“Aren’t you...rushing things?”
“No...don’t be silly. I haven’t told him that I’m in love with him or anything! But we’re at a bed-and-breakfast.” Roxanne paused to giggle. “You’ll never guess where. Yes, you will.”
“The Lizzie Borden Bed and Breakfast,” Vickie said.
“Yes—I love it. The tour was great. And Jim and I both sat up and drew last night, and we did fun pictures for people.
“He has a room, and I have a room. We didn’t sleep together. We were both up in the attic. I slept really soundly. No ghosts.”
“Great.”
“Oh! I know that you wanted to fix me up with Alex, but under the circumstances, I mean, he might be...uh, I mean, under the circumstances...actually, like I said, in a weird, roundabout way, you did set me up!”
“Well, then I’m superhappy for you,” Vickie said. “Just don’t forget to send us the likeness you guys come up with as soon as possible, okay?”
“Of course!” Roxanne said, slightly indignant. “This is a work expedition!”
Vickie smiled. “Go forth and draw well.”
“I will, I promise!” Roxanne told her. “I had to call you. I’m so happy.”
“And I am so glad. And, by the way, Alex isn’t dead.”
“You found him?”
“No. I just know that he isn’t dead. Gotta go—and so do you! Talk soon!”
Vickie hung up before Roxanne could continue speaking. She reached over for the note on Griffin’s pillow.
At autopsy—Devin waiting downstairs for you.
Vickie quickly got ready, and headed down to breakfast where she found that Devin, Mrs. McFall and Isaac Sherman were still at the table.
“Good morning,” she told them all, heading to the sideboard to pour herself coffee from the urn there.
“Good morning” came back from all three, as if in an echo.
“I’d offer you something, dear, even though you’re late, if you weren’t going out,” Mrs. McFall told her.
“Oh, well, thank you,” Vickie said, looking at Devin.
“Isaac has told me that Carly Sanderson’s dad, Frank, usually has breakfast at a place down the road a bit before heading out for whatever he’s up to during the day. He’s retired, so sometimes he works construction side jobs, and sometimes...he hikes,” Devin said.
“Oh, well, great. I look forward to meeting him,” Vickie said.
Devin and Isaac rose. “Okay, then, we’re off. We’ll see you a bit later,” Devin told Mrs. McFall.
“Have a good day,” Mrs. McFall said.
Vickie hoped they had a good day.
One in which they found the living, rather than the dead.
Mrs. McFall rose and followed them to the door. “I always keep it locked, as you know,” she told them.
They waved goodbye to her as they headed down the steps to the driveway.
Griffin and Rocky had apparently taken Griffin’s car, but Devin tossed the keys to Vickie and asked, “Do you mind doing the driving? Isaac, want to sit next to Vickie up front? You know the way.”
“Sure.”
And so Vickie drove, following the roads as Isaac directed. They didn’t even go five miles before he pointed to a building ahead on the left. It was Aunt Priscilla’s House of Pancakes.
She drove into the lot. Isaac walked ahead and Devin caught up with Vickie.
“Isaac seems to be the real deal—we had him checked out last night. But still...you drive, he’s next to you—and I watch him. Keeps us safe,” Devin said.
“You’re the trained agent—I follow your advice!” Vickie assured her. She paused, however, outside of the restaurant.
“What is it?” Devin asked.
“Dylan and Darlene. They’re here somewhere. I didn’t see them last night, or this morning. They took off once we reached town, and I haven’t seen them since.”
“Well, maybe they’re on to something,” Devin said. “And...”
“What?”
“Well, they have to be all right.” She paused just a second. “I mean, they’re already dead. They’re really the best help we have.”
“Hey!”
They both looked over to Isaac at the door to the restaurant. “Are you coming in?” he called to them.
They hurried after him.
Isaac saw Frank Sanderson right away and lifted a hand in greeting. He encouraged Vickie and Devin to follow him to the booth where Frank was waiting.
Isaac had evidently told him that they were coming; the booth had four water glasses and four sets of silver.
Frank stood as they approached. He appeared to be in his early sixties; he was about five foot eleven and still had the body of a man who kept busy and fit. His hair was salt-and-pepper and thinning and his eyes were a pale blue that seemed to mirror a great deal of sadness—even when he smiled and greeted them.
“You’re a government agent,” he said to Devin.
“I am, sir.”
“There’s something wrong. I’m told that no one can tell an adult that they have to keep up a relationship with their parents, but...it’s not my girl. It’s not Carly. There’s something wrong. I know that... I know that my girl doesn’t hate me.”
“Did the police even try to talk to her?” Vickie asked him.
“She sent a postcard—from Boston. When she called, it was from one of those pay-as-you-go things. When I tried the number, there was no answer. And then it was disconnected or whatever. I think that my Carly is out there somewhere. But I swear, something is wrong and she can’t come back to me. She would—I know that she would if she could.”
“Just like I know that Brenda wasn’t attacked by any bear,” Isaac said.
“Tell me about Carly,” Devin said. “When she did disappear—did anything out of the ordinary happen?”
He shook his head. “I was just seeing her every other weekend—she had an apartment in Worcester. Everything was fine. In fact, she was talking about meeting a guy. Someone smart—someone into studying, like she was. My girl...she loved school. Sounds strange, but I was glad. She was a late bloomer, didn’t date during high school. She never knew, but I paid a neighbor kid to bring her to her prom. Oh, it was all fine. I don’t believe she ever found out. Sounds bad for a father, huh?”
“Sounds like you love your daughter,” Vickie said.
“Then she called and said she wouldn’t be home for a while. And when I didn’t hear from her, I went to Worcester. She hadn’t been in her classes. She’d told her landlady she was leaving, and she was gone—lock, stock and barrel. I reported her missing to the police. But they never put much credence in my story. After all, she left on her own accord—told her professors and her landlady she was leaving. Then I heard from her, but it...it was strange. I can’t tell you how strange. It didn’t sound like her. Sounded like she was...distant. Distant and dopey. So, I figured maybe she was on some kind of dope or something like that. That someone out there was holding her—and keeping her doped up.”
“What about Carly’s mother, sir?” Devin asked.
He waved a hand in the air. “Linda and me, we just weren’t meant to be. She was seventeen when Carly was born. We were divorced by the time Carly was five. Linda met a surfer—she headed off with him to California. She has three boys now. She sends Carly birthday cards and Christmas cards, but that’s it.”
“Could she have gone out to see your wife?” Vickie asked.
“Ex-wife. And no. Carly wrote her once, wanting to come out and meet her brothers. Linda told her it wasn’t a good time. Hurt the kid badly. I tried to make up for it. Carly... Carly was my life. Carly is my life. She’s got to be alive out there somewhere.”
He seemed like a devoted single father to Vickie. He wasn’t giving up on his daughter.
He went on to talk about her. Carly was sweet and impressionable. Terribly bright when it came to books, pathetically naive when it had to do with street smarts.
As Vickie listened, she couldn’t help but notice an older man who was at the counter, paying his check. There was something familiar about him.
At last, he turned to face her.
She was startled to see that it was Charlie Oakley.
What was he doing now, out here by the Quabbin?
*