Unaccounted For

by Nan Willard Cappo

  “You know, there’s nothing shady about someone eating here,” she said, resting her steak knife on her plate. “We know he eats too much pizza. Maybe he just likes this food.”

  “Yeah. So far I don’t see anything that screams out ‘Robber!’”

  Still, when their waitress came to ask about dessert, Milo opened the folder he’d brought and asked if she recognized the photo of Gordon Pearce in the Wolverine Motors 10-K.

  She held it close to their candle. “Nope,” she said. “But I just started here on Monday.”

  Well, even Slam Matous didn’t win every time. They passed on dessert. Trying to act as though this wasn’t the largest purchase he’d charged so far, Milo laid his credit card on the bill tray. Ellie wanted to go Dutch, but he waved her offer away.

  “I’m not as cheap as Zaffer pretends,” he assured her. “You can pay next time.” That was a good move, implying a next time.

  Their waitress took the tray, but it was the hostess with the glow-in-the-dark teeth who brought it back.

  Milo groaned to himself. Was his card refused? Ellie would have to pay after all. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “No, sweetheart, not a thing. I just knew there was something familiar about you.” She was full-bosomed and older than his mother, but she waggled the card at him roguishly. “Milo Shoemaker! You’re Tim’s son, aren’t you!”

  Warily, Milo confessed.

  “I knew it! I went to high school with your dad. You look like him, you know. Same sexy blue eyes.” For the first time she acknowledged Ellie, who was putting her reading glasses back on. “I bet I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

  Milo slid out of the booth and extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms.—”

  “Oh, it’s Janine. Janine Hart now, though it was Janine DeGrendel back in school.” She clasped his hand and her jeweled cocktail ring bit into his palm. “I just saw your dad in here at Christmas, first time in fifteen years. He said he felt old having a son in high school and I said, how do you think I feel, with a grandbaby due any day! At my age!”

  She paused for a protest from him, but Milo was too flummoxed to tell her she didn’t look old enough to be a grandmother. His dad had stopped here? “Janine. Won’t you sit down for a minute?” he asked. “This is my friend Ellie—”

  Ellie exclaimed and scooped up her phone, peering at the screen. “It’s my roommate,” she said to Milo. “I’ll talk outside, okay? Take your time.” She smiled at Janine and slid out of the booth. They heard her say, “Beth! Where are you?”

  Janine gave the emptying dining room a professional glance, then squeezed into Ellie’s place. “Thank you, Milo. I do like that name. Is it German, or Italian?”

  “Yes. You say my dad was in here last Christmas?”

  “He sat right over there, had the roast-beef sandwich.” She pointed to a window table across the room. “I got off early that night, so we had a drink. How’s he doing?”

  “He’s dead,” Milo said. “He drowned last December.”

  The coquettishness drained out of her face, leaving it pale under the makeup. Genuine shock aged her; it was easy now to believe she had several grandchildren. Milo found himself liking Janine Hart.

  She wet her crimson lips. “Drowned?”

  “In the quarry out past Valeene. The police think he got turned around in the fog, lost his bearings.”

  “Fog! What day was it?”

  “December twenty-third.” Her carefully-plucked eyebrows contracted. “When you say he was in here at Christmas, I wonder—do you remember what day?”

  “December twenty-third,” she said, faintly. “I was off early that night because I had to catch a plane the next morning. On Christmas Eve. I told Tim it was just good luck he caught me, I’d have been gone in another hour and not been back for four months. I stayed on in Florida to help with the baby.” She pulled a tissue from her capacious cleavage and dabbed at her eyes.

  Milo reached across the table and patted her hand.

  “The fog was real bad that night,” she said. “People kept coming in and saying they couldn’t see to drive, they might as well wait it out. Any excuse to party, is what I thought. But they weren’t kidding—I almost hit a mailbox on my way home. Soon as you said fog, I remembered. Was I…was I one of the last people to see him?”

  Milo nodded. “He called my mom from work to say he was stopping at Cabela’s. But that’s the last place we knew for sure he’d been.”

  “Cabela’s!” Janine’s laugh was shaky. “He showed me the watch he bought there, with so many gadgets—a GPS, different time zones, it did everything but bake bread. Made me dizzy just holding it. Tim said he had three kids who’d fight over that thing. But it was for Milo. For hiking, was it, or hunting? Something in the woods.”

  Milo took a long drink from his water glass. After a moment he said, “Orienteering. He knew I wanted....” He cleared his throat. “How did he seem? Depressed? Strange?”

  “Oh no, sweetheart, nothing like that. He was himself, absolutely.” She squeezed his hand. “Maybe a little worried your mom would think he’d spent too much. He told me twice how the watch had just gone on clearance that day. He showed me all the stuff he’d bought, he was like a kid—walkie-talkies for the twins, and a real pretty sweater for Gloria. Gloria Mancini! She was a brainy little thing back in high school. Tim said she’s a teacher now.” She trailed off, sunk in reverie.

  “Janine. Did he meet anyone that night?”

  “He was going to. I said what are you doing here by yourself, Tim Shoemaker, a married man like you—trying to get lucky? He said he was meeting someone from work here later. And as for getting lucky, he just had. Well, he always was sweet like that. We used to go out in school, I bet you didn’t know that. But that was a thousand years ago.”

  “Did he say who he was meeting? Man or woman?”

  “A fellow from work, he said. I never saw them. Tim was working on his laptop when I left. Promised me he’d bring Gloria in for dinner sometime.” She gave Milo a knowing look, not grandmotherly at all. “I didn’t hold my breath on that one. I ran into them years ago, right after they got engaged, and the look your mother gave me—well, like I said to her then, ‘The better woman got him, honey.’”

  Milo took out the 10-K report. “Have you ever seen this man before?” He tapped the photo of Wolverine’s Executive Committee.

  Janine studied it. “That’s George! His hair looks different, though.”

  “George?”

  “George Pearce. He owns this place. Bought it last winter right before I left for Florida.” She leafed through the brochure. “Wolverine Motors! What d’you know. Gordon must be his middle name. Well, that would explain why we only see him on weekends. Not that you’ll hear me complain about that.” Her lip curled. Pearce’s personality didn’t endear him here, either. “Didn’t Tim work for Wolverine, too?”

  “In accounting,” Milo said. Pearce owned this bar. No wonder he ate here so much. “Could it have been George my dad was meeting?”

  “I guess so. I didn’t see him—it was a Tuesday, I know.” She gave herself a little shake. “I can’t get over it. Tim Shoemaker. In this place on his last night on earth. It’s a funny world, isn’t it?” She pushed herself to her feet, and Milo stood up too. Suddenly Janine pulled him to her violet-scented bosom. “I’m going to give your mother a call. Your dad was one of the good guys. I don’t think little Gloria Mancini will mind hearing that.”

  Milo disengaged himself. “She’d like it.” This was a talkative woman—she could give Leslie a run for her money. “Janine, would you mind not mentioning anything to Mr.—to George about this? I’m working at Wolverine this summer myself. I wouldn’t want him to think I was nosing into his business.”

  Janine looked over his shoulder, out the front windows. “In that case you better scoot, honey. That’s his Jeep that just pulled in.”

  Milo scooted. He left by the front door, since Janine said Pearce alw
ays came in the back. In the parking lot Ellie was leaning against the car with the wig in her hand, shaking out her hair.

  Milo opened her door and pushed her inside. “He’s here!”

  She was putting the wig back on when he jumped behind the wheel. “Did he see you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The baseball cap Ellie had bought at the 7-Eleven was still in the back seat. Milo jammed this on. Then he drove the car over a crumbling cement barrier into an auto parts lot next to The Smokehouse, bounced across its pitted pavement, and headed up Michigan Avenue away from the restaurant, certain Pearce was lurking in shadow somewhere, watching them go.

  They threaded their way through Ypsilanti’s confusing one-way streets and finally gained the highway. On US 23 Milo glanced again in the rearview mirror. No black Jeep pursued them, though that didn’t mean anything. He doubted Pearce would race after them even if he had recognized them.

  “That hat’s too small for you.” Ellie giggled as she took off her wig.

  “Oh, while those glasses from Walgreen’s make you look intelligent.” Milo tossed the baseball cap into the back.

  “They gave me a headache,” she admitted. “Got any aspirin?” She popped open the glove compartment. “Just Altoids. Want one?”

  “They’re not Altoids.”

  She was inspecting the gray duct tape sealing the tin shut. “Good. Because anyone who would make breath mints this hard to open is definitely cheap, and I’d have to tell Zaffer.”

  “He’s got the same thing in his glove compartment,” Milo told her. “It’s a survival kit. For if you’re ever lost in the woods.”

  “What’s in it?” Ellie found the edge of the tape and pulled it off. She flipped open the tin. “Wait, let me guess. Band-Aids—obvious. Matches, so you can make a fire. Or see where you are.”

  “Very good. You’ll live at least an hour.”

  “A magnifying glass so you can…read a very small map?”

  “Or start a fire in direct sun—after you lose the matches.”

  “And let me see. A baby knife so you can stab an…earthworm, to cook on the fire.”

  “Or cut things with.” Milo grinned in the dark. Sharp-shooter she might be—and that he’d believe when he saw it—but Ellie Farnon was definitely a city girl.

  “Ah. And if you meet a sexy forest ranger—a condom?”

  He’d forgotten that. “Holds a liter of water.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I tested it myself. Well, not that one. They’ll also keep sand out of your rifle barrel, according to Zaffer.”

  “So Zaffer is the condom expert.”

  “We’re both experts—in survival.” Milo didn’t know why his face should be so hot. They were discussing first aid.

  “I’m very glad to know that. I feel safer already, hanging around with two experts in survival.” She wound the duct tape around the tin again and put it back in the glove compartment. “Considering that next time we might actually run into Gordon Pearce. The way you tore out of Ypsi, anyone would think you were scared of him.”

  “I am. You’d be scared too if you’d heard what Janine said.”

  “I’m dying to. I thought she’d tell you more if you were alone.”

  He glanced over. If Ellie were a cat there’d be canary feathers stuck to her lips. “No phone call?”

  “I’m a good actress, aren’t I?”

  He remembered her scream in the woods. “Very convincing.”

  He told her what he’d learned from Janine: his father had been at The Smokehouse the night he died; Tim had been meeting ‘a fellow from work’; and oh yes—Gordon Pearce owned the restaurant. “He goes by George Pearce there.”

  “Why would he own a restaurant?” Ellie wanted to know. “He’s an accountant!”

  “Are you kidding? It’s a great way to launder cash—you plow the dirty money into a legitimate business and presto, you’re a respectable businessman. Our accounting professor took us all through it.” Milo smacked a hand on the steering wheel. “My dad might have suspected him!”

  Ellie was asking something.

  “Sorry?”

  “I said, what dirty money?”

  Too late, alarm shot through him. Ellie Farnon didn’t know about any embezzling. And Milo didn’t want her to. “Who knows? Drugs, organized crime—some terrorists finance their operations with diamond trading and heroin.”

  “In Valeene?”

  “Well…Detroit, then.”

  “What about gambling?”

  Milo didn’t look at her. “There’s a thought,” he said carefully. “His secretary had those casino matches.”

  “I know your father used to gamble,” Ellie said in a rush. “Daddy told me last year, the night we saw on the news they’d found the car. He said the hell of it was your father had turned his life around. He’d stopped gambling and was doing real well at work. I forgot about the gambling part until that day at the lake, when your mom got upset, you know, about the Second Chancers. I never meant your father.”

  So she knew about Tim’s gambling. That night at the Joy Train, was this why she’d stopped asking why Pearce would rob his house? Had she been sparing Milo’s feelings?

  “Milo,” she said after a while. “Do you think your dad owed Pearce money?”

  He stared down the straight stretch of M-52. It was full dark now, and the street lights of Adrian glittered ahead. “Don’t know.”

  He drove the few streets before hers without speaking any further. He pulled up in front of the Farnon house and turned off the ignition. “I shouldn’t have taken you there tonight.”

  “Why, because of Pearce? I’m a big girl. Older than you, remember?” He didn’t smile. “Pearce wouldn’t hurt me. I’m the boss’s daughter! He’s not insane. He didn’t see us, and now we know more than we did. We’re investigating a robbery, Milo. Maybe murder.”

  “I never said murder!”

  “I’m not stupid. And I’m not your little sister, either.”

  In one fluid movement Ellie unbuckled her seat belt and leaned toward him. His senses were flooded—the spice scent of her hair, the kiss that was warm and sure and not sisterly in the least, her hand’s soft pressure on his shoulder. Before his brain could catch up with his heart rate, she moved away.

  As she got out, she said, “Let me know what’s next. I really am a good shot.”

  ***

  Chapter 15

  Saturday, his mother and the twins returned from the cottage, sunburned and noisy and so full of their week up north Milo hardly had to talk. Which was good. He half-listened to their stories and wondered what they’d say if he told them what he’d been up to. Trailing company executives, stealing garbage, meeting Tim’s old girlfriend in Ypsilanti, getting kissed by Alf Farnon’s daughter. At least he hadn’t let any girls in the house.

  Zaffer called. His date had not gone well. The hot pink girl had been less than thrilled at the truck’s lack of air conditioning. “After the movie, it was all downhill,” he said gloomily. “Told me if I wanted to sweat to death I could, but she hadn’t fixed her hair so she could appear in public looking like a refugee.”

  “So buy a damn air conditioner. You can afford it.”

  “Nah. I told her refugees were way thinner than her, and that finished it. Besides, you were right, Titan would eat that dog.”

  Milo told him where he’d eaten dinner the night before. And with whom.

  “Who paid?” Zaffer wanted to know.

  “I did, what d’you think? And it’s a good thing, because you’re not going to believe what I found out.” He told Zaffer about Janine recognizing his name, and the treasure trove of information she’d proven to be.

  “George! An alias. We never searched under George.” Zaffer’s manner regained its usual ebullience and he hung up full of plans, too preoccupied to ask how the evening had ended. Which was good.

  When he cut the crusts off Joey’s cinnamon toast on Sunday morning, the scent b
rought Ellie’s hair to mind. In the crowded congregation at St. Matt’s 10:00 mass Milo stood and knelt and sang devoutly, but it wasn’t his relationship with Jesus he pondered.

  Why had she kissed him? To show she wasn’t his sister? Point taken. She’d clearly studied more in college than Intro to Psychology. Again he relived those moments in his car. This time Ellie didn’t jump out and slam the door. This time Milo pulled her close and she didn’t resist, in fact she—ouch!

  The high-heeled feet of a Barbie were stabbing him in the side. “Move,” his mother mouthed over Jenny’s head. Milo was holding up the whole pew from going to communion. He moved. Back in the pew he knelt in what looked like devoted prayer.

  He couldn’t be the only eighteen-year-old virgin in Valeene, not that he’d taken a poll. And it wasn’t because he’d lacked opportunity. A girl from his English class was still furious about Milo Shoemaker’s unflattering restraint after Junior Prom—he’d had to tell her he was going into the priesthood. Another girl from Concepts of Engineering had decided any guy who drove himself home after she’d assured him her parents wouldn’t hear a thing—they never did—must be gay. A theory she’d shared with all her friends. Milo had stopped putting himself in those situations. He wasn’t gay, and he hadn’t wanted to be a priest since he was six—though he still liked lighting candles.

  No, the way Milo saw it, you could only have sex for the first time once. After that you were…different. Possibly weaker. No girl he’d met so far had seemed worth the risk. After his father’s death, caring for the twins made the causal link between sex and small children pulse like radioactive caution tape, and any urges Milo had to test his willpower died too. Sex could wait. Till college, retirement, whenever.

  Until Ellie Farnon. This girl, he had to admit, was serious temptation. But fantasies weren’t actions. Good thing, or you’d be in jail. It was just a kiss. And he hadn’t started it.

  With supreme effort, he banished Ellie from his mind. He would not be weak. Concentrate. By the time the choir moved into the second verse of “Amazing Grace,” he’d replaced visions of Ellie in her striped bikini—half of it—with scenes of himself choking the truth out of Gordon “George” Pearce.