Lost Cargo

by Hollister Ann Grant

  “Hey, Monroe,” Travis said. “What’s up, man?”

  Monroe didn’t look up. “Taking the rest of my stuff.”

  “Yeah? Where’s Annie?”

  “Home.” Monroe’s expression was a sealed vault.

  “Everything okay with you two?” Travis took one step down the stairs. The basement apartment had a desolate echo. Something was definitely wrong, but Monroe didn’t look like he was in the mood for a big midnight confession.

  “Yeah, sure,” Monroe said. “And I want to get that jacket you borrowed.”

  Embarrassed, Travis tried to remember where he’d left it. “You know, it’s at a friend’s house. I’ll text her and get it back for you.”

  Monroe didn’t answer. Ill at ease, Travis went back to the kitchen, put on the coffee, and texted Lexie. Monroe and Annie must have gone at it. He’d heard them arguing during the week. Well, it was none of his business. They’d make up again before the night was over.

  As soon as he sent the message, the phone rang.

  “It’s Lisa,” his sister said. Her voice sounded horrible, heavy and congested, as though she’d been weeping or was ill. “I know it’s late, but this is kind of an emergency. I want to know if you can go get my insulin.”

  “Yeah, of course I will, if I can,” he said. “I don’t have a car. Where are you? Are you sick?”

  “I’m at Mom’s house with a really bad migraine. Ian didn’t come home tonight, and I came over here and forgot my insulin. It’s in the refrigerator. If you take a cab, I’ll pay you back.”

  “Sure, I’ll get it for you. What happened to Ian? And Mom can’t help you? I mean, I’ll need to come over there and get the key.”

  “You know how she is. She doesn’t drive at night. She can’t see.”

  “Where’s Ian?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Travis. I’m worried sick about it.”

  Ian missing. Not good, not good at all, but there was probably an explanation. Ian was a level-headed man. When Travis hung up, he could still hear Monroe opening and closing drawers. Then the phone rang again. Maybe Ian had shown up after all.

  “I got your text,” Lexie said in a cool voice.

  His heart skipped a beat. “I left Monroe’s jacket at your house.”

  “It’s here somewhere,” she said and paused. “I’ll drop it off tomorrow if I can have the Nikon you found in the woods.”

  “Why do you want the Nikon?”

  “Because the reporter wants to see the photos and he thinks he can trace the owner through the company.”

  “You know, I’ll talk to you tomorrow about that. My sister’s husband hasn’t shown up and she’s sick about it. She’s a diabetic and I’m going to pick up her insulin as soon as I can get a cab.”

  Five seconds of silence passed.

  “I’ll give you a ride,” Lexie said. “You won’t get a cab in the storm.”

  He stared at the sleet beating against the windows. “Okay,” he reluctantly agreed, not wanting to be indebted to her for anything.

  “And can I have the Nikon?” she added.

  “Okay, take it. So I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  He hung up and stuck his head back in the basement apartment. “I’m going over to my sister’s condo to get her insulin, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back. If you’re still here, I’ll probably have your jacket. And there’s coffee up here if you want it.”

  Everybody had gone crazy.

  Ten minutes later, he spotted Burke’s car, tucked his head against the sleet, and ran down the stone steps to Porter Street. He was glad to climb into the car and slam the door against the wind.

  Lexie looked gorgeous in black jeans and a black coat. A storm of emotions swept across her face that matched the storm outside. He remembered standing on a high hill under the stars at his father’s home in Nova Scotia when a flash of heat lightning had revealed the whole valley before him, everything, down to the last tree and beloved fold in the land, and he felt the same way now when he looked at Lexie. Her face said she’d missed him terribly, and she was angry, too, and worst of all, disappointed in him.

  Then she put the car in reverse.

  “Your sister’s husband is missing,” she said.

  “Yeah, she’s sick about it,” he told her. “Here’s everything, the camera and the camera bag. How’d the search for Burke go?”

  She shook her head. “We didn’t find anything. They’re going back with dogs tomorrow. The police told me I have to consider that he might not be alive. You could help us look.”

  “I don’t know where the black triangle is. I don’t have any special knowledge. You know they’ll destroy it if they find it. They’ll take it apart piece by piece. It’ll never fly again.”

  “Travis, I’ve said this before. I don’t care if it flies again.”

  He turned to face her. “When I met you, you were open-minded about UFOs.”

  “My brother’s a prisoner. You don’t seem to understand that. Why doesn’t the pilot put him in the woods?”

  “Because Burke can’t walk,” he said.

  “And because people would find him and find the black triangle.”

  “What would you do if you crashed here?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Look at us, going out in an ice storm to get your sister’s insulin. What would you do if Lisa was trapped in the woods instead of Burke?”

  They maneuvered the icy streets in silence. Sleet blew over the deserted pavement like restless spirits on the move. He looked at her again and she looked away until the darkness closed in behind them, and before he knew it, they were in front of his mother’s house. All the downstairs lights were on.

  He got out and turned around, unable to walk away without saying something. Worst of all, he’d lost his heart to her and couldn’t tell her. Emotions boiling, he stood in the open car door while the sleet struck his coat.

  “It won’t work your way,” he finally said, and slammed the door. By the time he reached the porch, he expected to see her pulling out of the driveway, but she was still there, staring at him.

  Miserable, he went in the house. Every lamp in the place seemed to be on, but he didn’t see anybody. Seconds later, a spoon clinked. He found his bleary-eyed mother dressed in green silk Chinese pajamas at the breakfast table, stirring a cup of coffee while she turned the pages of an old Martha Stewart magazine. A jumble of phones and coffee cups littered the table.

  “Ian didn’t come home tonight,” she said.

  “I heard. Lisa called me to pick up her insulin.”

  “They were in Rock Creek Park, and they had an argument, and he went off by himself and never came home. Lisa thinks he took a shortcut through the woods. It’s a frightening situation.”

  “She talked to the police?” he asked.

  “They won’t do anything, which is typical for this city. If he doesn’t show up tonight, they want her to call them in the morning. Now, of course, if Lisa was a senator, or the mayor, and her husband fell off the face of the earth, everybody in the city would be crawling around in the woods.” She ran her hand through her hair. “Lisa thinks he probably stopped off for a drink or went to his office… except the university is closed. Or a hotel, but she says he’s never done that before.”

  He was already in the front hall, racing up the steps. Ian missing. Just a fight, or worse? His mind reeling, he gave the guest room door a light tap.

  “Come in,” Lisa called in a heavy voice. “Just shut the door. I can’t stand the light.”

  He slipped inside and closed the door. She hadn’t bothered to unmake the bed and lay on it face down in her clothes. His eyes gradually adjusted to the dark. Gray shapes turned into Audubon prints and a stylish desk and chair. He could see his disheveled sister clearly now in the sliver of light under the door. Then she made a sudden effort to sit up and pressed her hands to her temples.

  “What happened?” he asked, sitting on the floor.

  She shook her head
. “We were in the park, and we had a fight about money, just a stupid, stupid fight. And about the word grasp, if you can believe it. Ian always says there are things I just don’t grasp, and I let him have it.” She let out a deep breath. “So he walked off. I thought he took a shortcut through the woods, but he never came home. Sometimes married people do things like that. Now you know what you have to look forward to when you get married.”

  “Not me. I’m never getting married.”

  She gave a weak laugh. “Yeah, that’s what they all say. So I called the police, and they’ve got their hands full with Halloween and the storm. They want me to call them tomorrow if he doesn’t show up. Travis, my whole life is falling apart. Sometimes the world seems fine, and then it all turns upside down like some kind of a sick nightmare.”

  “You look pretty sick yourself,” he said.

  “My head’s killing me and my blood sugar’s too high.”

  “You said the insulin’s in the refrigerator?”

  She nodded. With sickening certainty, he realized this was the perfect opportunity. He could drive to Buchanan House, get her insulin, and call the cops with his phony story. Nobody would be listening over his shoulder. All he had to do was make the call from the building and get out. If the tracker would work.

  “I’ll run over there and get it now,” he said.

  “You think you could drive around and look for Ian?”

  “What about your blood sugar? Can you wait?”

  “I can wait. How’s the storm?”

  “It’s not that bad. Your car has four wheel drive, right?”

  “My car’s at home. I took a cab.” Lisa pressed her hands to her temples as though her head was about to explode.

  “I’ll take Mom’s car,” he said.

  “Travis, you’re the best brother ever,” she told him.

  “You’re not bad yourself.”

  She reached for a Kleenex and blew her nose. “I have one more favor to ask.”

  “Anything,” he said.

  “When you get there, will you give one of our cats a pill? He has a cold. The pills are in a little bottle on the kitchen counter. They’re for Shadow, our black cat. He’ll be hard to find. He hides in a closet. He doesn’t like the new place.”

  Smart cat, Travis told himself.

  When he went downstairs, he was stunned to find Lexie in the foyer with Monroe’s jacket in her hands.

  “You left this in my car,” she said, as cool as an ice queen.

  He took the jacket, feeling foolish. He’d forgotten about it as soon as they’d started arguing with each other. His mother beamed, despite her green pajamas, the hour, and the tension. She obviously thought they were going out with each other, the delusion of the century.

  “I’m going over to Lisa’s place to get her insulin,” he told his mother. “And while I’m out there, I’m going to drive around and look for Ian. I need your car.”

  His mother frowned. “Ian’s not out there. He’s probably in a hotel. It’s dangerous for you to be driving in the storm. Just get her insulin and come back. People in D.C. don’t know how to drive in this weather.”

  “Nobody’s out there now,” he said. “It’ll be fine. The streets are deserted.”

  “I’ll take you,” Lexie said.

  “That’s too much trouble for you,” Travis said.

  “I’m leaving anyway,” Lexie said. “I’m in the neighborhood, so it’s on my way.”

  His mother smiled. “Well, that’s very nice of your friend.”

  “We’re not friends,” Lexie said. “We just ran into each other.”

  The sleet was still falling like thousands of silent stars coming to earth. Neither of them said a word as they turned up Connecticut Avenue and drove all the way to the Taft Bridge where the wind battered the car.

  Travis stared at the icy street. No sign of Ian. He probably would have gone in this direction if he wanted a hotel, but it was too far and he wouldn’t be on the street now. They could drive the other way after they picked up the insulin.

  The sleet had covered their tire tracks by the time they crossed the bridge. They turned around at the Chinese Embassy, backtracked to Cleveland Park, and slowed down in front of Buchanan House. Travis looked at his watch. One in the morning. How did it get to be so late? A single lamp shone in the empty lobby.

  Five minutes in and five minutes out.

  “Look,” he said. “You wait out here with the doors locked while I run inside.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not staying out here.”

  “There’s no place to park. Just lock the doors.”

  “I’ll find a place,” she said and swung the car around. Ice-covered cars lined the curbs, bumper to bumper. When they couldn’t find anything close by, she turned down Tilden Street and drove as far as the Kuwaiti Embassy, where they checked the side street going up the hill. Nothing. They struck out in the next block, crossed the avenue, and searched for parking on the other side of Tilden where the road wound away into the dead dark, past last summer’s community garden with its miserable pieces of stubble sticking through the ice, and beyond, along a dense patch of woods that fell away into a godforsaken ravine. Parking that far away was the last thing he had in mind.

  “Come on, Lexie. Just go back and let me out.”

  She made a U-turn in the middle of the avenue and pulled beside a fire hydrant in front of Buchanan House. He put his hand on the door handle.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said. “I’m leaving the car here.”

  “They’ll tow it,” he said. “Stay here and lock the doors and don’t open them for anybody.” He slammed the door and sprinted across the sidewalk to the lobby. He could hear her outraged cry, but he kept his back turned, fumbled through the keys, and pulled the heavy door open. She would wreck everything.

  Remnants of a Halloween party littered the lobby: a pumpkin with a sooty, sagging grin, half-filled plastic drink cups, empty beer bottles, and crumpled napkins. The party was over and the concierge gone for the night.

  Once he moved beyond the lobby, the wooden pigeonholes behind the counter caught his eye. The mail. Each pigeonhole had a tiny brass nameplate. Check the ones on the corner of the building, he told himself, and squeezed past the switchboard and the packages waiting for UPS. Lisa and Ian lived in 942. Somebody named Gupta occupied 843, two floors down from the roof. The elephant wall hanging danced in front of his eyes again. The Indian artwork fit the name, but was it the right condominium?

  He pulled out the tracker. An image flickered across the surface again and died out. Damn it, why wouldn’t it work? He’d give it one more try upstairs.

  Get out of here. Get the insulin, make the call, and get out.

  The elevator finally arrived and crept up to the ninth floor. He stepped out into an empty hall, wary of what might be around the bend, wishing he’d brought a weapon. Everything smelled like paint. Lisa had said something about renovations, which meant most of the units were empty.

  He made it inside their condo, slid the deadbolt and the chain on the door, and stared at the silent rooms. It was the first time he’d seen the place since their move. The boxes were gone, and they’d poignantly placed the chairs so they could talk to each other by the fireplace.

  But there was no time to stand around. He found the insulin in the refrigerator door, but what did Lisa say about the cat? He picked up the cat’s medicine on the kitchen counter, but didn’t see a black cat.

  Terrible sadness struck him when he saw their wedding photos in the bedroom. God help Ian if he went through the woods at the wrong time.

  And he had to make one last stab at finding the cat. “Shadow,” he said out loud. “Where are you, you meatball?” He got down on his hands and knees and looked under the bed where a brown kitten sat in a ball.

  “Where’s your friend Shadow?” he asked the kitten. “And where’s Ian?”

  The kitten stared at him.

  A sudden knock made him almost leap
out of his skin. Somebody was tapping on the front door, soft, rapid knocks as though the knocker didn’t want to be heard but urgently wanted in. It couldn’t be Ian. He would have a key.

  Travis crept to the door and stared through the peephole. To his shock, Lexie stood in the hall with the Nikon around her neck and the camera bag over her shoulder. “How did you get in here?” he scowled, but he was completely relieved to see her.

  “You’re not ditching me like that,” she said, came into the living room, and threw her purse and cell phone on the couch. “Some man let me in.”

  “What man?” he asked her.

  “How should I know? Some man came out of an office off the lobby, and unlike you, he didn’t leave me stranded.”

  “Where did you park the car?” he asked her.

  “In front of the fire hydrant.”

  “They’ll tow it, Lexie!”

  “Nobody’s out there. Nobody’s going to tow anything.”

  “I’ve got to make a phone call,” he said. “Here, you find their black cat and give it one of these pills. Lisa said it hides in a closet.”

  Before she could argue, he stuck the pill in her palm, shut the bedroom door on her, and took out the tracker. Still nothing but a ten second glimmer. He was going to have to take a chance that Gupta’s condominium was the right one, but as soon as he picked up the phone to call the police, Lexie opened the door.

  “You’d better come see this,” she whispered, all the anger gone from her face.

  Everything was falling apart. He was never going to make his call. “Did you find the cat?” he called, but she was already down the hall, motioning for him to be quiet.

  When she turned on the light, the sight took him aback. U-Haul boxes and furniture jammed every inch of space. The junk room where Lisa had thrown anything and everything she couldn’t figure out where to put yet. He followed Lexie around a mattress propped against the wall and stepped over sliding piles of magazines and books, a vacuum cleaner, rolled-up rugs, and piles of clothes.