No Feign No Gain

by Carrie Ann Knox

  He quickly dropped the smile. “But anyway, I got back the other day and Grant was nowhere to be found. And all the lights were out. He never paid the power bill. Stingy bugger.”

  His accent was adorable. But I had to stay focused. “Any idea where else he could be? Does he have any family or significant others around here?”

  “Couldn’t say, really. Personal stuff is not part of our arrangement.”

  “Arrangement?” Sloan said.

  Jackson shrugged. “He’s got the money, so he pays the bills. Rent, power, stuff like that. And I have a bit of a talent for cooking, so I keep us stocked and make the meals. Plus a little housekeeping. I don’t mind staying neat.”

  “Sounds like a pretty good deal,” she said.

  “Has been, until now. I earn my keep, but we aren’t exactly friends. He pretty much keeps to himself. Don’t have a clue what he does out there.”

  “Is there anyone he might talk to?” My optimism was fading quickly. “Anything you can think of? ”

  “Well, I did try to track him down. Seeing how I don’t want to get thrown out on my arse. But his parents were no bloody help at all.”

  I perked up. “You talked to them? Do they live around here?”

  “Don’t think so. I get the feeling they’re far away. But I don’t know for sure.”

  “So then you called?” Sloan asked.

  He nodded. “Talked to his mum. And trust me, I regret it. Told her I hadn’t seen Grant in a while, and found out the bills weren’t getting paid for weeks now. Just checking in to see if they knew where to find him.”

  “And had they heard from him?” I encouraged.

  “She just laughed at me, real mean-like. Said they weren’t surprised by any of it. That he’s always been irresponsible and reckless, and is just good at faking otherwise when he needs to. That I shouldn’t be worried. He would turn up when he wants something.”

  My eyes widened. “Yikes.”

  “And then she accused me of trying to get the rent money out of them, like it was some kinda scheme. I got off the phone pretty fast after that.”

  “Wow.” Sloan looked as stunned as I was. “Guess we can rule out visiting the fam, then.”

  Jackson shrugged. “Don’t know anything else, where to look. Or if I should just give up and take off. Really don’t want to move, but I don’t see much choice if he doesn’t turn up soon.”

  “That really stinks.” I gave him a sympathetic look and considered. “So how did you know his parent’s phone number? Does he have an address book we can see?”

  He shook his head. “Just remembered the phone calls. Only a few. But it’s hard to forget when someone lists their mum as ‘Hag’ on their phone.”

  We all cringed.

  “Always makes me feel bad when that shows up on the screen,” he continued. “But I figured it was worth a shot. So I just dialed it back.”

  “Wait.” I met Sloan’s wary eyes. “Grant’s phone is here?”

  “Left it in the kitchen.” Jackson shrugged and pointed to a cell phone in the corner.

  It was, undeniably, the phone I had seen Grant carry every day. “So he’s been missing for a few days and he left his phone behind.” I picked it up and stared, gently touching the dark screen as though it would give me answers. It didn’t seem right. I knew Grant. It was like him leaving behind his arm.

  Then my eyes alighted on a pencil holder on the counter nearby. Sticking out of the top were not pencils, but syringe plungers. The container was full of needles.

  I turned back, eyes wide. “Any chance he has a drug problem?”

  Sloan met my gaze, understanding. “That could certainly explain his disappearance.”

  Jackson shook his head, unconcerned. “Nah. Those aren’t his.”

  Sloan and I exchanged another glance.

  “Maybe we should go,” she said.

  “I mean, they’re mine” Jackson continued quickly, “but it’s not what you think.”

  He rushed forward, brushing past me to reach into the cabinet above. His face reddened a little as he emerged with a small glass vial. He held it up gingerly.

  “Insulin.” Jackson’s cocky gaze now held steady on the floor. “I’m diabetic.”

  “Oh.” I glanced at the bottle and shrugged back at him. “Okay. Nevermind, then.”

  He looked up, seeming relieved at our reaction. “Yeah, whatever.” He threw it hastily back into the cabinet. “But you think we could keep that kinda quiet? It would sorta ruin my rep and all.”

  Who would we tell? I gave him a reassuring smile. “Our little secret.” I glanced down at the phone still in my hand, concern reasserting itself. “But would he really leave his phone behind, if something else weren’t wrong?”

  “Unless he has another one,” Sloan offered. “The guy already has a double life. Why not more than one phone?”

  SIX

  Armed with the new insight that my coworker was notoriously irresponsible and inconsiderate, in addition to being a profuse liar, I returned to work the next day mentally washing my hands of his situation. I felt bad for his poor roommate, about to get thrown out on his toned surfer’s butt. But I was definitely not going to cover for that phony anymore.

  So when my boss popped her head in to inquire about Grant’s status, believing me to be her lifeline to him, this time I told the truth. I hadn’t heard a thing from him. And when she said nothing but narrowed her eyes in annoyance, I had to admit, it was vaguely satisfying.

  But of course, he still found a way to wreck my day. I had to work double-time again to keep up, handling all of my patients as well as many of his. As the bottom of the office food chain, I was expected to take up the slack. And I wondered if things would stay that way even after Grant was fired. I doubted I would continue enjoying my job for long.

  I had to work through lunch to keep up. At close to 3 p.m., with a whole five minutes to spare before my next appointment, I ran into our office to catch my breath. Still no time to heat up my sad little frozen dinner. I plopped into my chair and savored the brief moment alone.

  Until my grumbling stomach broke the silence. Ravished, I checked my desk drawers for a quick snack. No luck. And I knew my emergency purse-granola bar was long gone.

  I sighed and sat back in my chair. But eventually my gaze fell upon Grant’s desk next to me. Or more specifically, his bottom drawer. The one I knew housed all the contraband for his secret candy addiction.

  He thought I didn’t know about it. So he probably wouldn’t suspect me if something went missing, right? Actually, what do I care? I was only in this situation because of him and his selfishness. And he was nowhere to be found.

  I was going in.

  After a quick glance over my shoulder, I dove into his chair and yanked open the drawer. I had more than once seen him futzing with something in the bottom. I shoved aside the pens and notepads littering the drawer and pulled out a shoebox.

  The stacks of candy bars gleaming back from inside made me drool. I grabbed a Snickers and tore open the wrapper with vigor. My stomach began to slow its clenching the moment I took a bite.

  For just a moment, I was perfectly fine with my lying, cheating coworker. One of his bad habits was now saving my life. Or at least my job, as I was otherwise likely to bite the head off the next imperfect patient.

  I carefully shifted the remaining candy bars around to cover the hole I had created, then slid the box back into place in the drawer. The next step was casually scattering the miscellaneous office supplies across the bottom. I swished everything around to restore the obnoxious disorder to his drawer. No one would ever know I had been there.

  But as I pushed the drawer closed, chewing my final gooey bite, I stopped cold.

  A small folded card, like a thank-you note, blank on the front, had been amongst the detritus. But after the drawer-s
tirring, the card’s inside now faced me, staring back at me with my hand on the drawer handle. The hand began to shake a little.

  Bad manners to point fingers. Best to keep things to yourself.

  The red scribbling on the inside of the card made my blood run cold instantly. There was no signature, nothing identifying. But I knew that message hadn’t been meant for Grant.

  The finger.

  I stared at the words until they blurred, my mouth turning dry. Do I call the police?

  I didn’t know what Grant had to do with it. With any of it.

  Maybe he just found it? But he was now missing.

  A weird coincidence?

  The intercom sounded from the phone on my desk. “Quinn, your next appointment is waiting.”

  I groaned and shook my head, jolting myself back to the present. I had to make an instant decision.

  I stuffed the note in my pocket and slammed the drawer closed.

  My mind never really left that pocket the rest of the day.

  ***

  “I need to show you something.”

  We were like eerie twins, both proclaiming at the same time. I slid into the booth at Joe’s and faced my echoer. I saw the same fire of excitement in Sloan’s eyes as I knew flamed in mine.

  But I couldn’t wait. The mysterious note was still burning and throbbing in my pocket. I slipped it out and flung it on the table.

  “Me first.”

  Sloan eyed the note carefully from afar, as if the cardstock was diseased. After a reassuring nod from me, she reached to examine the message inside.

  I felt less crazy about my suspicions when she looked back up with widened eyes. “You got another threat?”

  I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know that we ever officially decided the first was a threat. But I’m certainly leaning that way now.”

  Her face went dark as she returned to studying the handwriting.

  “But it wasn’t left for me,” I continued. “I found it in Grant’s desk.”

  Sloan tore her eyes from the paper to stare back curiously. She was clearly pondering the same questions that had been terrorizing me for hours. Finally she spoke, her face grim. “So what do you think this means?”

  I laughed, despite myself. “For once I was hoping you had all the answers. Because I can’t quite make sense of it. What does Grant have to do with this?”

  Sloan sighed. “I’m not sure. Have you shown this to anyone else? I take it you didn’t call the police.”

  I shook my head. “Hope that was the right call. Is this withholding evidence?” I thought better of it and waved my hand. “On second thought, I’m not sure I want to know.”

  She shrugged back. “Evidence of what? We need to find that out first. It’s not very likely there are prints on there besides Grant’s. And now ours. So what would they do about it, really?”

  “Sure, I’ll buy that.” I always appreciated her gray-area logic when it mattered. “But why would Grant have it in the first place?”

  Sloan bit her lip as she thought for a long moment. “The way I see it, there are three main possibilities. First, the note has nothing to do with the, ahem, present that was left for you.”

  “You really think that’s possible?” There was an annoying note of hopefulness to my voice. I was grasping for normalcy.

  Her face was deadpan. “Not a chance.”

  I shrank back a little and began to doctor the mug of coffee that had appeared in front of me without my notice.

  Sloan did the same as she continued to muse out loud. “Second, someone could have left the note specifically for Grant. Only . . . why would they want to do that? He had nothing to do with it.”

  “Unless the finger was originally meant for him?” I offered.

  “Could be. But they got the wrong desk the first time? And then came back for the right one days later? Seems sort of unlikely.”

  “And the message would certainly be pretty lost in transit that way,” I conceded.

  “Right.” Sloan took a sip before continuing. “So the only reasonable explanation I can come up with? Grant had something to do with the finger in the first place.”

  I had been hoping she would have some other insight. Something that didn’t make my skin crawl.

  “But the note isn’t my only reason to suspect that,” she continued. “That’s actually what I wanted to discuss.” She dug into her purse and pulled out the cell phone we had retrieved from Grant’s house.

  “I’ve been poking around in the guy’s phone.” She unlocked the screen using the simple passcode his roommate had shared. “Unfortunately for us, his email is not currently connected. And his text messages have been cleared, no history. Weird, for sure.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Paranoid, maybe?”

  “Looks like he had reason to be,” she continued. “There were some interesting pictures on here. And I don’t mean the ones of him dressed in some hideous goth getup on the weekends.”

  I cringed.

  She tapped the camera memory, bringing forth my living room. All over, from many different angles. Ending with the wall of family photos where he had been caught off guard.

  “So he was snooping,” I exclaimed. “Why would he photograph my apartment?”

  “Oh, it gets better.” She swiped over a screen and tapped a red icon. She tapped once more and rustling noise sounded from the phone speaker.

  “Oh, Quiiiiinnn.” My head snapped toward Sloan at the sound of my coworker’s whiny voice. “I know you’re heeeere.”

  “How do you know where I live?” The sound of my own voice was jarring. My jaw dropped and I stared back, gaping.

  Sloan stopped the playback after a few seconds. “Sound familiar?”

  “He taped our conversation? How creepy!” I heard the outrage in my voice and felt a quick stab of guilt. “I mean, I guess we’re not really ones to talk, huh? We’ve . . . sort of done the same before.”

  “Yes, but in the line of duty,” she replied. “For a purpose. To help someone. So I think the real question is . . . who exactly is Grant trying to help?”

  I heard a quiet vibration and Sloan glanced to her phone.

  “Let’s hold that thought,” she said. “Looks like we have a distress signal from our voyeur’s Aussie roommate. Maybe he has an answer for us.”

  SEVEN

  We burst into Jackson’s house without even a knock. He didn’t seem bothered by it.

  In fact, he looked downright pleased. He sauntered across the kitchen toward us and gave us a slow once-over. “Not so bad my roommate’s gone, have to say. Seems a pretty good excuse to get you two in here on demand.”

  Was this some kind of ruse? Rage began to simmer. “Excuse me?”

  Jackson’s face immediately turned red at the sight of our indignant faces. “Sorry, mate.” He ran his hand through his hair and shook his head, eyes to the floor. “I flirt when I’m uncomfortable. Terrible habit.”

  Eh, not that terrible. He was sort of handsome when he was embarrassed. “So what has you so upset? Have you heard from Grant?”

  “No, but I think I’ve found something.” He turned and waved us down the back hall. We followed him to the first door on the left. “I got a bit desperate, so I decided to check out Grant’s room. See if he had any cash stashed in there to keep us afloat.” He averted his eyes again. “I’m not proud of it.”

  But my thoughts darkened as I stared at the door, considering the possibilities. He surely wasn’t dead in there, if Jackson called us first. So what, then?

  Jackson cleared his throat, but his voice came out froggy anyway. “Have a look.”

  He slowly turned the handle and swung the door open with a creak. I held my breath, unsure what we might see. Please don’t be my coworker’s lifeless body. I relaxed with a sigh as I took in the space.

&nb
sp; The room was neat as a pin, everything perfectly in place. Precisely-made navy bedspread, orderly storage bins and shelves. No dirty laundry or miscellaneous anything. Perhaps Grant and I have more in common than I realized.

  Then my eyes were drawn to the laptop, glowing on the corner desk. The screen was lit with a word processor, the document’s writing visible but not legible from that distance. I glanced to Sloan and we all moved toward it in silence.

  $200,000.

  Unmarked bills.

  No police. You know the drill.

  We’ll be in touch.

  Nothing else on the screen. The words glowed ominously at us in the dim room. Some kind of ransom note?

  Sloan reached toward the keyboard.

  “No!” My arm shot out to stop her, grabbing her hand before she could touch it.

  She pulled back and gazed back at me, amused but curious.

  “I mean, isn’t this evidence?” I heard the nervousness in my voice and tried to stay calm. “We need to . . . let the police dust for prints or something.”

  Sloan shrugged and pointed at the screen. “It says right there, no police. That makes our job a lot easier. No red tape.”

  “Our job?”

  “Yeah. Looks like we have a bit of a kidnapping situation here.” Sloan seemed completely unruffled by her own statement. “So . . . we have to help find him, right?”

  “Yes, of course. But . . . ” My voice trailed off as I really wasn’t sure what to argue. Just was sure I should, somehow.

  “But they wouldn’t find prints on there, anyway,” Sloan continued. “It’s all pretty standard so far.” She acted as though it was the most normal thing in the world as she counted off on her fingers. “No witnesses, gets too messy. Typed ransom note, not handwritten. No police. So leaving prints would be insanely amateurish and inconsistent, right?”

  She is right. “Then how do we trace who did this?” I started to panic a bit. “What if he’s in danger? He could be hurt, or scared, or . . . we have to do something.”

  Sloan put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t stress. We’re on it. And nobody’s going to hurt him if they’re trying to get paid. There’s just no need. And I don’t really see Grant fighting back, do you?”