‘Max!’ a man shouted. He wore pajamas and was holding on to the collar of a dog, some kind of lab, and the dog was growling. ‘Max, calm down!’
A woman said something she couldn’t decipher.
Kate walked a little closer to where the people were.
The police siren whined in the distance, getting louder, until a patrol car pulled up to the cluster of people and a cop got out.
People were talking, but she still couldn’t really hear. Then someone laughed. Everyone seemed to be laughing, full of good cheer. The cop was laughing too. He walked back to his patrol car, got in, said something out the window and drove away. People waved, then they went into their houses, they closed the doors. The lights in the houses went out. Up and down the street, the street lights made circles of light on the road, the sidewalks.
Kate walked back into the house and closed the door.
The lavender candle she had lit last night was on the floor by the couch – some time during the night it had gone out. The Ativan had made her careless; she could have burnt the house down. She lit it again and made a tour of the house, looking for what? Who? Ellen? The only car in the driveway was the rental. She checked the bedrooms anyway, but no Ellen was sleeping off a late arrival.
Where was she?
But she might have called or texted last night, called or texted Kate’s dead cellphone. Or emailed her useless laptop.
Kate figured she must have fallen asleep around eight thirty last night. By now it was almost five. She’d had close to eight hours of sleep, and anxiety buzzed in her head – there was no way she’d be able to sleep again. What had been going on with the police car, so early this morning? Too early to find out. Too early to buy a cellphone charger for the car, too early – wait, didn’t McDonald’s have Wi-Fi?
There was a McDonald’s back at the plaza where she’d exited from the freeway. She was pretty sure they were open twenty-four hours a day. Not only that, but she remembered a Radio Shack there too where she could buy a cellphone charger for the rented car.
She went into the kitchen, rinsed her face in the kitchen sink with the water she’d bought, brushed her teeth, changed her underwear and put back on her black jeans, black T-shirt, black with white trim Converse sneakers. She left the house, locking the door behind her, put the key under the rock just in case Ellen showed up, got back in the rental car.
She wanted breakfast, real breakfast: eggy and bacony and hot.
Comfort food.
Back at the shopping center she cruised by the Radio Shack. It opened at ten. She pulled into the McDonald’s and went inside. She bought coffee and a bacon and egg McMuffin, then sat on a hard little seat at a hard little table and turned on her laptop. No email from Ellen. She emailed Ellen just in case. Where are you? My cell’s dead so I can’t get texts till after ten a.m.
She had no idea where Ellen lived except it was a New York City suburb.
Don’t worry, she told herself. Your cellphone died. Ellen’s probably texted you, called you. Ten o’clock, and then she could buy a charger at Radio Shack. She ate slowly, dawdling while she watched it get light outside, sun shining off the windows of the cars and trucks on the freeway, anxiety still buzzing in her head.
Malcolm played around with his computer, made a printout of the Carrie picture in front of the Copper Queen from the file and enlarged it. It wasn’t great but it was okay. Then he headed for the High Desert Market. The red umbrellas were unfurled now, and people were sitting out under them. Malcolm went inside and ordered a coffee.
‘I’d like to talk to whoever works the evening shift,’ he said to the young man behind the counter. ‘When do they come on?’
He grinned, a young man still spotted with adolescence. ‘Around noon. Why?’
‘This has to do with the night before the tourists were murdered.’
‘You a reporter?’
‘No. Investigator. Working for Chico Flores.’
‘Chico. Oh, wow. Whatever anyone can do to help around here, they will. That was Brewery Gulch Days weekend? Man, that weekend ended up a bust,’ he said. ‘Elton was working. Elton Savory.’
‘Just him?’
‘Dunno.’
‘And is he working tonight?’
‘Naw.’
‘Know how I can reach him?’
‘Naw. He’s out of town right now, camping.’
‘Owen.’ A young woman came up from behind the kid and batted his head. ‘What? You never learned how to talk?’ She looked at Malcolm. Her face was round and bright and pleasant. ‘I overheard what you saying. I was working that night.’
‘This would be around six thirty or seven.’
‘Yes?’
Malcolm showed her the picture of Carrie. ‘Do you remember seeing her that night?’
‘That’s her, isn’t it? The woman who was killed.’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought so. She bought a ceramic frog. I don’t know why but it makes it seem sadder – she really liked the frog.’
‘Did anything about her behavior seem unusual to you?’
‘You know what?’ the young woman said. ‘Just the fact I remember her is pretty amazing. We were packed that night. It was one of the biggest tourist weekends of the year.’
He gave her his card. ‘If anyone else remembers anything, they can contact me. I’d really appreciate it.’
And that’s it, he thought as he left the High Desert Market. And maybe that was it. Maybe he would never know who she said goodbye to at the Copper Queen Hotel. You followed up on everything, and some of it led nowhere. Maybe it meant nothing in terms of the murders. Or maybe it did.
The Co-op was busy when Malcolm walked in, a line of people at the two registers: an old guy in a red bandanna at one and a skinny young woman with multiple piercings at the other. He cruised the store, past rows of more kinds of tea than anyone could ever drink, past bins of bulk nuts and grains, past cereals he had never heard of. Spelt? Kamut? Past pesticide-free organic produce. At the back was an open door that said ‘Employees only’. A man sat at a desk, head bent. No Kate that he could see anywhere.
He meandered to the front again. The line had eased up.
‘Can I help you find something?’ the old guy asked.
‘I’m looking for Kate, actually. Is she working today?’
‘No.’
‘When is she working?’
The man regarded him with suspicion. ‘Who are you, anyway? Why do you want to know?’
‘My name’s Malcolm MacGregor. I’m helping Lupita?’
‘The cop! Of course, from Phoenix. It’s just great that you’re helping her out. Sorry for the paranoia. I’m Windsong. Pleased to meet you. Look, I’m about to go on break. Let’s go outside, we can talk.’
Outside, Windsong sat on a wooden bench by the door. Malcolm sat beside him.
‘What’s the paranoia about?’ Malcolm asked.
‘Got it from Kate. She’s been paranoid since that newspaper article mentioned her talking to Carrie.’
‘Oh? And why is that?’
‘Maybe ’cause the killer might think she knew stuff and come after her?’
‘Yeah? You don’t sound too sure about that.’
Windsong snorted. ‘Whatever transpired between Carrie and Kate, it wasn’t much of a conversation.’
‘You were there?’
‘I took that picture, the one that got the cops to come and talk to Kate. Between you and me, that’s not why Kate was nervous about the newspaper article.’
‘Oh?’
‘She’s got this ex in California who’s mad at her. She doesn’t want him to know where she is, and if he googles her now, her name’ll probably come up in that article. Then there was the accident. You heard about that?’
‘Yeah.’
‘It kind of put her over the edge in terms of paranoia. She went to New Jersey.’
‘New Jersey?’
‘Yep. To see an old friend. Look, maybe it was kind of
weird. Her tire blew out, and she told me she’d had them all replaced before she left California. But hey, man, it can happen. You encounter something on the road, etcetera, etcetera.’
‘Yeah.’
There was a pause.
‘Yeah,’ Windsong said. ‘Really. Or maybe she was right to be paranoid. I don’t know a damn thing about this ex.’
‘California,’ Malcolm said. ‘I thought she was from Vermont. You said she’d replaced her tires recently?’
‘Oh, man,’ said Windsong. ‘There’s places sometimes you don’t even want to go to. Listen, you need to talk to Dakota, she’s Kate’s best friend here. Don’t have her cell number, but she lives on twenty-three Yucca Street, down the gulch a way. She’s usually home ’cause she works out of her studio.’
SEVENTEEN
Ten o’clock on the dot Kate went into the Radio Shack and bought a cellphone charger. She plugged it in and drove around waiting for it to charge up. Half an hour, she would wait a whole half an hour, before she checked for a message. She drove back to the house on Roscommon Drive, parked on the street, letting the engine keep running. A woman in a floppy hat came towards her, walking a dog, a dachshund.
‘Hello,’ Kate called out the window.
‘Hi!’ The woman stopped. She was wearing big sunglasses. ‘I saw your car arrive yesterday. You’re staying at the house?’
‘Kind of. I’m supposed to meet my friend here, Ellen Wilson?’
The woman looked blank.
‘She inherited the house from her aunt.’
‘My goodness. We’re pretty new in the neighborhood. I never met the woman who lived here; she died a few months ago. That must be when your friend inherited.’
‘The problem is, Ellen was supposed to be here yesterday, but she never showed up.’
‘Really?’
‘She probably tried to get in touch, but my cellphone died.’
‘Well! I hope that to-do last night didn’t wake you. The neighbor’s dog Max stays inside usually, but he got out and he wouldn’t stop barking. There was a prowler or something.’
‘Really?’
‘No one saw a prowler, but when the policeman came he said to Jim, Max’s owner, just keep that dog outside till morning. So he did. But the dog didn’t bark after that, so maybe someone had been out there prowling. We all laughed and laughed.’ She paused. ‘We get so dependent on these cellphones, and then when they go out, we’re just lost. I’m sure your friend will contact you.’
Kate turned on her cell. A tiny yellow envelope showed on the little bar at the bottom. Her whole body flooded with relief. ‘I think she already has.’
‘See. You have a good day. C’mon, Felix,’ the woman said to the dog. They crossed the street.
Kate opened the message. A text, from Dakota.
Hi. Hope you’re having fun.
That was it? Just a text from Dakota, and nothing, nothing at all from Ellen?
She called Ellen’s number from her contact list. It rang and rang. All she had was Ellen’s email and her cellphone, no home phone number, no address either. Damn.
What the hell am I supposed to do now, Kate wondered. What?
The ‘For Sale’ sign was right in front of her with the realtor’s name, Evan Bright Realty, and a number. She punched in the number.
‘Evan Bright Realty, this is Marci speaking!’
Kate introduced herself. She explained.
‘Well, for heaven’s sake,’ said Marci. ‘That’s Steve’s listing. He’s not here right now, but let me see what I can find out.’
Kate waited, it seemed like forever, until finally Marci came back. ‘I couldn’t locate an address for the owner,’ she said, ‘but I’ve got a phone number. A cell, I think.’
It wasn’t the same number as the one she had for Ellen. Kate wrote it down, thanked Marci. She punched in the number immediately. It rang and rang and rang and rang. No one picked up, no voicemail, nothing. It just kept on ringing.
There was no way Ellen would not have made contact by now unless something was seriously wrong.
Time to go to the police.
The woman looked friendly, and she smiled when she saw Kate come up to the big glass window. ‘I’d like to speak to an officer about a missing person,’ Kate said.
‘This an adult?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long?’
‘How long—?’
‘How long have they been missing? More than forty-eight hours?’
‘No – I mean, I’m not— Look, it’s pretty complicated—’ Her lip trembled. ‘Couldn’t I just talk to someone and explain?’
The women looked sympathetic. ‘Sure, honey. Hold on.’
A few minutes later a uniformed officer in his late twenties, early thirties, round cheeked and blonde, strolled out to the lobby, eating a stalk of celery. ‘Excuse this.’ He waved the celery. ‘Didn’t get breakfast. I’m Officer Matt Dodds.’
Kate introduced herself.
‘So what’s going on?’
Kate told him the story.
He nodded and nodded throughout.
‘Look,’ she said when she finished, ‘I know about the forty-eight hours wait, but this is really strange.’
‘I don’t recall seeing reports of any crime against a person by that name. You call the local hospital?’
‘No,’ said Kate.
‘Course, if she was traveling here something could have happened along the way. Look here, let me run back to my office and double-check.’
He came back in a few minutes, shaking his head. ‘Nothing. Checked the hospitals farther away too. Checked for crimes against unidentified women too.’ He paused. ‘How’d you get in the house?’
‘The key was under a rock. She told me about it.’
‘Everything looked normal inside?’
‘Normal?’ There was a little pause. ‘I don’t know what normal would be,’ said Kate. ‘It’s pretty bare, but then no one actually lives there. There wasn’t any overturned furniture or—’ she giggled little shakily – ‘pools of blood.’
‘Now, now,’ said Officer Dodds. ‘People go missing all the time, and most of the time they turn up safe and sound.’
‘Yes,’ said Kate.
‘Three fifty Roscommon, huh? We had a call on that street there last night – barking dog.’ He chuckled. ‘Guess it’s turning into a high-crime area. Tell you what, we usually wait a while longer on a missing persons, but I’ll take a run over there, meet you outside.’
‘Why? I mean, who will that help?’ Kate asked.
‘Just like to take a look, is all.’
At 350 Roscommon Drive, Officer Dodds got out of his police car, rubbing his hands together. ‘God damn technology’s taking over the world,’ he said. ‘People think it makes them smarter, but just look at this – you’ve been in touch with this Ellen, but you don’t know a damn thing about her, not really, not like knowing someone with your instincts.’
‘I knew her fifteen years ago,’ said Kate. ‘She said all the right things in her emails and her texts.’
The officer didn’t respond, as if she hadn’t spoken. Maybe she hadn’t. She was beginning to feel a little unreal. She watched as the officer walked slowly around the outside of the house, disappearing around the back then reappearing on the other side.
‘Let’s check it out inside,’ he said.
She unlocked the door and followed him in. He walked through all the rooms of the house, opening closet doors and closing them, Kate following at a polite distance. They ended up in the kitchen.
‘Basement door?’ he said.
‘Basement door—’ Kate paused. ‘There’s a basement?’
‘Well—’ Officer Dodds paced the kitchen. ‘I don’t know what the hell else those windows I saw outside, down at the foundation, are for.’ He turned a corner near where the back door was. ‘Aha, here it is.’
Kate heard a door open. She’d seen the door, thought it was a closet.
&nb
sp; ‘I’ll be back in a jiffy,’ Officer Dodds said. ‘I got a mag-light in my car.’
He left, came back with the flashlight.
Kate heard his steps on the stairs going down to the basement, but she didn’t feel like following him any more. She sat down abruptly on a kitchen chair and closed her eyes as the realization rushed over her that that was why he had driven over here. What he was looking for was a body, Ellen’s body. She might have spent the night in a house with Ellen’s body down in the basement. Or, even worse, when she arrived Ellen could have been down in the basement unconscious, dying, and now it was too late.
She felt herself start to shake, imagining Ellen laying down on a cold basement floor, covered in blood and too weak to call out to her, while she, Kate, slept upstairs on the couch. Anyone could be dead just like that; it happened really fast sometimes, you were gone.
‘Ma’am? You okay?’
Kate opened her eyes. ‘Did you—?’
‘Nothing down there but old magazines, bunch of canning jars and spider webs.’ He grinned. ‘Most likely she’ll show up with an excuse. Shame when you flew in here for a vacation. Where you fly in from?’
‘Arizona.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘High-crime state I hear, what with the battling drug cartels killing people and the illegals coming across day and night, killing people and getting tortured and murdered themselves if the banditos rob the coyotes.’ His voice was cheery, as if relating the latest episode of CSI:Arizona. ‘And then if that don’t happen, I hear the coyotes take the illegals to a house somewhere, hold ’em hostage and call their families in Mexico for ransom money.’
He smiled at her reassuringly. ‘You give me a call when this Ellen shows up, OK?’
Malcolm parked his big truck on the Gulch; God knows what the parking would be like on Yucca Street. He walked to the address, twenty-three Yucca. At the house next door a hulking giant of a man, black bearded and dressed in black leather with silver studs, was just coming down the porch steps.
‘Hey, man, how’s it going?’ he said. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I’m looking for Dakota.’
‘She’s home. Just walk on in.’
‘Thanks.’ Malcolm walked through a small gate, aware of the giant, watching him. The yard was lined with bright flowering gazania. There was a house and what must be Dakota’s studio next to it. The door to the studio was open.
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