The house phone rings, flashing the word ‘private’.
“Blair, it’s Mark.”
“Mark,” I exclaim, pretending to be my sister again. “God, it’s good to hear your voice.”
“Huh? We just spoke…” He sighs. “Please tell me you didn’t disregard what I said.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I just got back in town and heard Will Loomis called in a complaint to the precinct about you.”
Wait, what?
What has Blair been doing all this time?
Mark pierces the dead air. "He can get that restraining order reinstated if you keep harassing him.”
Lamely, I respond. “Sure.”
“Why did you leave me a Hawaii number to call back?” He asks. “If this is about Bridget, we’re waiting for forensics. I don’t have any updates for you yet.”
Wait, Bridget was found? I double over, heaving, as I barely make it to the sink in time to puke. Holding the phone from my ear, I cough and spit up, unable to catch my breath.
“You okay?” I hear him echo into the receiver.
Taking a gulp of tap water, I swallow hard. “Yeah,” I whisper.
“There was a girl at a local hospital here but I haven’t had a chance to interview her…heard it was a weird situation. She’s left the hospital, but the detectives know where she is.” He’s pensive. “I’ll get in touch with her.”
“No need. I can fill you in,” I offer.
“I knew it.” Mark exhales. “You never listen. You’re impossible. I told you to wait for my call.”
“I couldn’t, it’s my sister.” I tap my fingers impatiently on the counter. “Can you by any chance meet tonight?” I add. “Since I’m in town.”
After the shock of my unexpected arrival to the island wears off, along with some choice cuss words on Mark’s part, we agree to meet in an hour. Calling Laura the next-door neighbor, who has met the baby a few times, I ask if she’d be okay sitting at the house while he sleeps. Max trusts her implicitly, an older lady that’s pushing seventy. She’s Houston’s dog-sitter and has seven grandchildren between her two kids. She’s delighted, telling me she just started a new book and can easily read from over here.
I throw on clothing I don’t care to wear –a black dress and strappy leather sandals. Staring at my reflection, weird since for so long I went without the ability to look at myself, I twist my hair up into a knot and swipe on mauve-colored lipstick. It takes a couple tries, I have to wipe it off and reapply, my hands shaking as I trace the outline of my lips. It’s more than beginner’s nerves, it’s dread at hearing about Bridget. Discomfort at going back to the defunct bar, now The Sandlot.
I consider leaving Max a note, but I shoot him a quick text instead about where I’m going. If I can speak with Mark in person and determine commonalities between the other missing girls and The Mole, I’ll be off to a good start in finding his identity. The popular bar has come up multiple times as a prime locale for disappearances. Even with a name change, maybe the atmosphere will jog memories I’ve buried for so long.
After greeting Laura when she knocks, I wait on the porch for my ride. Wiping my increasingly sweaty palms on my dress, I wait for a taxi to pick me up. I think about my father, driving aimlessly down the street, alcohol replacing God as his vice. His staunch belief in religion wasn’t steadfast enough, my absence causing him to deviate from his path. The thought of him hurting and alone is enough to make me want to curl up in a ball and cry.
44
Bristol
I meet him at a small table in the corner of the bar, The Sandlot is now more of a younger crowd, mid-twenties to early-thirties, the diverse crowd last time replaced by a younger generation. The décor has changed just like the name–from an aquarium and coral reef to a surfer’s paradise. Boards from surfing greats like Kelly Slater and Laird Hamilton hang above the bar. The walls are painted in various colors of blue, the paint pantomiming the arches of a rolling wave, at different points the brush ripples off into a breaker effect.
Tonight is live music, punk rockers with bright-colored faux hawks and a preference for leather. They scream into the microphone, their words sound like a never-ending tantrum.
I’ve never met Mark before, and his shiny bald head and muscular arms fit the career of a security guard, P.I., and ex-military, I learn.
“Mark,” I shout over the music.
He turns, his eyes registering confusion. I’m not my dark-haired sister. I’m the one he’s been searching for. Staring in disbelief, his eyes trained on my injured arm. “What the...” Tilting his head, “Bristol? It can’t be.”
I stand, shaking his hand, “Bristol.” It’s been so long since I’ve said my name out loud, it sounds strange to me.
“Are you fucking with me?” He’s serious, his eyes moistening. “You better show me some ID.”
“I don’t have it.” I shrug. “It disappeared when I did.”
“Is this a joke?” He doesn’t know whether to stay or leave.
“Mine’s missing, but this is better.” Max had given Bridget’s ID back to me. I pull it out of my clutch, sliding it across to him. He stares at her picture in shock. “You know her?”
Ignoring his question, I ask. “What happened to her? Where was she found?”
“Near lava rocks, an area called Mermaid Cave.”
I brace myself, wringing my hands in my lap. “That was me.”
He’s puzzled. “You were impersonating her at the hospital?”
“At the beginning.” I take a long inhale. “She needs our help,” I explain. “She’s still locked in a room.” His undivided attention’s fixated on me as I tell him why I pretended to be her at the hospital. We talk, his familiarity with my case staggering. He’s well-versed on the other missing individuals on the island, having lived here so long.
“Have you seen Blair yet?” he asks. “She’s been your biggest advocate.”
I swallow a lump. “No.”
Disappointment crosses his face. “Oh, that’s too bad. She’s really busted her ass to try and find you. She’s never given up hope. I think that’s part of why she stayed in Nebraska, it was the only home you both knew.”
“What do you mean?” I’m baffled. “Isn’t she in Cali? Married with kids?”
“Ha!” He pounds the table with his fist. “No, she’s still there. Different town, but still there. She never left.”
Settling back in my chair, I feel defeated. “Crap.”
“What now?”
“I want to see her and my mom.” I brush a piece of hair behind my ear that’s fallen out of my twist. “But I need to find Bridget first. If not, she’ll die. Either of starvation or from him. He’s out there still.”
“Why didn’t you give him up when you escaped?”
“That’s the problem. I never saw where I was being held. It could’ve been anywhere,” I explain. “I wanna tie up this mess and reunite with my family knowing he can’t separate us again.”
“You say ‘him’. So it was a ‘he’ and you can describe him?”
“Yeah, he never wore a mask or hid his appearance,” I describe his yellow tooth, the mole, his blue eyes, sandy hair.
“Did you ever see anyone else?” He plays with the menu in his hand, turning it over, picking it up, putting it down. “Could he have had help?”
“Nope.” I shrug. “It was only ever him.”
Describing the room in detail as he jots notes on a pad of paper, his fingers try to keep up with my observations. I tell him about the pond and gravesite, remembering the salvage cars and litter. “It was underground,” I muse. “At least, it felt that way.”
“That’s the tricky part. There are so many places, Blair.”
“I know. I want to help.”
“I hear you.”
“What about the other missing girls on the island?”
“There have been lots. Most are runaways that come back or leave permanently. Issues at home, boy
friend troubles, or their own wanderlust.”
“But what about the ones that aren’t missing on purpose?”
“There have been a couple. I’ve followed their cases. I tend to hunt for scumbag parents that owe child support or watch spouses that’re cheating, not missing girls.”
“The fake IDs we had were from two girls, one was Leslie Billings, can you check into her?” I snap my fingers. “The other’s Haley, Haley Pritchett.”
“I’ll look into it,” he promises.
The next morning, he calls me with news. Leslie Billings is a missing person. No one’s seen or heard from her in years.
But she didn’t get reported by her family.
She was living in rural Washington in 1992 when she decided to travel to Hawaii for a fresh start at eighteen.
“The reason she never came up as a missing person is because she got married after spending two months in Hawaii. She eloped with an Hawaiian native, her last name changed to Alana. She filed the paperwork but they split, so she took a job at a car dealership here to save money to go back to Washington. She never made it back as far as we know. As for Haley, she’s alive, I found her on LinkedIn. She’s a massage therapist at a resort in Aspen, Colorado.”
“She doesn’t fit his type anyway. She’s dark-haired.”
“True,” he agrees.
“How did Leslie come up missing?”
“She didn't show up at the dealership for work. They fired her for no call, no show but also reported her missing.”
“Which one?” I ask.
He pauses, keys clicking on his keyboard. “Island Chevy."
My blood turns to ice, the phone heavy in my hand.
“Say it again?” I murmur, gripping the counter.
“Island Chevy, about five minutes from downtown.” The cream-colored business card comes to mind.
“There was a card, a business card, in the trash of the bathroom.” I fill Mark in on the name of the salesman, Dean Morgan.
“Let’s go visit the dealership.” Mark’s already on it. “He’s still working there, his name pops up on their website.”
Max asks me where I’m headed, Mark screeching to a halt in a black Dodge Charger in front of the house. “I’m going on an errand,” I say, telling him about my meeting with Mark. His hands twist nervously as I tell him I went back to the bar I disappeared from.
“Be careful,” he warns. “You sure you don’t need me to go with?”
“I’m going with a retired P.I. that knows my sister.”
His gaze sharpens. “Ok, but I’ll be at my practice. Call me if you need a ride back or moral support.” He gives my shoulder a gentle pat. “Good luck.”
I slide into the passenger seat and we speed off, Mark’s hands tense on the wheel. We’re both lost in our thoughts, wondering if this will lead to a break in the case.
“Dean?” We ask the greeter at the dealership. New cars fill the showroom, the smell of leather and tire wax making me queasy. I’m amazed at all the options and bells and whistles you can buy, but the price tags seem ludicrous.
He’s not what I expect, alligator cowboy boots, a brass belt buckle, and a ten-gallon hat. He’d be more at home in the southwest. “Hiya, I’m Dean." He’s got a toothpick hanging out of the left side of his mouth. “You get a recommendation for me from a friend?’
“Yeah,” Mark says, “I’m trying to remember his name...” He snaps his fingers.
“Your friend?” Dean hee-haws. “Must not be a good one.”
“How long have you been in the car business?” Mark asks.
“Twenty-five years.” He stands proud. “I retire next year.”
“Then I’m glad we caught you,” Mark says. “We don’t want to buy a car just yet, but we need your help.”
“I hear that one all the time.” Dean shrugs. “Come into my office.”
It’s about the size of a closet, and the room makes me claustrophobic. Mark notices, leaving the door open and motioning for me to stand in the doorway. He sits on a folding chair in the makeshift office, Dean’s desk littered with papers and junk, more Styrofoam coffee cups and fast food paper bags than I can count.
“Explain your business.” Dean crosses a leg, ignoring the mess and the buzzing desk phone. I tell Dean the circumstances as he looks in horror at my level gaze.
“All be dammit,” he wipes a brow. “Any idea the type of car he has or had?”
“No.”
He’s crestfallen.
“But I can describe him.” I give all the details I remember, Dean tapping his boot against the rickety desk, shaking his head, frustrated. “Nobody comes to mind.”
“What about Leslie Billings or Leslie Alana?” Mark tries another angle. “She worked here in the early nineties as a receptionist.”
“Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“She stopped showing up for work.” Mark pulls a bulletin of her out of his notepad, it’s crumpled up.
“Blonde, blue-eyed?” He scans the black and white copy. “Yep, she was young. Hell, I was too back then.” He raises his eyebrows.
“Is there any way to find out what she did here?” Mark asks. “What customers she might’ve come in contact with, title work, etc.?”
“From then?” Dean shrugs. “Afraid not.”
I put my hands on my hips in defeat. “Then how will we ever catch this creep?”
“Let me ask Bill, the service manager. He’s been here even longer than I have.” Dean stands, knocking off a sheaf of papers on his desk. “Follow me.”
Dean leads the way and I follow, my heels clicking on the tile flooring, then the concrete, as we step into the garage stalls where the mechanics work.
An older Hispanic man with a handlebar mustache comes over to greet him, “Dean, what’re you doing?”
“Hi George, looking for Bill.” George smiles at us, a gold crown winking at me. He points underneath one of the vehicles being serviced. I step around an oil can, almost tripping, when a man says, “You shouldn’t be back here.”
The voice sounds familiar.
I turn, locking eyes with Will Loomis.
My eyes widen in surprise. “Will?”
He drops the wrench he’s holding, it clangs to the ground.
“Bristol?” He looks at me like I’m a ghost coming back to haunt him after all these years.
“Yeah.”
“Is that really you?”
“Yes.”
“How did…” His bronzed face drains of color. “When did…”
“It was recent…”
“We thought...”
I shake my head. “I know.”
“Your sis was asking about you the other day.” He stares at me, glued to my reaction. “When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“Blair?” Astonished, I ask, “You saw her?”
He’s puzzled. “Yeah, she stopped by the surf hut.”
“She’s here?” I can’t contain my excitement.
“Yeah, she was.” He wipes his hands on the rag. “She’s been on my trail since you went away. Blamed me for this.”
“Oh,” I’m speechless. The restraining order must have something to do with it.
“I want to know what happened…” He looks haggard. “Where you’ve been, why I haven’t seen anything on the news or heard from the cops. And here you are, reappearing after all this time.”
“Yeah, it’s a long story.” I don’t know how much to tell him, if he’ll blow my cover. “I just have some loose ends to tie up and then everyone will know.”
“Know what?”
“That I’m alive.”
“No one knows?”
I don’t answer, my face must give me away. He takes a deep breath. “Do you know who…”
I lie. “No, I don’t.”
“Where’re you staying?” He scrunches his face up. “I’d like to at least have coffee or something…I need your help…and maybe I can help you.”
“My help?”
; “To clear my name.” He stares at the floor. “No one believes I didn’t hurt you. I get you’re on your own mission but I’ve…it’s been…rough, is an understatement.”
Quickly, he adds, “Not to minimize what’s happened to you. Please don’t think I’m making light of what happened…I just don’t know what happened.”
I think about what Will just said about us helping each other. He knows the island and he knows the bar scene, maybe even some of the old employees from The Ocean Club.
Time’s not on my side, but I’ve never had the opportunity to talk to him about the night I went missing. Maybe he can put some of the pieces together for me and we can fill in the blanks together.
Bridget’s counting on it.
Maybe other girls as well.
“Okay,” I bite my lip, “let’s get together.” He pulls a pen out of his work pocket. I give him my number. He doesn’t bother with a piece of paper, writing it on his hand.
He nods. “Thank you.”
“One condition,” I hold up a finger, “no one’s to know I’m not missing. Let me tell everyone on my own time.”
“Yeah, sure, that’s fair.” He turns to go back to work, stopping short. He turns back around. “Bristol?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really happy you’re safe.” His smile finally reaches the creases, a genuine one. “I’ve thought about you a lot over the years. I shouldn’t have left you alone in your hotel room.”
A lump settles in my throat, I can only nod.
He heads back to a waiting vehicle, his shoulders straight instead of hunched over, a bounce in his step. I consider how he must feel, living a life where you’re guilty based on public perception because you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I watch Dean talking to Bill, both are motioning towards the front and pointing to the outside.
“What’s happening?” I whisper in Mark’s ear.
“Unfortunately jack shit.”
Bill greets us, his recollection about the same as Dean’s. He remembers Leslie, but he doesn’t know what happened to her or anything about her life.
Into the Night Page 31