Marlene must carry her own iPad or Notebook, because there is no computer in her office. There is sure to be one at the reception desk, so if the intruder is indeed a burglar, perhaps he’ll be satisfied with that and scram.
No such luck. I can hear them coming before I see them, and now here they are: two feet. Dark shoes. I can’t see well enough to tell if they are men’s or women’s, but whoever they belong to is now in Marlene’s office and walking towards me.
My heart stops when the feet halt in the center of the room. Do they know I’m in here? Could they? Yes, if they saw us enter. But if they saw us enter they would have come in the same way, through the open back door, instead of breaking a window. Well, there is one thing we have going for us.
The feet are moving again. Are they coming around the desk? No, they’re headed to the far side of the room.
I hear a noise like old metal. A click, a squeal, and the hard howl of an ungreased pulley. The dark stranger is opening one of the filing cabinets. Based on the position of the feet, I figure it is the one closest to me. Papers rustle as fingers flip through thick folders. Another quick squeal and a slam as the drawer closes. Whatever they wanted, they knew where to find it.
I see the feet turn around. The tips are pointed right at me. I imagine I next see bent knees and a face peering under the desk. And groping, evil hands. The events of the last few days, in particular the last few minutes, have given my mind leave to run with wild abandon, and I have to work hard to keep from panicking. But as fevered as my imagination is, it has not prepared me for what will happen next.
Something hard and metallic hits the floor in front of me. In spite of the carpet it comes down with a ‘clang’. A light beam hits the floor and I realize the burglar/killer/whatever has a flashlight. Not good for me. In the light I see the glint of stainless steel. As the beam settles on the object I can see quite clearly that it is a pair of barber scissors.
In that moment, any hope I was witnessing a standard, every day, random burglary, went out the window. I am trapped in a room with a killer. Possibly a multiple murderer. My body withdraws from the edge of the desk, as far away from the scissors as I can get. The next thing I know I am rendered blind by an orange light.
I have been discovered.
I am about to release a gut-wrenching scream of operatic proportions when the light goes away. Through my muddled vision I can see the scissors are now gone. The beam of his light must have blinded me as he bent down to retrieve the dropped scissors. The black shoes retreat from the room. A moment later the front door opens and closes again.
I refuse to take a breath for the next hour. Well, it was probably only twenty seconds, but it feels longer when you’re depriving yourself of oxygen. The small office building is quiet again though the outside noises are still audible on account of the broken window. I crawl to the door and peek up the hall, then down the hall. I brace myself for dark shoes and scissors, but there’s only darkness. I stay still for a moment longer before calling out to Ruby.
“Right here, dear,” came the soft voice from another room. “Is the coast clear?”
“Seems to be,” I whisper.
Ruby steps out into the hallway, running her hands down her dark clothes as though concerned about dust and wrinkles.
“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough, what with all our chitchat. Come, Lacy, get off the floor unless you mean to sleep there.”
Ruby is remarkably calm given our experience. She didn’t have sharp scissors dropped in front of her face. I tell her about them and the pilfering of the file drawer.
“I must see that drawer,” she says, rushing past me to the filing cabinets. Ruby jerks open the top drawer and bounces the end of her penlight over its contents. After only a moment’s inspection she slams it closed. When she opens the second drawer I hear her make a quiet, joyful sound.
“Find something?” I ask.
“No, but I believe our phantom friend did. Look at this.”
I peer over her shoulder and see a manila file open with some loose papers inside.
“What am I supposed to be looking at?”
Ruby points out the open file in the middle of the row of folders, all of which are pushed to the front and back to leave ample room for this file to be open. Like so many things with Ruby, it was glaringly obvious once pointed out to me.
“Did the killer put something in the file?” I ask.
“It doesn’t appear so.” She thumbs through the small stack of papers from the folder. “All these are what you might expect to find in an employee’s file in her manager’s office. That means the killer—or whoever was just in here—took something out.”
“Employee?”
“Yes, didn’t you notice the name on the front of the folder?”
I had not, but I look now. It reads ‘G. Herring’. Gretchen.
“What was in Gretchen’s file that someone would break in to take?” I ask.
Ruby closed the drawer and turned off her light. Either she hadn’t heard my question or she didn’t find it worth answering because she went to the door and peered out into the hall.
“We’re going to need to take a look around the front office,” she says, still whispering.
I was not at all fine with this. Believing the person with the scissors is gone and knowing it are not at all the same thing.
We keep our lights off and perform a quick inspection of the front office, looking in every dark corner, behind every piece of furniture, and in every crevice for a crouching bogeyman. Ruby peeks out the window as I hold an ear up to the broken pane lest we see a figure dashing behind a tree or hear the crunch of leaves under feet. We don’t, so we set about the business of seeing what the front office can tell us.
As with many small offices in Oklahoma (my own included), a guest enters into a sitting area to the right, decorated to resemble an average mid-American home, and greeted on the left by a friendly receptionist. There is little about the sitting area to appeal to our sleuthing senses, so we gravitate to the reception desk.
Gretchen keeps her drawers much neater than did her employer. Not a big surprise there. She seems like a young woman who—if a bit insecure—has it together. What stands out to me is an award proudly displayed on one corner of her desk. The hard-plastic base has a small gold-coated plaque on the front of it bearing Gretchen’s name, last year’s date, the name of the organization (Sew What?) and Gretchen’s achievement of ‘Best Burlap Technique’. The award atop the base is a bronze rendition of a woman’s hand holding a sewing needle.
I try to picture Gretchen spending hours in a chair patiently sewing and mastering her technique and find I can’t conjure the image. It doesn’t add up with the somewhat scattered but athletic young woman who is so motivated to enter the business world. Perhaps I don’t know her as well as I think.
I see the curtain in front of the broken window move out of the corner of my eye. Ruby yelps. It is just the wind moving the curtains and Ruby reacting to something she found in a book. Totally unrelated events. But the damage is done, as I panic and manage to break the bronze needle off the award.
“Lacy, come look at this. Let me know if it means anything to you.”
I put the award back where I found it and set the broken needle next to it.
“You didn’t happen to find any super glue, did you?” I ask foolishly.
Ruby is holding a little black notebook and pondering a card she found inside.
“This is Gretchen’s day planner,” she observes as she hands me a business card. “Everything in here relates to her work for the travel agency, except this.”
I look at the card. It is white and embossed in gold lettering that reads ‘The Survival List, How to Survive in a Post-Doomsday World’. Rather morbid, I think. I wonder where she came by obtaining this card when I notice the website address and phone number. Something about those digits hits home with me. I reach for my cell phone and get to scrolling. Sure enough.
“That’s Gretchen’s number,” I hear myself say. I am shocked. I do not know this girl at all.
Ruby takes the card from my hand. “You don’t mind if take this, do you?”
Perhaps I am being too judgey, but there is something creepy about the card. I hand it to Ruby who pockets it and takes me by the arm. “I think it’s time we leave,” she says. “That broken window changes things quite a bit if we should happen to be seen here.”
She doesn’t need to tell me twice. We slip out the way we came in, back into the dark alleys and to the back of Stax’s bookstore where my car is waiting. It is a fast, quiet walk for the two of us. We don’t speak about it, but we both keep our eyes focused on our surroundings. There is somebody out there with a sharp pair of scissors and the ability to make people disappear into thin air. We have no intention of allowing them to practice their skills further on us.
I let Ruby off at her house with the promise we’d see each other tomorrow evening at Run For It for the Tuesday night group run. While driving home I realize ‘tomorrow evening’ is actually tonight, as it is now after 2am. I didn’t think I’d be able to fall asleep after our rather harrowing adventure, but I am out as soon as my head hits the pillow.
I wake to the sound of Meatball’s meows. I failed to set my alarm the night before and am fifteen minutes late getting up, but thanks to my furry friend, I won’t be late to work.
I drink a LIT when I get to my desk and decide it won’t be my only caffeine infusion today. I am grateful for a slow day at work. Bill and Caroline are doing a financial seminar this evening in the banquet room of a steak restaurant, so they remain locked in Bill’s office most of the day preparing their PowerPoint. I have plenty of time to ponder the mystery surrounding my little running group.
Ruby is convinced that Marlene’s been murdered by some ghoul who must be in possession of her corpse. As gruesome as this is, I’ve no grounds on which to argue against it. Given the evidence, it’s a more likely scenario than her having run away from home. Somehow, this all ties in with an unsolved murder from eighteen years ago and a break-in to the Petrick Travel Agency. It would be enough to make my head spin if not for the crick I still have in my neck from crouching under Marlene’s desk.
I’ve had enough of small, homey offices for the time being and decide I’ll take my lunch out of doors. Cedar Mill is flush with beautiful parks, some as monuments to the founders, or those from the town who served their country in war. Others are for enjoyment and celebration, two things I could use a little bit of right now, even if I receive it vicariously.
I have a second packet of my precious LIT but decide to save it for later. I rarely break my ‘no caffeine after 2pm’ rule, but I am willing to make an exception today as I barely got any sleep and I have a three-mile run after work. Skipping the run isn’t an option as we are ‘on the case’ and the running group is a great opportunity for gossip.
I think about grabbing lunch from Larry at the Read It or Eat It café and catching up with Stax in the process, but sandwich and chips sounds a little too heavy for how my stomach is feeling. I settle instead on a grilled chicken salad from the grocer and a stone bench in front of a rose garden in Tranquility Park.
The park’s name is no misnomer as one cannot help but feel their burdens lift as they inhale the pure aromatics of nature at its best. Watching a boy chase his dog, then vice versa, and back again, I almost manage to forget tonight’s run will be led by Carly, who in Marlene’s absence will now be run leader.
A young mother and her daughter, no older than five, mosey up to the bench across from me and appear to be looking for something in the grass around it. The little girl’s blonde locks and the way her smile pushes up her cherubic cheeks makes me smile in return. For a moment I am in her world and not my own.
Then my phone rings.
“You on lunch?” says Stax.
“Yep, I’m in the park.”
“My food not good enough for you?”
“It’s Larry’s food and I felt like a salad today. Don’t worry, I’ll get my Stax time in this evening.”
“You’re getting your Stax time right now. I got the lowdown from Carly about her time at the trail run.”
“You spoke to her?”
“Yes. I made a bunch of calls last night while you and Ruby were off playing hide-and-go-seek in Marlene’s place of business.”
I take another bite of salad and watch the little girl play with her mother while they look in the grass. I try to listen to the girl’s laughter with one ear and Stax with the other, but it seems tranquility is not on the menu this day in Tranquility Park.
“I take it you’ve spoken to Ruby?” I ask.
“Yep, called her earlier and gave her the lowdown. She told me all about your little adventure. Must say, I’m kind of jealous.”
“Good, then next time there’s a choice between felony and phone calls, I’ll make the calls. What did you learn?”
“Carly said the rocks had given her blisters and somewhere in the final quarter she got a bad charley horse. She’s apparently never heard of potassium. Anyway, she says she lost time rubbing out her calf and that’s why she had a bad run.”
“You believe her?”
“I don’t know, I guess so. Let me tell you, it was an awkward call. It’s not like the two of us have a lot to say to each other, but I used her friendship with Marlene as an excuse for the questions. You know, ‘I’m sorry your friend went poof’ and all that. But if what happened to Marlene fazed her, she didn’t show it a bit.”
“Then why do you believe her?”
“It’s not her I believe, it’s the other runners. I got ahold of a few of the other top finishers and they all remembered seeing Carly off to the side of the trail, rubbing her calf and acting like a baby. She couldn’t be doing that and killing Marlene at the same time.”
“What did Ruby make of it when you told her?”
“She called it ‘interesting’. To tell you the truth, I think that old lady would find a loaf of bread interesting if you stabbed it with a knife. She did tell me not to talk to anyone else about our ‘inquiry’ as she called it. She does know she’s not British, right?”
I watch as the little girl leaps from the grass with one hand over her head. She jumps up and down, calling out ‘I found it! I found it!’
“Anyway,” continued Stax, “I told her for the tenth time you’re the only one in the running group I communicate with aside from the occasional finger gesture. I think it’s starting to sink in. But hey, that goes for you, too.”
“Got it. I’ll keep your lowdown on the down low.”
“Hey, you made a funny! I think I’m starting to rub off on you.”
The little girl catches me staring at her and bounces towards me.
“Stax, I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll see you at six.”
I feel a little hand on my knee as I end the phone call.
“Look, I found it!” exclaims the little girl. She holds up a piece of cheap jewelry: a little silver locket with chips in the paint. “I lost it Saturday when I was playing. It’s got my daddy’s picture inside. He’s overseas fighting bad guys, but he’ll come back to me, too. Just like this locket did.”
She is so cute I want to pick her up and kiss her, but her mother comes over and kneels beside her.
“I’m sorry she bothered you,” the mother says. “She’s just excited she found her locket.”
“No bother at all,” I say, and I mean it. Her precious little face and more caffeine is all I need to get me through the rest of the day.
“Mommy said I’d find it and she was right!” effuses the little darling.
“Mothers usually are,” I say in return. Mom kisses her daughter on the top of her head and smiles at me. They have the same smile. Daddy is one lucky man.
“I told Lacy here not to worry,” said the mother. “Nothing stays lost forever, isn’t that right?”
I agree with the woman and don’t bother to tell
her my name is also Lacy. The moment is fine as it is. They leave with the girl hopping along beside her mother, sharing a song. I stare at my unfinished salad and think about what the woman said.
Nothing stays lost forever. Hadn’t Ruby said something similar? If I were superstitious, I’d say this was something like an omen—a girl with my name pointing me towards something I’m supposed to know or understand. But I’m not superstitious. I know it is just coincidence.
That doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Perhaps some things do stay lost forever.
But not most things.
Not Marlene.
FIFTEEN
For those enrolled in Run For It’s training program, Saturday is the official training run day, but on Tuesday and Thursday evenings free supplementary social runs are also offered. Although not mandatory, it’s an unspoken directive that if you’re serious about running, you’ll do your best to attend one or both of these runs. This goes for all the levels and groups.
Walking into the store this evening I sense something has changed in the more than 48 hours since the trail run. There is an electricity in the air that isn’t usually present. People enjoy the group and use it as a way to let go of the tension of their daily lives, but not this evening. The usual relaxed conversation one hears walking through the store has been replaced by hushed whispers in corners and private huddles outside. This in spite of the fact that there are half as many people as are usually present for a Tuesday run.
Carly stands staring at her cell phone by an armless mannequin whose job is to display the latest official Run For It gear. She looks naked not sandwiched between Marlene and Gretchen, though I’m sure if given time Carly could turn even a mannequin mean.
Hmmm, where is Gretchen?
I make my way around the different groups and say my hellos, catching murmurs and snippets of conversation here and there, all of it gossipy theorizing about Marlene’s fate. Most of it is to the effect that she is a no-good cheat who cuckolded poor Anderson and made good her escape with her lover. Other theories reflect a different view of Anderson Petrick and cast him as some sort of serial killer. In short, none of us are safe.
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