House of Ashes
Page 12
Their indifference to my lost treasure bothered me, but considering their minimalistic attitude about possessions, perhaps I was expecting too much. Neither of them wore any jewelry, not even wedding bands. It was possible they didn’t understand my emotional attachment to Fiona’s ring.
I didn’t broach the subject again with Ashley or Vince, and I dared not mention anything to Zoe or Brooks, knowing full well who they’d blame. Which left me forced to swat away on my own the annoyingly unwelcomed question darting into my mind about how these two wandering paupers had afforded that bronze Winnie the Pooh statue.
* * *
A week or so after the tattoo outing, the three of us were homebound on a stormy night. We’d just finished dining on several frozen Totino’s pizzas left over from an impromptu gathering last New Year’s Eve. I’d kept the unsavory detail of their expired shelf life to myself. Not that Vince seemed to notice, having put away three of the pies single-handedly.
“Do you two have any interest in watching this?” I held up a DVD of Drive. “I’m a huge Ryan Gosling fan, but haven’t seen this one.”
Ashley reached for the DVD cover. “He’s so hot.”
“Down girls.” Vince gulped the last of his Dogfish Head IPA and said, “I can’t believe you can buy this out here on the Cape.”
He’d been thrilled when I brought home a six-pack, having selected the brew based on its amusing name.
“Awesome!” he’d exclaimed, popping the cap off the first bottle and savoring the amber liquid. “I haven’t had one of these since Johnny Brenda’s.”
“What’s that, a microbrewery?” I picked up a bottle and attempted to read the small print.
“Not sure. I only know that I like it.”
“Want another?” I asked.
“If you’re offering.”
“How about some dessert with the movie?” Ashley suggested. “Butterscotch sundaes?”
“I’d rather have popcorn with my beer,” Vince tossed an Orville Redenbacher into the microwave while I loaded the movie into the DVD player.
But five minutes into the movie, as sirens wailed on screen, Whistler began to whimper and prance frantically, putting an end to our viewing.
“I guess we’ll have to wait to see if Ryan Gosling outruns the police.”
“Or takes his shirt off in the film.” Ashley wiggled her brows suggestively.
“Right?” I smiled and reached down to pet Whistler, now resting calmly at my feet. I was struck with a flash of comprehension. “So, that’s why he bolted the night of the barn fire?”
Ashley nodded and got down onto the floor to murmur sweetness into the dog’s ear.
“Poor guy. Has he always been frightened of sirens?”
“Just since graduate school.” Vince set an ice cream dish in front of Whistler, who happily lapped up the remains. “We lived on the same block as a fire station.”
“It was a fabulous loft,” Ashley added, wistfully. “It’s just too bad it wasn’t soundproofed. Huh, boy?”
“The first time that fire alarm went off in the middle of the night? Whistler went nuts.”
“And each and every time after that.” Ashley frowned.
“Whenever we’d get home from class and couldn’t find him, we knew there’d been a fire. He’d be curled up in the corner of the closet or hunkered down in the bathtub.”
“That’s one good thing about being out here.” Vince automatically took his wife’s hand. “The quiet.”
“It is peaceful,” she agreed. “I’d stay here forever if I could.”
I knew better than to extend the invitation again. They both became uncomfortable whenever I brought up the subject of Ashley’s internship.
“So, did you have to give up the loft?”
“Apartments weren’t plentiful in the Fish Town area, so we had to tough it out for a while. We’d leave the stereo on during the day, and that seemed to help.”
“Fish what? Where was this? I keep forgetting to ask where you guys went to grad school.” Just then, my phone rang. I checked caller ID and saw that it was an international call. Brit.
“It’s my best friend calling from Italy,” I explained before squealing joyfully into the phone. “Brit! Finally.”
We’d been trying to connect by phone for weeks, but time zones and Brit’s newfound social life had made it difficult. Hearing her voice made me miss her all the more. I’d even forgiven her betrayal and decided not to mention Brooks. I didn’t want to waste our precious time on such subjects.
“No, you go first. I want to hear every detail … Yes, even if it does make me green with envy … You did not!”
Several minutes passed in an excited exchange with my faraway friend before I found myself alone. It was a long call, but not so late when it ended for Vince and Ashley to have called it a night. But the house was still and the upstairs dark. I was on such a high from vicariously experiencing Italy through Brit’s eyes, it didn’t occur to me until much later that they hadn’t answered my question.
13
Early September ~ the day of the disappearance
“Here’s Granny Fi’s old picnic basket.” I handed it to Vince. “It will fit perfectly on the fender rack of Ashley’s bike.”
“It’s beautiful, Cassie.” Ashley admired the antique basket.
Fiona had loved to shuttle us off to Whale Rock Beach every Sunday afternoon. Zoe and I would practically explode in anticipation of the inspired repasts awaiting us in Fiona’s treasured picnic hamper. There was never anything so mundane as a ham sandwich or potato salad. Once she even served us caviar and champagne.
“We can’t possibly take this,” she protested. “It’s an heirloom.”
“Besides, we have this cooler bag that serves us just fine.” Vince picked up the beat-up insulated pouch and set it on the kitchen island.
“Nonsense. You’re going on a picnic; therefore, you must pack a picnic basket.”
“It’s too special. Have you seen how Ashley rides?”
Ashley took umbrage and pulled a face at Vince.
“I’m a safe rider, and you know it.” To me she said, “Seriously, I’d hate it if something happened to it.”
“As Fiona would say, it is just a thing. Besides, it hasn’t been used since”—the memory of my last sailing outing with Billy floated up, but I quickly tamped it down with a fib—”See? I can’t even remember the last time I went on a picnic. No further discussion.”
Ashley lifted her hands as if to say, What can we do? She walked to the door saying, “I need to grab something from the carriage house.”
“I’ll start the sandwiches.” Vince began setting up an assembly line of meats, cheeses, condiments, and rolls.
“I’ll leave you to your culinary creations.” I winked at him, then hefted the laundry basket onto my hip and took the back stairway up to my bedroom. While folding and sorting, I caught sight of Ashley from the window, but instead of the carriage house, she was in a full sprint, crossing the field toward the graveyard.
Before I could process where she was going or why, the phone rang. It was my attorney calling to report that my divorce decree had been granted. I sank down onto the bed, feeling I might pass out. I knew this was coming. Why then was I trembling and nauseated? I took in several deep breaths and tried to bring to mind Ethan’s face. I mouthed the word ex-husband.
The last time I’d seen him was six months ago, at the Family Court hearing. He’d stared straight ahead, never once glancing across the aisle to where I was seated with my lawyer. He was alone, having no funds to hire an attorney of his own. When we were dismissed, Ethan had bolted for the door.
I don’t know how long I remained in a fugue state before a voice calling my name finally awakened me.
“We’re about to head out, Cassie,” Vince yelled from the kitchen.
I managed to rouse myself from the bed but took the old, creaky stairs one by one. Vince was filling the cooler bag with sandwiches—at least a dozen.
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“That’s quite a haul.” I tried to make my voice light and cheerful.
“I’m a man with a healthy appetite.”
“Even you can’t eat that many sandwiches in one sitting. Are you two planning to skip town on me?”
“Of course not.” He seemed surprised by the question. “I mean, where would we go?”
“Just kidding.”
His easy smile returned. “Well, I had to make at least one sandwich for Ash, didn’t I?”
I opened the bread drawer and removed a bag of cookies I’d baked the day before. “Have room for these?”
“Sweet.” He took the bag. “Hey, I thought I finished these off.”
“Lucky for you, I stashed some away.”
We walked outside to where Ashley was waiting on the porch rocker. She was bending over Whistler, who was lying at her feet and wagging his tail in response to her murmurs and pets.
“All set?” Vince asked, gently touching her shoulder. She nodded but did not immediately stop her attentions to Whistler.
When she finally stood, she gave me a searching look. “Is something wrong? You look sad.”
If I told them about the divorce decree, they would feel compelled to stay with me, and I didn’t want to ruin their plans. But my motive wasn’t totally unselfish. I needed the day to pull within my cocoon of misery. So I lied.
“These?” I pointed to what surely were red, puffy eyes. “Ragweed is blowing all over the place right now.” It was true; I wiped my fingers across the porch tabletop to display the pale yellow film.
“That must be what’s been bothering me too.” Ashley rubbed her eyes.
“Let me run inside and get you some Claritin.”
When I returned with the antihistamine, Vince and Ashley were standing by their bikes and inserting the cooler bag into Fiona’s picnic basket.
“It’ll all work out,” I heard Vince tell Ashley, and then he lifted her chin and added, “It’s now or never.”
I cleared my throat to alert them of my approach. Vince clapped his hands together and repeated, “It’s now or never if we want to make it to Provincetown by lunchtime.”
“Here you go.” I held out the medication.
“Thanks, Cassie.” Ashley smiled and clasped my hand for a second as she took the pills I was offering.
Vince picked up the basket and looked around, a bit agitated. “Where’s the rope?”
“I’ve got it right here.” Ashley untied a line from around her waist, where it had been concealed by her shirt.
With care, they secured the basket to the bike rack. Then each of them squatted down beside Whistler and kissed him goodbye.
“You be good for Cassie, baby.” Ashley nuzzled the shepherd’s head.
“Don’t forget, this weekend is summer’s swan song. Traffic will be insane,” I cautioned.
“We’re going to do some exploring. We should be back by dark unless my romantic husband decides to camp out under the stars with me tonight.”
“Or more likely,” Vince added, “we’ll crash somewhere in P-town if we’re too tired for the trek back.”
“Either way, if there’s a change of plans, we’ll call or text you.” Ashley smiled sweetly.
Vince gave Whistler one more hug before they quickly mounted their bikes and pushed off.
I held it together until they turned the corner of the drive, before letting the tears flow. It seemed to take all my strength to climb the stairs, where I collapsed onto the bed and pulled myself into the fetal position. I cried myself to sleep and didn’t awaken until Whistler began whimpering to tell me he needed something … to go out? To eat? Both?
It was completely dark, and I was surprised by the lateness of the hour when I turned on the bedside lamp. Ten o’clock.
“I’m so sorry, boy.” I jumped up, a little too quickly, causing spots to appear. I grabbed onto the side table to steady myself. With nothing in my stomach besides my morning coffee, no wonder I felt dizzy.
But Whistler was now prancing and nearly singing, his bladder probably pushed to capacity. I opened the door, and he made a mad dash for the nearest shrub. Meanwhile, I went to prepare his kibble and check for messages. None. Now I was worried. They were excellent cyclists, but still I couldn’t imagine them risking a ride on Route 6 in the dark. And Ashley had promised to let me know if they were staying in P-town.
I let the dog back in, and before I could even set his bowl on the floor, he began attacking his food. My friends had both been a little distracted as they prepared for their outing. Could they have forgotten to feed Whistler this morning?
I tried their cell phones but was put through immediately to voicemail. I left messages, then paced the kitchen for another half hour before deciding to take the truck toward Provincetown in case they were stranded on the road.
It was nearly midnight when I returned home, having exhausted all avenues to find them. I’d even stopped by Wizards, but no one there had seen them either. I made a call to the Whale Rock Police Station and spoke to Officer Bland, who told me in a fittingly flat, monotone voice that twenty-four hours had to pass before a missing persons report could be filed. It was too late to pester Brooks at home, so I began to search Vince and Ashley’s room in hopes of finding phone numbers of family or friends, local contacts—anyone who might have seen or heard from them. I came up blank and spent the rest of the night through the early morning hours searching on the computer. Still, I uncovered nothing that might help me trace my friends.
After downing my third cup of coffee, I picked up the phone at eight o’clock sharp and called Brooks to get the search rolling. Not surprising, the early bird chief was already at the station.
“I see you called in last night and spoke with Bland.”
“Yes, and he told me he couldn’t do anything until Vince and Ashley have been missing for twenty-four hours.”
“That’s correct. What time did you expect them back yesterday?”
“Before sunset. But they actually left early in the morning so it’s already been twenty-four hours.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Cassie.”
“But there must be something you can do,” I pleaded. “Put out a bulletin with a description. Call the Provincetown police.”
“Officially, I cannot put out a bulletin until they’ve been missing for—”
“Twenty-four hours. Yes, you and the bland one have made that abundantly clear.”
He ignored the jab at his underling. “I’m feeling generous this morning. I’ll call down to P-town and see if there’s been any trouble involving your two little buddies.”
“Call me as soon as you hear anything, okay?”
“Yes, Cassandra.” He sounded exasperated, so I didn’t push further.
I thought I’d go crazy waiting to hear something from the Whale Rock PD. With worry over my friends growing as the hours ticked by, I boldly pursued another avenue and placed a call to the Boston office of the FBI.
It was three days after Ashley and Vince disappeared when Brooks finally called me back, but not with news I was hoping to hear.
“Two bikes have been found down at Kinsey Cove. Do you want to come take a look?”
“I’ll be right there.” But first I ran to the bathroom to empty my stomach. He said two bikes were found. He didn’t say bodies. Still, I didn’t have a good feeling. I splashed water on my face and grabbed the Miata keys. Five minutes later, I pulled down the lane to the cove and saw Fiona’s old picnic basket tied to the fender of the silver bicycle. I ran to the woods and threw up again.
14
Three days after the disappearance
“You’re right, Cassie. Something is very wrong here.” Agent Daniel Benjamin told me later that day. He stared hard, and I was regretting my call to the FBI, despite an unexpected attraction to the rather aloof agent that showed up. “But the biggest problem is there’s no record of your Vince or Ashley Jacobson. According to the US government, they don’t exist.”
“Until we have more information about the disappearance of your tenants, you might want to exercise some caution, remain alert of your surroundings.”
“Are you suggesting I could be in some kind of danger?” I’d been too preoccupied with Ashley and Vince’s disappearance to consider such a notion.
Either he didn’t hear me as he busied himself with the inspection of the door and window locks, or he was evading the question. Regardless, all Agent Benjamin said in the way of an answer was, “These old Vics have a lot of easy entries. I’ll check the rest before I leave.”
Suddenly, I felt especially glad for Whistler and bent down to give him an affectionate rub.
“He’ll be good to have around.” Agent Benjamin nodded toward the dog. “Nobody will want to come in here with a big German shepherd standing guard.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Just some commonsense practices.” He passed it off as a minor precaution, but an abrupt change in his manner and the way he averted his eyes made me dubious. “It’s always a good idea to keep a house securely locked, especially when you live out here, off the beaten trail, so to speak.”
A queasiness came swiftly upon me as my suspicions returned about a possible unidentified person or persons lurking in the woods near The Bluffs earlier in the summer.
He pulled out a chair and motioned for me to sit. “I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
“I’ll be fine.” I waved away his concern, though I would definitely heed his advice and keep all the doors and windows locked from now on.
He gave me an uncomfortably long, appraising look before asking, “Something I should know?”
I shook my head, deciding to save the details of the unknown camper for Brooks. I was feeling guilty for contacting the FBI behind his back, and hoped a peace offering might smooth things over. No doubt he’d be livid over my not reporting it sooner, but there’d been no recent signs to indicate anyone was still skulking about.