Two for Flinching

by Todd Morgan

  “It looks like your niece has that covered. She even has a boy feeling her up on the couch. That couch gets a lot of action.”

  “Madison, this isn’t a good idea.”

  “Who said anything about an idea? I thought we could have some fun.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You weren’t complaining last night.”

  “I’m not complaining now. I just—“

  “Is it because of my sister?”

  “It’s because I’m working a case you’re involved in.”

  “Bullshit. I can’t believe you’re trying to be faithful to her.”

  “Evidently, I’m not.”

  “You know she was still fucking Steven, right? She had to or he’d know she was cheating on him. From what she told me, Steven had big time needs. That’s the thing about getting involved with a married woman. They’re always fucking somebody else.”

  “Sounds like you’re the voice of experience.”

  “Fuck you, Beason.”

  I wish I could say it was a personal record. Two women pissed off at me within fifteen minutes.

  ***

  The garage door opening and closing gave them plenty of warning. Erin sat nunlike on one end of the aforementioned couch, he on the other.

  “Hey, Uncle Bees.”

  “Hey. Who is this?”

  “Oh, sorry. Scott Carroll, my uncle Beason.”

  “Scott.” I stuck out my hand, putting a little extra into it.

  Scott winced. “Mr. Camp.”

  I sat between them on the couch. “You’re not watching Alvin and the Chipmunks?”

  Erin gave me that look.

  “How is the princess?”

  “Good. She didn’t want to go to bed.”

  “And miss all the excitement?”

  Erin blushed. Scott looked at his shoes.

  “What are we watching?”

  “The typical. Guy meets girl, guy loses girl. Bunch of stuff blows up. Guy gets girl.”

  “Sounds like my kind of movie.”

  “It’s not.” Erin paused the movie and stood. “I’m getting something to drink. You want something?”

  “I’m good.”

  Another look.

  Scott said, “No.”

  Erin left and an uncomfortable silence came between me and the boy. Uncomfortable for Scott anyway. He seemed okay, tall and slim, all knees and elbows, hair too long, bangs in his eyes. My dad had told me that was when you knew you were getting old. When the kids’ hair was too long and their music no longer made sense.

  “Uh, Erin told me you were a war hero.”

  I gave him the hard cop stare. About the only thing they let me take with me when I left the Indianola Sherriff’s Department. I let it lay on him a long minute before tapping him on the knee. “Don’t you forget it.”

  Scott actually gulped.

  Erin came back with a glass of Milo’s Sweet Tea. My mother had made the best sweet tea on earth and I had never discovered her secret. I had to buy mine at the grocery store. Erin said, “You gonna be around tomorrow night? We were going to go out.”

  “Sure, I’ll be here.”

  Erin hit play without another word. Her body language said plenty.

  “You’re right. This isn’t my kind of movie. I’m going to turn in.”

  Erin relaxed. “Good night.”

  “You crazy kids be good.”

  Scott nodded enthusiastically. Erin gave me a subtle finger. I leaned over and planted a loud smack on her cheek. “I love you, honey.”

  “You, too.”

  One last dirty look to Scott and I climbed the stairs to the guest room.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It may have been Saturday everywhere else in the world, but I still had work to do. Or at least something akin to it. Seven o’clock in the morning, I sat parked in the Jeep facing the entrance to Fitness Plus. I needed coffee—was desperate for coffee—but it always made me feel dry when I drank it right before a workout. I didn’t expect much of a workout today. Like I said, I was working.

  She was in pink scrubs and carried herself as if she was on her way home instead of her way in. Her brown hair was pulled up, a duffel bag over one shoulder, no jewelry I could see aside from the diamond studs in her ears. She walked past me without seeing and I waited a couple of minutes before following.

  It was cool out, no breeze to speak of, already in the high forties in our bipolar Alabama winter and the weatherman promised we would see sixty by the end of the day. I was in shorts and a t-shirt and left my wallet and the .45 locked in the Jeep, carrying only my keys inside. I had a coupon for a one time visit and filled out the form using Randall Roger’s name, address and phone number. I didn’t have his email on me so I had to leave that line blank. I politely refused the tour and promised to come back with any questions. Somehow I made it away from the counter without anybody I knew coming by and blowing my cover. It was a Saturday morning and everybody I knew would still be in bed.

  I found an open area near the cardio machines and did some light stretching. I doubted I would need the full warm up. She came out in a tight pair of black workout shorts and a sleeveless aqua tee. Her body looked like she took her workouts serious. She climbed onto an elliptical machine and began punching numbers. We were alone aside from a slightly overweight woman reading a paperback novel on a treadmill. I climbed onto the machine next to her and began punching numbers. Weight-180; Age-33; Program-Interval; Level-20; Time-30. I didn’t want to work too hard. The sweating and panting has a tendency to cut down on conversation.

  She looked up and I gave her my best I’m mildly interested but not a stalker smile. She gave me her No way in hell smile and went back to the glamour magazine perched on her machine. I should have went with my I know you want me grin.

  “Are you a nurse?”

  She looked up again, mild concern now on her face. “Excuse me?”

  “I saw you come in.”

  “Oh.”

  “You work at the hospital?”

  Back to the magazine. “Yes.”

  “My neighbor is a nurse at the hospital.”

  “Really?”

  “Amber Noble.”

  She faltered before regaining her rhythm. “I know Amber.”

  “I haven’t seen her in a while,” I said. “Have you?”

  “No.” That must have been a very interesting article.

  “You know where she is?”

  “What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t.” I stuck out my hand. She didn’t take it. “Beason Camp.”

  She stopped pedaling—or whatever it is you do on those things. Her eyes went wide. “You’re the guy.”

  “The guy?”

  “The guy Amber was…”

  “Yep. I’m the guy.”

  She shook her head and went back to pedaling. Or whatever it is.

  “I’m looking for her.”

  “You don’t belong to this gym,” she said. “Do you?”

  “No.”

  She looked over her shoulder. The reader on the treadmill was paying us no attention, having stuck the ear buds from her i-pod in.

  “Steven hired me to find her.”

  “Steven?” She laughed. “He know about you two?”

  “Yes.”

  “That must have been interesting.”

  “I gave him a good discount.”

  “I bet.”

  “So,” I said, “you know where she is?”

  “No. She hasn’t been to work in a week and isn’t answering her cell. I called the landline and Steven told me she was sick.”

  “You believe him?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Not anymore.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Last Saturday. Here, for our usual workouts.”

  I nodded. My machine had picked up the pace and I stopped pedaling. Or whatever it is.

  “That’s why you came here. To see me. She tol
d you about that.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I had to talk to you. Because I don’t know where you live and I thought going to the hospital and asking every pretty nurse I saw if she was Vanessa might get me arrested.”

  A small smile at the compliment.

  “You know where she is, Vanessa?”

  “No.”

  “Any idea where she might have gone?”

  “None.”

  “You think she might have left her husband?”

  “I hope so.”

  I waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t. “Would she leave town without telling you?”

  “I wouldn’t think so.”

  “Would she leave without telling her mother? Her sister?”

  “Definitely not her mother. Maybe her sister.”

  I narrowed my eyebrows. “Madison?”

  “They had a complicated relationship.”

  To say the least. “What about her relationship with her husband?”

  “You would probably know more about that than I would.”

  Zing!

  “Your opinion might be helpful.”

  Vanessa made a face. “It wasn’t good. Steven cheated on her left and right. She got sick of it and decided to have some fun. That’s where you came in.”

  “She sick enough to file for divorce?”

  “She was thinking about it. What did she tell you?”

  “She was thinking about it.”

  Vanessa said, “Steven’s restaurant is struggling. This economy, you know. He didn’t handle stress very well and had been lashing out at her.”

  “How?”

  Vanessa didn’t answer.

  “Physically?”

  She made a noncommittal motion with her hands. “Amber told me there had been some shoving—not abuse—they were just pushing each other.” She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Lately, though, I think she was scared of him.”

  I felt my blood run cold.

  ***

  For once, the meteorologist had not let us down. It was a beautiful day and I sat in the hard chair on my front porch. Sarah was riding her bicycle in the driveway. The lot was fairly level, yet, occasionally she would still get stuck and scream for me to rescue her. It was one rescue I could handle.

  Steven crossed our yards and stopped at the foot of the steps. He was in his restaurant garb, black pants, black button down, getting ready for a long night of labor. “You haven’t called.”

  “I haven’t found her.”

  “Are you making any progress?”

  “A little.”

  Steven crossed his arms. His right hand was still wrapped, but he wasn’t wearing a sling. “You want to tell me about it?”

  “I want to ask you some questions first.”

  “Ask away.”

  “When I asked for a list of her friends, you gave me a list of your friends. Why?”

  Steven shrugged. “It was all I had. Amber knew all of them.”

  “Do you always sleep with women who know Amber? Or do you make a distinction?”

  His face went hard, jaw clinching. “Listen, Beason, I asked you to find my wife—not run a background check on me. Who I may or may not have been sleeping with is no concern of yours.”

  “It might be.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “How was your marriage, Steven?”

  “How do you think it was? She was fucking my next door neighbor.”

  I nodded. “Did you fight about it?”

  “I didn’t know about it. If I had, I would have done something about it. Unlike some people, if my wife was having an affair, I wouldn’t have ignored it.”

  Zing!

  “What would you have done?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Would you have hit her?”

  Steven gave me a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ve talked to some of her coworkers. They think there might have been abuse.”

  “Who? Vanessa?” Steven shook his head again. “Did Amber tell you I hit her?”

  “No.”

  “There you go.”

  “She wouldn’t have told me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, Steve, she knew I would put you in the hospital.”

  He smiled. “Not on your best day, pal.”

  “What did you fight about?”

  Steven uncrossed his arms, considering what to tell me. “You believe I was cheating on her, once she thought the same thing. She attacked me and I pushed her off. That wasn’t abuse—it was self-defense.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Look at me, Beason.” He held out his hands. “I’m six foot three, two hundred thirty-five pounds. Amber was what? Five five, a buck ten? She would have shattered like glass if I hit her.”

  I knew how possible it was for a man to hold back, to strike without leaving too much damage. I had also seen Steven’s anger, that night he had taken a couple of swings at me. I didn’t believe he was capable of that kind of restraint.

  I nodded. Reluctantly.

  “You like to think you’re special, unique. You’re not.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You really believe you were the only one Amber was fucking? That she was a virtuous woman until you came around? You weren’t.”

  I have to admit, I was shocked. That wasn’t exactly what I believed, but it was close enough. “What did you do? You said you wouldn’t stand for it.”

  “We fought. Verbally. I won’t lie, once in a while I slipped and my cock got the best of me. It’s only fair to assume the same thing happened to her. We had it out and moved on.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed that.

  “I love my wife and contrary to what she may have told you or Vanessa, we had a good thing going.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Amber never would have run off with another man.”

  I was growing tired of his superior attitude. “I’m going to need the names of these other men.”

  “Fuck you, Beason.”

  My eyes went to Sarah. She was on the edge of the driveway, close to the street, too far away to hear Steven’s swearing. I had seen other kids on their bikes with more body armor than I wore when I was chasing the Taliban. I didn’t force my daughter to wear a helmet. I had never worn one and I had turned out fine. Ask anybody.

  Steven’s gaze followed mine. “Cute kid.”

  Her long black hair flowed behind her as she picked up speed. “Yeah.”

  “I gotta go to work.” He pointed at me with his good hand. “If you find something, let me know. You need to think long and hard about where she might have gone.”

  “We’ll see.”

  He stomped off. Sarah pedaled up the sidewalk, proudly sliding to a stop, the bicycle balancing on the training wheels. “I don’t like that man.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “What did he want?”

  “I’m helping him.”

  “Why? If you don’t like him?”

  “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like, honey.”

  “Like eating broccoli?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What are you helping him do?”

  “I’m helping him find somebody.”

  “Who?”

  “His wife.”

  “Where is she?”

  I smiled. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m hunting for her.”

  “Oh.” Her beautiful face contorted in confusion. I loved that face. “Why you, daddy? Why are you looking for her?”

  “That’s what daddy does. Sometimes he helps finds people.”

  “Why didn’t you ever find mom?”

  ***

  I was in the front room. When my wife had still been with us, it had been a formal dining room, complete with an antique oak table and matching china cabinet. Felicia and Orrin had long ago removed the set and the room had gradually developed into a playroom/home
office, dolls and teacups on the hardwood floor, the home computer pushed into a corner. I sat at the computer. The princess was sound asleep in her bed. Hopefully.

  I sipped from my glass, a short one so I didn’t end up in the bag and muck this up. A notebook was on the desk. The screen stared at me. I stared back. I was stalling and I knew it. I had been stalling for four years.

  Another sip and I went to my favorite people finder website. I put in Stella’s full name—including maiden—social security number, our home address, our old address and the address of her parents. The information was in the notebook, but I didn’t need it, filling in the blanks as fast as I could, afraid to pause, unsure if I would have the courage to continue. I finished and clicked submit.

  That bastard hourglass symbol rotated on the screen.

  Nothing.

  Well, not nothing exactly. The website accessed public records, insurance records, a host of internet sites, and any likely mention in the press. There were plenty of results, a birth certificate, our marriage certificate, property records—even pictures from our engagement and marriage announcement. Sarah’s name popped up. But nothing from the last four years.

  I frowned to myself. It was as if she had dropped off the face of the earth. Stella may have expected me to look for her, but I couldn’t see her going to this much trouble and expense to create a new identity. Short term, maybe, but not for this long. New identities required work and money to maintain, usually only lasting for a short period of time before falling apart. It would make sense to go back to her true identity in time, maybe legally changing her name and applying for a new social once she was confident I wasn’t looking for her. And even if I was, so what? Yeah, I was pissed off and of course I would’ve beaten the hell out of Adrian, but there was no law against leaving your husband.

  The totality of her disappearance disturbed me. One day, she lived here with Sarah and I, the next she was gone. New identities didn’t happen overnight. She had emptied our bank accounts and could have lived off the grid for a little while, but this looked as if Stella had been planning it for some time. Four years ago, we had all assumed she had run off on a whim, trapped in a difficult marriage, overwhelmed with work and an infant child. She hadn’t even packed a bag, taking only the clothes on her back and the car.