Through the trees came the sound of hurried water. As the pines opened up, the ground seemed to curl under, falling down to river's edge six feet below. The river was a dark, churning moat carrying with it a cool breeze from the north.
Geoff stood with his hands at his hips, looking up and down stream. He began to second-guess his motives for coming here. The supple pine needles could provide a soft bed. Perhaps the man carried the woman into the woods as a romantic gesture. Perhaps the whole thing was an innocent tryst.
Geoff tried to remember what he saw, exactly. Was the woman conscious? Was her head lolling, or merely inclined toward her lover's chest? As he considered his answers, he studied the shore below his feet. Deciding a closer look was necessary, he slid down the eroded crag. When he reached the bottom of the cliff, he brushed off the seat of his jeans and studied the rocky shoreline.
It looked as if someone had scattered diamonds along the river's edge, as rushing water winked between the smooth rocks that shouldered it. Geoff walked gingerly along the shore, using the toe of his shoe to push aside larger stones. About ten feet from where he dropped down from the cliff, he saw the unmistakable sheen of metal between the tumbled rocks. He reached down and pulled from the stones a key chain.
Or at least half a key chain. It was the kind with two rings held together with a spring-loaded pin at the center. It held a house key, a brass tab with the initials L.M. engraved on it, as well as a small plastic card, which was attached to the ring through a hole at one of the card's corners. The printing on the front of the tag proclaimed it a Riley & Richardson's Regular Reader's Reward Card. Geoff turned it over, examining a familiar collection of orderly black lines. If it were like all other bar codes, it had information associated with it.
Apparently, he would have something to do today after all.
* * * *
Riley & Richardson's was a megamart for the book-lover crowd. As Geoff wasn't much of a reader, he was unfamiliar with its inventory, but he wanted to make the best of the situation.
He wrote off fiction immediately, as there were too many choices. He hadn't taken a vacation in years, so he skipped the travel section. He remembered his college history textbooks used to put him to sleep, therefore Geoff walked past those shelves too. In the corner, he came upon the self-help group. How to Get a Man, How to Change a Man, How to Conquer Your Fears, How to Interpret Your Dreams, How to Survive Downsizing. Geoff paused on this last one. The book's back cover promised that the author would help him find a job that he would love and would pay well. He assumed the procedure to do so had changed since he had joined the Company eight years ago. Believing it to be an investment in his future, he carried the paperback to the checkout counter at the front of the store.
"Good afternoon,” said the young woman at the register.
Geoff gave her a friendly nod and smile. He handed over the book and held out the small plastic card from the key chain. The girl scanned them both.
"That'll be fifteen thirty-five,” she said.
From his pocket, Geoff withdrew his wallet and took out a twenty. “I was wondering if you could check the address you have on file for that card.” Geoff felt his heart travel to his throat even before he spoke his next sentence. “I moved recently, and I want to make sure I gave you the right information. I don't have everything committed to memory yet.” He felt his face grow warm and hoped the girl would assume he was embarrassed by his own inadequacies and not because he was afraid of being caught in a lie.
"Certainly,” said the affable young woman. She made change, slipped his receipt inside the book, and then pressed a few keys on her terminal. A second later she said, “Leeann Miller. 12650 Cherry Hill Drive."
"Hey, how about that? I got it right,” Geoff said, flashing the girl a smile.
"Leeann's your wife?"
"That's right,” said Geoff, feeling a bit more at ease.
"Pretty name,” said the girl, as she handed over his book.
On the way out to his car, Geoff mumbled under his breath. When he slipped into the driver's seat, he reached over to open the glove box. He found a nub of a pencil and wrote inside the front cover of the book, “Leeann Miller. 12650 Cherry Hill Drive."
* * * *
As it turned out, Cherry Hill Drive was the well-to-do Wisconsin cousin of his middle-income Minnesota neighborhood. Only a bridge, a million-dollar mortgage, and a million-dollar view separated them.
Leeann Miller's house, like the rest in this prestigious development, sat on a cliff overlooking the river. The big brick two story with a garage the size of an airplane hangar was at least fifty years newer than Geoff's little rambler.
He drove down the wide, well-manicured street and then made a U-turn. As he came back toward the house, he slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road, stopping behind a stand of precisely planted, perfectly coiffed shrubs.
Slouching down into his seat, he turned on the radio to pick up the Twins game at the middle of the third inning and waited. The boys of summer were up by two when one of the doors of the home's garage opened and a navy blue SUV the size of a tank rolled out and down the driveway.
At a safe distance, Geoff followed the SUV as it traveled south and then west, taking the bridge back into Minnesota. The behemoth vehicle traveled along the river toward more populated suburbs until it found its way into a complex of lately built row houses.
In the communal parking area, a tall, dark-haired man in his forties, dressed in clothes that could easily pay Geoff's next month's house payment, emerged from the SUV. He went to one of the center townhouses, the door opening before the man knocked. A tall blond woman wearing a barely nothing pale blue dress emerged and flung her arms around his neck, drawing him inside.
Geoff recalled the figure he'd seen in the man's arms the night before. Long hair caressing both of their shoulders. Unless Leeann Miller had chopped off her locks since last night, this was not Leeann Miller.
* * * *
The next morning Geoff awoke at six thirty, his body programmed to the Company's time. He sat with the paper spread out on his kitchen table for an hour or two, sipping coffee from his Twins mug and circling possible job opportunities in the employment section. At nine o'clock, feeling unimpressed by the selection afforded to him, Geoff left the paper, refilled his mug, grabbed the book he bought yesterday at Riley & Richardson's, and headed over the river.
By ten thirty, he had finished the book's first chapter, “Embrace Possibilities,” in which the author asserted that losing his job might be the best thing that could have happened to him. Geoff doubted it, but continued on. Halfway through the second chapter, “Make Opportunities Happen,” there had been no activity inside or outside the house on Cherry Hill Drive. Mr. SUV probably spent the night at the lanky blonde's, Geoff suspected. He studied the house one more time and then put down the book and unfolded himself from his car.
As Geoff walked up the property's long walkway, he studied the neighborhood. Mortgages of the homes in this area bought a lot of land and a lot of privacy. He wondered what these people did for a buck to afford to live in such places. Although, for all anyone knew, they could be credit rich and cash poor. This extravagance could be a façade, their homes’ interiors devoid of furnishings. Something had to be wrong. No one's life could be as perfect as these people's seemed.
When he reached the door, Geoff rang its bell and waited. When no answer came, he took one last look around, and then he slipped the key he had found into the door's dead bolt. It fit perfectly.
Inside the house was cool and quiet. The marble floor in the foyer seemed to add to its stillness. Geoff pulled off his shoes, carrying them into the stainless steel and black granite kitchen. A gourmet's dream. On one wall he noticed there hung a small decorative blackboard. “Marcus, Dentist September 7th, 1 pm,” someone had written in white chalk. The right leg of the M curved around on itself. Surely a feminine hand.
Next, Geoff checked the cupboards. He made an appr
oving hum when he noticed the spice bottles were alphabetized. The handles of the coffee cups all faced the same direction as well, and the drinking glasses were organized by height.
With shoes still in hand, he headed for the massive center staircase. Upstairs, the smallest two bedrooms stood empty, another was being used as an office, and another as a guest room. The largest served as the master. At its center sat a four-poster bed he would have needed a step stool to climb into. He scanned the walls and the table and dresser tops for portraits. There were none.
Geoff went through one of the doors off the master, which led to a bathroom the size of Geoff's kitchen. The marble-topped vanity held scant articles, including a bottle of some sort of beauty potion and a basket of uselessly small soaps in the shape of roses. He tried the drawers and found a hairbrush. Long brunette strands were tangled in its bristles. Geoff lifted an eyebrow in a wary comma. “So who was the slinky blonde, Marcus?” he asked, his voice echoing among the stone and glass.
The second room off the bedroom was a walk-in closet. Inside it, Geoff was met with similar tidiness. He let loose a low whistle as he paged through several dozen expensive suits, laundered Oxfords still cloaked in their plastic, pressed khakis, and a rainbow selection of polo shirts. The woman's side of the closet held the feminine equivalent. Geoff sifted through the dresses. A pink, white, and brown print caught his eye. It looked as if it had been plucked from a box of sweets. Although Geoff had little knowledge of designer names, he recognized the label inside: Claudia Cane.
At the end of the woman's hangers there stood a line of hooks. From them dangled a dozen or so handbags. Geoff sifted through them, finding the one on the hook closest to the door bulging slightly. He opened the bag. A small mirror, a tube of lipstick, a package of tissues, a tin of breath mints, and a prescription bottle of Valium. But these were insignificant to the other thing he found in the bag, the thing that told him Marcus Miller's life was anything but perfect.
"Why didn't you call Sergeant Sanderson after you found the handgun in Leeann Miller's handbag?” the authorities will ask later.
"I wanted to, but I was afraid of how I found out about it."
"So you knew what you were doing was illegal?"
"Well,” Geoff will stammer, “I do now, but at the time, I mean, I did have a key."
"Don't worry about it, Geoff. We won't prosecute you for the break-in. In return for your testimony, of course."
"Of course."
So instead of calling the police, Geoff drove across the bridge to home, where he called Fast Frankie's.
While he waited for his pizza to arrive, he unpacked his carton of belongings, still sitting on the living room floor from Friday night. After giving the plant a much-needed drink from the tap, he placed it at the center of his kitchen table. He put the Twins mug to his left, pens and Post-its to the right, and between them like a plate he positioned his address book. He left the clock radio in the box, but withdrew the brown stiletto, which he placed opposite him.
The brown stiletto had whisker creases behind the toe, and its heel was tapered like a stem of a martini glass.
He sat for a moment, considering the rest of the objects on the table. He opened the address book to the Ms and added a new entry. Employing his cell phone, Geoff dialed information. Moments later, he wrote the Millers’ telephone number next to their address.
After the pizza was delivered—in less than forty-five minutes, as promised—Geoff spent a quiet dinner with his guest, the stiletto. As he ate, he considered its color, size, and its wearer. She was thirty-two, five feet seven inches, outgoing, had excellent taste in clothing, and was a brunette. He was only certain of the last two.
When he was through eating, Geoff picked up How to Survive Downsizing and started the next chapter, “Be Persistent.” In it the author wrote that “Just because a company says they're not hiring now doesn't mean they won't be hiring next week. Keep yourself in the forefront of their minds. Remember: Wishing what you want and telling someone what you want are two very different things."
Later that night, he traded his how-to for his address book and headed back over to the Miller house. By the time he found his hiding place behind the manicured bushes, it was ten forty-five. Soft landscape lights washed the façades of the residences on Cherry Hill Drive, including the former home of Leeann Miller.
Geoff picked up his cell phone and dialed the number he read off his address book's latest entry.
"Yeah,” said the baritone voice on the other end of the line.
Geoff let a moment of silence settle in, then he said, “Leeann needs her Valium."
"Who is this?” demanded Marcus Miller.
Geoff gently closed his phone, slouched down in his seat, and waited. An hour later, when the lights went out in the Miller house, Geoff went home.
On Monday night, Geoff once again stationed himself behind the bushes and made another call.
"Leeann doesn't want you to forget your dentist appointment next Friday,” he said to the man on the other end of the line.
Although his reminder did provoke a few fresh words from Mr. Miller, it did not rouse him from his million-dollar cocoon.
Tuesday night found Geoff undercover again. He picked up his phone and said to the man at the other end of the line, “Leeann wants her pink and brown dress. You know, the Claudia Cane.” He paused for a moment, swallowing hard. “And she's missing a brown leather pump too. Could you bring it to her?"
Mr. Miller was silent and then, finely, he said, “I don't know who you are, but this is getting very old."
Geoff snapped his phone shut. He was sure this call would provoke Marcus Miller into action. But the man was still sitting tight hours later. Although the lights in the home were still blazing at half past one, Geoff finally decided to call it a night. As he started the car and pulled away from his hiding spot, he considered what his next move might be. Perhaps during tomorrow night's call he would mention what he saw Friday night by the road. “You carried her into the trees. Did you think no one would see you?"
While Geoff practiced his next phone encounter with the murderer, he noticed headlights in his rearview mirror. It was Miller's massive SUV.
Geoff felt the blood drain from his face; his hands on the steering wheel began to tingle. When he came to the intersection, he pulled into the right lane. The SUV drew alongside him, taking up all of what remained of the road, and then made a turn left. Geoff waited a few moments. He maneuvered his car over and made the same turn. Miller took the bridge back over the river and traveled northward, with Geoff again at a safe distance behind.
Although The Dockside's green and blue neon sign had already been extinguished for the night, he knew exactly where Miller turned off the road. Geoff continued a mile or two before turning around and heading back downriver. He killed his engine a few hundred feet before coasting to the edge of the road. Geoff got out of his car and made his way past The Dockside's parking lot, now barren save for the SUV.
He could see the glint of a flashlight coming through the trees. Easing down into the ditch, Geoff went toward the unsteady beam that took him into the pine trees. Ahead where the conifers opened up, the light from the moon fell upon Miller. Geoff could see him stride toward the cliff, shining his flashlight onto the shore below. Then Miller crouched to the ground, and in an instant he was gone, dropped to the river's edge below.
"Why did you decide to call the police at that point, Geoff?” the authorities will ask him later.
"Because I knew Miller was looking for evidence he left behind. If I hadn't said anything, he could have gotten away with it,” Geoff will add pointedly.
The cops will nod, agreeing with him. His story finished, Geoff's relief will be palatable. Much as it was that night when he heard Brit's voice coming from the other end of his cell phone.
"Hey, Geoff. What's up?"
* * * *
Over the next few days, the police searched the stand of pines, the shore, and th
e river. They did not find Leeann's body. They did, however, find droplets of blood among the fallen needles and in Mr. Miller's SUV. And in the garbage can of the million-dollar property on Cherry Hill Drive, they found the partner to a size seven brown Italian leather stiletto with Leeann's blood and Miller's fingerprints all over it. This evidence, coupled with Geoff's testimony and several of Leeann's friends, who told stories of domestic threats and philandering, helped seal Miller's conviction. Both the prosecution and the defense used the lack of a body to bolster their case.
"Where is Leeann Miller if Marcus Miller didn't kill her?” asked the former.
"Where is Leeann Miller's body if Marcus Miller killed her?” asked the latter.
In the end, those on the jury were more swayed by the first question, which was answered by the investigators. She would pop up downriver. It was just a matter of time.
Except for the day of his testimony, Geoff followed the trial in the papers. It was just as well, since lately his time was being eaten up settling in at a new job.
Although he had finished How to Survive Downsizing, Geoff thought the last chapter, “Find The Recognition You Deserve,” was the most beneficial. He realized he was to blame, all those years ago, when he didn't correct Mr. Hanley the first time he called him by the wrong name. Why, Geoff asked himself, did he work so hard for someone who couldn't even get his name right? Good old Jerry helped line Hanley's pockets without so much as a thank you—until the end that is, until good old Jerry was fired.
This was why, when Geoff started at the New Company, he decided to speak up for himself. First he asked for a different chair rather than sit on the uncomfortable one left behind by the former employee who had occupied his cubical. If he was going to put in sixty hours a week, he decided he should at least have something comfy to sit on. He also asked for a wireless mouse, a new keyboard, and a better stapler, plus several other things he couldn't even remember. For a while, he was getting a package every day as his requests were honored.
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