Shadow of Doubt (A Kali O'Brien legal mystery) (16 page)

I could see the sign for Stone Mountain Mall from the highway. But by the time I’d found the exit and wound my way through the grid of frontage road turn-offs, I’d just about given up hope of actually getting there. Even the parking lot was something of a maze. Although it wasn’t crowded, I had to loop around a long concrete partition and a one-way drive in order to find a spot.

Parking aside, the mall made a real effort at being “user friendly.” The shops, ninety-four in all, were arranged in clover-like clusters trimmed with fountains and flowers. Along the periphery were wooden benches for the weary, mostly men. And off to the side was one of the most elaborate play structures I’d ever seen. My semiannual excursion to Macy’s seemed pretty bland by comparison.

Armed with a photo of Jannine and a description of the clothes she’d been wearing on Saturday, I began my trek with the Dansk store at the far left. From there, I worked my way around each cluster and then on to the next, stopping midway for a gourmet chocolate chip cookie. The mail’s claim to super-savings did not extend to the food.

By the time I’d finished, several hours later, my voice was growing hoarse, and the muscles in my face ached from the effort of constant, forced smiling. Nobody remembered seeing Jannine. Nobody even paused or showed the faintest glimmer of recognition at seeing her picture. I found myself wishing she’d broken a china cup, or better yet, a whole rack of them. But she hadn’t, and I came up empty-handed.

Just so the trip wouldn’t be a complete waste, I went back to Grifficcio and bought a soft calfskin wallet for Ken, whose birthday was coming up in a couple of weeks. The peevishness I’d felt earlier had dimmed considerably. I knew that by the time I got home and found myself on the receiving end of his smile, my bad feelings would be nothing but a distant memory. In fact, by then I might even wish I’d bought something less mundane, like the monogrammed red satin pajamas I’d passed up so quickly, or the matching his-and-hers black silk G-string briefs. I smiled at the thought of the latter. My last boyfriend would definitely have approved, but Ken probably would not.

Sometimes I wondered whether we were a good match, whether there was any future in the relationship at all. Ken was so different from me, so different from anyone I’d dated before that it was hard to judge.

The sun was dipping low into the west by the time I started home. Traffic was a bit heavier, but moving along at a good clip. I left the tape off this time and tried to figure out what I was going to say to Cheryl Newcomb. When I pulled up in front of the house, I still didn’t have a clue.

Carla answered the door with the same snappish expression she had that morning. But a black spandex miniskirt had replaced the robe, and her hair was done up in some fancy top-knot instead of rollers. The cigarette was there in her hand again, along with a glass of something that smelled like whisky. The light of the television flickered in the background.

“Sorry to bother you again,” I said, “but I’d like to speak with Cheryl.”

Carla cocked her head and regarded me with amusement. “She isn’t here.”

“When will she be back?”

A shrug. “When she feels like it.”

“Do you know where I might find her?”

“With friends, probably.” She leaned against the door jam and took a swallow of her drink, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Like I told you, you’ll have better luck if you check at school.”

“I did. Cheryl wasn’t there.”

The news didn’t seem to trouble Carla much. She sighed in frustration, but her response was nonchalant “She wasn’t, huh?”

I didn’t like the feel of this. “Mrs. Newcomb, when was the last time you saw your daughter?”

“Uh, Sunday I think.”

“You think?”

She dropped the cigarette onto the porch and crushed it with her foot. “It was Sunday, I remember now. I worked that evening, and Cheryl was moping around the house when I left. She’d been in a snit all weekend.”

“And you’ve no idea where she is now?”

“With friends, I told you.”

“Which friends?”

“I’m not sure, exactly.” She hiccupped. “Kids these days, they don’t check in with you every time they step out.”

And mothers, these days, apparently didn’t ask. “I don’t want to alarm you, but your daughter hasn’t been at school all week. They seem to think she’s home with the flu. They haven’t seen her. You haven’t seen her. Nobody’s seen her since Sunday.”

She frowned. “It’s only been a couple of days.”

“Why don’t you call around to her friends tonight, then check with the school tomorrow? If she doesn’t turn up, I think maybe you should notify the police.”

“The police? That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

A burly, dark-haired man wandered in from the other room and joined her at the door. He had a skinny little mustache that was all wrong for the size of him. “What’s this about police?” he grumbled.

Carla sidled up next to him and ran the toe of her shoe up his leg. “This lady’s from the school. She says Cheryl’s been cutting classes all week.”

“I’m not actually
from,
the school, I”

“The little bitch,” the man said, interrupting my attempt to set the record straight “You ought to whip that butt of hers. You’re too soft on her, Carla. You let her walk all over you.”

“Come on, Hal, you know what she’s like. It’s not a matter of my
letting
her do anything.”

Hal grunted.

“Did you check with Miss what’s her name, the drama teacher?” Carla asked. “Cheryl’s real involved with the production they’re doing. I bet she wouldn’t cut
that
class.”

There was gunfire in the back room — television, I assumed, because it was followed by an equally appalling round of canned laughter. “I don’t think she was in drama either,” I said, stretching my limited knowledge to fit what I was sure was the reality. “I’m afraid she might be in trouble.”

“She’ll be in trouble, all right” Hal said. “You let me have a go at her this time, Carla. I’ll knock some sense into that head of hers one way or another.”

Carla tweaked his chin. “Mr. Tough Guy. You remember what happened last time you had a ‘talk’ with her.” Carla turned back to me. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Cheryl’s done this sort of thing before. But I’ll call around like you said. Thanks so much for letting me know.”

The door clicked shut just as the Energizer Bunny was beginning his long march across the TV screen.

The minute I got home, I called Nancy Walker and explained the situation. “Will you check on it and make sure something is done?” I asked.

“First thing in the morning. I hope everything’s okay. Cheryl’s a sweet kid, shy and a little awkward. The kind who fades into the woodwork if you’re not careful.”

“You know her?”

“She’s in my fourth period creative writing class. I don’t think she said a single word all first semester, but she’s loosened up a bit since. Not a great student by any means, but at least she goes through the motions, which is more than I can say for some of them.”

Loretta was wiggling around between my legs, and I almost lost my balance. “What about the parents?”

“It’s just the mother. One of these ‘if there ever was a father he was gone the minute the pregnancy test came back positive’ situations. From what I understand, there’s never any shortage of men in the house, however.”

“I met one of them tonight. A real sweetheart What about this drama production? Her mother said she was very involved with it.”

Nancy snorted. “I don’t know where she pulled that one from.”

“Will you check on it anyway?”

“Sure, but I’d know if she was. I hope nothing has happened to her.”

“Yeah.” I was developing a surprising fondness for this girl I’d never met. Maybe because in some little way, she reminded me of myself at that age. I knew what it was to feel alone and adrift in a world where everyone one else seemed safely anchored.

“Anyway,” Nancy said, “I’ll follow through and make sure it gets reported.”

“Thanks.”

With the Cheryl situation in good hands, I turned my thoughts to more immediate problems — my stomach and my career, but not in that order.

Ignoring Loretta, I dialed Sara’s number again and left a message. Then I waded through the maze of boxes and checked the fridge.

Empty, just as I’d feared, except for a wilted head of lettuce and the remnants of Monday night’s pizza, which was now stiff and lumpy. It would have to do though; I wasn’t getting in the car again.

I’d kicked off my shoes while talking to Nancy, and slid out of my skirt while conversing with Sara’s machine. I was unbuttoning my blouse on the way to the bedroom when the doorbell rang. Hastily, I grabbed my father’s old rain coat from the top of the Goodwill pile and slipped it on, securing the front with my arms. Then I answered the door.

“I brought you some flowers,” Tom said. Loretta abandoned her post by my legs, and started prancing around Tom’s. He reached down and scratched her head.

“What for?” I asked.

“To apologize for waking you so early.” He held out a magnificent spray of mountain lilac.

“You already apologized, this morning.”

Grinning, Tom held out a large paper sack with his other hand. “I brought dinner, too, and wine. Nothing fancy.”

The tantalizing aroma of garlic and herbs drifted in my direction. “You might have called,” I observed coolly.

“I did. Your line was busy.”

“Did it ever cross your mind I might have plans for the evening?”

“Do you?”

I hesitated. “No. But I’m tired. I’ve had a busy couple of days.”

“Then you ought to be especially grateful you don’t have to cook.” Tom stepped through the door and headed for the kitchen as though he owned the place. “I just have a few last minute preparations to take care of.”

I followed at his heels. “I
never
cook.”

“Never?”

“Almost never.”

“You should. It’s good for the soul.” He set the wine on the counter, then began unloading plastic-capped bowls. He took another look at the raincoat and frowned. “You want to slip into something cooler? It was eighty-five degrees in the shade this afternoon.”

I was beginning to understand what had prompted Tom’s wife to run off with the contractor. Even if the guy did nothing more than grunt and watch TV all evening, he was probably a lot easier to live with than her ex.

“Go on,” Tom said, sifting through my carefully boxed crate of kitchen giveaways. “I can handle things in here.” He retrieved a frying pan and a medium-sized saucepan. Then he turned again to his bag and pulled out a glass bowl filled with the most scrumptious looking salad I’d seen in a long time. Crisp lettuce, avocado slices, mushrooms, bright red cherry tomatoes.

Soggy pizza seemed suddenly a most unappetizing alternative. “I’ll just be a minute,” I told him.

He grinned again, and his eyes crinkled. “Take your time.”

I didn’t make a big deal of it, but I didn’t exactly rush either. I took a shower, freshened my make-up and slipped into jeans and a jersey shirt. I realized only after the fact that I’d chosen my favorite shirt, the one everyone tells me clings in just the right places and turns my eyes an enticing emerald green.