Vanishing Act

by Barbara Block

  I waited.

  “He laughed.”

  “He laughed?” This wasn’t the answer I’d been anticipating.

  “Yeah.” Chris gave me a sheepish look. “If it had been a guy, that would have been one thing. But another girl. He thought ...” Chris searched for the right word. “He thought it was interesting. It raised ... you know ... possibilities.”

  I raised an eyebrow. Possibilities? Things really had changed. When I was in college, woman on top was considered daring. “What did you think when you found out?”

  Chris turned beet red. “That is none of your business.” He looked away, avoiding my eyes. “Tommy didn’t have anything to do with Missy’s disappearance.”

  Since I was getting nowhere fast with George’s theory, I decided to try out mine instead. “Maybe not, but he seems to have gotten himself into a fair amount of trouble on another front,” I said to Chris.

  “Meaning?”

  “Being arrested.”

  “Are you talking about that mailbox thing?”

  I nodded.

  Chris snickered. “Big deal.”

  “How about hit-and-run?”

  He furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about a guy who was killed a little over a year ago.”

  “What does that have to do with Chris?”

  “I think he hit him and left the scene of the accident. I think Missy was either there or surmised what had happened, and I think Tommy killed her because of it.”

  Chris stared at me for a few seconds. “You really are crazy,” he finally said. “Where do you get stuff like this from, the National Enquirer?”

  “I’m willing to listen to a better explanation.”

  Chris pointed a finger at me. “You want to know what happened to Missy, you ask her brother.”

  “Why should I do that?”

  “Ask him about the gun.”

  “The one that was stolen?”

  “Stolen?” Chris laughed. “If it was stolen, what the hell was Melissa doing with it?”

  I drove around the university for a little over two hours before I finally tracked Bryan down. I found him at the Yellow Rhino. He was sitting at a corner table, wolfing down pizza and leafing through a magazine. At one-thirty the lunch crowd was gone, and I noted that a good half of the tables were empty as I threaded my way through them.

  Bryan must have been engrossed in what he was reading, because he didn’t hear me come up. “This must be our place,” I said when I reached him.

  He looked up. “Oh, it’s you.”

  Judging from the expression on his face, he wasn’t happy to see me, but then, lots of people aren’t. I took his jacket off the seat next to him, put it on the table, and sat down.

  “I’m not staying,” he informed me. “I have to go to the library. I have a paper due.”

  “Everyone is so busy these days. So eager to achieve.”

  He gave me a blank look.

  “Forget it.” I wasn’t even going to bother to explain. “You can go. After you tell me about your sister and the gun.”

  Bryan froze for a fraction of a second. Then he recovered, took another bite of pizza, and chewed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he told me after he swallowed, but the slight tremor in his hand belied his nonchalant manner.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “That’s not what Beth’s boyfriend said. He told me to ask you about it, so I’m asking.”

  Bryan put what was left of the slice back on the plate. “Chris is a liar. I wouldn’t believe anything that moron tells you.”

  “I could say the same of you.”

  “Hey.” Bryan began to get up.

  I grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. “Maybe we should settle this at the Public Safety Building.”

  Bryan glowered at me. “What was all that bullshit you were giving me a while ago about how you were going to protect me? Now you’re accusing me of popping my sister.”

  I corrected him. “I didn’t say that, you did.”

  “Having a gun isn’t a crime.”

  “Yes, it is. Now tell me what the hell Melissa was doing with it. This is, by the way, the same one that I assume you swore you didn’t have anymore. The one that was stolen. Tell me, was there a robbery?”

  “Jesus.” Bryan cupped his hands and ran them over his face, momentarily distorting it. “Jesus.”

  “I don’t think he’s going to help you now.”

  Bryan pushed his plate away and gave me a defiant stare. “Okay. I know giving Missy the Glock was wrong. But at the time—”

  “You gave your sister your a Glock?”

  “She wanted to borrow it for the afternoon.”

  “Why?”

  “She was going to go target-shooting with a friend.”

  “That strikes me as a rather unusual activity for a girl like her.”

  Bryan pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Which shows you how much you know! Actually, she used to go to the gun room and practice target-shooting from time to time. She said it relaxed her.”

  “You expect me to believe you?” I said even though I remembered the key chain with the nine-millimeter bullet I’d seen on the top of her dresser.

  Bryan grabbed my forearms and pulled me toward him.

  “You have to.” His voice was fierce. I could smell the peppermint on his breath.

  “Why? Because everything you’ve told me so far has been true?”

  Bryan loosened his grip and slumped back in his seat.

  “This is why your mother thought you might be arrested, isn’t it?”

  He nodded his head. “God, I can’t seem to do anything right.” He covered his face with his hands.

  I gave him a minute to get himself back under control before I asked him my next question. “How did your mother find out?”

  Bryan chewed on his lower lip. “I told her,” he admitted after a few seconds had gone by.

  “Why?” I would never, ever have told my mother something like that. Hell, I never told her if I got a C on a test, let alone something like this.

  “I’ve never been able to keep things from her. Never.”

  I was glad I hadn’t been there the day he had. “What did she say?” I massaged my temples with my fingertips. I could feet a headache coming on.

  “It wasn’t what she said. It was the way she looked at me.” Bryan shut his eyes for a few seconds, as if blotting out the memory. “She cried and then she prayed. She said she didn’t want to lose us both. She said that maybe with Jesus’s help, Melissa would come back to us.”

  Three chattering coeds sauntered by our table. We sat in silence till they passed.

  “So,” I asked when the last one was gone, “when did you give your sister the gun?”

  “The day before she disappeared.”

  Which, of course, would explain why Bryan had been so frantic when Melissa hadn’t shown up.

  “Who was she supposed to go target-shooting with?”

  “I don’t know. She said someone from school.”

  “And you didn’t ask?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know why, okay? I just didn’t. I had other things on my mind.” Bryan took his glasses off and wiped them clean on his T-shirt. “I assumed it was Tommy.”

  “Which is why you’re sure that he killed her?”

  Bryan nodded his head.

  “Why did you assume it was Tommy?”

  “Who else could it be?”

  “It could be you. You could have taken her out and shot her, dumped her body somewhere, come back, waited for her to show up, and then called the cops.”

  “Why would I shoot my own sister?”

  “You tell me.”

  “What would it take to convince you that I didn’t?” Bryan cried.

  “At this point, I’m not sure.”

  Bryan buried his face in his hands
.

  “Look at me,” I ordered.

  He raised his head. His eyes were wet with unshed tears. I wasn’t impressed. Anyone can learn to cry.

  “Tell me why I should believe what you’re saying now?”

  “Because it’s the truth.”

  I got up.

  “Wait,” Bryan said, and he clutched my hand. “Are you going to tell the cops about the gun?”

  I shook him off. “I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”

  When I left the restaurant, Bryan was still sitting there, staring at his half-eaten slice of pizza. I almost felt sorry for him.

  Almost being the operative word.

  Chapter 33

  Beth stared at me defiantly, arms crossed over her chest. The room smelled of an odd but not unpleasant combination of baby powder, shampoo, cherry Twizzlers, and Chanel No. 5. I’d woken her up from an afternoon nap, and she still bore evidence of her sleep in the slight dishevelment of her hair and her blouse.

  “Of course I knew her brother had a gun,” she told me, sounding exasperated.

  “You knew?” I felt like a parrot.

  “She told me Bryan had one. She was thinking of buying it off him for three hundred bucks.”

  Which could explain what Melissa had done with the three hundred dollars. A new Glock pistol retails for five hundred dollars. Maybe her brother was giving her a deal.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t think she had a reason. She just liked having one around.”

  I blinked. “This didn’t strike you as a significant fact?”

  “Not really.”

  Maybe I was living in Oz and I just didn’t know it.

  “Hey, I can name four girls on these three floors who have handguns hidden in their closets,” Beth said.

  “Four?”

  Beth looked at me coolly. “Times have changed since you were at school.”

  No kidding. And obviously not for the better. The only thing we would have hidden in our closets would have been a six-pack of beer.

  I leaned against her roommate’s dresser and studied the view out the window. The trees and the grass were still brown. It was hard to believe that in another three weeks Tyler Park would green up.

  Beth picked up a notebook and set it back down. “Once in a while she used to go target-shooting. Big deal.”

  “Who did she go target-shooting with?”

  “Her brother, mostly.”

  Another significant fact Bryan had omitted.

  “Did she ever go with her boyfriend?”

  “She talked about it, but I don’t know if she and Tommy ever went.”

  “Bryan told me she was planning on going out with someone the day she disappeared.”

  “If she was, she didn’t tell me.”

  “She didn’t tell you much, did she?”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling you. Why would I lie?”

  “I don’t know. To protect Bryan? Or Tommy?” Another thought occurred to me. “Or Chris?”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Beth squeaked.

  “If you think about it, Chris was the logical person for her to go shooting with. He’s familiar with guns.”

  Beth put her hands on her hips. “Chris had nothing to do with her. Nothing,” she declared angrily.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I am, that’s why. Don’t you try and pin her disappearance on him.”

  “That’s not a very good answer.”

  Beth shrugged. “Have it your way.” She turned and began straightening up her room. She picked the shirts up from the chair, put them on hangers, and placed the hangers in her closet. Then she started on her desk. Absorbed in her task, each of her movements was precise. Maybe she figured I’d get tired of watching her and go away, but she’d figured wrong. I walked over to where she was standing.

  “Let me backtrack,” I said as Beth continued to line up her pencils in a single row. “You roomed with Melissa for how long?”

  “Almost one semester.” Done with the pencils, she started on her pens. What was going to come next? The paper clips?

  “And she told you that she was going to get married ...”

  “I explained about that.” Beth’s voice was sharp as she gathered her note cards into a neat pile.

  “Did she tell you Tommy had changed his mind?”

  “You’re worse than the police. How many times do I have to tell you, Melissa wasn’t the confiding type.” She began looking through her papers, discarding some, putting others in a bright yellow folder.

  “I guess I must be having a little trouble believing that. Tell me, given your relationship with Melissa, were you, perhaps, jealous of Melissa and Tommy?”

  Beth whirled around. “What are you implying?”

  “It should be fairly obvious.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “How about Chris? Did he care about you and Melissa?”

  Beth slammed the folder she was holding down on her desk. She was breathing heavily. “Why don’t you leave me alone?”

  “I’d like to.”

  Her eyes widened. Her nostrils flared. “It doesn’t matter what I say, does it? Because you’re not going to listen anyway. Well, believe what you want ... I already told you. Melissa kept to herself. The only people she really confided in were Jill and—”

  “What about Jill?”

  Beth and I turned.

  Holland Adams was standing in the doorway to Beth’s room. We’d been so intent on our conversation, neither one of us had heard her appraoch. “I couldn’t help overhearing. You guys are getting a little loud.”

  “We weren’t as loud as you are,” Beth muttered.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Figure it out.”

  The two girls glared at each other in the manner of long-term antagonists squaring off for another round. One thing was certain. They wouldn’t be sharing a suite next year.

  “What are you doing here anyway?” Beth demanded. “Aren’t you usually over at Jim’s this time of the day?”

  “I was trying to study.”

  Beth pursed her lips. “Now, that’s a novel idea.”

  “Cute,” Holland said.

  I intervened. “That’s enough,” I said, wanting to bring the topic back to the subject at hand.

  Holland shrugged. “Fine with me. I’m leaving anyway.”

  “No. I want you to stay. I have some questions I need to ask you.”

  “About her?” Holland tilted her head toward Beth.

  “She won’t mind, will you?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Beth snapped.

  “Not really.” And I told Holland to come in and shut the door behind her. With her green nail polish, black eyeliner, long, blond hair, and dark purple lipstick, she looked like some exotic tropical bird, whereas Beth reminded me of a small brown house wren.

  What do you know about Jill?” I asked when Holland had turned back toward me.

  “The saint? You already asked me that question.”

  “I know I did, and now I’m asking it again.”

  Holland shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “Why did you call her that?”

  “The saint? Because Melissa spoke to her and she spoke to God.”

  “That really is not nice,” Beth commented.

  “I’m not nice, or haven’t you noticed,” Holland told her.

  “Oh, I’ve noticed all right. It would be hard not to.”

  Holland glowered at her. “At least I don’t say one thing and do another.”

  “Meaning?” I asked, assuming she was talking about Jill.

  Holland turned her gaze from Beth to me. “Meaning that I don’t go snitching to the R.A. when someone has a few bottles of beer in their room.”

  “Jill did that?”

  “Twice. A third time, and I’d have been kicked out.”

  “Jill and Melissa sounded like a match,” I observed.

  “And ho
w,” Holland agreed. “A match made in roommate hell.”

  “You had a keg,” Beth said.

  Holland tossed her hair out of her eyes. “So I had a couple of parties. Big deal. It was still none of her business. I never would have ratted her out.”

  “You were disturbing the whole floor.”

  “The whole floor was there. It’s not my fault that Jill was such a little nerd.”

  “She couldn’t drink then. She explained that to you.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I know lots of people who drink when they’re on Prozac. I do.”

  “She was on Prozac?” I interrupted.

  Holland waved her hand and then inspected one of her nails. “Damn. Do you have an emery board?” she asked Beth.

  “Could we stick to the point,” I said.

  “Jeez. I was only asking.” Holland put her hand down. “Paxil. Prozac. Wellbutrin. One of those things. I told you that. Why are you taking notes if you don’t reread them? What’s the point?”

  I let the dig go by. “I remember. You said something about her being depressed.”

  “She was when she stopped taking the stuff,” Holland observed. She shuddered. “She was so unpleasant. Really. I was praying she’d go back on. Always moaning about that guy who dumped her. It got so I just went around her whenever I could. So she got dumped? Big deal. Get over it. I offered to introduce her to some of the guys I know. She wasn’t interested.”

  “Given your friends, I can understand that,” Beth observed dryly.

  Holland bristled. “At least I tried to do something. Which is more than I can say for you.”

  Beth opened her mouth to reply, but I cut her off before she could. “What guy?”

  “I don’t know,” Holland replied. “She didn’t tell me, and frankly, I didn’t ask. I told you this before. It would have just been encouraging her to talk about him some more. To listen to her, you would have thought this guy was better than the second coming. He was so smart. So sweet. So sensitive. He had just broken up with her for her own good. The worst thing was that every once in a while he’d call to chat and see how she was doing. And that would send her right over the edge.”

  “Over the edge?”

  “She’d spend a day or two in bed, crying. If this guy was so nice, why was he acting like such a shit? Personally, I think he hates women, but, hey, that’s just my opinion. He was like a drug to her. She couldn’t stay away, but he was absolute poison.”