiddled with her cross necklace.
Vargas was being interviewed. A reporter stepped forward. “Detective Vargas, given the rapid escalation of responders, do you suspect foul play?”
“No,” said Vargas. “Right now this is strictly a missing person case.” He moved to the side and motioned the man forward. “Stacy’s husband, Michael Shaw, who has been cooperating in the search, would like to make a statement for the family.”
Michael Shaw stepped up to the podium and spoke directly into the camera. “My wife…” His voice broke. He bowed his head and his shoulders seemed to be shaking. Then he held up a framed photo of Stacy. “My wife is missing, and I want to ask anyone who may have seen her…to call the police. We love Stacy and…and she’s…” He broke down crying.
The woman next to him wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
“That poor family,” Laura said, and her husband put his arm around her protectively. The clock on the mantel chimed.
“I’ve gotta run!” Jack hurried to the door.
“Remember, don’t speed.” His mother straightened his collar. “Have fun.”
As Jack ran for the Impala, his father yelled, “Not too much fun!”
5
The Haves and the Have-Nots
Jack rolled up the long, circular driveway to the front of the Dawsons’ home and double-checked the address. The sprawling, brick-face house commanded the highest point in Knob Hill, one of the richest neighborhoods in Fairfield. Jack parked the Impala in the driveway next to a shiny Mercedes, which was parked next to a sleek BMW, and glanced at the clock—6:14. It would be tight to get to the bowling alley by 6:30.
Detective Jack Stratton Box Set Page 53