Facade

by Susan Cory

  As they approached Mass Ave, the long, meandering spine of Cambridge, Iris looked to her left, toward the Paradise café where Luc was busy cooking tonight. Sheba started to head in that direction, but Iris tugged her to the right instead. They passed Judy Jetson's Hair Salon where only a month before Judy herself had given Ellie her new hairdo. They passed one-off storefronts, here today, gone after Christmas, that gave the neighborhood a faint bohemian charm. Further along, music and raucous voices spilled out from a recessed doorway, along with several wobbly customers from the Temple Bar's sleek facade.

  At a red light in front of Starbucks, Iris told Sheba, “This is our new nightly routine.”

  They continued past some Harvard Law School dorms, rounded a corner, and reached the construction site for yet another new Harvard Bioscience building. She'd been wanting to check the progress of this new addition to the campus, but the lack of any street lights left the building's skeleton looking like an undefined lump under its tarps billowing in the darkness.

  Oh, honestly. Harvard's endowment is the largest in the world and they can't afford to light up their buildings at night?

  The silence seemed unnatural in this deserted block. Looking off to the sides, Iris picked up her pace, wrapping her jacket more tightly around her, until she found herself and Sheba traversing the two short blocks toward Howland Street.

  Xander's street.

  Had this been her real destination? Had thinking about the man earlier, about his compelling example of a life well lived, drawn her half-consciously to his house? Was it curiosity that had led her here as if pulled by a force field? Now that she was here, the ridiculousness of her trajectory sank in. She couldn't just ring his doorbell at nine o'clock at night. What did she even want from this man?

  Beyond the porch she could see a sliver of light escaping from between the curtains of the bay window, so he was probably home. Maybe he had company.

  She had been meaning to ask him the name of a self-cleaning glass product that he'd mentioned at their last lunch. Oh, who was she kidding? She could ask him that in an e-mail.

  The night of the break-in was the only time she'd been to his house before. Maybe the fact that she had turned down his invitation to the New Hampshire excursion had dampened his interest in her.

  At this point, as Iris stood in his front yard mesmerized by the light from his living room, her curiosity about what Xander was doing was gaining strength. She found herself drifting up the porch stairs and over to the brightly lit window, tugging Sheba behind her.

  At first she thought she saw an empty room. Then she noticed Xander sitting on the floor, not eight feet away. Luckily, he was facing sideways with his eyes closed. He wore black pajamas— silk from their sheen. He had a pair of earphones clamped on. Resting his back against the sofa, he had an ecstatic look on his face, his left hand gently stroking a throw pillow.

  Iris watched in fascination. She squinted to read the title on the CD jewel case but his hand covered the writing. She could almost hear the romantic music that must be producing the look on Xander's face—Debussy, or maybe Grieg, something like that.

  Across the room two of Arne Jacobsen's classic Swan chairs faced the understated greige sofa. Nestled in the crossed feet of one chair was a bottle of some amber liquid, its label facing away. As Iris looked closer, she spotted an empty shot glass in Xander's idle right hand. He must have saved his nightly alottment of alcohol for savoring after dinner.

  Ellie had called what Iris felt for Xander a “professional crush,” but maybe it was his entire lifestyle she coveted, not just the professional part. She wanted to live like him, have his career, but still surround herself with her friends. Was that too much to ask?

  Sheba took this moment to let out an impatient whine. Iris froze as Xander's eyes opened and he cocked his head toward the window.

  Then she flew down the porch steps, dragging Sheba behind her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was Friday, the second day in a row that Jasna hadn't been in class. Iris had instructed her students to e-mail her if they were sick or had to miss Studio for any reason, but Jasna had maintained radio silence. When Iris grilled her students, Rory mentioned that Jasna had borrowed his car two nights before, but had returned it to its parking spot the next morning. That was the last time anyone had seen or heard from her.

  In Iris' vivid imagination, Jasna lay on the floor of her apartment, deathly ill, struggling to reach for her cell phone. The thought propelled her down the hall toward the dean's office and Peg, the keeper of everyone's contact information.

  But as she entered the fourth floor office, Peg's eyes lit up and she waved a folded newspaper in Iris' direction. “Professor Reid—I was just going to call you! Have you seen the Globe today? It's that young girl who asked us for directions.”

  Iris took the paper Peg handed her and laid it flat on the desk. On the bottom of the front page ran a headline: Cambridge Girl Missing above a close-cropped photo of the girl who had come to this office the previous week looking for Xander. Iris looked carefully. It was definitely the same girl.

  “I think I should call the police to tell them about her visit,” Peg said, “but I don't want to get Professor DeWitt in trouble.”

  Iris held up one finger and eased into the visitor's chair to scan the whole article.

  Lara Kurjak, twelve, is a seventh grader at St. Peter's School in Cambridge. Her father, Ivano, returned from his weekly card game on Wednesday night to find her missing from their apartment. There was no sign of a break-in. She is described by her father and teachers as a sweet, quiet girl. Anyone with information about her whereabouts is asked to call the police hotline: 617-555-3300.

  Iris noted the byline: Robert Buchanan Jr.—or “Budge” as he'd been known to her Dartmouth class twenty-some years before, for no reason that Iris could remember. She shuddered. She could still picture Budge and his snickering cronies lying in wait at Thayer Dining Hall, holding up written numbers from one to ten to rank the looks of any co-ed who walked past their table.

  Peg's voice brought her back to the present. “What should we do?”

  “When did we see her?”

  “Friday. Remember—the student evaluations were due.”

  “And from what it says here she disappeared the following Wednesday—two days ago.” Wednesday. Iris felt her cheeks flush. Wednesday night was when she had gone by Xander's house.

  She managed to say, “Professor DeWitt must have some legitimate connection to this girl but we should still call the police. They'll want to talk to anyone who knew her. Have you discussed this with Gilles?”

  “No,” Peg moaned. “I didn't get around to reading the paper until this afternoon. The Dean flew out to Texas for a fundraising event today.”

  “When is he coming back?”

  “Later tomorrow. Do you think it can wait?”

  “No,” Iris said. “The poor girl is gone and the first days are crucial. You should call that number now.”

  As Peg punched the phone buttons, Iris slipped out of the room, completely forgetting to ask for Jasna's home address.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sitting at Ellie's kitchen island, Iris raised her voice to be heard over the crackling of browning onions. “Have you read about the missing St. Peter's girl?”

  “What?” Ellie turned off the burner and came over to look at the front page of the Globe that Iris had found sitting on the top of a pile in Ellie's blue recycling bin.

  “Oh, yeah...that poor girl. Have the police learned anything yet?”

  “No, but here's the weird thing,” Iris said. “A week ago this same girl came by Peg's office when I was there and asked for directions to Xander's office.”

  Ellie wiped her hands on her apron. “Why would a kid be looking for Xander? He doesn't have any children.”

  “I have no idea. But he might have some information about her that could help the police with their search.”

  “He couldn't have h
ad anything to do with taking her, could he?”

  “No, of course not! Besides, she disappeared on Wednesday night and I happened to see Xander that night.”

  “You mean you went out with him again? And you didn't tell me?” Ellie scrunched up her face in a mock glare.

  “I didn't go out with him. I was just out walking Sheba and... I saw him.”

  “What do you mean you were 'just out walking Sheba'? You never walk her at night. And Xander lives on Howland Street. That's not even in our neighborhood.”

  Iris looked intently at the butcher block counter. “I wanted to stretch my legs and check out the construction on the new Bioscience building. Then I happened to pass his house on our way back and...”

  “You peeked in his windows?” Ellie narrowed her eyes. “I can't believe you stalked him without inviting me along.”

  “I was NOT stalking him! You had said that thing about betting he didn't really write poetry at night but watched TV instead, so I was curious.”

  “Curious. And what did you see when you SPIED on him?”

  “I was NOT spying. I was... I don't know what I was doing, but I did happen to see him that night, so I know he wasn't off abducting that girl. He was sitting in his living room in his pajamas, listening to music through headphones. Looking innocent. Not watching TV and eating potato chips, by the way.”

  “And what time was this?”

  “Around nine.”

  “What time did the girl go missing?”

  “The paper doesn't say.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Peg called the police hotline a little while ago to tell them about the girl's visit to GSD last week. She didn't want to get Xander into any trouble, but I told her she should call them.”

  “Of course, she should've called them. Xander might be able to help them find the girl. And since you saw him sitting at home that night, he shouldn't get in any trouble.”

  “Except that for me to be Xander's alibi, I'd have to tell the world that I'd been peeking in his window.”

  Ellie gave her a stern look. “Then let's hope he has an innocent explanation for her visit and doesn't need you to cover for him.”

  * * *

  Back at home, Iris clicked on the Six O'Clock News to see if the missing girl story was getting much play. She and Sheba leaned forward on the sofa as the familiar school photograph of Lara appeared while a distracting newsreel banner about a new financial scandal scrolled across the bottom of the screen. A newscaster made a concerned face and announced an upcoming press conference with the father of the missing Cambridge girl.

  Iris got up to pour herself a glass of Pinot Noir during the commercial break and returned in time to catch a tough, angry-looking man with an incongruous upturned nose and dark stubble on his head and chin seated at a table in front of a microphone. A name plate identified him as Ivano Kurjak.

  Several detectives stood behind him.

  “I want Lara back,” the rough-looking man said in a thick Slavic accent. “She's a good girl and I want her back safe.” Then he crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. The effect was menacing, as if he was issuing an ultimatum. To reclaim the viewer's sympathy, the camera quickly panned to a blown-up photo of Lara, propped on the table next to him.

  A detective spoke into another microphone, explaining that the girl had gone missing from her apartment on May Street in Cambridge some time between 7 and 9 P.M. on Wednesday, October 3rd. He urged anyone who might have seen anything at all that evening to come forward as soon as possible, to call the police hotline number which now scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

  Iris was nibbling on her nails, deep in thought when her cell phone buzzed.

  “Are you watching the news?” Ellie asked.

  “Yeah. I saw this girl once and I'm already feeling haunted by her. Did that father seem sinister to you? The newspaper said he's a widower so he's all the girl has. Do you think he might have done something to her?”

  “He seems like the type with a short fuse. Maybe he drinks and gets violent or something.”

  “I hope she's just run away.” Iris said.

  “At least there was no mention of any Harvard professors, so maybe you can keep your secret about stalking Xander.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Famous Harvard Architect Questioned in Case of Missing Cambridge Girl, the Globe trumpeted on its front page the next morning, below the fold, but still hard to miss. A new picture of the photogenic Lara accompanied the article. This one showed her astride a bicycle, looking nervously at the camera with wide, innocent eyes. Next to her photo was a grainy image of a harried Xander leaving a building, the collar of his raincoat turned up, partially obscuring his face. Under the byline of Budge Buchanan, the Globe reported that “a world-famous architect from the Netherlands who is teaching this semester at the Harvard Graduate School of Design was brought in to Cambridge Police Headquarters Friday night to help the police with their investigation.” Any connection the professor might have had with the girl wasn't mentioned. Yet.

  Of all the scurrilous yellow journalism! Iris rolled up the paper and threw it across the kitchen into her small mud room. Sheba trotted off to fetch it and dropped it back at Iris' feet.

  “No treat for you!”

  It was now Saturday morning. Forty-eight hours had passed and Lara was still missing. Things were not looking good.

  Iris flipped through her copy of the GSD staff directory and dialed Xander's number. It went straight to voice mail.

  Ignoring Sheba's newly alert expression, Iris grabbed her jacket and headed out alone across Mass Ave toward Howland Street. Fifteen minutes later, as she approached Xander's house, she saw TV and newspaper trucks clogging the area. Damn, the vultures have descended. She hung back, considered her options, then veered off into a neighbor's driveway. With an assurance that implied she lived there, she headed toward a dilapidated, barely-standing detached garage that bordered Xander's fenced-in back yard. After skirting around the back of the garage, she considered her options. She tried calling him again and again was sent to voice mail. The small building hid her from the reporters as she approached the fence around Xander's backyard. She peered over and thought she saw him moving around in his kitchen. She waved her arms, but had little hope that he could see her.

  She had to let him know that she had an alibi for him. He shouldn't have to be treated like a suspect. If she could get through this fence, it would shield her from the reporters while she made her way to the rear entrance. Then she could knock on a window or door to get his attention.

  After searching her pockets for a tool, she came up with a poop bag, some dog treats, a used tissue and a pencil. Nothing close to useful. So much for that. She squatted in the dirt, testing the wooden pickets. One plank was loose, so she worked it free, then used it to pry off three more, reminding herself to return with her tool kit later to repair the damage. She ducked through the small opening and scratched herself on a nail in the process. Creeping along the inside of the fence toward the kitchen door, she stayed low. She peeked through the upper glass pane of the door and spotted Xander, drinking coffee and running his hand through his hair. She rapped softly on the glass. He jumped up with a start, moved quickly to the door, and unlocked it for her.

  “Iris, what are you doing here?” he whispered as he pulled her inside.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “I'm afraid this is not a good time.”

  “I know. I saw the reporters, I've read the paper, and I can help you. But first, I need to ask you something.” Unasked, Iris took a seat. Xander joined her at the table, his place marked by a half-empty coffee cup and an ashtray brimming with butts.

  “Really, Iris, it's kind of you but there's nothing you can do. I'm waiting for a call from the Dutch Consulate.”

  “Why did that girl come to your office last week?”

  “How do you know about that? Were you the one who told the police that story?”

  �
��No, but I saw her in the hall at GSD. Why did she come to see you?”

  Xander looked directly into her eyes.“I have no idea. I'd never seen her before in my life.”

  Iris stared at him. “You don't know her?”

  “I do not. I told that to the police.”

  “Did they ask you anything else?”

  “I asked for a solicitor. That ended the discussion.”

  “Did you know of a solicitor, I mean a lawyer, to call?”

  “Nils found me one who showed up within the hour. But as we left the police station, the reporters outside took pictures. They figured out who I am and somehow connected me to the case of the missing girl.”

  Iris exhaled loudly. “What a mess.”

  “Yes. Anyway, what is it you came to tell me?”

  “I may be able to provide an alibi for you on Wednesday night if it turns out that you need one.”

  “But I didn't see you on Wednesday night. Unfortunately I was alone.”

  Iris tried to hide her chagrin behind a facade of innocence. “I was out taking my dog for her nightly walk on Wednesday. I went by the Bioscience building on Hammond Street to see how its construction was progressing, and I passed your house on my way back. The light was on. I was going to ring your bell to say hello but happened to glance in and see that you were listening to music so I decided not to disturb you.”

  Xander wore a strange, unreadable expression on his face.

  What must he think of her? Iris willed herself not to blush. “Would you like me to explain this to the police?”

  He looked perplexed, then said, “That's quite generous of you, Iris. Let me ask my solicitor. I find it hard to believe that I need to defend myself from this preposterous innuendo.”

  Xander's mobile phone buzzed and he walked off to the hallway to answer it.

  Iris decided to give him his privacy. She had delivered her offer, at much cost to her pride. Now Xander probably thought she was some kind of groupie, stalking him, or worse.