by Renea Mason
“No, Clarence. I’m on her speed dial for Harmon rants. I know you just started working with us a few years back, but her dad has been dropping her at the office to ‘volunteer’ since she was sixteen. I pretty much babysat her until she graduated. She tells me everything.”
“It’s possible she’s finally growing up.”
I rolled my eyes. Olivia would never grow up. She was spoiled and irresponsible to the core, but I loved her like an exasperating little sister. “It doesn’t make sense, Clarence. Do you think she’s mad about something? Do you think she heard about…” I coughed and choked out, “what happened in the bathroom? Maybe she’s too embarrassed to talk to me.”
Clarence threw back his head and sighed. “I highly doubt it. If she found out you almost got laid, she’d be throwing you a party. Now go get dressed. We’re going to O’Riley’s as usual. Hopefully we can ask her tonight when she shows up. No more sulking.” Clarence nudged me toward my bedroom.
I glared at him, but he had a point. Olivia was always on me about not dating, but I refused to put anyone else at risk after what happened to Michael.
“Do you think she’ll show up? I’m really worried.” I damned Cyril again. If I hadn’t been so distracted I might have noticed she wasn’t poking around.
“Let’s get moving. Mr. Landon thinks she was supposed to be with us. We’ve lost our biggest donor’s daughter. We’ve got to fucking find her, or we’ll never make goal next year.” He shooed me.
“Clarence! That’s awful. Something bad could have happened to her. She’s never done this before.”
“I’m going to put my money on this being another one of her dumb-ass attention-getting stunts.” He pointed to the bedroom.
“All right, I’m going. Just give me a second.” In the bedroom, I pulled on a pair of faded jeans and a black cotton shirt. I stepped into a pair of dress shoes, checked my hair and makeup, and returned to the living room.
“I’ll drive.” Being alone in the car with Clarence, answering all his damn questions, didn’t appeal to me, but I grabbed my keys from the bowl anyway.
Thirty minutes later, I pulled into O’Riley’s. Easy to miss, the pub sat situated in an alcove between a jewelry store and a photography shop about two blocks from the concert hall. Clarence, Olivia, and I spent at least two nights a week in the establishment. Mondays were a standing date. The wind stung my face when I opened the car door and stepped out into the crisp night air.
“OK, so after that? What did Olivia have to say when you talked to her?” I asked while trying to keep pace with Clarence’s long strides.
“Not much. She seemed distracted. I think this latest pregnancy has her realizing it’s never going to happen with Harmon.”
“She’s had to deal with this three other times and never reacted this way. I know she’s flaky, but usually I’m trying to get rid of her. This is not like her; she always returns my calls.”
Clarence shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe she’s depressed. When we find her, if she doesn’t have a good explanation, we’ll threaten to have Mr. Landon cut off the trust fund.”
I snickered as he pushed open the heavy, ironbound door and held it for me. I slipped past him, taking in the rich woodwork. The lights set low in Tiffany-style lampshades, depicting green and gold Celtic knot work, hung at various places above the bar and over each table. A woodsy, manly smell, accented by lemon-scented wood polish, permeated the air.
Clarence paused to glance toward the television above the bar featuring an Irish soccer game. He casually added, “By the way, it would have been nice to know you were leaving work.”
I anticipated the lecture and was surprised it took him so long to start. “The last time I checked, I didn’t report to you.” I forced a smile. “Besides, did you really think I wanted to hear any more nonsense about Friday night?”
He ushered me toward my seat. “Friday night is old news. Let’s have a beer and figure out where we should head next. With any luck she’ll show up.”
We took our seats in the usual spot at the end of the long bar. Phil O’Riley, the owner and bartender on duty, wiped a towel across the bar.
“The usual?” Phil asked.
Clarence and I nodded.
Phil brought me a Guinness, slipping a white napkin embossed with a green shamrock under my glass. Clarence’s glass of whatever’s on tap and light was glimmering amber glory in the bar lights. Clarence wasn’t a beer snob.
I wrapped my hand around the glass, smoothing the sweat over the surface. “Phil, have you seen Olivia?”
Phil brushed his shoulder-length, curly red hair behind his ear and squinted. His Irish accent thick, “Are ye talkin’ ’bout the black-haired beauty who sits there?” He pointed to Olivia’s usual seat. “The one who makes eyes at me but always turns me down?”
“Yeah, that’s her.” Phil was a good guy, handsome, and wasn’t a married man of God. What was she thinking?
“I haven’t seen her since last week. Trust me, I’d remember.” He winked. “One day…”
“Don’t give up, Phil. She might come to her senses.” If only.
Phil winked. “I won’t.”
I reached in my purse, pulled out a business card, and handed it to Phil. “If she stops in, can you give me a call?”
Phil’s brow furrowed. “Certainly. Is something wrong?”
Clarence answered for me. “We hope not.”
Phil nodded and turned his attention to a man in a business suit who motioned for another round.
Clarence shifted toward me, drumming his fingers on the bar. “So, are you planning on telling me what’s going on with you and Peters? Don’t try to lie to me. I know you too well.”
“Can we just focus on Olivia?”
Clarence narrowed his eyes at me.
“Of course not,” I mumbled to myself. After one large swallow of beer, I stopped biting my lip and let out a deep sigh. “Peters and I have a history. It’s complicated. He likes to…press my buttons.” I stared into my beer and took another sip. I swirled the beer, watching the foam outline the glass with each pass of the thick, blackish liquid.
“Is that what he did in the bathroom? Press buttons?” He chuckled at his own joke, and then continued while I remained unamused, “OK. Seriously. Did you two date or something? I can’t even imagine what it’s like to date a man like that.”
“No, we didn’t date. He was a friend, I guess. But like I said, it’s complicated.” Clarence stared at me. I couldn’t look at him and have that conversation. I took another large gulp of beer.
“Oh, so you fucked him. I get it,” he whispered as though afraid someone might overhear.
“No!” I glared at him and lowered my voice to a whisper, leaning toward him. “I guess you could say I had a crush on him as a teenager, but we weren’t lovers. He was far too old.” No sooner did it leave my mouth, I caught my slip.
Clarence laughed. “Old? What is he, twenty-five? Thirty, at most? You look older than he does. No offense.”
Irritated with myself, I tried to think of a way to explain it. “He’s a lot older than he looks. Just drink your beer. I think we should check Olivia’s house next.”
Clarence still didn’t look satisfied, but let it pass.
“That’s probably best. I called her house and spoke with the housekeeper. She seemed to think Olivia would be here tonight, but obviously she was wrong.” Clarence glanced around the bar and then at his watch. “If she was coming, she would have been here by now.”
I touched the button on the top of my cell phone to illuminate the screen. It was getting late.
“Now tell me—who is Peters? And don’t say it’s complicated because a high school crush doesn’t explain what happened.” He lifted his beer to his lips and took a healthy swallow.
How could I explain it without actually explaining it? “Let’s just say we didn’t part on the best of terms. He thinks I stole something from him, but I didn’t. The anger from the false accusati
on mixed with my leftover teenage fascination complicated things. Not to mention that he…ah…moved, and failed to tell me he was back. It’s all a misunderstanding.” My gaze was glued to the surface of the bar. No way could I look at him. I hoped it would end the interrogation, but this was Clarence. I took another swig of beer, draining the remaining liquid.
“What does he think you stole? And how does this all end up with you being naked?”
I sat the empty beer glass on the bar and wiped the foam from my mouth with the back of my hand. “For the record, I wasn’t naked,” I said, much too loudly, drawing the attention of nearby patrons. I lowered my voice. “That’s just it; he won’t tell me. Let’s go. I don’t want to end up at the Landon house too late. They have guard dogs. I don’t care to tangle with a Rottweiler. I’ve had a bad enough week.”
Clarence laughed.
* * *
Clarence grumbled about my choice in music on the way to Olivia’s house. “Is there a reason your music only fits into three categories?”
Offended, I countered, “What do you mean? There’s variety.”
He cycled through the playlist and stopped on a Sarah McLachlan song. He rolled his eyes. “All the artists on here are women who are either angry, Canadians, or lesbians. Hell, you have a few that fit all three categories on a Venn diagram.”
“Will you stop picking on my music? I have a lot of classical and show tunes on there too.”
Clarence laughed. “That makes you any less lame how? Classical and show tunes? I get enough of that at work. I like something I can shake my ass to.” Clarence shimmied in his seat to a fake beat. “Tell you what, I’ll stop picking on your music if you tell me why Peters came by today.” He drummed his fingers on my window, waiting.
“Take your fingers off the glass, unless you’re planning on cleaning it.” I glanced in his direction. “I shouldn’t tell you anything after picking on my music, but…he came by the office today to drop off a check from Overton. Thank you for that, I owe you big time…fifty thousand! Whatever you said convinced him.”
“That is great news. That puts us in a great place. But it didn’t sound like you two were celebrating my fabulous success. Spill it. What in the hell were you two yelling about?”
I grumbled. “He accused me of acting like a tart to get money out of Willoughby. He’s such a fucking charmer. He even went as far as propositioning me to prove a point, but not before calling me a whore.”
“Wait, isn’t that exactly what you were doing?”
“Fuck you, Clarence.”
He laughed. “I have to admit, that guy has balls.” A long speculative silence followed his words.
“Clarence!” The last thing I needed was him fantasizing about Cyril too.
“What? I can only imagine…”
I shot him an admonishing look, and then quickly focused back on the road.
We pulled up to the gated entrance at the beginning of the long, winding driveway to Olivia Landon’s house.
I reached out and pressed the button on the call box. Max, the Landons’s driver, answered.
“Max, it’s Linden. Is Olivia home?”
“No, I’m sorry. Her calendar says she was supposed to be with you.”
I flashed a worried look at Clarence and leaned a little farther to the window. “I haven’t seen her since Friday. Did she come home?”
“No. Mr. Landon got called out of town on Friday and left the performance early. He called today looking for her and told me she might be staying with you. Oh dear…”
I put the car in reverse, but kept my foot on the brake. “Mr. Landon called, but I haven’t seen Olivia. If you hear anything, call me immediately. You have my number, right?”
The speaker crackled. “Yes.”
“Good. If Mr. Landon calls you, let him know that we’ll have her call right away, when we find her. I’m going back to the office to see if she left me a note.”
My tires squealed as I peeled out in the loose asphalt at the side of the road.
For the first few minutes of the drive, Clarence was silent. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Ten years ago, on December twenty-first.” Fuck it. I was too worried about Olivia to put up defenses against Clarence’s insistent curiosity.
“That’s specific. What happened? Where’d he go?”
“You could say…Cyril made a rather dramatic exit from my life and I never expected to see him again.” I rolled my neck, easing the tension that seized my muscles.
“Still doesn’t explain why after ten years he’d care about how you behaved?”
“I have no idea either.” Even I heard the defeat in my voice.
“So, you really weren’t naked?”
I shot him a look of disbelief, only to encounter a smile I was sure existed only to irritate me. “I was disheveled, not naked.” I gripped the steering wheel tighter.
“OK. OK. I believe you. By the way, why did you call him Cyril?”
In frustration, I threw my head forward and banged the top of the steering wheel, focused back on the road, then sighed. “Cyril was his name when I knew him before. I think he changed it for business reasons.”
I had never been so thankful to see O’Riley’s in all my life. We passed it and parked in the garage across the street from the concert hall. “I’m going to try her cell one more time.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed her number before Clarence could ask anything else. No answer.
Clarence reached across the console and placed his hand on my arm. “She’s probably doing something stupid, like stalking Harmon. We’ll find her.”
I looked at Clarence. “Why don’t you go back to O’Riley’s just in case she shows up? I’m going to head on over to the office to see if she left a note or something. Maybe she left me a voice mail on the office phone. What time do you want to meet so I can drive you home?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll find a ride. If nothing else I’ll take the bus. You go home and get some rest.”
He gave my arm one last squeeze before we got out of the car. “We’ll find her. Just be careful.”
He hugged me and I gave him an uncharacteristic peck on the cheek.
The beeping of my automatic door locks echoed through the garage as we walked off in different directions. My shoes tapped as they met concrete. The concert hall wasn’t far, but still a decent walk. The city streets acted like wind tunnels, sending huge gusts of river-cooled air through each alley. The wind blowing across my ears made it difficult to hear, yet the feeling of being watched tickled my awareness. I paused, looked in all directions, listening. Discerning nothing, I kept walking.
A few steps later, I paused again as the sensation washed over me, prickling my skin. Certain someone watched me, I turned the corner leading to the symphony garden. I took an opportunity to use what looked like my admiration of the gathering space to search for prying eyes. Again, nothing.
The concert hall featured an urban garden with a huge cascading fountain, expert landscaping, and small bistro tables. Two large, twisted iron gates showcased the space surrounded by an eight-foot tall brick wall. I peered over my shoulder. Not a soul in sight.
As I turned my attention back to the entrance I noticed the lock, which usually hung straight, was twisted. To most passersby it would appear secure, but having locked it myself dozens of times, I knew something was wrong. Not wanting to draw further attention, I slid the gate open, inch by inch. Anytime a creak sounded, I slowed the progress to silence it. Opening the door just enough, I slipped inside.
The ground, covered in etched, rounded paving stones, made for uneven walking, especially in dress shoes. The streetlights barely illuminated the courtyard, but cast enough light so trees in large, round planters projected dark silhouettes on the brick. I flattened my back against the wall. Waiting for my eyes to adjust, I watched for movement. Only an occasional car drove by; the city night was quiet.
I made it to the fountain, following the curv
atures of the ledge that normally housed water, but had been drained for the winter. I moved with slow determination. A bistro table with a rumpled cover caught my eye, and I paused. As soon as my mind pieced the picture together, I continued on my quest.
Halfway through the space, I detected motion coming from a figure hunched by the door to the lower lounge. I heard what sounded like metal on metal. The figure stood. It appeared to be a tall man with a large frame. As he turned, the reflected light gave me a glimpse of his features and golden hair. He wasn’t an employee or patron. I had never seen that man before.
Not having expected an encounter, I found myself exposed, without a plan or weapon of any kind. If the man couldn’t get the door open, he’d have to turn around, and I had nowhere to hide. I thought about yelling, scaring him, but what if he had a gun? This was by far the dumbest thing I had ever done.
The pale man’s visage faded into the black surroundings as I was propelled backward at lightning speed. Something had me clutched in its grasp. At the same time a masculine hand reached around from behind and covered my mouth, stifling my scream. A large arm snaked across my chest, holding my arms in place while my back melded against the stranger.
Hot breath and a deep whisper on my ear sent shivers through me, even though I was held against a hard, heated body. “Don’t you dare scream. I’m not going to hurt you, but if you do something stupid, I will punish you.”
Cyril. If his voice hadn’t given him away, his scent would have. Electricity pulsed through me, even though given the circumstances, I should have been overridden by fear.
The arm coiled around me released, and he moved from behind, steadying as he sat me on the ground. “Stay here and do not move. If you are ever going to listen to me, this is the time to do it.” He ducked down and stared into my eyes as if to say see, it’s me, don’t worry.
He stood, and his attire caused my breath to hitch. His pants were black leather with laces in place of a zipper. The lacing drew my focus to his already attention-worthy anatomy. The black shirt fit tight over his well-defined chest, accented by the leather bandolier holding at least a dozen small knives. His black leather boots rested high on his calves.