ESCAPE FROM AMBERGRIS CAYE (7 page)

Dragging his feet as though attached to a
fifty-pound weight, Jackson inserted his key in the door and heaved a sigh of
relief. The day was over and he could kick back with a cold beer. Then he
remembered: he wasn’t alone. Zac was staying with him and it had been like
pulling teeth from the get-go. Oh well, maybe he’d go out for the evening.

“Well, hey, bro. You’re home.” Zac’s voice boomed
out.

No such luck. The man was back from wherever he’d
spent the day. Feeling like he’d been punched in the gut, Jackson managed a wan
smile.

“Oh, hey, Zac. How was your day?” From the look
of the apartment his brother had spent a fair amount of it parked right where
he was. Clothes were strewn about, dirty dishes piled on the cocktail table
amidst partially empty beer cans. The place reeked of garbage and body odor.
Swallowing the urge to snap at him, Jackson said. “What’d you do?” As if it
wasn’t obvious.

“Not a whole hell of a lot. I gotta get the lay
of the land before I venture forth,” Zac grinned as if his choice of words
would make up for having trashed Jackson’s place. “You look bushed. Have a hard
day chasing the bad guys with your little camera?”

When Jackson didn’t pull a face or throw a
sarcastic retort in his direction, Zac followed up with, “Seriously, is
something the matter? I mean besides all this? I’ll clean it up, in fact, sit
down and I’ll cook supper, how’s that?”

It sounded great. “Okay, I’ll shower and have a
quick nap.” No one had cooked a meal for Jackson since he’d left home.
It
might be exactly the thing to snap me out of my funk.

He’d asked around and no one seemed to know—or
care—what had become of Izzie. He’d called her cell and emailed her, all to no
avail. She seemed to have simply vanished. Did it have anything to do with the
guy she’d been seeing? Had something happened to her?

His co-workers weren’t aware of her relationship
with a man who may or may not be dangerous. At least he didn’t think she’d told
anyone. Besides, as far as he knew, she didn’t have any close friends at the
station. She’d been so rude no one liked her.

He stepped into the shower and, with hot water
splashing over him, his muscles began to relax despite the hold Izzie continued
to have on his thoughts. Why couldn’t he get her off his mind? She’d lost her
job and that was that. There was nothing he could do.  Still, he should
check to make sure she was all right. Tomorrow if he was still without a
reporter, he’d swing by her apartment, then when he was satisfied she was all
right, he’d put her out of his mind once and for all.

Jackson had to admit Zac had done a yeoman’s job
of fixing dinner. They had stuffed pork chops, baked potatoes, a green bean
casserole and apple pie for dessert. The kitchen was a mess, but the food was
so delicious, he hardly noticed.

“Wow. Where’d you learn to cook like that?”

Zac’s face brightened. “I took some cooking classes
a couple years back. Thought I’d be a chef.” The hint of a smile faded. “That
was until Dad… Never mind, so you really liked it?”

“Liked it? Oh
my gosh
,
yes, it was terrific.” Jackson’s eyes fell on the disaster in the kitchen. It
appeared that every pan he owned had been used. With the food now caked and
drying, it’d take hours to clean up. Having grown up with Zac, he knew the
drill, there was no point getting into a fight over it: whenever Zac
cooked—which wasn’t all that often—Jackson cleaned up, that’s just the way it
was. It seemed fair enough until you consider most cooks clean up as they go,
so at the end, there isn’t much to do.

 Jackson stood up and started to clear the
table.

“I’ve got it,” Zac said. “You go in and take it
easy.”

If you’d told Jackson that he won the lottery he
couldn’t have been more surprised—or pleased. He went into the living room,
switched on the television and ten minutes later was sound asleep. 

After work the following day, Jackson drove by
Izzie’s place in the off chance that she was home. She lived in a gated
community off Bay Pointe Drive. It pissed off Jackson to realize that despite
being younger and far less experienced, she obviously made more money than he
did.

Today he was less concerned about salaries than
he was about her safety. Since the gate was open, he drove in and glanced
around the parking lot. Her car, a hot red Mazda, was there, covered in leaves
and bird poop.

Jackson knew how proud Izzie was of that car. It
had been a graduation gift from her parents. She took it to the car wash
weekly; kept it in pristine condition. Parking his old car next to hers, he got
out to have a closer look.

As he expected, the car was locked. Putting his
hands up to the driver’s side window, he looked inside. Everything seemed fine.
In fact, there was nothing to be seen at all—no fast-food wrappers or pop cans,
nothing. Unlike his car, it was immaculate.

With a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach,
Jackson headed toward Izzie’s apartment. It was a second floor walkup. Taking
the steps two at a time, he rang the bell, then when no one answered, he began
pounding on the door and finally shouting, “Izzie. Izzie. It’s Jackson. Open
up.”

A few seconds later, a woman next door poked her
head out and said, “She’s not home. Haven’t seen her for about a week.”

“Do you know where she’s gone?” Jackson said.

When the woman hesitated, he added, “We work
together and she hasn’t shown up for several days, I’m beginning to worry. Do
you have any idea where she is?”

Scrutinizing him with her dark eyes, the woman
shook her head. “I’m sorry but we keep pretty much to ourselves around here.
Why don’t you go over to the office and see if they know anything?” She started
to go back into her apartment, then turned and said, “I hope she’s all right. I
enjoy watching her on the news. She’s so pretty.”

“That she is. Thanks for your help.”

Ten minutes later, a grumpy apartment manager
asked him to tell “that girl to pick up her mail. Her box is overflowing and
UPS dropped off several packages. Tell her that despite her impressions to the
contrary, we are not—I emphasize
not
—her secretaries. Besides, you’re
not the first person to come looking for her, you know. Several people have
been around asking for her. Well,
lemme
tell you this:
She might have servants at that TV station but I assure you she doesn’t have
them here. And you can tell her that Mavis said so.” When she’d finished her
tirade, her face was crimson, her hands twisting a tissue.

“So, you haven’t seen her then?” Jackson said,
deliberately keeping his cool.
Stupid bitch!
There was nothing to be
gained losing his temper with the only person who might know where to find
Izzie.

“You got that right.”

“If you happen to see her, would you mind having
her call me?” He offered his card.

“No, I’d be mighty happy to hold onto your card
and ask her to give you a call if and when I see her next. With only two
hundred residents, I don’t have another damned thing on my mind except to watch
out for her.” With that she took Jackson’s card, tossed it in the wastebasket
and went back to her desk.

Not knowing where else to look for his partner,
Jackson headed home, a prickle of dread in the back of his throat

****

“So, you have a tough day?” Zac threw the question
at Jackson over a supper of fried chicken, pasta, mixed peas and carrots and a
tossed salad.

“Not especially. Why?”

“You’re so quiet. I thought maybe something was
wrong.
Wanna
talk about it?”

Jackson was surprised at Zac’s concern. Maybe Mom
was right, the change of scenery seemed to actually be doing his brother some
good. Not wanting to interrupt the good vibes between them, Jackson decided to
share.

“It’s probably nothing, but while I was back
home, my reporter seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. She
hasn’t been at work for over a week now and nobody knows where she is. What’s
worse, at least in my opinion, is that no one but me seems concerned. I mean,
what if she’s sick or something happened to her?”

He stopped talking and waited for his brother to
make some kind of sarcastic remark, reminding him how he always jumped to
conclusions which invariably turned out to be wrong.

Much to his surprise, Zac listened intently, then
leaned in and said, “Anyone report it to the police?”

Jackson thought for a moment. “Now that you
mention it, I don’t think so. My boss assumed she walked off the job. Said it
happens all the time and not to worry about it, but I don’t think Izzie would
do that. She loves the job. Besides if she’s gone, why’s her car still in the
parking lot outside her apartment?”

“I don’t know.” Zac scratched the stubble on his
face. “You said neither a neighbor nor the apartment manager have seen her and
that her mail’s piling up?”

Jackson nodded.

“Then something’s not right, bro. Let’s drive
over and see what we can find out.” 

****

An hour later they were at the police station
filling out a “missing person’s” report. There was little information Jackson
could provide other than what Izzie had told him about herself. Leaving Morris
Stone’s phone number and asking to be notified if they learned anything, they
returned home no wiser than before.

The next morning at the TV station, Jackson was
about to head out the door, camera in hand, when the unmistakable sound of
Morris Stone’s gravelly voice stopped him.

“Taylor. Over here.” The man didn’t sound
pleased.

Mentally ticking off the stories he’d covered the
previous day, Jackson couldn’t imagine what the problem was. It wasn’t unusual
for someone to call in complaining. They’d expected to be in a story that
hadn’t run. The photographer—in this case, Jackson, made them look bad, or
didn’t get the story right, or misquoted them or…you name it. Usually
management blew it off saying complaints came with the territory. But Stone’s
tone of voice said the mistake was significant. With a sinking feeling, Jackson
set the camera down and headed for his boss’ office.

“You wanted me?” Jackson summoned up his most
innocent expression, hoping to minimize the damage.

“Close the door.”

Whatever it was, Jackson was certain it wouldn’t
end with a compliment like the last time. He’d scarcely managed to sit down
when he was pummeled with the gruff tone his boss used when he was angry.

“The police came to see me this morning,” he began.
Before Jackson had a chance to react, he added, “
Wanna
know who gave them my phone number? Oh, yeah, that would be you.”

Since there seemed to be no question involved,
Jackson thought it best to keep his mouth shut.

“So, now, I gotta ask why my photographer goes
out and reports one of my employees missing and makes it look like I don’t give
a crap. Can you answer me that?”

Jackson was about to respond, when Morris Stone
continued. “They questioned me for half an hour, like I was somehow responsible
for her. How am I supposed to know why some ditsy broad quits? For all I know
she met the man of her dreams and went riding off into the sunset.”

The longer he talked, the more animated he became
until Jackson feared the man would strike him. He clutched the sides of the
chair and waited.

“Now I ask you, Jackson, why would you
deliberately go out and do something like that? Tell me that
’cause
I gotta say, I don’t understand.”

Jackson’s mouth was bone dry making speech difficult.
He licked his lips. “I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble, it wasn’t my
intention.”

“
If?
The man says—
if he caused me any
trouble
. The police treated me like I was some kind of damned suspect. We
don’t even know if the girl’s missing or holed up somewhere with her latest
squeeze.”

When Jackson didn’t say anything, he continued,
“Well, we don’t know, do we? Or is there something you’re aware of—and if so,
speak up.”

“Uh, well, it’s just that things don’t add up,
that’s all.” Jackson said.

“What
things
would that be?”

“Well, for instance, her car’s in the parking lot
of her apartment and it’s covered with leaves and bird droppings.”

“So?”

“So, Izzie loves that car. She’d never allow it
to be in that condition. I know for a fact she wouldn’t.”

Morris Stone heaved a sigh. “That’s all you’ve
got? A car covered with bird shit? You filled out a missing person’s report
because of that?”

“Not only that. Her apartment manager said her
mail hasn’t been picked up for over a week, said it’s piling up. If she was leaving
town, wouldn’t she have put a hold on her mail?”

“Not necessarily. I would, but young people don’t
always think about stuff like mail and notifying bosses when they leave town.”
His tone of voice softened a bit as he leaned in toward Jackson.

“Look, I know you mean well. You’re concerned
about your partner. You come back from your father’s funeral and she’s not
around. Anyone in your shoes would be concerned. We were too. We did everything
we could: called her apartment, checked the contacts on her emergency-call
list, left messages on her cell, everything.

“No, we didn’t contact the police and maybe we
shoulda
. It just didn’t seem warranted. Even the police
admitted that if someone wants to walk off the job and disappear, they have
every right to do so. There’s no law that says they have to give their employer
proper notice. Last I checked it was still a free country and people can come
and go as they like.”

Jackson listened intently, nodding in agreement,
but in his mind he kept hearing Izzie tell him how she’d started seeing that
guy from the balcony. Should he tell his boss about that or keep it to himself?

Morris Stone was wrapping up his tirade. “Now
unless you have something more to tell me, I’d advise you to put Isabelle
Campbell out of your mind for once and for all. The girl has moved on, and if
you value your job, you should too.
Capisce
?” He
stood up signally the discussion was over. There was nothing more to be said.