by Roslyn Woods
On Friday evening, after taking his sleeping pill, Dean put Sadie’s last cup of dry dog food in her dish. He hadn’t been to the store all week, and Sadie had eaten every bit of the canned food he had brought over from Shell’s house on Tuesday. He dreaded going over there, but he had to do it sometime.
He picked up his keys and went out the back door and through the back gate that opened into her backyard. It was dark, already almost nine-thirty. Shell always kept a few lights on, but she wasn’t here, was she? He mounted the porch steps, using his cell as a flashlight, and put his key in the lock, feeling foggy and vaguely anxious. Sadie had followed him and whined to go in. She had been trying to come over here since Tuesday when he had returned from Dallas. She just couldn’t understand why Shell had gone away.
Dean flicked on the light in the laundry room where the big sack of dry food was and pushed his phone back in his pocket. Then he went into the kitchen and turned on the light in there, too. There would be a few more of Sadie’s cans of wet food and some of her milk biscuits in Shell’s pantry. He opened the door, found a can, and popped the top off. Then he found a plate in the cupboard and dumped the food on it before setting it on the kitchen floor. It only took another moment to find a big salad bowl. He filled it with water and set it on the floor, too.
Then, for some inexplicable reason, Dean found himself going into the dining room and turning on the light. There were two boxes lying side by side on the dining table, obviously paintings, and there was a check with “The Bauer Gallery Dallas” printed across the top. Pay to the order of Michelle Hodge was clearly typed onto the assignation line in the amount of thirty-six thousand and forty-two dollars. On the line at the bottom was Brad Bauer’s signature. Shell must have sold some paintings. It could explain why she might have agreed to see Brad, but it couldn’t explain why Dean had found her in her hotel room in the guy’s arms.
He went into the living room and turned on the lamps before moving into the bedroom and turning on the overhead. It was a beautiful room. Shell had painted it a soothing gray-green, and one of her paintings hung above the headboard, a field of red poppies. He went over to the closet and opened the door. There it was…her fragrance.
“Shell,” he whispered, “how could you do this to me?” He sank down onto the bed. He knew he couldn’t go on like this. He would have to talk to her, have to hear her explanation. Perhaps now she would be ready to tell him everything, no more lame stories about how he had jumped to the wrong conclusions. It would be painful knowing the whole truth, but it would be better than wondering how long she had known she loved Brad Bauer. She must have had some feelings for me, too, during these past few months. He needed to know, and he realized he would see her tomorrow at the memorial. He would ask her to speak with him, tell her he was ready for a serious conversation. The decision calmed him, somehow, or perhaps it was the sedative that was calming him. He buried his face in Shell’s pillow and wished for the thousandth time that he had gone to Dallas and never let her out of his sight.
He didn’t know how long he slept. When he woke he found himself still on Shell’s bed, Sadie on the rug beside him. Light was streaming in the window, and the phone was ringing. It was Shell’s landline, and he reached for it.
“Hello?” he said, disoriented.
“Hi! Is this Dean?” It was a woman’s voice, but he didn’t recognize it.
“Yes.”
“This is Lisa Falco. I’ve been trying to get Shell on her cell, and she’s not answering, so since she gave me her business card when we saw her last Tuesday, I dug it out and found her landline!”
“She’s not here.”
“Well shoot! But I bet you can answer our question! Brad and I are on our way to Austin, and we want to know where the memorial is being held. I know it was in the paper, but I went off and left that thing on the kitchen counter!”
“I…I’m not exactly sure where it is.” He sat up while she chattered on, rubbing his eyes and trying to remember who this woman was.
“This is so funny! Shell made us think you were the genius of the world who knows everything there is to know about everything, and you’re probably going to find out where the memorial is when she takes you there this afternoon! I can’t wait to tell her how I called and got you instead of her!”
“You say you saw her when you were in Dallas?”
“She didn’t tell you? Oh my God! I can’t believe she didn’t tell you! It was such a weird coincidence! I mean, there she was driving up to Dallas for some unrelated thing, and on that very day I was calling her up about her money—”
“Her money?”
“For her paintings! She didn’t tell you? This is amazing! We sold three of her paintings at the gallery, and I called to find out where to send the check, only she was on her way to Dallas! And she said she kind of wanted her other two paintings anyway, and maybe she should come get them and the check at the same time, and I said don’t bother doing that! I’m on my way to Waco tomorrow morning and I’ll bring them to you at your hotel! So that’s what I did! I took her check and her paintings to the hotel Tuesday morning, only Brad came with me because we decided the night before that we were going to tell my mom how we got engaged, and we just thought it was the perfect time to apologize to Shell for the way we acted last year. I mean, we knew our behavior was inexcusable, but she forgave us, Dean, and it was just one of the sweetest things that’s ever happened! She said she had no ill will and she hugged us and everything! And she told us all about you and how much she loves you and how you’ve made her so happy, and I have to say, I’ve never seen her so happy! Her eyes just sparkle when she talks about you!”
Dean was wide awake now. He was sitting up on the edge of the bed, his heart pounding. “Well, that’s good to hear,” he said, running a hand through his hair.
“But who should I call about the memorial? Oh I know! I’ll call Leonardo! He’ll tell us what we need to know. It was great talking to you, Dean. Tell Shell hi for me. I guess we’ll see you two later!”
“Okay. Yeah...See you later.”
“Bye!”
Dean’s own cell phone was in the pocket of the jeans he had slept in. He started calling Shell’s cell immediately, but he got no answer. Maybe she didn’t want to hear from him. Maybe she was in the shower. Maybe she had gone out and left her phone somewhere. Maybe her cell had lost its charge. He couldn’t wait. He looked in his contacts and called Billie.
“Hello?”
“Billie! This is Dean. Is Shell there? I can’t get her on her cell.”
“I thought she went home last night.”
“You did? She’s not here—”
“Well, I should have known she wouldn’t go back to you after you acted like such a big meanie!” Billie said with undisguised irritation.
“I know, I know. Where do you think she went?”
“I don’t know. I’d try Margie.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Dean ended the call and called Margie.
“Margie?” he said the second she answered.
“What is it? Are you coming to the memorial? I think we should go together.”
“I’m looking for Shell. Is she there?”
“Why would she be here? She’s over at Billie’s.”
“No. Billie says she left last night.”
“Oh. Well, let’s see. They were going to go to the reading of the will last night. I bet something weird happened.”
“Like what?”
“Like something that made Billie and Leonardo fight. They’ve been having a lot of trouble. Shell wouldn’t stick around if they were fighting.”
“But she didn’t come home.”
“Well, of course not. You threw her out!”
“Yeah, that’s what everybody keeps telling me. I need to talk to her. I need to talk to her now!”
“Well, if she’s not answering you, she’s probably decided she just won’t deal with you.”
“Lisa couldn’t get her
either.”
“Lisa?”
“Lisa Falco, the woman she knew in Dallas who—”
“Oh yeah, I remember her! Why did she call?”
“That’s not the point! I need to get Shell, and she’s not getting her calls, and I don’t know where the hell she is!”
“Okay, okay. I’ll try her cell and see if she’ll answer me.”
“And call me back!” he said.
“Okay. Give me a minute.”
It was more like five minutes before Margie called back. “She’s not answering me either. She’s probably in the shower. Or maybe her hotel isn’t getting a good signal or something. Just calm down.”
“You don’t understand, Margie. I had it all wrong. I had it all, completely wrong!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I hope this means you’re getting back together, because this has been one of the shittiest weeks of my life.”
“How am I going to find her, Margie?”
“You’re going to take a shower and put on a suit and go to the memorial. She won’t miss that. It’s only three hours away. You can talk to her there.”
“I don’t know if she’ll take me back.”
“Well, if you remember, I told you to try talking it out.”
“I know. I should have listened to her.”
“Yeah. Or even me. Now, you’re probably going to have to crawl.”
“That’s not an issue. I plan to crawl.”
Chapter 35
The memorial was being held at the Blanton Art Museum on 19th Street at one p.m. Considering the donations the art department had received from Garrett Hall through the years, it made sense that the university had been more than happy to provide a large meeting room for the gathering. People from all over Texas, but especially from Dallas, Fort Worth, and Houston, started arriving at noon, hoping there would be adequate seating.
Dean got there early, too. He used the parking garage just east of the museum and hurried down the side stairs while scanning the floors of the garage for Shell’s car. His pulse was rapid, his anticipation of finding her an ever-present nervousness. What would he say to her? Would she even be willing to talk to him after the way he had treated her?
Outside the museum the grass was freshly cut, the pungent, green fragrance filling the air while the stately oaks presided over the courtyard between the museum and the gift store and restaurant. Dean peered into the store across the way. He could only see a couple of older ladies through the windows. He checked in at the lobby of the Blanton and followed the signs that said “Hall Memorial” with arrows directing people to a large room on the south side of the building.
He had tried Shell’s phone dozens of times since he had heard from Lisa this morning, but she never answered. Margie, too, had been trying to reach her. She and Donald arrived at the Blanton at 12:30 and were only able to find chairs in the first two rows—the reserved seating area that Billie and Leonardo had set aside for the family and partners from the Westside Gallery. Billie, still angry with Dean, only grudgingly agreed that Dean was to sit with his sister and brother-in-law in the second row, insisting they remember a spot for Shell near himself and Leonardo. For some reason, Billie had also included Rita Anderson in the seating with the partners, and she embraced Dean as soon as she saw him. Marlon Hall and his mother were seated in the front row in spite of Marlon’s bad behavior the previous evening. He was Garrett’s only known relative, after all.
Dean’s place with the others was really unnecessary. He kept getting up and looking over the crowd that was assembling in the building. It appeared that the entire faculty from the art department at UT was there. Then there were art directors and faculty from different schools and museums from all over the state. The music director from UT was there, and much of the staff from the music department was in attendance. Garrett Hall had been the friend to many, and many wanted to pay their final respects.
Billie and Leonardo had lined up only a few speakers, and the minister from the Unitarian Church was to offer a message and prayer. A pianist, also from the university, was playing one Chopin nocturne after another. Garrett had loved all the nocturnes, and Leonardo thought them appropriate music for the occasion.
When it was nearly one and the room was filled to capacity, people were still arriving. Billie and Leonardo hadn’t expected this, and they were glad the fire marshal wasn’t there. People remained standing at the back of the large assembly room, and Donald counted well over three hundred.
Still, Shell didn’t arrive, and Dean was sick with worry. Sergeant Gonzalez and Detective Wilson were standing at the back of the hall, and when Dean stepped outside to keep an eye on the door in hopes Shell would show up late and he could speak with her, Gonzalez followed him.
“You’re going to miss the speakers,” he said.
“No one knows where Shell is,” Dean answered.
“She’s not with you?”
“No.”
“You broke up?”
“Temporarily, I hope. She was staying with Billie and Leonardo for a few days.”
“And she didn’t come with them today?”
“Billie says she left last night, but she didn’t come home.”
“You think she went to a hotel?”
“That’s what Margie thinks, but why isn’t she here?”
“Maybe she’ll get here in a few minutes.”
“It’s not like her to ignore her cell.”
“Maybe she’s just ignoring you.”
“That’s possible, but what about Margie?”
“She’s ignoring your sister?”
“She’s not answering her phone at all. There’s something weird about it.”
“Let’s give her a few more minutes.”
“I’m getting ready to start calling hospitals.”
Just then, Dean’s phone started buzzing. He pulled it from his pocket and read the screen. An unknown Austin number was printed across the top.
“Hello...Yes, yes! You found what? ...Yes, it belongs to my girlfriend...Thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can get down there!”
Gonzalez was watching and listening with real interest to Dean’s end of the conversation. “What is it?” he asked as the call ended.
“Someone at the HEB on Oltorf and South Congress found Shell’s wallet in the parking lot. I’m going down there.”
“I’ll follow you,” said Gonzalez. “Wilson can handle this,” he said, gesturing toward the building behind them.
Oltorf and South Congress was a busy, slightly seedy part of town. The parking lot of the HEB was full of cars, but it didn’t take ten seconds for Dean to spot Shell’s champagne-colored Corolla in the corner near the intersection of the two streets. He parked as close as he could get and hurried to the car. Of course, Shell wasn’t there, but he could see her purse was inside on the passenger seat.
When Gonzalez pulled into the parking lot, he saw Dean before he recognized the car he was hovering over. He parked his own car and got out and approached the younger man.
“This doesn’t look good,” he said, looking in the window on the passenger side of the Corolla. “Don’t touch anything else. Let’s go see about the wallet.”
Dean looked like he had just been punched in the belly, and Gonzalez wasn’t sure how to help him. “The best thing to do is go through the steps of investigating as quickly and coldly as we can.”
Dean looked up at him, the shock on his face still apparent. “Right,” he said. And suddenly he was running toward the door of the grocery store. Gonzalez couldn’t keep up with him, but he followed as closely as he could while pulling out his cell to call the station. When he had almost caught up, Dean was being directed to the manager’s office, and Gonzalez followed him again and waited outside the open door while he called the station. Then he called Wilson.
The wallet had been turned in the previous night, but no one had gotten around to calling about it until a half hour earlier. “You mean,” sai
d Dean, “someone turned this wallet in to you, in this office, last night, and no one tried to reach me?”
“They didn’t turn it in to me,” said the manager. “They turned it in to the manager on duty at the time. It’s a busy job. We got to it when we could.”
“You idiot!” Dean shouted. “My girlfriend has been abducted! We could have started trying to find her last night!”
“This isn’t productive, Maxwell,” Gonzalez interrupted. He held up his badge and addressed the manager, “What time last night?”
“The note here says it was turned in at 11:15.”
“Do you know who turned it in?”
“No. We’re usually just worried about who the item belongs to.”
“How did you know to call Mr. Maxwell?”
“His name and number was on the ‘in case of emergency’ card in one of the photo holders.”
“Could you give me the name of the manager in charge last night?”
“Ed Miller.”
“And when will he be in again?”
“Tonight. He does the night shift till next weekend.”
“I’ll need his contact information,” said the sergeant, and he waited in the office with Dean, the wallet in his hands.
“Any second now,” he said, looking at Maxwell, “there should be a squad car here to open the car so we can access the cell phone if it’s in her purse.”
“Right, thanks,” said Dean. “What will that tell us?”
“Maybe nothing. We’re going to need to talk to the people she was with last. I think those people are going to be Billie Morrison and Leonardo Parisi.”
Dean looked at him with a question in his eyes.
“I served a warrant at their home last night. Miss Hodge was there at the time.”
“What time?”
“Late. After nine.”
“Did you make any arrest?”
“No, but Mr. Parisi came in for questioning, and Mr. Morrison came to pick him up.”