Search for Her

by Rick Mofina

  “I don’t mind, really.”

  “No, go. You’ve done so much for us.” Grace hugged Sherry hard and for a long moment. “Thank you for being with me, for driving us, for everything. You and Jazmin have been my rocks.”

  “All right, I’ll get going. I’ll water my plants, but I’ll be back soon and in the meantime I’m only a call away.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s going to be okay, you’ll see.”

  * * *

  After Sherry left, Grace joined John and Blake in the kitchen. They were on the phone with neighbors and well-wishers when the doorbell rang. It was Blake’s friend Arlen Dix.

  “I’m going out for a bit with Arlen,” Blake said.

  Grace went to him. “I’d be more comfortable if you stayed here with us. Have Arlen come in.”

  Blake looked to his dad. “I need a break from everything,” he said. “We’re just going to drive down to the 7-Eleven for a Slurpee.”

  “Which one?” Grace asked.

  “The one on Midway, I guess. Why?”

  John and Blake turned to Grace for understanding. A second passed before she hugged Blake and kissed his cheek.

  “Promise not to be out for long, and answer us the second we text you.”

  “I promise, Grace.”

  After Blake left, John went to his study and Grace retreated upstairs.

  * * *

  John closed the door to his home office then locked it.

  He went to a closet, rummaged around for his backup laptop. He went to his desk and logged on, relieved that all the utilities and electricity were still switched on.

  He started to call Cynthia Litchfield in Pittsburgh but aborted it. It wouldn’t help. He was convinced that the thread holding his job was unraveling.

  John then went to the bookshelf, took up a ceramic owl bookend. He unscrewed the owl’s head and gave it a tap. A mini USB flash drive rattled from it into his palm. He inserted the drive into the laptop’s port. It loaded, and he began searching backup copies he’d made of the family finances, loans and debt load as he considered the new issue of possibly paying the replacement cost for the RV. The figures staring back at him were frightening.

  Then he went to the balances of his offshore investments. The grim numbers hadn’t changed.

  He looked at other debts he was facing, and his stomach twisted. He needed the higher salary and signing bonus of the Pittsburgh job.

  He went online and clicked on the reward fund for information on Riley’s disappearance. It was now $37,487.

  Then he looked at the family insurance policies. He went to the one for Riley. He scrolled through the death benefit, landing on the amount that would be paid...lightning, waves and wind raged...he was staring at the check the insurance agent had placed on his kitchen table...

  No.

  John closed all the folders and dropped his face into his hands.

  * * *

  Blake and Arlen Dix drove in Arlen’s Honda Civic, down from Mission Hills, under the freeway, to a 7-Eleven near the airport.

  It was in a strip mall that included a coin laundry, a tattoo parlor, a Mexican food outlet and a place offering rush passport service.

  “It really sucks about Riley,” Arlen said. “You think you’ll find her?”

  Blake said nothing.

  Inside, Arlen got a Wild Cherry Slurpee. Blake got Mountain Dew and a burner phone.

  Outside in the lot they leaned against the car. Arlen worked on his Slurpee while Blake unpackaged his burner phone.

  “Why d’you need a burner?” Arlen said.

  Blake didn’t answer.

  “You know, buddy—” Arlen sucked on his Slurpee “—cops are coming to my house later today.”

  Blake shot Arlen a look. “What?”

  “Detectives from Las Vegas want to ask me about the party.”

  “What about it?”

  Arlen shrugged and shook his head. “But word’s getting around. I heard they want to talk to Todd, Breana, Zeke and Samantha, maybe others, too.”

  Blake said nothing.

  “I never expected to see you again,” Arlen said. “With you moving away and all, then I saw the news on Riley.”

  Blake was quiet.

  “Hey, you called me. I thought you wanted to talk? I thought you were going to pay me the two hundred you owe me.”

  “You’ll get what I owe you.”

  “What I want to know,” Arlen said, “is what’s your deal with those two guys?”

  Blake shot Arlen a look. “What guys?”

  “The two guys I saw you with at the party. Who were they?”

  “They were nobody.”

  “Musta been somebody. I saw you talking in the corner with them.”

  “So? We talked about sights to see driving across the country.”

  “Whatever.” Arlen shrugged before his Slurpee splattered like blood on the pavement as it slipped from his hand. “Aw crap!”

  “Don’t sweat it.” Blake pulled money from his pocket. “Go back and get another drink. Here’s forty of what I owe you, too.”

  Arlen looked at the bills. “Really?”

  “Sure.”

  Arlen put his hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Listen. It’s rough. I know. But you’re gonna find her.” He went inside.

  Blake walked a short distance away, scanning all the cars and people at the strip mall. Are they watching me? Seeing nothing suspicious, he called the forbidden number. This time his call was answered after three rings. “It’s Blake.”

  Within seconds his male contact said: “Why do you call?”

  “Do you have her?”

  A long moment passed.

  “If you have her,” Blake said, “let her go, I’m begging you. None of this is her fault, or my fault. I’m working on a plan and I just need some time.”

  There was no response.

  “Do you have her?”

  “You’re running out of time.”

  “Wait, I figured a way we can work this out—”

  The line went dead.

  A jetliner whined overhead. Blake turned to Arlen, who’d returned.

  “You okay, Blake? You look kinda messed up.”

  “I need your help with something deadly serious.”

  Arlen sucked on his Slurpee. “Sure. Whatever.”

  * * *

  Grace stood in the doorway of Riley’s room, her heart aching. The air held the fruity floral hint of her perfume and shampoo. Lingering, the way Tim’s cologne did in the weeks after his death.

  Riley had been at a sleepover that night. Grace surveyed Riley’s bed with the chunky knit blanket, the bright sheets and pillows; the rattan furniture, her desk which was also her vanity. There was her bookshelf holding a few classic titles and keepsakes, like the memorial shoulder patch the girls on Tim’s soccer team wore on their jerseys, honoring him after his death: “CT Forever” in a heart, for their beloved Coach Tim.

  And there were Riley’s treasured photos of her friends and Tim, taking Grace back to days and nights of overwhelming grief spent in this room, holding Riley on this bed.

  I miss Dad so much. I want our old life back.

  Grace looked at Riley’s framed photos of Tim, touching her finger to his face; such a good father and husband. A good man.

  Riley also had pictures of her and Caleb, of course, but none of John and Blake. It saddened Grace because they were fortunate to have them in their lives, and she hoped Riley would come to accept them.

  Grace glanced out the window. She was also grateful for their friends, especially Jazmin and Sherry. Sherry was so thoughtful, giving Riley that bracelet. But why didn’t Riley mention to her that Sherry had one, too?

  Probably because she was angry with Grace over her breakup with Caleb and
the move. She hadn’t exactly confided much to her in recent weeks.

  And there was Jazmin, always going above and beyond, remaining in the desert to keep searching.

  Grace picked up Riley’s old soccer team photo with all the girls. Tim with his hands on Riley’s shoulders, and near them, Cleo with her dad, Miguel. He was a good father, too.

  Miguel and Jazmin’s recent separation broke Grace’s heart. And she was puzzled by what Jazmin had said to her the other night in the desert about her mother’s death.

  ...you took something from me. Something that was mine...some days I hated you for it...

  What did Jazmin mean by that? Was it really about me being with her mother before she died?

  Grace was at a loss. Who was she kidding? Deep down she feared she knew exactly what Jazmin meant, but she couldn’t face it.

  She set the photo down then looked around the room for answers, the emptiness screaming at her—the truth screaming at her.

  * * *

  Grace closed the door to her bathroom and stepped into the shower. Needles of hot water pricked her skin. Steam clouds rose around her as she again recalled the night Tim died.

  Riley had been at Dakota’s. Grace was home. Tim never told her he was flying in from Chicago to tell her his news. He’d surprised her.

  Grace scrubbed and scrubbed as if trying to wash away her guilt before convulsing with great, racking sobs, shaking so hard she crumpled to the shower floor, gasping in anguish.

  She’d sent Tim out for cold medicine, sent him to his death. Only she hadn’t had a cold at all.

  Sixty-Five

  San Diego, California

  Late that afternoon, a few miles from Grace’s home, Esther Webb was leaving her office downtown at One America Plaza. She stopped in the grand marble lobby, staring at her phone and listening with one earphone, gripped by a dilemma.

  “Must be nice, Esther. One more week to retirement,” said Fred Jennings as he passed her on his way out.

  “It’s nice. Thanks, Fred.” Webb flashed a smile then returned to her phone.

  Riley Jarrett held a deep interest for her. Webb had read every news story, every social media posting and TV news report on the case she could find, including the latest on the false sighting today in Rancho Bernardo.

  Add it to all the other reports of Riley being lost in the Nevada desert, a victim of a sex offender; that another San Diego teen with ties to her was missing; that Riley’s disappearance may have been related to rumors her family was involved in transporting drugs for a cartel—the factors were mounting, testing Webb’s conscience.

  Because she knew a secret about the family.

  Police need to know, but can I tell them?

  Time was ticking down. Webb realized that if Riley Jarrett was not already dead, she soon would be, if what she feared was true.

  She looked to the indoor waterfall for an answer, finding it in an incident she’d buried deep in her heart for years.

  Webb got back on the elevator, pressed the button for her office floor.

  As it rose, she recalled when she’d started her first job after college, how a young neighbor woman in her apartment building was upset and crying in the hall. It was obvious to Webb that the woman’s partner had abused her, but she begged Webb never to report anything. She didn’t. A month later, the woman was dead and her husband charged with her murder. Webb was haunted by her failure every day since.

  The elevator bell rang. The doors opened to the headquarters of SoCal SoYou, where Webb was head of accounting. She had a week left before retirement and with it her access to the company’s most sensitive financial and legal records.

  Most people had gone home for the day. Webb went to her office, shut the door.

  If I don’t do this and they find Riley Jarrett dead, I’ll never forgive myself.

  To strengthen her resolve she replayed on her phone news clips of John Marshall.

  “...we’re preparing to move to Pittsburgh because of a new opportunity...”

  That wasn’t true.

  Webb made a phone call, and after assurances her name and that of SoCal SoYou would remain anonymous, she cued up critical sealed records and sent them to detectives investigating the case.

  It didn’t matter that SoCal SoYou had to remain scandal-free in advance of an upcoming IPO to take the company public. The police needed to know the truth about John Marshall.

  Sixty-Six

  San Diego, California

  Breana Chandler touched her fingertip to the tear in the corner of her eye.

  McDowell passed Breana a tissue from the box on the table in the living room of her home near Pioneer Park where she and Elsen were interviewing her.

  “I wanted to go search for her in Nevada.” Breana looked down at the pink cast on her right leg. “But I had this stupid wipeout on my skateboard.”

  “But you were at the party at Riley’s house?” Elsen asked.

  “Definitely, but I didn’t stay long. Hard to get around and hold your drink.” Breana’s crutches leaned on the sofa beside her. “Oh my God this is so scary—did that guy on the news really kill her?”

  “We don’t know that for certain,” Elsen said.

  “How many days has she been missing now?”

  “Four,” McDowell said.

  “And now Caleb’s missing, too.”

  Elsen and McDowell each finished the last of the coffee Breana’s mother had made them before closing the room’s French doors and leaving them alone.

  “Breana, going back—” Elsen held his notebook open, pen in hand “—do you recall anything from the party, or in the time leading up to Riley leaving in the RV with her family, anything that might be related to her being missing?”

  “I saw her breaking up with Caleb. That was sad.”

  “You and others have told us about that. Again, have you seen or heard from her or Caleb?” Elsen asked.

  “No.”

  “Did Riley ever talk about a plan to run away with Caleb?”

  “No. I mean she always said she was in love with him and would die without him. She was pretty dramatic sometimes. But you know we never really took that too seriously.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us that might help?” Elsen asked.

  Breana pressed her lips together and blinked, debating with herself.

  “Is there something?” McDowell said.

  “Ri told me this thing about Blake.”

  Elsen and McDowell traded a subtle glance. “What was that?” McDowell said.

  Breana puffed her cheeks and let out air. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I should tell you, if it’s even important.”

  McDowell touched Breana’s knee. “Tell us and we can decide.”

  “Do you, like, protect sources, keep things private?”

  “We do. Tell us what you know, we’ll take it from there,” McDowell said.

  Breana rubbed the tops of her legs. “Ri told me she found out Blake gambled online. A lot. And he lost a ton and ran up a big debt. Like monstrous.”

  “Who did he owe and how much?” Elsen said.

  “I don’t know. That’s all she said. She was scared when she told me. She said Blake said she better be quiet about it because if anybody found out it could be dangerous, but that he had it all under control.”

  “Why would she tell you this?” McDowell said.

  “She was really upset about moving and being forced to break up with Caleb, all while her folks thought Blake was an angel. Moment of weakness, I guess. She was pretty mad.”

  “When did Riley tell you this?”

  “A couple of weeks before they left.”

  “Did you ever see him gambling?”

  Breana shook her head.

  “Did you ever talk to Blake about it?”

&nbs
p; “God, no.”

  “Who else knows? Do Riley’s parents know?”

  “No, I don’t think anyone knows. You can’t tell anyone I told you. Please.”

  “We’ll keep it confidential,” Elsen said. “Breana, why didn’t you tell police this when you first heard Riley was missing?”

  “I was confused, afraid, you know? I thought maybe she ran away, that it was all a Caleb thing. She kept saying he was the love of her life. I promised to keep her secret but now...you have to swear you won’t tell her I told you, please!”

  “Just leave it with us,” McDowell said.

  The detectives closed their notebooks, thanking her as they stood to leave.

  “It’d be cool if you guys signed my cast,” Breana said.

  * * *

  Before starting the engine of their rental car, McDowell paused.

  The sun had set. It had been a long day since their early-morning flight from Las Vegas. After the dead-end lead in Rancho Bernardo, they’d traveled throughout Mission Hills, North Park and Hillcrest interviewing people from the party list. None had provided them anything new until Breana Chandler.

  “Blake had gambling debts,” McDowell said, turning to Elsen. “Could be a debt-kidnap thing?”

  “It’s definitely another lead to chase down.” Elsen shook his head. “This investigation is like peeling an onion. We need to reinterview Blake.”

  McDowell looked at her phone. “Next we got Blake’s friend Zeke Mosk. You up for one more or do you want to check in to the hotel? We’ve still got the tip line to sort through.”

  “Let’s do one more.”

  * * *

  Zeke Mosk lived with his mother in an apartment complex in Montecito Point. The detectives went to the balcony, interviewing him above the lights of the community ten stories below.

  Zeke wore a tattered Chargers ball cap, his arms laced with tattoos. He sipped an energy drink while answering their questions.

  “I knew Blake was a player,” Zeke said. “He was always up and down. I didn’t know if he owed anybody, or how he kept all his activities from his folks. I think he got credit cards without them knowing. He’s good at that stuff. Very skilled dude.”