The Vanishing Girls

by Callie Browning

  Eileen exhaled. “I don’t think I want to stay in this business, especially since —”

  Dorothy held up her hand, making Eileen’s words evaporate in her throat. “I’ll double whatever Holden paid and you won’t need to do prep or grief visits.” She shrugged guiltily. “I shouldn’t try to poach Holden’s assistant — he’s a good boy, and all — but you deserve better.”

  Dorothy’s words struck a chord. For all the good that Holden represented, she was now standing on the other side of his door. She’d grown a lot and gone through a gamut of emotions inside that peach building: fear, courage, pain, friendship, love and finally, distrust and confusion. Who was to say she hadn’t outgrown the place?

  Eileen straightened her shoulders and nodded. “When do you want me to start?”

  * * *

  HOLDEN FOUND NO SOLACE in balancing the books like he usually would. The day after Eileen left, a runny river of ink bled through piles of receipts, leaving a faint blue ring around Holden’s glass as weak sunlight peaked through the faded blinds. His head was face down on the open ledger, his eyes squeezed shut as his mind tried to navigate the fuzzy edges the brandy had lent to his reality. In the background, the parliament clock's incessant clanging was louder than usual; Holden felt sure it was trying to punish him for what he had done. Surprisingly, Clifford had strolled in two hours earlier than usual, toting brandy and a glass and left them on Holden’s desk without saying a word. As Holden poured, he reflected that as kooky as Clifford was, he was infinitely dependable, even if it meant that Holden's liver would pay the price later. Holden downed three shots in quick succession and then planted his head in the middle of the ledger, replaying the last twenty-four hours in his head.

  His life sank back into the pre-Eileen quagmire that he recognized but no longer wanted any part of. His mood had vacillated between anger and despair since she'd quit. He cursed himself for making love to his employee and yanked his hair as he tried to find a way out of Paul’s latest snare trap. At first, Holden had been annoyed with Eileen’s lack of patience, although he was honest enough to admit that Paul had a way of pissing on anything that Holden held dear. Yes, it was his lot in life to look after the business, even if it meant tolerating his brother until both of them were cold in the grave, but that shouldn’t be Eileen’s cross to bear. A murderous impulse stole over Holden as he savoured the thought, but even he knew he didn’t have it in him to kill.

  By noon, he’d picked up the phone and put it back down four times. He wanted to call but he suspected that Eileen’s steel-tipped tongue would eviscerate him no matter what he said. Holden knew he loved her, knew he wanted to give her everything, but all he could give her was lip service and not the good kind.

  The bell tinkled as the front door opened and Derricks’ hulking figure entered the room. Holden grumbled under his breath. He felt his inner old man coming alive, the version of himself who complained when the mail was late and pouted when his favourite TV show was cancelled. Derricks had gone missing for days on end and had never returned his call. Now he showed up unannounced and expected Holden to comb through files to cover up the government’s negligence. To say that Holden was not in the mood was an understatement.

  Derricks spread the files on the table and poured himself a glass of brandy while Holden looked through them; luckily, there were only fifteen.

  “How’s Lynch faring in the new post?” asked Holden as he opened the first manila folder.

  Derricks smacked his lips. “Not bad you know. Another pathologist was seconded to assist him so he’ll be fine.”

  Holden eyed Donna Green's report. “I don’t see any mention of the pollen we found on her, so I’ll add that. It’s the second time I’ve come across pollen on these victims.”

  Derricks nodded and sipped his brandy. “Make a note, young Davis, and I’ll investigate.”

  His face sobered when he looked at the label on the next file: Lloyd Greaves. “It’s hard to believe he's gone. He wasn’t the nicest fellow, but it’s taking time for me to accept that he’s gone.”

  The commissioner nodded and leaned back in the chair as he cradled his glass in his hands. “How come you’re taking so long to organize his funeral? He should have been buried by now.”

  “Me?” Holden was surprised. “Dorothy said she was sending him overseas to be cremated since the island doesn’t have the facilities here to do it.”

  Derricks squinted at him. “She never mentioned that to me. You think she’s losing her marbles like Thorpe?”

  But Holden didn’t answer. He had reopened Donna Green’s folder and slid it next to Lloyd Greaves’. The handwriting on both was markedly different, even though they were both signed by V. Thorpe.

  “Look at these. Which one is Thorpe’s handwriting?”

  Derricks squinted at the files. “His penmanship is fairly scratchy. Looks more like this one." He tapped the one on the left.

  “So who filled out this other report?”

  Derricks rubbed his beard and shook his head slowly. “Young Davis, this is definitely a problem.”

  Chapter 28

  Happy Home

  In theory, being at Happy Home was just like working at Davis and Sons. The commute was nearly the same since both businesses were less than five minutes drive apart. But while Davis and Sons was all business with its casket catalogues, polaroids of wreaths in a leather-bound album, Happy Home oozed cheerful charisma. It was housed in a well-kept grey building with a sign on the outside that didn’t lose one of its peeling letters whenever it rained. The homey interior was modern with verdant potted ferns in every corner and flowering plants on almost every surface. Framed photos of the Greaves family lined the walls in the waiting area, most of them featuring the proud founders with their two children. Work finished at four sharp and in the three days Eileen had been away from Davis & Sons, Dorothy had only asked her to do make-up and administrative tasks. It was the job Eileen ached for months ago, but now that she had it, she was miserable.

  Eileen missed Clifford’s irreverence, driving to parts of the island she had never seen and Holden’s droll humour. Three days had passed since she’d left Davis and Sons. In that time, Holden hadn’t sent flowers, called or even stopped by her apartment to talk. She knew because she had stayed up late waiting to see if he would visit. It hurt to think that she’d crossed the professional line with him, but it burned her to the core to know that she had almost bared her soul to him, possibly risking her life by exposing who she really was.

  Dorothy’s shark-like disposition became apparent on the fourth day. Eileen didn’t know if it was the old adage of misery liking company that prompted Dorothy’s declarations, but if the desired effect was to make Eileen unhappy, it worked.

  The heavy thud of thick soled shoes grew closer as Dorothy made her way through the back entrance toward the reception area carrying a box of flowers which she plopped on Eileen’s desk. “I saw the work you did at the other parlour and thought we could start doing arrangements here. We’ll need three wreaths for a funeral tomorrow; is this enough?”

  Eileen nodded and took the box into the kitchen to fill a spray bottle with water and start creating the garlands. To her surprise, Dorothy followed.

  “How do you like it here so far?”

  “It’s good,” Eileen said with a half-hearted smile.

  A thoughtful look crossed Dorothy’s face as she separated the baby’s breath into small piles. “You miss Holden, they all do.”

  Dorothy’s words short-circuited Eileen’s brain; her hands stilled, her heart skipped a beat and her breath caught in her chest as she deliberated the implication of the four-letter word: they.

  “I know what it is to be spurned, treated with indifference when people overlook you,” Dorothy said with disdain as she made nosegays.

  The white carnations in Eileen’s hand trembled, but Dorothy didn’t seem to notice. “You don’t find it odd that two confirmed bachelors are content to just drive around col
lecting dead bodies? Or that they go through so many assistants?” She lifted a beefy shoulder as though even a blind man riding a horse in the middle of the night could see the obvious.

  Dorothy picked up the shears and started clipping the stems on the baby's breath. “They make sure they get their money’s worth out of the assistants, is all I’m saying. That’s why Clifford never committed to any woman, not even his son's mother. As the old people would say ‘you don’t buy milk when cows are on the pasture.’”

  Eileen felt sick but it mattered naught to Dorothy — she went in for the kill.

  “Why do you think he didn’t choose you over Paul? Because soon there will be another Eileen, another tight young body to amuse him — or both of them. I certainly wouldn’t put it past them.”

  Dorothy glanced up then and placed a meaty hand on Eileen’s shoulder. “Oh no…I didn’t mean to upset you. I just didn’t want another innocent to fall prey to their trap. Don’t worry, dear. It’s better for you to be here with me than there with them.” Her eyebrows knit together as she pulled a lacy white handkerchief from her bosom and dabbed Eileen’s eyes. It smelled of flowers and sweat. Eileen pulled away and wiped her face with the back of her hands before she sniffed and said shortly, "I hope you don't think I'm rude, but I'd like to finish up here and then head home if you don't mind."

  Dorothy clasped her hands and smiled benignly. “You need some time alone, don’t you? I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but trust me… soon they’ll be but a distant memory.”

  Eileen didn’t want to believe what she said, but there was no denying that everything was drenched with possibility. Holden had never denied that the funeral home had a heavy staff turnover and Eileen had never thought to ask why. Was it true that she’d just been another conquest, the latest in a stream of willing assistants to bump groins with her boss? Eileen’s hands trembled violently as she tried to arrange the flowers in front as Dorothy filled a water glass and headed back to her office. Alone at last, Eileen gave up on trying to appear nonchalant, her legs buckling beneath her as she fell forward onto the table.

  Dorothy’s heavy footsteps echoed down the long hall, keeping rhythm with Eileen’s tears as they dripped onto the table.

  * * *

  “BOSS, EILEEN’S WORKING FOR DOROTHY."

  Holden's head snapped up in surprise. "What? How do you know that?"

  Clifford hadn't left the building all day because he'd been busy cleaning so when Holden realized that Clifford had been hoarding this knowledge, it rankled Holden's spirit in the worst possible way. He finally tried calling Eileen that morning, but the phone only rang and rang, leaving him to assume that she was avoiding his calls. Now he knew that she’d probably been at work.

  "Seen her car there two days in a row." Clifford shrugged as he put two bulging garbage bags on the floor. "Only thing that makes sense at this rate."

  Holden's pulse quickened and his nostrils flared as he took his time saying, "And you're only telling me this now?"

  Clifford propped his feet on Eileen's old desk and skimmed through the newspaper without looking at Holden. "And if I had told you before, what were you gonna do with that information?"

  He frowned at Clifford. "If I knew Eileen was right around the corner, I wouldn't have sat here for days nursing a headache."

  "And?"

  “I’m going to talk to her so I can make this right."

  Swinging his feet to the floor, Clifford folded the paper and looked at Holden. "Listen here, young Davis. Ain't no time like the present; you gotta squeeze the day by de balls to let it know you in charge."

  Holden winced. "As colourful as your analogy is, I’ll wait until she’s home instead of going to her job right now."

  "I hope Eileen comes back. You's fun to laugh at and all, but she really brightens up the joint."

  "Indeed," said Holden dryly. He glanced at his watch; it was almost 3 p.m. He stood, tossing the papers his lawyer had delivered earlier into his attaché case and checking his pocket for his car key. "Did you finish the cleaning?"

  "Yup."

  "Excellent. Lock up for me, please."

  "Going home already?"

  "I need broken biscuits and something from my back garden for when I visit Eileen tonight, so I'm leaving now."

  Clifford squinched his forehead as Holden went through the door. "I ain't know what madness you talking, but I’m on board." He shook his head and picked back up the paper. “I’m tired of being the only sane person in here."

  * * *

  EVERYTHING HOLDEN needed to bring Eileen back in his life was within a one-kilometre radius: his house, the biscuit factory, a rum shop and a craft store. He spent another hour at the funeral parlour, preparing part of his surprise for Eileen and by the time he left to go to her house, he was a little dusty, a little sweaty, but happy that he had done everything in his power to make things right.

  The drive to Hampstead Village was nerve-racking, but to his consternation, Eileen wasn't at home. Her car wasn't in the usual spot at the side of the building and only the apartment beneath hers displayed any signs of life. A quick check with the downstairs neighbour confirmed that she hadn't been home all evening. Holden was practical if nothing else, but the irrational part of his brain didn’t cooperate and immediately wondered if Eileen was out with a man. He had gone to her house braced for a possible argument, probably an emotional one that would devolve into him cajoling her to see reason. This anti-climactic outcome and the envy that made Holden's head pound was too much to bear. His father's voice echoed in his head, propelling Holden as he took the box from the car, walked up the stairs and left it by Eileen's door. "A moment of discomfort or a lifetime of discontent," he murmured to himself as he stared down at the box. It glowed back at him in the dark, an apropos metaphor for the glimmer of hope he held on to. As he drove away, he had to hope it was enough.

  Chapter 29

  A Deadly Realization

  As Eileen packed her things to leave work, she made up her mind that it would be her last day at Happy Home. It was hard enough working in the same industry and having to pass Holden’s funeral home every day on her way to work, but listening to Dorothy drop tidbits about Holden’s and Clifford’s predilections was emotionally taxing. She had searched through the paper earlier and found two job options which she felt positive about. Tentative though she was, neither of the women who answered the phone numbers she called sounded like the Cane Slasher. She broke the news to Dorothy after she had put the wreaths away in the refrigerator and to her chagrin, Dorothy had insisted that they have tea together before Eileen left. Even though she was reluctant, Eileen didn’t want to appear rude, especially since Dorothy hadn’t paid her yet. After closing the funeral parlour for the day, Dorothy prepared a tray while Eileen sat at the front of the building in the enclosed gallery that overlooked the funeral home’s roadside garden. Its exterior put Eileen in mind of a quiet country house, only marred by the modern addition of a payphone next to the hibiscus hedge.

  It was much quieter than Buckworth Street’s and it’s noisy stream of traffic, almost idyllic with the exception of the loose hydrant cover in the middle of the road that clattered every time a car drove over it.

  Dorothy’s sensible shoes thumped across the burnished floors, her chatelaine jingling on her waist as she walked. She set down a tray of scones and two teacups in front of Eileen as she asked conversationally, “You didn’t know my brother Lloyd very well, did you?”

  “Uh…no,” Eileen said as the parliament clock bonged. Eileen wasn’t sure why but she suddenly felt uncomfortable when she heard the sinister gong.

  Dorothy adjusted her wig as she sat down. “People often misunderstood Lloyd. They thought him grumpy and anti-social. But Lloyd possessed a far superior intellect to most other people,” she said as she dusted a smattering of yellow dust off the sleeve of her black dress.

  Probably pollen, thought Eileen. Since she’d been at Happy Home, she often found lots of
it on her clothes covered whenever she brushed against the potted flowers that Dorothy kept throughout the building. Her sleeve clean, Dorothy busied herself turning over the teacups as she chattered on about her brother. But Eileen wasn’t paying attention.

  She thought it was a trick of the light when Dorothy sat forward to pour the tea; the sleeve of her blouse shifted and Eileen caught a glimpse of waxen scars on her arm, scars that looked identical to the ones Eileen had seen on Lloyd’s arm in the photos in the waiting room. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as Dorothy’s eyes followed hers and realized Eileen was looking at her forearm.

  “If you don’t mind, I have to go,” Eileen said as she stood up too quickly. Dorothy — Lloyd — stood up slowly, shaking his head.

  It was hard to believe Eileen didn’t see it before, but the person who walked around the chair and stood in front of her was very clearly a man with a cheap grey wig atop his head. He took off the big spectacles, exposing the bottomless dark eyes behind them. Her mind went to the black Mustang GL at the side of the clean grey building; the sleek black car could easily be mistaken for Paul’s. She had never pieced the clues together before, never suspected matronly Dorothy to be guilty. Eileen’s pulse hammered in her throat as she stared at him, trying to understand what she was seeing. “You’re Lloyd.”

  He grabbed Eileen’s shoulder, spinning her around until her back was pressed against his chest. “I should have known from the day I met you that you’d be a problem. I saw from the jump how fast those eyes of yours moved.” He twisted her hand so hard that Eileen felt a small pop in her wrist; she whimpered in pain.

  “What did you tell Holden about me?”

  “Nothing,” she gasped as she tried to straighten her arm. The pain in her wrist travelled up to her elbow and made her arm grow numb.

  “Don’t tell me no lies!”

  Eileen’s eyes watered and her head started to pound as she struggled to catch her breath. “I didn’t, I swear. I only realized it was you just now when I saw the scar.”