Electric Blue (13 page)

There was a little pillow in the center of the daybed with crewel embroidery stitched onto its lacy cover. The dolls surrounded it like a shrine.

I looked closely and read: Rhoda.

These dolls were for the baby who’d died of SIDS? Or, had the dolls come first?

Either way, I backed out of the room and into the hallway—directly into a human body. I emitted a little shriek before I caught myself.

“What are you doing?” Cammie demanded.

I whipped around. She was frowning at me, Rosalie propped on her hip. “I’m—”

“Snooping?”

“Searching.” I sounded slightly breathless. No wonder. My pulse was still rocketing along.

“Searching for what? Something to steal? Something to have my grandmother give you as a
gift?”

“I was searching for your grandmother,” I answered, pulling myself together with an effort.

She gave me a pissy look. “Nana’s rooms are at the other end of the hall.”

James reached the top step and headed for us, looking a bit wild. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”

I wished I’d had time to unlock his door. It was secured with a privacy lock, the kind on any residential bathroom, the easiest type to breach. All you need is a thin piece of metal to poke in the little hole beside the knob. I’d managed this trick more than a few times when Booth and I had chased each other around the house. He was great at locking himself away from me; I was great at finding my way in.

“I brought Rosalie up to play with the dolls and I found her here,” Cammie told him.

“Nana’s missing,” I said.

Cammie started. “What do you mean?”

“Missing?” James repeated.

“Reyna went to her rooms and she was gone. I was looking for her.”

My phone buzzed. I whipped it out and examined the LCD, hoping for some kind of rescue. But it wasn’t Jazz or Dwayne or even Cynthia. It was my mother. I pushed it back in my pocket. This was definitely not the time for one of my convoluted conversations with Mom.

James and Cammie looked at each other, absorbing what I’d said. Cammie said slowly, “Well, you were the last one to see her.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Well, weren’t you? You were with her this afternoon. Was there someone else there?”

“They could have visited after me. A lot of people live here.”

“Is this a riddle? I’m trying to get information and you’re just making it so hard!”

“I’m just saying you can’t assume I was the last person to see her,” I answered, holding on to my temper with an effort.

“Call it an educated guess.”

James cleared his throat. “Maybe she went for a walk.”

“Nana?” Cammie turned her glare on him. “Since when?” She flipped back to me. “Wasn’t this your job, to take care of her?”

“Glad you brought it up,” I said. “I’m not exactly sure what my job is.”

“Well, was she upset? The last time you saw her? Did she say anything? You’re supposed to be the one who examines this stuff, aren’t you? Dwayne seems to think you know what you’re doing. Where is she? Why don’t you know?”

Her voice grew in volume throughout this speech as did my temper. I wanted to take her on, but instead, remembering how Dwayne said she’d grown crazy with rage, I kept my tongue in my head and my mouth shut.

James looked scared. “What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to find her.” Cammie stalked toward the stairs.

Within ten minutes she’d alerted the whole family that Orchid wasn’t on the premises. I thought this was premature as there was a lot of ground to cover on the Purcell property. She could be anywhere and I didn’t really believe Orchid would just take off.

Everyone searched the house. Nothing. Garrett, Benjamin and Roderick started pacing off the grounds, covering every square inch. James went into his rooms and returned, declaring his mother hadn’t found her way to his space. I made a mental note to check his rooms myself, if I were given the chance. There was just something fishy about him that begged to be explored.

Night descended and the breeze kicked up to a cold wind. The Purcells began returning from their respective searches, huddling in the main salon. It had been several hours, and it was growing clear that Orchid was definitely missing.

As this realization took root, they all started looking my way. I wanted to be angry with them, and I was, but I was also really worried. Alzheimer’s sufferers who wander off sometimes come to horrifying ends. I didn’t want this to happen to Orchid. And I sure as hell didn’t want it to happen on my watch.

I called Dwayne for help and got his answering machine. He wasn’t picking up his cell, either. I gritted my teeth. He was probably on a job.

By seven-thirty, after the house and grounds had been scoured, we knew she was not on the premises. Garrett and Satin drove around the area, hoping to find her, but she was gone.

Roderick looked at me and asked, “What did you say to her that caused her to leave?”

Oh, sure. Blame the outsider. I stated flatly, “Nothing.”

“You must have said something,” Dahlia insisted.

My phone buzzed again. I yanked it from my pocket. Seeing the caller was Jazz, I answered, “Hey, there. You haven’t seen your grandmother, have you?”

“Nana?” Jazz asked. “You mean, today? No. I’ve been at a school function with Logan, tonight. One I didn’t remember. Kind of a Meet the Teachers meeting. The school counselor wants to make sure Logan stays on track, especially since the accident. I’m still learning the ropes about this being a single parent. Jennifer took care of everything. Now it’s me.” He seemed to recognize something in my continued silence, because he added, “So, how did it go with Nana today?”

“Not great.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Well, it looks like Nana’s missing.” I glanced around at the sea of angry, set Purcell faces. “You might want to get over here before your family decides to skin me alive.”

W
hen Jazz arrived, everybody in the family started playing Cover Your Ass. Accusatory glances came my way in a steady stream. I might have felt really bad except Jazz wasn’t giving his family’s attitude serious consideration, at least for the moment. I hoped his allegiance would last once they started working on him, but you just never know.

“Someone must have seen her,” Jazz said. “She couldn’t just walk off and disappear.”

“Nana’s not that fast,” Cammie agreed. “She’s got to be around here.” She hiked Rosalie up on her hip. Both of them looked cranky and tired. “She couldn’t have gone far.”

But the truth was, Nana was nowhere to be found. Which made me wonder if she could have had help. Maybe she’d plotted her escape all along. “Did she receive any calls?” I asked.

“No,” Garrett said immediately. “We would have heard the phone.”

“Does she visit anyone?”

“Oh, God. Eileen.” Dahlia looked horror-stricken.

There was a mad dash to the phone. Garrett demanded Eileen’s number and Dahlia pulled it off her cell phone. She reeled off the digits and as Garrett dialed, I committed them to memory. Eileen seemed a key player in the Purcell drama, whether they wanted her to be or not, so while they were entrenched in locating the ex-caretaker, I plugged her number into my cell phone.

It turned out that no, Eileen had not seen or heard from Orchid. Eileen made this clear to Garrett herself, adding that she was terminated most unfairly by all of the Purcell children and though she hoped Orchid was all right, she suspected the lot of them had been thinking only of themselves and Orchid’s well-being was overlooked yet again. I picked up this sentiment by Garrett’s ever-more succinct and furious responses just before crashing the receiver down in a fit of temper. Satin bent her head and tried to disappear. Dahlia seemed stumped. Jazz’s handsome face was full of worry, which gave him more character somehow. I let myself concentrate on him as a means to weather the Purcell storm.

“Good riddance,” Garrett muttered. The dark red color beneath his skin had not subsided. I didn’t like him much, but if I were examining him objectively I would have to admit that he had been given the gift of the Purcell good looks. In his midfifties, he was still a handsome man, even with the extra forty pounds he carried and his pain-in-the-ass, thumb’s-down personality. I glanced around at the others. James IV was too slight and anxious to rise to his own attractiveness. Dahlia had missed out; part of the unfair delineation between the men and women in the family. Benjamin was exotic, catlike and androgynous. He had his father’s dark hair and eyes but there was something Purcell in the shape of his face and his mouth. If he ever actually smiled he might be devastating. As it was, he didn’t do anything for me, speaking strictly from a female point of view.

Rosalie seemed like she might escape the “Purcell girls are plainer” thing and be a looker. But she had that
Children of the Corn
kind of blue-eyed look I couldn’t quite get past.

Recriminations, anger and growing fear fueled the heated discussion, but nothing was decided. I couldn’t stand it and went outside and patrolled the grounds myself, checking the playhouse as well, though I still felt averse to the place, but it was to no avail. When I returned to the salon, everyone looked at me hopefully but I shook my head. Jazz came and stood by me, which was heartening, but when I suggested alerting the authorities, nobody seemed to want to place the call.

Time crawled by. They were literally and figuratively wringing their hands. At a stalemate, I finally announced I was going home. I was tired and hungry, and it was past dinner time, fully dark by now. But I wouldn’t leave until they phoned the police, so more as a means to get rid of me than deciding on a positive plan of action, Garrett placed the call.

There was nothing further to be gained by hanging around, so I headed toward the back doors. When I got outside, Reyna was waiting for me, her dark eyes full of worry and questions. She had her coat on as the day’s heat was completely gone but she was still shivering. I said, “I’m sure Orchid’s fine. Maybe a friend picked her up?”

“She is not on the grounds?”

“Doesn’t seem to be.”

She glanced back at the door. We could faintly hear the voices of the family. “I hope she is okay.”

There was something about her unconvinced tone and her stolid, careful expression that said she didn’t trust the other Purcells. Did she think they had something to do with Orchid’s disappearance? I seriously doubted that, not because I would put it past any of them, but the last I knew Orchid hadn’t signed the POA, and until that was accomplished I didn’t see how anyone would mess with her.

Well…unless they wanted to coerce her…somewhere away from the rest of the family?

Jazz stepped outside as I entertained these unsettling thoughts. How did Orchid’s will read? I wondered if the estate was evenly divided. What would happen if she up and kicked off right now? Who would win out?

Jazz caught up with me at my car. I smiled wanly at him, then glanced inside my passenger window. Binkster was curled up into a little ball, her chin on the edge of the bed. She looked up at me and wagged her tail.

“This isn’t like Nana at all,” Jazz said. “This has never happened before.”

My whole chest was heavy with dread. It felt like it was my fault, even though I knew it wasn’t.

“The police are coming over,” Jazz said. “I hope it’s not too early for them. What’s that rule about how many hours a person has to be missing?”

“With Alzheimer’s or dementia patients, I’m betting that rule doesn’t apply.”

“I hope they find her.” He looked at me. The outdoor lights sent ribbons of light across his face. He was like a luscious candy. Something rich and beautiful where you wonder if you should really bite in and destroy its beauty, but yet you can’t help yourself. My thoughts were bouncing all over the place—a means to try keeping ahead of my own fear.

“What if she spends the night outdoors?” Jazz asked.

“It’s not too cold.” But it wasn’t exactly red-hot, either. A night outside without protection would be really uncomfortable. For someone Orchid’s age, it would definitely be ill-advised, maybe dangerous.

“What if something bad’s happened to her?”

“Keep good thoughts. She can be very lucid, very aware. In fact, most of the time she seems fine. Better than fine, actually.”

“You think so?”

Right up until the time she called me Eileen.
“Do you want me to stay?”

“Yes. For me.” He almost smiled. “But no…go home. Get some rest.” He didn’t say it but I saw he thought we might be in for a long siege.

It felt like some kind of action was called for, but for the life of me I didn’t know what it would be. The police were on their way.

I opened my car door. Binks stretched and blinked. Then Jazz placed a hand on my forearm. I could feel the heat of his palm against my skin and my heart fluttered a bit as I turned toward him. Even though it was late, his jaw looked freshly shaved, and his clothes were crisp and clean. He wore a tan cotton sweater pushed up his forearms and khakis. Casual chic. The guy knew how to dress, that’s for sure. I was in my usual work uniform: jeans, Nikes and a black V-necked T-shirt.

“You want to come to my place?” he invited.

“You mean…now?”

“I’ve got a house in the West Hills—Portland Heights, actually. It’s got a great view. Jennifer picked it out but now it’s just Logan and me. We could wait for news together. It would be great to show it to you…and…”

My phone vibrated again, cutting off that tantalizing “and.” I wasn’t quite sure what Jazz was asking. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but adrenaline kicked in as my mind buzzed with thoughts.

“I could order dinner in,” he said. “I’m worried about Nana. And I don’t want to be alone.”

“What about Logan?” I asked.

“Well, yeah, he’s around, of course, but I’d like to be with another adult. I’d like to be with you, Jane.” He sounded hopeful.

The thought of Logan really put a damper on things as far as I was concerned. But I understood wanting to wait out the hours of Orchid’s disappearance in the company of friends; the same feeling tugged at me. And it would be nice to be with Jazz and learn more about him.

Still, I sensed something inside myself…an unsettled loneliness…maybe even a need to prove my own attractiveness…and I knew I would be in dangerous territory. Jazz was wonderful to look at, and he’d been nothing but nice to me, but was I ready to get to know him better? Was now the time? I felt so bad about Orchid that I could picture myself jumping into bed with Jazz, searching for the kind of transitory comfort that could come back to bite me in the ass.

Sometimes my own self-awareness pisses me off.

“I think I’ll have to take a rain check,” I said regretfully.

He seemed crestfallen, but he nodded.

“Call me if you hear anything.”

“I will.” He moved away from me.

All the way back to Lake Chinook I silently railed at myself for chickening out. I would have liked to be with him. I would have liked to hold his hand and allay my fears. I would have liked to be there when—if—the call came through about Orchid. I’d even had The Binkster with me, so we could have all settled in for an evening together.

What do you want, Jane?

The question circled my brain. I felt frustrated, tentative. On the verge of turning around and heading back toward Portland Heights. I could call Jazz on his cell. I could be with him in twenty minutes and let whatever might happen between us, happen. We could commiserate, worry and talk. And though Logan wasn’t exactly part of my ideal “date package,” he would probably be off playing video games or talking to friends via the Internet or whatever kids his age did.

I actually nosed into a side street, intending to circle around. Then I hesitated, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. Damn it all. I yanked the wheel back toward Lake Chinook, a sound of frustration rumbling in my throat. Binks lifted her ears and looked at me.

“What?” I asked her belligerently.

At my cottage, I poured her a small bowl of delicious, local kiblets, then listened distractedly to my message from Mom. Actually, she’d left three messages. I wasn’t sure how I’d missed the rest of them, but I don’t really understand cell phone intricacies and I don’t care to learn. Each Mom message was progressively longer, as if she’d decided I would never answer my phone or call her back so she might as well have a one-way conversation that took care of everything.

The gist of it was, she was coming to Lake Chinook. She’d made her flight reservations for next week. There was no more putting her off. There was no more talking about it. She was on her way and that was that.

I scrambled to call her back. It’s not that I don’t want to see her. I love my mother, but family can be so tricky—the Purcell family a case in point. And the warmth of my relationship with my brother Booth ebbs and flows; with my mother it’s just a certain amount of stress and responsibility. And now with Orchid missing…

“Mom!” I said when she answered her phone. She is not a cell phone user but she hangs by her landline pretty closely.

“Jane? Is that you?”

Since I’m her only daughter I’m pretty sure that’s the kind of thing that doesn’t require an answer, but I always feel compelled to make a joke. “No. It’s the Dalai Lama.”

“The Dalai Lama’s a man, so I guess it’s you, Jane.”

I grimaced. Okay, I wasn’t really in a joking mood and it showed. “I listened to your messages. You’ve got a flight for next week?”

“Yes.” And she proceeded to give me all kinds of information about how she’d chosen the airline, and where the seat was, and how much luggage it would require, and she wasn’t sure if she needed those Sky-Cap people to help her or not. I wrote down her flight information and told her I’d pick her up.

“I can’t believe Booth’s getting married,” she said at the end of her report.

“I know.”

“And she’s black.” She said the word tentatively, as if afraid the politically correct police would haul her in for not using African American. Personally, I don’t care whether someone calls me white, Caucasian, or sickly pale. It’s all fairly accurate about my flesh tone. Which reminds me, I’m still not over the fact that Crayola got rid of the crayon “flesh” apparently because it only portrayed white flesh. They changed to peach back in the sixties, but I had an ancient box of crayons that my mother had possessed from when she was a girl. For years I didn’t recognize the switch. Now, I wondered why it couldn’t be called white flesh. Or Caucasian flesh. I colored with that crayon a lot when I was a kid, depicting friends and family, and it just didn’t seem like peach.

I closed my eyes. It was easier to mourn for something dumb than think about Orchid, maybe lost, scared, crying. I felt so damn helpless.

With an effort, I struggled hard to stay on track with Mom. In the beginning my brother had been cagey about his engagement to Sharona. I think he’d hoped that I would spill the beans to Mom and save him that little drama. But I’d been really careful about steering clear of the whole thing. There were pitfalls I was simply not going to trip into if I could help it. My mother had been insistent about making the trip to Oregon, however, and eventually Booth had broken down and had a long, long talk with her. Sharona is tall, black, beautiful and possessed of a steely determination that awes me. I just don’t think I’ll ever have that power of conviction. But apparently Booth gave Mom a fairly accurate depiction of his soon-to-be wife, because my mother sounded like she was still processing.