Obsession (9 page)

The old man frowned again. “And just what's that s'posed to mean?”

Abe was getting frustrated. In spite of the cooler weather, he was starting to sweat. Things were not going at all as he had planned.

“Look, Mr. Olson, all I'm trying to do is find out for Miss Matthews—”

“‘Miss Matthews’? I thought you just called her Toni. ‘Sides, if somebody was hangin’ on to me as close as my wife says 'Miss Matthews' was hangin' on to you, I'd sure be callin' her somethin' ‘sides ‘Miss.’”

Abe's jaws clenched as he found himself wondering why he had bothered to come back up here. He could have been sleeping in or going out somewhere for a nice breakfast. But no, here he was, off on some wild goose chase, following up on a flimsy clue in a missing girl's folder, all on the hunch of a young woman—a very attractive young woman, he reminded himself—who had a way of making him think that maybe, just maybe, there really could be such a thing as love at first sight. But if there was, why couldn't he have met her before she was engaged to someone else? He took a deep breath and tried again.

“Mr. Olson, all I want to know is, did you or your wife see Paul Matthews while he was up here on his fishing trip last month? In particular, did you see him the morning of his death?”

“Can't say I did,” Simon answered. “But then, can't say I didn't, neither. What I mean is, I saw him while he was here, 'cause he always
stopped by to say hello and shoot the breeze. But the day he died? Nope. Can't say I saw him that day. He died in the mornin', you know.”

Abe forced a smile. “Yes, I know. OK, so you didn't see him the day he died. Did you see anything else that day, anything… strange or unusual?”

“Saw lots that day. Always do. But not much different from most any other day. Why?”

Abe shrugged again. “Oh, just curious.” This conversation was going nowhere fast. He wished Maude were here. He had a feeling he could get a lot more information from her. Trying to appear disinterested, he asked, “So, where's your wife? Did she take the day off?”

“It's the Sabbath,” Simon answered. “The wife takes that real serious. She's gone to church, and then she'll be goin' straight home. She don't do no work on the Sabbath. Don't believe in it.”

Abe tried to ignore Simon's reference to the Sabbath. Although he had never practiced the Jewish religion of his ancestors, he knew enough to know that the Sabbath was on Saturday, not Sunday. But since he didn't observe it on any day, he decided against making an issue of it.

“Apparently it doesn't bother you like it does your wife—working on the Sabbath, I mean.”

“I ain't never been much for goin' to church,” Simon answered, folding his arms across his chest. “But I try to be a God-fearin' man. Don't smoke nor drink—never have. Don't cuss, neither. I figure that oughta count for somethin' with the Almighty. That, and havin' a religious wife like Maude. I s'pose if that's not enough to get me into heaven, then a whole lotta people ain't gonna be there.”

Abe had never considered himself an authority on getting into heaven, but he was pretty sure that Simon was right about one thing: If there truly was such a place as heaven, there were a whole lot of people who weren't going to be there, himself included. It was a thought he did not allow himself to dwell on.

“Well, Mr. Olson,” he said, pulling his keys out of his pants pocket and turning to go. “It's been nice talking with you.”

“Leavin' already? What's your hurry?” The old man chuckled. “Got a hot date?”

Abe thought about his empty apartment. Then he thought about Toni and how she had undoubtedly made up with Brad by now and the two of them were probably out somewhere enjoying themselves as they made plans for their future life together.

“No. No date,” he said, walking toward the exit. He was just about to open the door and step outside when Simon called out to him.

“By the way,” he said. “Don't know if you're interested, but I did see somethin' sorta unusual the mornin' Paul Matthews died.”

Abe froze in mid-stride. Turning back toward Simon, he fixed his gaze on the store's proprietor. “Yes?”

“Aha. ‘Pears you're interested. Well then, just before the wife and I left home to open up the store that mornin'—’bout 4:30 or so—I went out back to have a little chew.” When Abe raised his eyebrows, Simon went on. “Didn't say nothin' ‘bout not chewin'—just said I don't smoke, drink, nor cuss. A man's gotta have some pleasure in life, don't he? And the wife won't let me chew in the house or the store. Says it's dirty. Anyhow, I noticed a car drivin' up toward Mr. Matthews's cabin—we can see it from our place, you know. It stopped a ways ‘fore it got there and turned off its lights. Didn't see nobody get out. Course, I couldn't see who it was that far away. So I just went back inside. That was the last I saw of ‘em, and I never thought no more ‘bout it ‘til now.”

“Could you tell what kind of car it was?”

“Nope.”

“Could you at least tell if it was a car or a truck? A van, maybe? Or an SUV?”

Simon shook his head. “Nope.”

Abe sighed. It was obvious he had gotten all he was going to get from the old man. But at least it was something—not enough that he
felt compelled to contact the sheriff about the possibility of opening an official investigation, and not even enough to pass on to Toni at this point—but enough to give him an excuse to pursue this case, as well as “Miss Matthews,” a little further.

Melissa had awakened nearly an hour before her alarm went off. For the first time since her father died, she found herself looking forward to something.

Toni's eyes had opened wide when she walked into the kitchen and found Melissa sitting at the table, already dressed and eating a bowl of cereal. “Wow, you're up early,” she had exclaimed, going to the refrigerator for some juice. Melissa had assured her that she'd had a good night's sleep but now was anxious to get started in her new job. Toni had teased her, asking if she would be as anxious to get up so early to go to work, day in and day out, five days a week, as the summer wore on. Melissa had laughed and declared that she would.

Now Melissa stood outside the front door, the early morning sun just beginning to warm her back, as she waited for Mrs. Johnson to answer the doorbell. Melissa tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.

The door opened wide and a smiling Beth Johnson stepped back to let her in. “Good morning, Melissa. How are you?”

“Fine,” she answered, feeling a bit awkward as she suddenly wondered if she had been out of line to bring her backpack along, loaded with reading material and her journal. She didn't want Mrs. Johnson to think she was going to ignore Tyler.

“You can set your things in there on the table,” Beth said, motioning toward the kitchen. “Tyler's still asleep, although I imagine he will be up any time now. You'll know he's awake when the cat comes out to greet you or you hear the sound of cartoons coming from the family room. Meanwhile, make yourself at home. Have you had breakfast?”

“Yes… thanks.”

“Well, feel free to help yourself if there's anything else you'd like. The same goes for lunch. Fix whatever you want. Tyler will live on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches if you let him. You might try suggesting something else once in awhile, but don't force it. As long as he has some fruit or something with it, that's fine. Anyway, my work number's by the phone. I've got to run. See you about five-fifteen or so. Bye!” Then she was out the door.

Melissa put her backpack down on the table and stood looking around the unfamiliar kitchen. The ticking clock seemed unusually loud. She sat down, glad she had brought her journal. Getting it out of her backpack, she began to look over some of her more recent entries. She hadn't yet gotten around to writing anything new for the day when she heard a muffled sound, coming, she thought, from the area of Tyler's room. Walking quietly from the kitchen to the hallway, she made her way to Tyler's bedroom door, which was closed. The sound was louder now, although still somewhat muffled. She knocked softly.

“Tyler?” The noise stopped, but there was no answer. “Tyler? It's me, Melissa. Can I come in?”

After a slight pause, she heard a little voice say, “OK.” She had no sooner cracked the door than Tyler's calico cat, Bozo, escaped through the opening and streaked down the hallway. Peeking inside, she saw that Tyler was still in bed, lying under a mass of tangled covers on the bottom bunk. Pictures of racecars and basketball players competed with Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse posters for wall space. He was definitely an “almost seven-year-old” boy—as he was so quick to tell anyone who would listen—torn between wanting to grow up and become a “big boy” and clinging to the comfort of his little-boy world. Melissa smiled. Hidden at home, in the back of her top dresser drawer, was her very own Pooh blanket, which she had no intention of giving up any time soon.

“Hi, Tyler,” she said, stepping into his room. “How are you this morning?”

Tyler sniffled. “OK.” His voice sounded as tiny as he looked, buried under all those covers. Melissa walked closer to the bed. The big brown eyes that stared back at her from the pillowcase covered with rockets and spaceships were wet, and his face was red and puffy. She knew now that what she had heard was an almost seven-year-old boy crying. She sat down next to him on the bed.

“What's the matter?”

His chin quivered. “I miss my daddy.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Fighting tears, she answered him. “I'm sure you do. I'm… sorry he's not here.”

“He went away. Mommy says he still loves me, but he lives far away now, and he can't come and see me anymore.” He stared at her, as if he expected her to say something that would make him feel better. Melissa didn't trust herself to speak.

“Lissa, do you think my daddy still loves me?”

Melissa thought of her own father, of all the wonderful memories they shared, and she couldn't imagine any father not loving his own child. “Yes,” she managed to say. “I think he loves you. I'm sure he does.”

Tyler smiled shyly. “Me too.” Suddenly his eyes brightened. “I know his address. It's in the book by the phone in the kitchen. Will you help me write him a letter? I'm going to ask him to come home.”

Melissa's eyes opened wide. “Oh, I don't know.… Do you think that's a good idea? I mean, would it be all right with your mom? I'm not so sure.”

Tyler bounced up off the pillow and untangled himself from his blankets. “It's a great idea,” he exclaimed. “Come on, let's go. I know where there's some paper.”

Melissa watched him run out of the room with his straight brown hair sticking up in the air and his baseball pajamas rumpled and twisted around his sturdy little body. She sighed, then got up and followed him. It was obvious they weren't going to get anything else done until they had written a letter to Tyler's absentee father.

Beth Johnson had explained to Melissa and Toni on Saturday that her husband, Scott, had left about ten months earlier. He was now living with his new girlfriend in Austin, Texas, and although he had called Tyler fairly regularly in the beginning, his phone calls had tapered off to a trickle in the last few weeks. Tyler would not even consider the possibility that his father might not return. He talked about it daily and prayed every night for God to bring his daddy back. Melissa had felt bad for Tyler when his mother had told them about the situation, but nothing had prepared her for the look in his eyes when he asked her if she thought his daddy still loved him. Her heart ached as she followed her little charge into the kitchen. How was it possible that his father could have left him?

Tyler was already sitting at the kitchen table, a piece of paper in front of him and a pencil in his hand. Bozo, curled up on the small oval throw rug in front of the stove, eyed him intently. “I know how to write ‘Dad,’” Tyler announced. “Watch.” He held his tongue between his teeth in concentration as he carefully drew the letters. “There,” he announced. “I wrote ‘Dad.’ How do I write ‘I miss you’?”

As they worked through the letter, Melissa spelling the words and Tyler laboring over each one, she marveled at the little boy's naivete and faith that his father would respond to his plea and return. She wanted to believe he was right, but she doubted it. At the same time, she couldn't help comparing Tyler's plight to her own situation. Although she knew her father could never come home again, she also knew he had not left her by choice. That knowledge didn't make his leaving any less painful, but it kept her memories of him safe. Her dad had always been her hero, and he always would be. She knew Toni felt the same, to some extent. But Toni had Brad, so Melissa didn't see how her sister could miss their father quite as much as she did.

Melissa smiled as she remembered the scene in the living room on Saturday. She had felt a bit guilty for eavesdropping on Toni and Brad, but her relief at hearing them make up had far surpassed her feelings
of guilt. When she had heard Brad apologize to Toni for the way he had spoken to her and Toni's response to Brad's apology, Melissa had known everything was going to be OK again.

When Brad had called earlier that afternoon, expecting to get the answering machine and planning to leave a message for Toni to call him when she got home, he had sounded surprised when Melissa answered. She had tried to cover for Toni, without actually lying, but Brad realized something was wrong and had come right over. Finally, through her tears, Melissa told Brad about Abe's phone call the previous evening and about Toni's going off with him in his car earlier that afternoon. After that, they had just sat together and waited.