by Nic Saint
Chase quirked an eyebrow. “A street car race?”
Uncle Alec nodded. “You’re probably too young to remember, Odelia, but we had a real problem with kids using the streets of Hampton Cove as the scene for their street races. This went on for a couple of summers, until Steven Carrington crashed his car and died on impact. That pretty much ended that particular pastime. His father never got over the death of his son, and decided to leave the wreck as a shrine to his boy.”
“It happened here?”
“It happened right here.”
Odelia’s and Chase’s eyes now traveled to the bones that were spread out on the ground, then to the rags lying next to them. Chase crouched down and inspected what looked like the remnants of a jersey. “There’s letters here,” he said. “Looks like… an insignia of some kind. I can make out an S, an E…”
“What was the name of Carrington’s son?” asked Odelia.
“Um, Steven,” said Uncle Alec, then his eyes widened slightly. “You don’t think…”
“I think these bones just might belong to Steven Carrington.”
“That’s impossible. I was at Steven’s funeral. He’s buried at St. John’s cemetery.”
“So maybe his father had him reinterred here?” Chase suggested.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the Chief suggested. “Let’s just sit tight and wait for Abe to tell us what’s going on. Though I have to admit that it’s a mighty big coincidence that these bones would belong to a person wearing the same jersey Steven Carrington might have been buried in.”
Tex had been thinking hard all the way to the office, and by the time he arrived there the vague contours of a plan had formed in his mind. What helped him formulate said plan was the fact that he was, after all, a doctor, and as such used to dealing with the kind of issues that trouble a person. He was facing a problem and so all he had to do was think up an appropriate solution. It’s what he did on a daily basis with his patients, so now he was going to apply that same logic to himself and the problem he was facing.
He arrived at the office and was surprised to find that Vesta was already seated behind her desk, playing Scrabble on her computer.
“You got here early,” he said.
“Yeah, I thought I’d start half an hour earlier so I can take a long break. Scarlett wants me to meet this uncle of hers who flew in from Tahiti yesterday. Guy worked there all his life as a missionary, and now he’s finally coming home to retire.”
“Scarlett’s uncle is a missionary? How old is he?”
“Ninety-six. He’s fit for an old geezer. She showed me some pictures, and he’s still driving a car and hauling water from his well.”
“So why is he retiring?”
“He feels he’s worked hard enough, and now he wants to have some fun.”
“Have some fun!”
“Yeah, he wants to travel, see the world. Maybe meet a woman and settle down.”
“But… you said he’s a missionary?”
“Uh-huh. So?”
“So aren’t missionaries supposed to be celibate?”
“I don’t know, Tex. But I’ll be sure to ask him.”
“Ninety-six,” said Tex. Then a sudden thought occurred to him. “Do you have a picture of this guy?”
“Sure.” Vesta took out her phone and showed him a picture of a robust-looking man who looked not a day over sixty. Most importantly: he had a full head of hair!
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Tex as he studied the picture of the rosy-cheeked nonagenarian.
“You don’t mind, do you, that I take a long lunch?”
“No, absolutely not,” he said, “on one condition.”
“Which is?”
“That you introduce me to Scarlett’s uncle.” He tapped the picture, causing it to zoom in on that amazing crop of healthy hair. “I want to ask him something very important.”
7
Our small procession was still going nicely, though I could tell that Ted and Marcie were a little uncertain on how to proceed. Rufus was leading the way, and so far his humans were indulging him and allowing him to lead.
“Don’t you think we should focus our energy on that skeleton?” Fifi said now. “I feel like it’s important. There’s a story there, Max. Bones always tell a story.” She licked her lips, indicating that her interest in those bones might be personal. Clearly she hadn’t completely given up on the pleasing prospect of burying them—dogs will be dogs.
“And I think it’s more important to find a person who might still be alive, instead of the people responsible for putting a skeleton in some field somewhere,” I returned.
She thought about this for moment, and finally had to admit I had a point.
We’d arrived in downtown Hampton Cove, and proceeded to the point where Angel had said goodbye to her friends, before venturing off on her own—never a sound proposition when under the influence of alcohol and being all by yourself in the middle of the night. Though I think the first probably accounted for the second: alcohol has a tendency to make a person lose the capacity to make the right decisions.
The Cocky Cauldron is one of those new clubs where all the cool people go. It’s not much to look at during the daytime but at night they turn on the neon lights and the place is rocking. Or so I’ve heard. Thumping music and a throng of revelers is not my cup of tea.
“So this is where Angel was last seen?” I asked, just to make sure.
“Yeah, according to her friends this is where they left her,” said Shanille.
We turned to Rufus and Fifi, and Harriet said, “Show us what you’re made of. Sniff!”
And sniff they did—sniffing all around the sidewalk in front of the club as if their lives depended on it. But first Rufus, then Fifi came up empty. “It’s no good,” said Fifi.
“Yeah, we’re going about this backward,” Rufus agreed. “First we need to smell something that belongs to Angel, so we can know what she smells like, see?”
I glanced over to Shanille. “Do you have something that belongs to Angel?”
“I do, but we have to take a detour.” And she proceeded to lead the way. I surmised we were heading to St. John’s Church, where Angel’s mom spends a great deal of her time.
“Where are we going?” asked Marcie.
“I have absolutely no idea,” said Ted. “But it’s a great adventure, don’t you think?”
“Does it also strike you as odd, Ted, that the cats are leading, and Rufus is following?”
“And even more odd: we’re following them!”
“You know, rumor has it that Odelia’s cats actually talk to her. And to Marge and Vesta.”
“I’m sure that’s exactly what it is: a rumor.”
“No, but Ida Baumgartner told me, and Marina Swath, and also Blanche Captor and even Rory Suds from the pharmacy. With so many people saying the same thing, there has to be some truth to it, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know, honey. Odelia and her mom and grandma may be crazy about those cats, but that doesn’t mean they can actually talk to them. No, I think it’s just gossip. You know what people are like. They’ll say anything.”
“If you say so,” said Marcie, but she didn’t look entirely convinced.
We’d arrived at the church and now entered the impressive building, with Shanille still in the lead, and the rest of the small company following in her wake. She made a beeline for the sacristy, which is the small room at the back of the church where Father Reilly likes to take a moment to gather his thoughts—and also to put on those snazzy garments—before he steps behind the altar, and it was here that she now entered.
“What are we doing here?” asked Marcie, her voice having dropped to a whisper.
“You’re asking me?” Ted whispered back.
“I’ve never been in here before. You?”
“No, me neither. I feel like I’m trespassing or something.”
“Look,” said Shanille, as she stopped in front of a small desk.
“This used to belong to Angel when she was little. It was her desk. After she outgrew it, Marigold put it here.” She gave Rufus and Fifi an uncertain look. “Do you think you’ll be able to pick up her scent?”
“Let’s give it a shot,” said Fifi as she shared a look with her friend.
And so both dogs set to sniffing around the small desk, and finally Fifi nodded.
“I do pick up something,” she said. “But it’s pretty vague.”
But then Rufus said, “Over here, Fifi. There’s something shoved under there.” He dragged it out with his teeth, and when he put it on the floor, it turned out to be a drawing, clearly made with a child’s hand, of Santa Claus and his reindeer. Underneath that same hand had scrawled ‘Angel, nine years old.’
When Ted and Marcie saw it, Marcie said, “Now will you look at that.”
“My, my,” said Ted, then patted their dog on the head. “Good boy,” he said.
“Too old,” was my opinion. “Nine years old? How old is Angel now?”
“Nineteen,” said Shanille.
“We need something more recent.”
“How about this?” said Harriet, and gestured to a pink jeans jacket that definitely wasn’t Father Reilly’s.
“Oh, that’s right. Angel left that here the other day,” said Shanille, “when she came to help her mom clean the sacristy.”
And so both dogs set to sniffing that jacket intently, and finally declared that they were ready. Ready to follow the trail—wherever it might lead!
We started to walk away when suddenly we were waylaid by none other than Father Reilly himself.
“Ted? Marcie?” the priest said, his voice betraying his consternation at seeing two of his parishioners in his inner sanctum.
“We—that is they—that is…” Ted began.
“I think our dog has gotten it into his nut that he wants to find that missing girl,” Marcie took over explanatory duties from her husband.
“Angel?” The good priest glanced down at Rufus and Fifi, who looked ready for business, and must have exuded enough confidence for the priest to give them his blessing. Though of course it could also be that Shanille was there, and that she’d bunted her head against his shin. “It’s a terrible thing,” said the priest. “Marigold and I are sick with worry, I don’t mind telling you.”
“When did she disappear—and what do the police say?” asked Marcie.
“Well, that’s just it. Marigold refuses to involve them. She and Alec Lip don’t exactly see eye to eye, and she wants to find Angel herself, without Alec’s assistance.” He shrugged. “I keep telling her they should put aside their differences, but she’s stubborn.”
“Has she tried that ‘Find my phone’ app?” asked Ted.
“Oh, absolutely. But it looks as if Angel switched off her phone.”
“Could it be that she ran off with some boy?” Marcie asked.
“I don’t think so, Marcie. Angel is a very serious-minded young woman. She’d never take off like that. No, something is wrong, and frankly I’ve been thinking of asking Alec to get involved—but if I go behind Marigold’s back she will be furious, so I’ve held off on that option for now. But if Angel isn’t back this time tomorrow, I am going to call the police.”
“And I say we stay away from the police,” suddenly a voice rang out in the hollow space of the church, echoing off the walls. It was the girl’s mother herself, and she looked absolutely steadfast in her determination not to talk to Uncle Alec.
“Look, this is ridiculous,” said Marcie. “Whatever your beef is with Alec Lip, this is your daughter we’re talking about, Marigold—not some lost pet or something.”
This produced perturbed looks from all pets present, and even Rufus didn’t look as if he agreed with his human in this assessment that the lives of pets aren’t as important as the lives of humans.
“If you knew Alec the way I know him, you wouldn’t be saying this,” said Marigold. She was a formidable woman, with a groove between heavy bristling brows that seemed to have been cut there with a box cutter. She had a square sort of face, and had planted her fists on her hips. Judging both from her stance and her expression, Alec Lip was the devil incarnate in this woman’s view.
“What happened between you and Alec, if I may ask?” said Ted, whose curiosity was obviously piqued, as was the rest of us.
“I’m not going to drag all that up now,” said Marigold. “But if you want to help me, the best thing you can do is to look for my daughter along the route she must have taken home last night.” And she proceeded to describe this route in detail.
“Why don’t you join us?” said Marcie. “We have two dogs and five cats ready to look for your daughter, so our chances are pretty good.”
Marigold darted a quick look at Father Reilly, her employer, and the latter said, “Oh, by all means. You do whatever you need to do to find Angel. I’ll manage here by myself.”
And so our small company had suddenly been expanded with another human, and we set out to the road Marigold said her daughter must have taken. When I glanced back to the church, I saw that Father Reilly was waving us off. And the moment he thought nobody was looking, he took out his phone, and I had an idea that he might be getting in touch with Uncle Alec after all—swearing him to secrecy, not wanting to draw Marigold’s ire.
8
Vesta didn’t much care that her son-in-law tagged along on her lunch hour, though she could guess why he suddenly opted to join her and Scarlett and not spend that hour eating his sandwiches outside on his small patch of city garden as he usually did, accompanied by nothing but a newspaper and his idle thoughts.
“So where is your uncle going to live?” he asked as they walked along.
“He hasn’t decided yet,” said Scarlett. “For now he’s staying in my guest bedroom.”
“I always thought missionaries retired in the monastery they adhered to.”
“That’s certainly an option, though I have a feeling Uncle Malcolm would rather spend his twilight years living by himself instead of in a glorified retirement home.”
They’d arrived at the Star hotel, whose outside dining area was where Vesta and Scarlett liked to spend many an enjoyable hour doing what they did best: people watching. And of course enjoy the superb beverages the Star is rightly famous for.
Scarlett waved to an elderly man Vesta assumed was her uncle, and who was already seated at their usual table, keeping it devoid of other patrons until they arrived.
Malcolm Philan could have easily passed for a sprightly septuagenarian. He had a kindly demeanor, and was dressed in jeans and a colorful From Tahiti With Love sweater.
“Hey, honey,” he said as he gave his niece three smacking kisses on her cheeks, then proceeded to give Vesta’s hand a vigorous shake, and take Tex’s hand in a vicelike grip, making the latter wince. In front of the retired missionary a large glass of beer stood.
“What’s that?” asked Tex as the rest of the company joined Scarlett’s uncle.
“You have got to try this, Dr. Poole,” said Malcolm. “It’s called Trappist, and is brewed by Belgian monks. Very tasty, though not something you want to try on an empty stomach.”
“I’ll have one,” said Tex when the waiter materialized from thin air to take their order.
“So what are your plans?” asked Vesta.
“Well, I thought I’d see the sights first,” said Malcolm amiably. “Scarlett has graciously invited me to visit New York with her next week, and show me the sights, and in the meantime I’ll have to think about this next chapter in my life and how I will fill it.”
“I see you still have all of your hair,” suddenly Tex said, scooting forward in his chair.
“Tex, not now,” said Vesta censoriously.
“No, but it’s remarkable,” said Tex. He looked as if on the verge of reaching out a hand and touching the man’s mane, but managed to restrain himself with a powerful effort.
“Oh, yes,” Malcolm chuckled. “I’m lucky enough
to still have all of my hair.”
“Is it… real?” asked Tex in a sort of choky voice that elicited a frown from Scarlett.
“Absolutely. Do you want to touch it?” he asked, correctly interpreting the eager look on the doctor’s face. He bowed his head and allowed Tex to run a hand through the bristle.
“How do you do it?” finally asked the doctor. “What is your secret?”
“Ah, I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you,” the missionary quipped with a grin.
“Okay,” said Tex with a touch of disappointment. He slumped a little in his chair.
“Just kidding, Doc!” said Malcolm, giving Tex a light shoulder punch. “I wash my hair with a special ingredient every morning—something I picked in Tahiti, in fact.”
“What is it?” asked Tex anxiously. The man was practically salivating, Vesta saw.
The aged missionary smiled. “Come here, my boy. And I’ll tell you the big secret.”
And as Vesta watched with amusement, the doctor leaned in and the other man whispered something into his ear. It must have been something pretty surprising, for Tex’s lips formed a perfect O, then he looked at the missionary and said, “No joke?”
“No joke,” said the man with a smile.
All through the rest of the conversation, the doctor was conspicuously silent, presumably thinking about the missionary’s words. And even though Vesta wondered what this secret ingredient might be, she decided not to ask. If Tex wanted to tell her, he would. And if not? Well, what did she care whether the man kept his hair or not? She liked her son-in-law either way, and so, she was sure, did his wife and daughter.
9
We’d left Hampton Cove behind, had passed McDonald’s, and were now walking along a stretch of road where no houses could be seen anywhere in sight, with only trees dominating the landscape. The small procession was still proceeding along, led by not one but two canines, whose noses were doing all the heavy lifting, so to speak.
“I really hope we’ll find Angel, Max,” said Dooley. “She could have fallen into a ditch somewhere.”