Already Gone

– 29 –



Gabby gives me directions to a private airstrip outside Flagstaff and tells me to be there by midnight.

“If something changes, I’ll call your room. Don’t go anywhere until you hear from me.”

I lie and tell him I won’t.

After I hang up, I sit at the desk for a long time and go over my options. There aren’t many left. It’s only a matter of time before the cops trace my credit card and start looking for me in Arizona, so I need to move fast.

I didn’t make this trip just to run away.

I open my wallet and take out Lisa’s card. Then I pick up the hotel phone and call the front desk. When the woman answers, I give her the address and ask for directions.

Turns out, it’s just a few miles away.

I grab the cell phone I’d used to call Gabby and walk down the stairs to the parking lot. I stop next to my car and look around for anyone who might be watching, then drop the phone on the ground and crush it under my heel. I pick up the pieces and toss them into the dumpster.

One down.

I get in the car and roll down the window. I can hear the soft rush of the river running behind the hotel, and I focus on the sound, letting it fill me before putting the car in gear and pulling out onto the street.





I follow the directions into the hills outside of town. Several of the street signs are set low and hidden by trees, but eventually I find the road I’m looking for and I follow it down a long hill that winds through a deep canyon into cool air and shadow.

The address leads me to a small brick house tucked in behind a wall of oak trees. There’s a sign out front with the same moon-and-star logo that’s embossed on the card, and when I pull into the driveway I can’t help but think about Diane coming here only a few weeks before.

I shut off the engine and get out.

The air is damp and feels cool on my skin.

There’s a rock fountain at the far end of the yard, and the sound of water cascading over the surface fits perfectly with the slow breeze passing through the trees.

I walk along a stone path to the house and climb the steps to the front door. I try to think about what I’m going to say, but nothing sounds right, so I decide not to say anything.

Today, I’m just another client.

There’s classical music playing inside the house, and it stops when I ring the doorbell. I hear footsteps, then the door opens.

The woman who answers is small in every way. She’s wearing thick glasses, and her hair is tied into two dark braids that fall forward across her shoulders. She looks at my face, and for an instant, a deep line forms between her eyebrows. Then it’s gone.

She smiles, and I do my best to smile back.

“I’m looking for Lisa Bishop.” I hold up the card. “It says walk-ins are welcome.”

“Everyone is welcome.”

She steps back and I go inside.

The house is larger than I expected. The ceilings are vaulted and cut with several skylights that give the room a cold, silver glow. There is a deep stone fireplace along the far wall, filled with burning white candles. The only furniture I see is a round coffee table surrounded by thick cushions.

“Nice house,” I say. “Are you Lisa?”

“I am.” She points toward the cushions on the floor. “If you’d like to have a seat, I’ll be right back. Would you like tea?”

I tell her I would, then she turns and disappears through a beaded curtain. A minute later I hear water running, then the delicate clink of glasses.

I walk over to the cushions, but I don’t sit down.

There are several paintings hung along the walls, mostly watercolors, desert scenes. I’m not an expert, but they look pretty good to me.

I stop in front of the fireplace and stare at a line of framed photos on the mantle. I go down the line, looking over each one, waiting for Lisa to return.

I start to move away when one of the photos catches my eye. It’s a picture of Lisa sitting at a table in a dark restaurant with an older man. They’re leaning into each other, smiling, and he has his arm around her shoulder. There’s something wrong about the photo, something too familiar, but I can’t place it.

Behind me, the beaded curtain rattles, and Lisa comes through carrying a silver teapot and two cups. She sets them on the table then runs her hands along her skirt, smoothing it out.

“I hope you like green tea,” she says.

“I’ve never had it.”

“Then I guess we’ll see.”

“Not today.” I touch the bandage on my nose. “I can’t taste anything.”

“Well, that’s too bad. Next time.”

Lisa pours two cups of tea and holds one out to me.

I take it, then motion to the watercolors on the wall.

“Did you do these?”

“Oh no.” She smiles. “They were gifts.”

“From a client?”

“That’s right.”

I almost ask who gave them to her, but I catch myself before the question slips out. I have to be careful. If I’m going to find out what Diane told her, the last thing I want to do is scare her away.

“Do you mind me asking what happened?” Lisa touches the tip of her nose. “It looks painful.”

I smile. “I thought you were psychic.”

Lisa looks at me, and I can tell she’s heard that before. “That’s not the way it works.”

“Sorry, bad joke.”

She takes a sip of her tea.

“Someone broke into my house. They hit me with the butt of a gun, broke my nose.”

“My God. I hope the police found him.”

I nod. “They did.”

“Good.” She puts a hand on my arm and motions toward the coffee table. “Would you like to sit? Tell me why you’re here?”

“I think I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable.”

I set the cup on the mantle then pick up the photo of Lisa and the older man in the restaurant. Once again, the feeling of familiarity hits me, but I still can’t place it.

I hold up the photo. “Where was this taken?”

“Here in town,” she says. “About a year ago. Why?”

“It’s familiar.”

I look closer.

There’s something on the man’s face. At first I think it’s a shadow, but it’s hard to tell.

“Is everything okay?”

I ignore her and move under one of the skylights, holding the photo up for a closer look.

I was right, the shadow isn’t a shadow. It’s a scar, smooth and pink, like a burn.

I feel my stomach drop and I step back.

“Are you okay?”

Now I see it, the deep-set lines around the eyes, the black hair splintered with gray.

I can’t breathe.

Lisa touches my shoulder.

I tap the photo. “Who is this?”

Lisa frowns, steps closer. She doesn’t take her eyes off mine until she’s right in front of me. She reaches for the photo and says, “That’s my dad.”

“Your dad?”

She takes the photo and sets it back on the mantle, then puts a hand on my arm and leads me over to the cushions in the middle of the room.

“Why don’t we sit down,” she says. “You can start at the beginning and I’ll see if I can help.”

“What does he do?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your dad. What’s his job? What does he do for a living?”

“I don’t think my family is something I—”

“He’s a doctor, isn’t he?”

Lisa stares at me, doesn’t speak.

“A coroner?” I step past her to the mantle and the photo. “I met him after my wife died. He needed me to identify her body.”

“Mr. Reese, maybe this isn’t the best time. I think you should come back another day.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Who are—” I stop, look back at Lisa. “How did you know my name? I didn’t tell you my name.”

She touches my arm, and I pull away.

“Mr. Reese.” She looks around at the front door, then back at me. “If you’d just sit for a minute, we can talk.”

I start to ask her again how she knows my name, but this time she puts a finger to her lips, silencing me.

“You have to calm down.”

“Who are you?”

Lisa steps closer. She lifts her face toward mine. At first I think she’s going to kiss me, but instead she presses her cheek against my cheek and whispers in my ear.

“You need to leave,” she says. “Right now.”

I start to argue, but she squeezes my arm, tight, stopping me. When she speaks next, her voice is soft and steady, and her breath is warm against my skin.

“They’re watching us.”