by Mary Coley
A flesh wound oozed blood above his left ear. Mike groaned and opened his eyes. He blinked and rolled onto his back.
Something cold touched Mandy’s neck. The dog. The animal whined and scooted close, panting and shivering. The dog was as scared as she was.
The stench of skunk was overpowering but she pulled the hairy animal to her anyway. “It’s going to be okay.” She wished she believed that. Mandy stroked the animal and watched Mike rouse himself.
“Her cell phone goes right to message.” Mandy laid her phone on the coffee table and looked at Mike, stretched out on the sofa in her living room.
He stared at the large dog lying on the floor wrapped in towels. “I could be dead.” His hand dropped from the white bandage she had placed over his head wound after a thorough disinfecting. “And you were more concerned about rescuing this mutt.”
“You’ve said that fifty times now. We could both be dead.” She collapsed into an overstuffed chair and lifted her legs to the ottoman. “And as far as the dog goes, we couldn’t leave him there. The gallery is gone, and that woman is either dead or in the hospital. You should have let me call the police.”
“What, and tell them the fire and the explosions were because of us? That’s paranoid.” Mike shifted his legs and groaned. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Besides, I had that run-in with cops back in college—no need to dredge it up again. And there are all those unpaid parking tickets…”
Mandy swiped her forehead, pushed her fingers into her scalp, and rubbed in a circle. A headache pounded behind her eyes. “We should have gone to the hospital.”
“They’d report it to the police. It was a random drive-by shooting. How many of those do we get a week around here? Ten or more? We were in the wrong place, wrong part of town. We don’t know why the art gallery exploded or exactly what happened at Arnie’s.”
The dog whimpered.
“It’s all right, fella. Once you dry out from your bath, you’ll feel better.” Mandy sniffed her hands. A faint skunk aroma remained despite the peach-scented shampoo she’d used during the dog’s second bath, after his tomato juice rinse.
Mandy moved away from the dog and picked up her cell phone. “Turn on the news and see what they’re saying while I try Jenna again.”
Mike grabbed the television remote from the end table.
Jenna’s phone rang and rang. No answer. No message.
“Why is she not answering her phone?” Mike bellowed as he punched buttons on the remote control.
“I don’t know.” Mandy had never known Jenna not to take her calls. And why was her voicemail not picking up?
Mike lay back against the sofa pillow and closed his eyes. “This isn’t good.”
Mandy glanced at the clock. In a few more minutes, the ten o’clock news would come on.
“…an inferno has now engulfed half a city block in downtown Tulsa. More details in a few moments, at the top of the hour,” the newscaster said as the TV came on. The credits for the previous program rolled up the screen.
“An inferno,” Mike repeated. “Lord Almighty.”
Mandy’s cell phone rang.
“Mandy, is Jenna with you?” Jenna’s husband’s voice sounded thin and strained.
“No. What’s wrong?”
“She didn’t come home from work today and she didn’t call. She’s not answering her cell. And voicemail is off. Is she working late? Have I forgotten she had a late meeting or something?”
Mandy paced across the room. “She was at work. I talked to her mid-afternoon, three or so.”
“And was everything okay? Did she mention plans for after work?”
Mandy’s thoughts tumbled. Jenna hadn’t wanted Sean to know anything about the painting. Now Jenna was missing. She closed her eyes. The headache pounded.
“Mandy, did something happen today?”
She pictured Sean in his living room, perched on the edge of the sofa cushions, a worried expression on his face.
She glanced at Mike. His eyes were closed. “Sean, maybe you should come over. Mike McNally’s here and we need to talk to you.”
“Who’s Mike McNally? Where’s Will?”
“Will’s in Toronto.” She paused. “Have you had the news on?”
“No. Is there something about Jenna?”
“Not exactly, but turn it on, would you? Channel 6.” The station was showing footage of the downtown gallery fire, with police and firemen at the scene. “Are you on Channel 6? You see the fire they’re showing?”
“Yes. What does this have to do with Jenna?”
“Listen for a minute, okay? Stay on the phone with me but listen to the newscaster.”
The broadcaster told how an incendiary device had leveled an art gallery and the loft apartment above it while also causing minor smoke damage to adjacent buildings and the businesses they contained. At this time, there were no injuries reported.
“What does this have to do with Jenna?” Sean demanded again.
“Listen, please.”
“In a possibly related development, a similar explosion and fire occurred seconds later and three blocks away at Arnie’s Pizza. About 6 p.m., eyewitnesses report someone threw an object through the window before the explosion. Several patrons were transported by ambulance to St. John’s hospital, where they are undergoing treatment for first- and second-degree burns.
“Arnie’s owner told Channel 6 that the building where Arnie’s is located was insured. Inspectors have not yet assigned a value to the cost of this fire.”
“Was Jenna there, was she hurt?” Sean blurted.
“I’ll tell you all I can.” Mandy explained about Jenna and the painting, as well as the experience she and Mike had at the gallery. As she spoke, the dog got up, shook, and plodded over to her. He let out a big sigh and lay down at her feet.
“I don’t see what these fires have to do with Jenna,” Sean said. “It could have been coincidence. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
She cleared her throat. She wanted to believe that. A coldness spread through her. “When Mike and I were leaving the area after Arnie’s exploded, someone shot at us.” Mandy reached down and petted the dog’s head. His curly hair was still damp. The faint scent of peaches floated up to her.
“Random drive-by? This is crazy, Mandy. Have you talked to Will?”
“Not yet. There are too many coincidences. It couldn’t have been an accident, and if you look at Mike’s scalp, where a bullet grazed his head, you wouldn't think it was an accident either.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m telling you what happened. And I’ve been trying to call Jenna, too. There’s no answer.”
“This is crazy. I’m going to her office. I’ll call you later.”
~ Chapter 5 ~
Sean
Sean Wade knocked on the wide glass door of the office building. Inside the lobby, the night watchman sat at the front desk. The watchman looked up.
“Help you?” The man’s voice came through the intercom on a panel next to the door.
Sean held up his driver’s license. “I’m Jenna Wade’s husband. Has Jenna been in this evening, since the building closed?”
The night watchman hurried to the door. He unlocked the locks at the bottom and top of the door and held it open for Sean.
“She hasn’t come in. But I didn’t see her leave, either. She may still be up there. Somebody did come in as I locked up. Don’t recollect I’ve seen him leave, either. Haven’t made my second rounds yet, but it’s time.”
“Could I walk upstairs with you? Jenna’s not answering her phone and I’m worried.”
The man relocked the bottom of the door. “Not against any rule I know of. I’d be glad for the company. Empty buildings are a bit creepy at night.”
“Jenna’s probably fallen asleep in her office.” Sean hoped that was all this was.
“Let me lock the top of this door again. Wouldn’t want anybody slipping in while I’m away from the des
k.” The middle-aged man grunted as he stretched to engage the upper lock.
After the door was secure, Sean followed the man across the wide lobby. His stomach clenched. He didn’t like what Mandy had told him, and he didn’t like the fire footage they’d shown on the nightly news. Mandy’s suspicions could be paranoia, but Mandy wasn’t prone to that. He didn’t know about Mike; he’d never met the man. The worst thing was that he didn’t understand why Jenna wouldn’t want him to know about the painting.
“Are there fire exits on every floor?” Sean asked as they passed the stairwell.
“Oh, sure, gotta be, fire code and all.” The watchman led him toward the elevator. “Four stairwells, four doors at the bottom of the stairwells, two open to the lobby, two outside in the alley. But you can’t come in from the alley, least not unless someone was holding the door open. No doorknobs on the outside. We have cameras on those doors, and we make a videotape. They check it every morning, file it for six months, erase it, and use it again.” He pushed the elevator button.
“So, we could check to see if she left that way?”
“Could. But not ’til Monday morning, when Ed Hubble comes in. He’s in charge of building security and he works weekdays. I’m the evening staffer, Monday through Friday, 6 p.m. to 2 a.m.”
The elevator doors opened, and the two men stepped in.
“What floor? I usually start at the top and work my way down, but you may not want to do the others with me.”
“Thank you. My wife’s office is 616, in the center on the east side of the building.”
The man punched the button for six and detached a huge ring of keys from his belt. “Keys are color-coded with these plastic rings. If I can remember the right color for the floor, I’m in good shape.”
Sean faked a smile. He didn’t like this. There was a back exit. Why would Jenna need to sneak out? And why had she been in that rundown neighborhood on a stormy day? It had been hailing, for God’s sake.
The elevator doors opened on the sixth floor to the noise of a vacuum cleaner. The janitor nodded at them and continued down the hallway. “Okay, you said east side.” He stepped off the elevator to the left, Sean followed a few steps behind. They plodded down the gray carpeted hallway beneath silver LED light fixtures.
Framed employee pictures hung along the hall interspersed with photos of award-winning art used in advertising campaigns. Jenna’s picture wasn’t included in the display. She had a phobia about portrait photographs. Never wanted a solo picture taken, and only with a group if it wasn’t to be posted on social media.
She had to know she was beautiful and that he was proud of her. What was the harm in showing a photo? Was it superstition? She’d never said.
“Here we are.” The watchman selected a key and unlocked the office. The door swung open and the overhead light switched on automatically.
Sean blinked. He stepped in. The bookshelves were bare, and so was the top surface of the desk. All personal items––pictures and mementos––were gone. The office appeared unoccupied.
“Where’s the back door?” Sean crossed the room and ran his fingers along the back edges of the wooden bookshelves.
“Behind this panel.” The night watchman joined Sean on the back wall and touched the adjacent bookcase. One wall panel slid open. “Here.”
They stepped out of the empty office and into an uncarpeted hallway.
“Whose offices access this hall?” Sean demanded.
“Your wife’s and those two on the other side of the hall. The CEO and the COO.” He pointed to the doors on the opposite side. Sean dashed to first one and then the other, turning the handles, pushing and pulling on the doors. Neither budged.
His head pounded. Why was her office empty? Where was his wife?
“Where does this go?” Sean indicated another door with a jerk of his head. “We’ve been married ten years,” he said to himself. “Where is she?”
“This door goes to a small elevator and the stairway access.” The watchman cleared his throat. “And ten years is a while. I imagine you’re surprised.”
Twenty minutes later Sean Wade parked at the curb in front of his house. He turned off the engine. The house was dark.
He grabbed his cell phone and touched Mandy’s autodial.
“The office was empty. Nothing there,” Sean blurted when Mandy answered. The car and the world beyond its windows made a slow whirl.
“I was there at 3 o’clock this afternoon. No way she could have cleaned out her office so quickly,” Mandy insisted. “The bookshelves were jammed with books. Her desk was a mess. There were stacks of files on the floor. You were in the wrong office.”
“The night watchman let me in. Her office was empty.” To Sean, it sounded as if his voice was coming from somewhere other than his own body.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell me more about this painting.”
Mandy took a deep breath before she spoke. “The woman looked like Jenna. She was screaming, trying to claw her way out of a glass crypt. The rest of the painting was distorted, with lots of black and blue and gray smears, maybe dark furniture. Some light beamed in from a high window. Rays were falling on her face.”
Sean shut his eyes, fully visualizing the painting Mandy described. He’d seen it himself over a week ago in that gallery.
“Did she ever mention someone painting a picture of her?” Mandy asked. “Or that she knew an artist?”
“No.” Sean’s voice dropped. His wife kept things from him. He knew that. Sean rubbed his forehead. He didn’t like thinking she’d left him, but the police would focus on that possibility. And there was a 24-hour rule, wasn’t there? She was an adult, perfectly free to disappear for that long before foul play was suspected.
“God, Mandy! Where is she? The police will say she cleaned out her office and left. They’ll investigate our bank accounts and the company funds. They’ll think she was embezzling, and I was involved, too.” He groaned. “This is bound to effect my job.”
“What if she didn’t go willingly? What if someone kidnapped her?”
“Why would someone do that?” His voice was high and loud. Kidnap her? They didn’t have much money—and she had no family. Still, his body chilled.
“You’d be more likely to know that than me.” Mandy’s voice was quiet and low.
Thing was, he didn’t. Damn it! “But she talks to you about everything.”
“I know a few things about college, things that happened before your marriage. But when I suggested that maybe someone from high school who remembered her had done the painting, her face turned white.”
“Then you know we met after college,” Sean said. “We were both on our own, and the past didn’t matter. Her folks are dead. No siblings. She described her life as mundane, nondescript, of no interest. She was alone in the world. I became her family. But now I find out she was keeping something pretty big from me.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. Why had the painting spooked her so much?
“Did she seem upset about anything lately?” Mandy asked.
Sean scooted out of the car. “No. I’m racking my brain trying to figure this out. Do you remember if there were other people in this painting?” He stared up at his house. From what he remembered, only Jenna was in the painting.
“I’m not sure. The painting was such a shock, and then the gallery employee grabbed it and Mike snatched it back to search for the name of the artist.”
“I’m at the house now, Mandy. I’m going to check inside.” He scanned the first-floor windows, then the second floor. “I’ll call back.”
A small light flickered in the upstairs bathroom window.
The streetlight cast shadows beneath the tall pin oak trees in the front yard. Sean jogged across them toward the house. That light in the window could have been a reflection from across the street, or from a car turning into a driveway the next street over.
The light glimmered again, this time through a different window.
Someone was moving from room to room on the second floor of the house. Jenna? A burglar?
Sean reached the front door, unlocked it, and stepped inside. He darted to the alarm box to punch in the code. When he flipped open the box, the blinking light that signaled the alarm was operational was unlit. The alarm was off.
“Jenna?” He called her name. She had to be here. “Jenna, where are you?”
No one responded in the silent, dark house.
If Jenna was here, she would answer him. She would call out, turn on a light, or hurry to him. That is, she would have done one of those things if everything was all right.
Whoever was here, it either wasn’t Jenna or she wasn’t alone.
The revolver he practiced with on the gun range was in a box in the utility room. His other gun was in his briefcase, in his car.
Sean slipped through the dark house, his hands gliding along the walls, guiding him through the familiar floor plan. He crossed the open doorway to the kitchen and made a quick right into the laundry room. He closed the door, flipped on the light, opened the storage cabinet, and stretched to reach the top shelf.
He couldn’t feel the gun box, but it could have been pushed to the back of the shelf.
Jenna kept a stepstool in here, collapsed and tucked between the dryer and the wall. She was forever running to get it to reach a tall shelf or the back of a cabinet.
Sean unfolded it and climbed the two steps to peer into the deep shelf. He pushed aside a pile of rags and a couple of empty cell phone boxes. No gun box. No gun.
Something scuffed the floor out in the hallway. Sean backed down the stool and crouched.
The door opened. A gun blasted.
~ Chapter 6 ~
Mandy
“He’s not picking up.” Mandy paced the living room, keeping the phone to her ear. Eventually, she disconnected and dropped it onto the ottoman. “We should drive over there, Mike.”
“Did he ask us to drive over there?”
“No, but he’s not answering. Something’s wrong.”