Loving Constance

by Lyn Cote

  “Troy didn’t stay away from home tonight voluntarily,” Connie objected. “He would never do anything to cause Annie pain.”

  Rand gave her a look. Why are you still taking the lead?

  “He could be hurt, couldn’t he?” the wife asked, looking up. “Near a forest preserve…people get waylaid…”

  “A search will be started as soon as we get more information. I know it is upsetting, but odd things happen. People make sudden decisions, change plans, do the unexpected.” Rand lifted both hands.

  He took the water glass from the wife’s shaking fingers and set it on the table. He glanced to Connie. “Is Mrs. Nielsen a tea or coffee drinker?”

  “Tea,” Connie said, obviously getting his drift. “I’ll put the kettle on.” She moved to the stove and picked up the kettle.

  As Rand rode the waves and curls of emotion eddying around him, he lowered his tone, keeping his focus on gaining information as painlessly and unobtrusively as possible. “I always think a cup of something warm helps, Mrs. Nielsen.”

  “Call me Annie. Please.” She leaned against the back of the chair. “I can’t think. I can’t understand…why would Troy…something must have happened…”

  “Can you tell me why Troy’s truck would be in Taperville, so far from home?” Rand faced Annie but tracked the friend also. She set the full kettle on the burner and ignited blue flames under it. She turned, resting her slender figure against the counter.

  “He’s working on a construction site there—a new office complex near the tollway.” Annie broke down again.

  “You can do this,” Connie urged her.

  Annie shook her head. “Please,” she appealed to Rand. “Ask Connie…she’s a lawyer. She’ll know what you need…I can’t…” Her voice failed.

  A lawyer. Again, Rand reached out to soothe Annie, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder. “All right. I’ll ask Connie the questions. But if you think she hasn’t given me all I need to know, will you chime in?”

  Annie choked back tears and nodded, barely meeting his eyes.

  Looking uneasy, Connie sat down. “What do you need to know, Mr. O’Neill?”

  “Please call me O’Neill. Everyone does,” he said. He waited until she met his gaze. She didn’t like what was going on, but who would? “When was Troy expected home?” He looked down at his open notebook.

  She cleared her throat. “Annie and her family were giving me a party tonight. Troy was expected home early from work.” She pursed her lips. “I was late myself—Friday night traffic.”

  Rand nodded encouragingly. “What was the party for?”

  “I just passed my bar exam and my first week of work at my first law firm.” Connie looked away. The kettle whistled and she escaped his scrutiny to make the tea.

  “I have most of Mr. Nielsen’s routine information already from the DOT records.” Rand shifted in his chair. It creaked and sounded loud in the tense room.

  “So I’m going to ask some questions,” he continued in his routine steady tone while digging into his jacket pocket, “which may upset you and Mrs. Nielsen but which are necessary. If I’m going to find out why Nielsen didn’t come home tonight, I need to get a clear picture of him and what’s going on in his life.”

  “But what caused this might have nothing to do with him,” Connie spoke up. “He might just have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “That’s true, but I have to start somewhere. You see that, don’t you?”

  Annie nodded, accepting a white handkerchief from his pocket.

  Bringing the teapot to the table, Connie placed herbal tea bags into it to steep and poured in steaming water. The fragrance of the orange blossom tea wafted up from the pot. She ignored him throughout the process.

  “Very well,” Connie finally conceded. “I’ll tell you what I can.”

  “With your law background, you should be able to give me the type of information I need. How close are you to Mr. and Mrs. Nielsen?”

  “I grew up next door.” Connie’s voice thickened with emotion. “And I’m in contact with Annie on a weekly basis by phone.”

  “I see.” Rand jotted down a note. “How long has Troy been working in Taperville?”

  “I think he started this project in midwinter.” Rising, Connie got down four mugs from hooks beneath the cupboard. She looked over her shoulder, her face in shadow. “Isn’t that right, Annie?”

  Annie made a sound of assent.

  “Is he self-employed or what?” Rand asked, quelling the urge to stare at Connie.

  “No.” Connie shivered visibly. “He’s a journeyman in the carpenter’s union. The company he works for is owned by Troy’s uncle Lou, Lou Rossi of Rossi Construction.”

  She was doing a good job at giving information. Rand nodded, jotting down the name, keeping his eyes down so the flow would continue.

  “Lou’s out looking for Troy now. When Troy didn’t show up tonight, he couldn’t think of any reason why Troy would have been delayed.” Connie voice quavered.

  “He and his uncle are close then?” Rand looked up.

  Annie mumbled, “Yes.”

  “Very close. Lou has no children of his own.” Connie’s voice grew steadier. “Uncle Lou is kind of an unofficial uncle to all of us—Gracie, Annie and me. We grew up with him visiting the neighborhood often to see Troy. He helped me find a position with my present law firm.”

  “And your firm is?” Rand caught her eye.

  “Mulvaney, Vincent and Grove.”

  “That’s in Taperville, too.” His gaze lingered on her. And not all of their clients are as squeaky-clean as they probably want you to believe.

  “Yes, Uncle Lou is one of their important clients and you know how much new construction there’s been in Taperville in the past ten years.” Connie stopped. “That’s the connection.”

  Rand finally broke eye contact with her. What was it about this woman that drew his attention? Was she hiding something? “This is all very straightforward. If there was to be a family party tonight, I would think that your husband would make every effort to arrive on time. I think we better get a search of the area of the forest preserve started now.” He snapped open his cell phone and punched in some numbers.

  While he gave this information to his department, Connie filled the mugs and gave the first one to Annie. When he hung up, she said, “Thanks.”

  Annie took a cautious sip and then wept quietly into his handkerchief.

  “Can either of you,” Rand asked after shutting his phone, “think of any reason Mr. Nielsen would have for not showing up tonight?”

  “No,” Connie said flatly. “I’ve known Troy all my life. This is not like him.”

  Rand had heard this phrase many times before and many times subsequent evidence had proved it false. But he held his peace. Unless he was very mistaken, they’d find out soon enough that—unfortunately—every man had his secrets, his vices.

  “I would think that finding his truck abandoned,” Connie insisted, “would lead to the conclusion that…something prevented him from arriving home tonight, that this isn’t just a fluke.”

  Rand met her challenge with a nod. “Yes, but I have to make sure I’ve gathered all possible information. I’m sure you understand that, counselor.” He watched as a few dark strands of her hair slipped from the ponytail at her nape.

  Looking troubled, Connie handed him and the other officer mugs. Lifting graceful arms behind her head, she tightened the band around her ponytail and then ran her fingers through it.

  Rand swallowed and then touched Annie’s arm again. “My goal is to find your husband and bring him home safe and sound, Mrs. Nielsen.”

  Annie nodded, his handkerchief still pressed to her mouth.

  “Now, has anything been bothering your husband?” Rand’s pen hovered over his pad, awaiting her answer.

  Connie’s heart raced. Would this detective get the wrong impression?

  “No, not recently.” Annie sniffled.


  “Had anything upset him in the past year?” Rand asked.

  Connie watched O’Neill. He’d been so gentle with Annie thus far. Even as he’d questioned them, his low voice had held understanding, comfort.

  Annie wiped her eyes. “I started back to school last summer. Troy didn’t take it well…to begin with. He wanted me to have another child first. We have twin boys. They’re five now.”

  “You’re pretty young to have sons almost ready for school.” Rand smiled at Annie.

  Connie appreciated his attempt to bolster Annie. Her first impression of him had been of a man without sensitivity. He’d looked so hard downstairs.

  Annie twisted the damp handkerchief around her fingers. “Troy and I married right after I graduated high school. The twins were a surprise though. So I delayed going on to college. But when they were four last year, I decided it was time for me to start taking classes—just as Troy and I agreed before we were married.”

  “But Troy had changed his mind?” Rand prompted and set his mug on the table.

  Connie let herself down into her chair again. The reference to last summer’s crisis was draining her in some way. She lowered her eyes and found herself studying the detective’s hands—so masculine and capable looking.

  “It wasn’t a big deal.” Annie stopped mangling the handkerchief. “It just took us a few months to work through. We went to counseling and we’ve been closer than ever since.”

  Connie felt herself drawn to O’Neill, waiting for his plan of action in this awful situation.

  “That’s why I know something happened to him.” Tears flooded Annie’s eyes anew. “This just isn’t like him. I mean, he has buddies from high school and from work and the union. And he’ll go out with them a couple times a month. But he always lets me know well in advance and he never stays out past eleven or twelve. He works long hours at a physically demanding job and we’ve got the twins. He needs his sleep. And he would never blow off a family obligation.” Annie pressed her fist against her mouth, smothering a sob.

  Rand took a sip of the herbal tea.

  Over the rim of his mug, Connie’s gaze met his and was returned steadily. She dared him to argue with Annie’s assessment of her marriage.

  “How will you find him?” Annie asked, her fist still covering her mouth, holding back her fear.

  “The forest preserve will be searched. I’ll keep you abreast of what we find,” Rand explained gently. “I’d like the names and phone numbers of those friends of his. And we’ll wait to see if you get a ransom note or a call from your husband explaining some bizarre occurrence that none of us could have guessed at.”

  “What kind of occurrence?” Connie pressed him. I can’t think of one that would explain Troy’s disappearance, Detective O’Neill.

  “I have no way of knowing at this point.” His cell phone rang and he answered it. Within moments, he turned to Annie. “Can either of you tell me why a smear of dried blood would be found on the floor of the pickup?”

  “Blood?” Annie gasped and Connie froze in place.

  Chapter Two

  Connie had anticipated the usual buzz she got from meeting a new challenge head-on, but in vain. On this Monday morning, she stood like an empty suit behind her imposing mahogany desk. A weekend spent worrying about Troy and the blood in his pickup and comforting Annie had sucked the strength and hope out of Connie. Regardless, she shook hands with her first defendant in her first case. She had a job to do.

  “I didn’t know I was getting such a classy lady as my lawyer.” Floyd Sanders, a pale man in his fifties with thinning hair, began by saying exactly the wrong thing to her. He compounded his mistake by holding her hand a bit longer than he should.

  Connie smiled back, but secretly wished she could put him in his place. Subtly chauvinistic compliments always put up her hackles. She decided to overlook it…this time. “Let’s get right to business.” She gestured for him to take the chair on the other side of her desk.

  He sat down and spent nearly half a minute getting comfortable in the wide leather chair.

  Connie’s minor had been psychology and she found herself studying her first defendant’s obviously nervous body language as well as his shuttered expression. Neither bolstered her spirits.

  Her mind wandered. O’Neill’s arresting face fluttered through her mind. Did she trust him to find Troy? The search of the forest preserve had come up with no clue or trace of Troy. Where was he this morning—three days after his disappearance? Apparently since there was no evidence that Troy had met with foul play and no ransom note had been received, Detective O’Neill still hadn’t concluded whether Troy was a victim or a husband who’d decided to abandon his family. But anyone acquainted with Troy knew he would never leave Annie.

  She forced her mind back to the present. “Now, Mr. Sanders, your warehouse at 280 Depot Street in the old downtown section of Taperville was completely destroyed by fire over a month ago, is that right?”

  “Yes, it was. Lost a new shipment of pressure-treated lumber in the fire, too.” He licked his wide, loose lips.

  The image of Annie’s bereft face intruded again, sparking self-reproach. O’Neill’s voice echoed in her mind: “Any reason for blood?” Connie glanced down at the state fire marshal’s report, blocking out these memories. The facts in the report about the Sanders’s fire were damning, to say the least. “Do you have any idea why the fire marshal decided that your fire was suspicious?”

  “No, I don’t.” Floyd Sanders slid forward. His elbows rested on the chair arms and he clasped his hands in front of his mouth. “That’s what you’re going to have to prove was wrong. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

  Connie nodded without enthusiasm. “I will do my best for you.” I was so excited about this and now—why don’t I have a good feeling about it?

  She turned her eyes full force on her client, trying to penetrate the mask he was hiding behind. “I’ll need all the information you can give me about the fire. Where were you when the fire alarm went off at—” she checked the report for the time of the alarm “—two-forty a.m. on May third of this year?”

  “I was home in bed.” He slid back in his seat. “Where would an honest man be?” He stared at his hands clasped in front of him. “It was a Wednesday night.” He swore about the lousy police. “Some people work for a living.” He glared at her as if she were responsible for the accusation of arson against him.

  Floyd Sanders was right. People like Troy worked for a living. And where was Troy, an honest man—a faithful husband—who should have come home as usual on Friday night?

  Pushing away her unruly thoughts, she mouthed a few soothing, yet non-committal words to her client. “Now you also had just increased your insurance coverage on this particular warehouse—”

  “Of course I had.” He sat up straighter. “Real estate around here is leaping up in price and I knew I’d be handling more lumber at that location. Are you aware of how much the price of building lumber has jumped just in the past six months?”

  Again, Connie accepted what her client said and moved on. “I’ve spent a lot of time studying the fire marshal’s report, but I’d like to tour the warehouse myself. Would that be possible?”

  “Sure.” He gave her a sly glance. “You’re a hot dog, huh?”

  Connie lifted one eyebrow.

  “Want to see everything for yourself and show what you can do, right?” He grinned in a manner she found unpleasant.

  “I’m always thorough.” That’s why I can’t accept three days with no progress on finding Troy. What is O’Neill thinking? Or more important, what is he doing?

  Floyd Sanders adjusted the crease on his slacks. “Good. I like thorough.”

  She would try to visit the burned-out warehouse on the following day or as soon as she could work it in. He agreed to leave word with the security man that she was to be admitted to the burn site whenever she appeared. Her stomach suffering the weight of some reaction she didn’t want
to probe, she proceeded. “And you realize that your insurance company has made its own report—one that had a lot to do with your fire being termed as arson?”

  “That’s right. But it’s all politics.” He threw up his hands. “This used to be a small town when I first started out. Local businesses were valued. Now all these new executive complexes and new businesses and malls. Taperville isn’t the same place. I used to be like this—” Sanders put his two forefingers together “—with the former fire chief. Now?” He shrugged.

  “I see.” She did and she didn’t like what she saw. Why did I get this case? Because no one else wanted to touch it?

  She rose to shake hands and put an end to this revealing and unsettling interview. Her client leered at her, used both his hands to cover her one and then left.

  She stood rooted to the spot. The sounds of telephones ringing in other offices and voices of colleagues and clients walking together to the nearby elevator flowed around her. Evidently she’d drawn the short straw and had been saddled with a doomed case and client. One of the senior legal assistants, Maureen—with salt and pepper hair and a still trim figure—walked by and gave a little wave. Connie responded in kind. On her first day with the firm, Maureen had been pointed out to Connie as the office gossip. But Connie had seen no evidence of this as yet. When Maureen moved out of sight, Connie sank into her leather chair and closed her eyes.

  Doom had been her mood since Friday night and it had lingered all weekend. She’d spent every day of the weekend at Annie’s. She’d only gone to her Taperville condo to grab a few hours sleep, shower and change clothes. The whole family—Uncle Lou, Gracie and her husband and Annie’s dad Mike and his new wife plus Patience and her husband—had also hovered around Annie and her sons, not leaving them alone in their stunned grief. Lou had insisted that he’d continue to pay Annie Troy’s regular wages until Troy was found. The bluff man had been devastated and not good at hiding it.

  It had been difficult to hide the extent of her own heartache. Troy had been her friend and then in high school, her first sweetheart. An unspecified fear clutched her. What could have happened to him?