Since You've Been Gone (29 page)

“I think I'm going to faint again,” Rebecca said and closed her eyes, smiling.

Bill and G. C. Curry stood on the front porch of Jean Wright's house, ringing the bell for the third time. For the first time in days the news van was not sitting across the street. Tonight it was parked at the hospital, with the omnipresent Kelly Keene prowling the halls trying to get information about the attack on Sonia Ellis.

A Siamese cat with incredible blue eyes leaped up on the windowsill and looked out at them. “The cat Sonia said she saw Jean Wright take in the night Todd was kidnapped,” Bill said.

“Sonia didn't say she saw
Wright
take
the
cat inside,” Curry corrected politely. “She said she saw
someone
take in the cat.”

“Someone with short dark hair, nurse's shoes, and Wright's voice. I wish I'd paid more attention to the girl when she first told me.”

“No sign of Jean?” a female voice asked.

Bill almost jumped and hoped Curry hadn't noticed. Molly had slipped silently through the darkened yards and stood at the foot of the porch steps. “No lights. Door's locked. And you said you haven't seen her since when?”

“Around six. Maybe a little after. She got a call. She said it was her sister, who needed her to come to the university. Jean didn't say what the trouble was, but she seemed awfully upset. She apologized for leaving me alone, rushed over here and packed, and was gone in half an hour.” She glanced at the window. “I hope she remembered to put out plenty of food and water for Sabu.”

Bill and Curry didn't have a search warrant and didn't have enough evidence to get one from the notoriously cautious Judge Burberry, who was the only judge available tonight. But if Molly needed to get inside to check on the poor cat…

“Molly, do you have a key to Jean's place?” Bill asked casually.

“Sure. We look after each other's houses when we're on vacations. Why?”

“You seem concerned about the cat. Hate to see it starve to death or suffer from dehydration. You might want to go in and check on it.”

“Oh, that's a good idea!” Molly exclaimed.

“Curry and I will go in with you. Don't want you caught outside here with all these damned reporters and sightseers.” Molly looked at the empty street. “They could show up any minute,” Bill said. “You know how that Keene woman is.”

“You're right. I'll be back in a minute with the key. You're an angel, Bill.”

“Saint Bill,” Curry muttered as Molly hurried across the lawn to her house.

“I feel like sinking straight down in the ground where I belong. I shouldn't be tricking her this way.”

“She won't mind if we find out something that might help us get Todd back.”

“The only problem is that without a warrant, nothing we find will stand up in court.”

“You'll think of a way around that,” Curry said and grinned in the darkness. “You're a lot cagier than I realized.”

“I'm going to take that as a compliment. Here she comes.”

Molly unlocked the door and reached for the light switch. Two lamps snapped to life, the cat fled yowling from the living room, and Molly moaned. “I hope Jean closed the cat door. Otherwise Sabu will carry on all night in the backyard.”

The cat making a racket in the backyard. Just like Sonia had said. Bill and Curry exchanged glances. “I'll help you look for him,” Curry said. “Then we'll check out the food and water situation.”

Molly smiled her thanks. Bill knew Curry was trying to
keep Molly diverted while he did a little illegal poking around.

The house's aged furnishings were almost pathetic. The carpet was worn through in places; and although Bill was no expert about interior design, the couch and chairs looked like they dated from the early seventies. Metal television trays substituted for end tables. Above an unused fireplace hung an oil painting of a boy and girl around twelve years old. The famous spoiled twins Clay had told him about, Bill thought. They were both dark-haired and dark-eyed like Jean and already had superior expressions Bill didn't like. We're special and the world owes us, they seemed to be thinking.

“Why, all Jean left out for Sabu was half a handful of dry food and about an eighth of an inch of water!” Molly declared from the kitchen. “She said she wouldn't be back for a couple of days. This cat weights twelve pounds. He can't exist comfortably on this for two days. I can't believe it! She loves Sabu!”

“Maybe she was flustered over some emergency,” Curry was saying.

“Or counting on me to look after him. Not that I mind, but for all Jean knew I might have been too distracted by my own problems to think about Sabu!”

“Well, thank goodness you weren't!”

Bill smiled. Curry sounded sincere and outraged when Bill knew he didn't care that much about the cat. “Want me to look for canned cat food? And how about milk? Is Sabu a milk-drinker?”

With tenderhearted Molly fussing over the cat who was playing his neglected state to the hilt, Bill was free to wander down the hall. Two small bedrooms, too orderly to be recently occupied. One had a green-and-tan quilt on the bed and a poster Creed on the wall. The other room's bed had a frilly white spread; a large framed photo of a dark-haired girl jumping in a cheerleader outfit, her skirt flying up to show her underpants as she smirked at the camera, no doubt thinking she looked sexier than she did, hung on the wall.

The third bedroom clearly belonged to Jean. A pale blue spread covered the bed and a white heart-shaped decorative pillow rested against the bed pillows. A small glass lamp with a cheap shade sat on a slightly scarred oak nightstand. An array of drugstore colognes and lipsticks sat on a dresser along with five jasmine-scented candles that had recently been lit.

Bill quietly opened the closet door. Pristine nurse's uniforms. Three pairs of wool slacks, two cotton, a navy blue suit, several synthetic sweaters, the requisite simple black dress. Two pairs of nurse's shoes, loafers, a pair of black heels and a pair of white heels, both in Payless boxes. Everything in the closet was presentable but cheap. Bill knew about women's clothes because his ex-wife had lived for them. During their short marriage, she'd maxed out his credit cards on beautiful outfits she had nowhere to wear. What he also noticed in Miss Wright's closet was the absence of jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers. He knew she owned some—he'd seen her wear them. She must have taken them with her.

He paused and listened. “Maybe I should take Sabu home with me,” Molly was saying. “He might be lonely.”

“You might just disturb his routine. Cats are particular about litter boxes and all,” Curry said seriously. “Hey, do you think Jean changed the litter? Smells a little strong to me. Let's get to work on that.”

Bill almost laughed. This was above the call of duty. Curry deserved a raise. He'd bought Bill a little more time.

He opened one of Jean's dresser drawers. Three pairs of underpants and one bra. Certainly she owned more undergarments than this. In another he was surprised to see a couple of sexy negligees, a blue low-cut nightgown and a white teddy. He had difficulty picturing stern-faced Jean in a teddy. But her lack of attractiveness was the result of demeanor, not poor features or body. Perhaps in these clothes…

“Oh look, he's using the new litter already!” Molly
trilled from the kitchen. “Thank you for taking that horrible stinky stuff out to the trash, Deputy Curry.”

This time Curry didn't answer and the screen door slammed with unnecessary force. Bill snickered and turned to the small desk by the window. First he found a scrawled note from a girl named Wendy asking for the money to buy a “to die for” bikini. That had to be the ex-cheerleader. Next he discovered an index card bearing a phone number with no identifying name. That should be easy to track down. At the bottom of a drawer lay a letter from the bank threatening to repossess Jean's small car for her missing two payments. Next he discovered three credit card bills. She'd overstepped her credit limits, missed her last two payments on all three, and as punishment was facing substantially increased interest rates.

Bill jotted down the phone number and replaced the bills. Jean Wright was in financial trouble. Jean Wright had been acting strange all year and been forced to take a leave of absence from her job. Jean Wright claimed to have been gone when Todd Ryan was kidnapped. The girl who'd insisted Jean was lying had been attacked with intent to kill. And now Jean Wright had fled. Maybe there truly had been a family emergency. He needed to check out that, too.

Bill was about to leave the bedroom when his gaze fell on a cheap stereo system tucked behind the door. If the door had been completely open, he would never have seen it. Clearly it was meant to be played in private. Maybe with the candles burning and Jean in her teddy, Bill thought. Out of curiosity he glanced over the various buttons and dials. He turned it on and opened the cassette player. Empty. Then he punched the button that controlled the compact disc player. The CD drawer slid out and Bill's lips parted in shock.

Jean had been listening to Procol Harum's “A Whiter Shade of Pale.”

WEDNESDAY
, 8:15
A.M.

Rebecca's night was miserable. Anyone who expected to get rest in a hospital was crazy. The elderly lady in the room next door had screamed constantly that she was being raped. She'd been sedated, but she continued to mutter, fighting off an imaginary man who first wanted to hurt her, then wanted to lustfully possess her shriveled body.

The nurses kept up a steady chatter at their station. One was elated because she was dating a doctor. Another was depressed because she was pregnant. Two other nurses repeated with relish stories of horrible deliveries that elicited shrill squeals of dread from the pregnant one. Every time Rebecca started to drift into sleep despite the noise, a nurse entered the room to ask if she were comfortable.

By morning Rebecca was exhausted and irritable. When Clay showed up she snapped, “What do you want to do with me now? Operate on my brain to find out why I have ESP?”

“Had a pleasant night, did you?” Clay asked amiably. “If you don't sweeten your tone, young lady, you'll be leaving here without a lollipop.”

“Am I ever going to leave?”

“You're too mean to stay and I can't think of any more tests to run. Of course if I really put my mind to it, I can probably come up with a few new tortures.”

“Please don't tax your brain on my account. How's Sonia?”

“Physically fine. Emotionally a little rocky. She'd like to see you before you go.”

“I want to see her, too. I should have gotten to the library sooner.”

Clay shook his head. “After that spectacular feat you
pulled off to save her life, you're still not satisfied.”

“I'll feel better when I get home.”

“Which will be soon. I'm taking you.”

“Don't you have to work?”

“I pulled a twenty-four-hour shift. I get the day off to recover.”

Had Clay stayed all night because of her? Rebecca wondered. Of course not. How egotistical. He'd stayed because of Sonia. Still, she was glad he would be taking her home even though she could easily have gotten a cab.

Thirty minutes later she was showered and dressed. With no makeup, no hot rollers to smooth her hair into some kind of shape, and only the rumpled clothes she'd worn last night, she knew she looked like she'd had a particularly raucous night at Mardi Gras, but there was nothing to be done for it.

Before she left the hospital, Rebecca briefly dropped in on Sonia. The girl looked wan and shocked but said the doctors had assured her she'd be fine.

“Your brother pulled off some real heroics to save you,” Rebecca said.

Sonia managed a smile. “Isn't that the weirdest thing? Cory, a hero. He rode his bike to the hospital, of all things. I don't picture heroes riding bikes.”

“I guess they come in all forms, even skinny fourteen-year-olds.”

“Yeah.” Sonia bit her lip, then motioned Rebecca closer to the bed. “I have no right to ask a favor of you after what you did last night, but—”

“Sonia, I can't call up visions at will.” Sonia looked puzzled. “I don't know who attacked you and I can't go home and just conjure up his face.”

“Oh, I don't expect you to find the killer. I don't even want you to try. He might kill
you”
She frowned. “It's Randy I'm worried about. Randy Messer, my boyfriend. Everybody's down on him and I'm afraid they're going to blame this on him.”

Rebecca looked at her steadily. “Sonia, are you certain
Randy didn't have anything to do with Todd's kidnapping or the attack on you?”

“Absolutely certain!” Sonia replied fiercely. “But the police have already questioned him. And now, after this—” Her eyes filled with tears. “I haven't heard from him and I know it's because he's afraid. Could you maybe locate him? Maybe find some way to tell him that I'm okay and I love him and everything is going to be all right?”

Rebecca hesitated. Sonia was only seventeen. Randy Messer didn't have the greatest reputation in town. And Sonia's mother didn't want her to see him, or even talk to him on the phone. But Sonia looked so sure of his innocence, so desperate to protect and comfort him …

“I can't make any promises,” Rebecca said gently. “But I'll do what I can.”

“Beautiful day, isn't it?”

“I wouldn't care if we were having the worst snowstorm of the century,” Rebecca said, looking out the car window. “I'm just glad to be going home.”

Clay smiled. “No one ever claimed the hospital offered four-star accommodations.”

“I would have been thrilled with a third of a star. It seems to me people would recover best in a restful environment.”