Flashover (15 page)

Tim gave her a charming smile. “Hello. Yes, we would like to speak to a Roger Smalley. I understand he's a researcher here?”

Her smile was cool. “We don't disclose that kind of information. May I ask what business you need to discuss?”

Ivy edged closer. “We need to talk to him about a personal matter regarding a mutual friend.” She was banking on the fact that Roger knew Cyril or Moe at least in passing.

Her delicate eyebrow arched. “Can you be more specific please?”

“No,” they both said in unison.

Tim opened his mouth but she held up a hand. “Why don't you have a seat and I'll make a call. What did you say your names were?”

Tim and Ivy repeated the information and dutifully sat in black padded chairs.

“Do you think we were convincing?” Ivy whispered.

“Convincingly suspicious,” he whispered back.

The well-dressed lady hung up. “I'm sorry. There is no one available to speak with you now. Perhaps you can submit a comment or question via our Web site and someone will get back to you.”

Ivy gave her a bright smile. “Oh, we're not in a hurry. We don't mind waiting.”

She frowned. “Really, I think it wouldn't be a good idea. We don't have any personnel available to speak to you until next week sometime.”

“We'll settle for talking to someone about the ZTR7 project.” Ivy noticed a door in the corridor above them open. A man with a shiny bald head peered over the balcony, which looked down onto the lobby. He gave them a quick look before retreating to his office and quickly shutting the door.

“I'm sorry,” the woman repeated. “It just isn't possible. You are welcome to wait, but there won't be any benefit to it. If you'll excuse me, I have work to do.” She turned away from them and began typing on her computer, her face bare of any emotion.

Tim looked out the enormous entrance doors. “That's okay. No problem. Thanks for your help.”

He grabbed Ivy's hand and hustled her out the door.

“Where are we going? I thought we would wait a while and see who came out.”

“Perfect plan. Why wait?” He pointed to the tall, balding man who was heading in the same direction, his back to them. A leather briefcase with a paper sticking out the bottom was tucked under his arm.

They hustled to catch up with him. “Mr. Smalley?” Tim called.

The man stiffened and continued to move away.

“Mr. Smalley, we know it's you. We have a question to ask.”

He rustled in his pocket for the keys to a sleek green Jaguar. As he stumbled over an uneven spot on the pavement, the keys went flying. Ivy snatched them up.

“Here you go, Mr. Smalley.” She kept a firm grip on the keys. “Just one question first.”

His shoulders sagged, forehead furrowing into wrinkles on his speckled scalp. Ivy noticed that his eyebrows were so fair they almost seemed invisible on his face.

He looked quickly from Tim to Ivy. “You don't look like the police.”

Tim frowned. “We're not.”

“What do you want?”

“A friend of ours is missing. His name is Moe. He told us about you and ZTR7 before he disappeared,” Tim said. “We thought you could help.”

Mr. Smalley's eyes narrowed. “I don't know anybody named Moe. How did he know about ZTR7? Most of our research is secret.”

Ivy shrugged. “We don't know how he knew. It might be connected to another man named Cyril Donovan. Ever met him?”

“No.” A bead of sweat popped out on the man's pale forehead and slid down his nose. Ivy watched it quiver there.

“I don't understand why either of them might have connected my name to ZTR7. I'm only involved peripherally. There are many others more intimately connected than I am. Why me? Why did he use my name?”

Tim held up a calming hand. “We're not sure. That's what we wanted to ask you about.”

Mr. Smalley clutched his briefcase even tighter. “Listen. I'm a researcher. I don't know anything. I don't know who sent you, but whoever it is, tell them I'm not involved.” With a catlike motion he snatched the keys out of Ivy's hand and jammed them into the car-door lock. In a second the engine roared to life and he left them in a cloud of exhaust.

“What just happened here?” Ivy said as she slid into the passenger seat of Tim's truck.

“I'm not sure.”

“He's scared of someone.”

“Yes, but he looked sincere when he said he didn't know about a Cyril or a Moe.”

“I didn't even get a chance to ask him about Cannery Row. Maybe it's a code name for another project they're working on.”

“Could be. Where to now?”

Ivy consulted their scrawled list of places to look for Moe. “How about a trip to Pochono Wilderness Park?”

“Do you really think Moe would go there?”

“His mother said they went together last month, so it's a place he knows.”

Tim sighed. “This is like looking for the proverbial needle.”

“Let's just pray we find the right haystack soon.”

I
vy called Madge while Tim ordered sandwiches. She was clicking off the phone when she saw Mitch across the street, deep in conversation with Charlie. Charlie pulled his cowboy hat lower over his eyes and handed Mitch a folded piece of paper. He looked up and saw Ivy, then ducked his head and continued on as Mitch crossed the street to join her.

Through narrowed eyes, she watched Charlie start up his Porsche and drive away.

“Hi, Mitch. How's Charlie doing?”

“Fine.”

“What did he give you?”

Mitch's lip crimped. “It's just a work schedule. Nothing shady. I'm covering some extra shifts for a buddy of mine.”

She wanted to pry more, but Tim returned with sandwiches. “Oh, hi, Mitch. Reporting for search duty? Want half a sandwich?”

“No, thanks. Have you heard from Moe?”

Ivy shook her head. “No. We're just as in the dark as the rest of the searchers.”

“Really? I would have thought he'd have called you.”

“Not a word.”

“That's really weird. Not even a note or anything?”

She was surprised at the suspicion on his face. “No. No note. Why would I keep a thing like that to myself when there's a whole team of people looking for him?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Where are we headed first?”

Ivy filled him in while they munched. She pulled out a picture Madge had given her of Moe and let Mitch have a look before they drove to the park. Mitch followed in Ivy's car.

On the way her PDA beeped. She fished it out and checked the screen. “Is it Thursday?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yes,” she chortled, reaching for the straps on her sling. “I get to take this thing off for a few hours.”

“I assume the doctor told you to take it easy?”

“Yes, she did. I have to put it back on if there's pain, but don't you see? I'm one step away from starting therapy and that means…”

“Two steps away from getting your job back?”

She laughed. “You bet.”

“That's great, Ivy.”

She thought she heard a shade of regret in his tone. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. I'm happy you'll get your job back soon. I know how much you love it.”

“But…?”

“I'll just miss you, is all.”

“Why? I won't be going anywhere.”

“Not physically. Let's face it, when you're back in firefighting mode, I'm the odd man out.”

She was surprised. “Do I make you feel like that?”

“Not intentionally, I'm sure. I guess when you have such a strong brotherhood that means so much to you, there isn't much room left over for civilians.”

She put a hand on his arm. “Hey, I'm sorry, Tim. I didn't mean to do that.” She knew with a guilty certainty she'd fostered an arrogance that blinded her to people outside her beloved profession. Outsiders couldn't relate, wouldn't understand. The thought pained her. She resolved to make it up to him.

He gave her a grin. “It's okay. It's been great not having to share you with all those hero types for a while.”

For some unaccountable reason, a verse from long ago surfaced in Ivy's mind.

She could not explain why it had popped into her head but the words reminded her of Tim. He was so good and so humble, words she could not use to describe herself, but she knew that God must love her anyway to put him into her life. She felt again the strange peace that had washed over her at church.

She patted his shoulder, feeling suddenly like a scared child, at the mercy of feelings she'd avoided for so long. “I'll…I'll make time, even when I get my job back. Maybe, sometimes, we can, you know, go to church together or something.”

He looked at her, eyes round with amazement. “Ivy, there is nothing I would like better than that. I'm so glad you've changed your mind.”

“Don't get me wrong, I've still got plenty of anger, Tim. I don't understand or accept things the way you do, but maybe I can try.”

He squeezed her hand. “I'll be right there for you, every step, I promise.”

Her heart was too filled for her lips to answer. She squeezed back, wanting to tell him how important he was, but she knew it was not fair to bolster his hopes until she'd sorted out her own mess of feelings.

The warmth of his fingers on her skin reminded her he was interested in more than friendship. He was right when he said she belonged to a brotherhood, a brotherhood that was still her whole life. But could she make room for him? Could she really open herself up to that kind of vulnerability again? The thought scared her and she gently withdrew her hand from his.

He cleared his throat. “So what's our plan of attack here?”

“Cover as much ground as possible. Madge thought he would have stayed near the visitor center and the spot where they picnicked. He is afraid of climbing, fortunately, so that eliminates a lot of area. This is really the only park he could have gotten to on foot around here.”

They turned onto the gravel road that led to the park entrance. Ivy marveled again at the distant mountains, framed against a brilliant blue sky. In their severe perfection, they looked like some fantastic oil painting. Mitch pulled into the parking place next to them. Ivy handed him a backpack and clipped the radio to her belt.

He groaned as he shouldered the load. “What do you have in here? Bowling balls?”

“Funny. Some supplies, is all. You should know how quickly things can change in the wilderness, even within miles of town.”

Tim pulled some bottles of water from a cooler. “Keeps the rescue people in business.”

“Yeah. We've transported plenty of weekend-warrior types who had a sudden yen for the great outdoors.” She read over the notes Moe's mother had given her. “Madge said they visited the nature center and stopped for a picnic along Thimbleberry Creek.”

Tim headed the group toward the visitor center. He showed Moe's picture to a docent and park ranger. Neither had seen the man. Venturing back out into the heat, they walked through fields of wild onion and yarrow, down to the meandering creek.

They stopped to rest in the shade of some massive huckleberry bushes. Overhead in the trees, a woodpecker poked forlornly for bugs. A sharp-shinned hawk floated in lazy circles in the intensely blue sky. Ivy looked at the creek, greatly depleted by the summer heat.

Mitch tossed a pebble into the water. “Well, if he's camping out here, I hope he knows enough not to drink the water.”

The crystal-clear water housed plenty of parasitic
Giardia,
Ivy knew. Would Moe be able to survive much longer without such basic knowledge? He only knew how to cook microwave popcorn. His mother prepared the rest of his dinners and stocked his fridge. Her stomach spasmed with worry. “If we don't find him soon, giardiasis will be the least of his troubles.”

They combed every inch of the creek until it tumbled downstream into a steep rocky crevice. “You don't suppose he…” Tim started.

“No, I'm sure he didn't. Madge said Moe is afraid to hike or climb. He wouldn't attempt to head down there.” In spite of her confident pronouncement, she trained the binoculars over the rocks and down along the surface of the lake, finding no sign of Moe. With a sigh of relief, she wiped her sweating brow, and they headed back to the car.

Mitch finished a bottle of water. “Where to next?”

Ivy eyed him in surprise. “You're really sticking with this rescue effort, Mitch. I'm impressed.”

“Hey, I can be altruistic when the need arises.” He slam-dunked the bottle into a recycling container. “Are you sure he didn't leave you a message? Some sort of papers that could be a clue?”

“I'm sure.”

“Did you look through his apartment?”

“We did and so did the police. Tim's been staying there and he hasn't found anything either.”

Mitch shot him a look. “Could be he doesn't know what he's looking for.”

“Could be,” Tim agreed. “Do you have any ideas what kind of clue we might be overlooking?”

Mitch shrugged. “Nah, how could I? I've never met the kid.”

Ivy flipped pages in her notebook as they returned to the parking lot. “The only other place that County Search and Rescue isn't covering is the outdoor strip mall at the edge of town. Madge visited there with Moe a few months back. She said they bought some of Homer's fudge and looked at the fish in the aquarium store.”

Tim opened the door for her. “Why do I feel the need for some fudge right now?”

She laughed as she jumped in, grateful again to have Tim to interject some lightness into the search.

When they were back on the road, she meant to turn the radio pager down to barely audible but hit the squelch button instead. They both jumped as the loud static crackle filled the space. “Sorry.” Ivy readjusted. “My shoulder isn't quite up to snuff.”

“Is it aching?”

“A little.” She read the expression on his face. “I'll put the sling back on after our next stop. See? I can do the prudent thing when necessary.”

“I have no doubt about it.”

“What did Detective Greenly say when you told him about Roger Smalley?”

Tim sighed. “There was a long moment of silence, which I interpreted to mean ‘why are you poking around in police business?' Then he seemed pretty interested. They're strained to the limit, between Cyril's murder, the search and rescue for Moe and general police business. He said he was going to try to recruit some help and look into the Smalley connection.”

Ivy waved to three women she recognized as they drove by several ranches and a chicken farm. They were knocking on doors, showing Moe's picture, she was sure. It made her feel a bit better to know they were only a small part of the rescue effort.
God…
The thought popped into her head before she could stop it. But how to ask? How to talk to Him when it had been such a very long time? She felt Tim's eyes on her. “I was just, I don't know, thinking about a prayer or something…”

He took her hand. “Lord, help us to find Moe. Keep him safe and give him peace, knowing that You love him. Amen.”

Ivy's smile was sheepish. “I think I'm not good at that kind of thing anymore.”

“Just tell Him what's on your mind.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the tenderness in his eyes. For a moment she despaired of ever figuring out the tangle of emotion that swept through her.

Tim pulled up to the strip of wood-fronted stores. A scant handful of tourists strolled the sidewalks, sipping sodas and clutching plastic shopping bags. The smell of chocolate filled the air as they got out of the truck.

Mitch joined them.

The rail-thin woman at the fudge shop remembered seeing Moe and his mother. “Oh, yeah. He was a funny one, wouldn't look at me. Only ate a mouthful of fudge, but he seemed to really enjoy it. His mother did most of the talking for him.”

“Have you seen him recently? He's missing.” Ivy showed him the picture to refresh her memory.

Her face crinkled in sympathy. “Missing? What a trial for his mother. No, I'm sorry. I haven't seen him, but then sometimes I don't even see the light of day when I'm working, 'specially when a tour group comes through or something. I'll be sure to call the police if I do see him around.”

She insisted they each take a piece of fudge to “keep their strength up for the search.” Ivy didn't feel very strong as they headed out into the blistering heat. She knew the longer a person stayed missing, especially a person at risk, the worse the outcome would probably be. Moe must be terrified, wherever he was.

She forced her feet to start moving to the next stop: the bicycle shop across the street. The young kid working on a ten-speed tugged on his earring thoughtfully. “Oh, yeah. I remember him.”

Ivy's heart sped up. “He was here? When?”

The kid took off his baseball hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Yesterday, looking at the bikes.”

Tim's eyes widened. “Did he talk to you? Did he say anything at all?”

“Uh-huh. Never came into the shop, just sort of hung around. When I tried to talk to him he looked all freaked and ran away.” The boy's eyes narrowed. “He came back, though, when I was on my break. I lost two weeks' pay because of him.”

Ivy frowned. “What do you mean?”

The clerk pointed to a spot at the end of a line of motor scooters. “We rent those out, man, and now there's one missing since your boy showed up. He boosted one of our bikes.”

Ivy could not suppress a groan. She knew it wasn't in Moe's character to steal, but he was clearly desperate. Now the search circle had to be widened to accommodate a vehicle. Moe could be anywhere.