Vanishing Act (22 page)

“Why?” I would never, ever have told my mother something like that. Hell, I never told her if I got a C on a test, let alone something like this.

“I've never been able to keep things from her. Never.”

I was glad I hadn't been there the day he had. “What did she say?” I massaged my temples with my fingertips. I could feet a headache coming on.

“It wasn't what she said. It was the way she looked at me.” Bryan shut his eyes for a few seconds, as if blotting out the memory. “She cried and then she prayed. She said she didn't want to lose us both. She said that maybe with Jesus's help, Melissa would come back to us.”

Three chattering coeds sauntered by our table. We sat in silence till they passed.

“So,” I asked when the last one was gone, “when did you give your sister the gun?”

“The day before she disappeared.”

Which, of course, would explain why Bryan had been so frantic when Melissa hadn't shown up.

“Who was she supposed to go target-shooting with?”

“I don't know. She said someone from school.”

“And you didn't ask?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don't know why, okay? I just didn't. I had other things on my mind.” Bryan took his glasses off and wiped them clean on his T-shirt. “I assumed it was Tommy.”

“Which is why you're sure that he killed her?”

Bryan nodded his head.

“Why did you assume it was Tommy?”

“Who else could it be?”

“It could be you. You could have taken her out and shot her, dumped her body somewhere, come back, waited for her to show up, and then called the cops.”

“Why would I shoot my own sister?”

“You tell me.”

“What would it take to convince you that I didn't?” Bryan cried.

“At this point, I'm not sure.”

Bryan buried his face in his hands.

“Look at me,” I ordered.

He raised his head. His eyes were wet with unshed tears. I wasn't impressed. Anyone can learn to cry.

“Tell me why I should believe what you're saying now?”

“Because it's the truth.”

I got up.

“Wait,” Bryan said, and he clutched my hand. “Are you going to tell the cops about the gun?”

I shook him off. “I don't know. I haven't decided yet.”

When I left the restaurant, Bryan was still sitting there, staring at his half-eaten slice of pizza. I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost
being the operative word.

B
eth stared at me defiantly, arms crossed over her chest. The room smelled of an odd but not unpleasant combination of baby powder, shampoo, cherry Twizzlers, and Chanel No. 5. I'd woken her up from an afternoon nap, and she still bore evidence of her sleep in the slight dishevelment of her hair and her blouse.

“Of course I knew her brother had a gun,” she told me, sounding exasperated.

“You knew?” I felt like a parrot.

“She told me Bryan had one. She was thinking of buying it off him for three hundred bucks.”

Which could explain what Melissa had done with the three hundred dollars. A new Glock pistol retails for five hundred dollars. Maybe her brother was giving her a deal.

“Why?”

“I don't think she had a reason. She just liked having one around.”

I blinked. “This didn't strike you as a significant fact?”

“Not really.”

Maybe I was living in Oz and I just didn't know it.

“Hey, I can name four girls on these three floors who have handguns hidden in their closets,” Beth said.

“Four?”

Beth looked at me coolly. “Times have changed since you were at school.”

No kidding. And obviously not for the better. The only thing we would have hidden in our closets would have been a six-pack of beer.

I leaned against her roommate's dresser and studied the view out the window. The trees and the grass were still brown. It was hard to believe that in another three weeks Tyler Park would green up.

Beth picked up a notebook and set it back down. “Once in a while she used to go target-shooting. Big deal.”

“Who did she go target-shooting with?”

“Her brother, mostly.”

Another significant fact Bryan had omitted.

“Did she ever go with her boyfriend?”

“She talked about it, but I don't know if she and Tommy ever went.”

“Bryan told me she was planning on going out with someone the day she disappeared.”

“If she was, she didn't tell me.”

“She didn't tell you much, did she?”

“That's what I've been telling you. Why would I lie?”

“I don't know. To protect Bryan? Or Tommy?” Another thought occurred to me. “Or Chris?”

“Are you out of your mind?” Beth squeaked.

“If you think about it, Chris was the logical person for her to go shooting with. He's familiar with guns.”

Beth put her hands on her hips. “Chris had nothing to do with her. Nothing,” she declared angrily.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I am, that's why. Don't you try and pin her disappearance on him.”

“That's not a very good answer.”

Beth shrugged. “Have it your way.” She turned and began straightening up her room. She picked the shirts up from the chair, put them on hangers, and placed the hangers in her closet. Then she started on her desk. Absorbed in her task, each of her movements was precise. Maybe she figured I'd get tired of watching her and go away, but she'd figured wrong. I walked over to where she was standing.

“Let me backtrack,” I said as Beth continued to line up her pencils in a single row. “You roomed with Melissa for how long?”

“Almost one semester.” Done with the pencils, she started on her pens. What was going to come next? The paper clips?

“And she told you that she was going to get married ...”

“I explained about that.” Beth's voice was sharp as she gathered her note cards into a neat pile.

“Did she tell you Tommy had changed his mind?”

“You're worse than the police. How many times do I have to tell you, Melissa wasn't the confiding type.” She began looking through her papers, discarding some, putting others in a bright yellow folder.

“I guess I must be having a little trouble believing that. Tell me, given your relationship with Melissa, were you, perhaps, jealous of Melissa and Tommy?”

Beth whirled around. “What are you implying?”

“It should be fairly obvious.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“How about Chris? Did he care about you and Melissa?”

Beth slammed the folder she was holding down on her desk. She was breathing heavily. “Why don't you leave me alone?”

“I'd like to.”

Her eyes widened. Her nostrils flared. “It doesn't matter what I say, does it? Because you're not going to listen anyway. Well, believe what you want ... I already told you. Melissa kept to herself. The only people she really confided in were Jill and—”

“What about Jill?”

Beth and I turned.

Holland Adams was standing in the doorway to Beth's room. We'd been so intent on our conversation, neither one of us had heard her appraoch. “I couldn't help overhearing. You guys are getting a little loud.”

“We weren't as loud as you are,” Beth muttered.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Figure it out.”

The two girls glared at each other in the manner of long-term antagonists squaring off for another round. One thing was certain. They wouldn't be sharing a suite next year.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Beth demanded. “Aren't you usually over at Jim's this time of the day?”

“I was trying to study.”

Beth pursed her lips. “Now, that's a novel idea.”

“Cute,” Holland said.

I intervened. “That's enough,” I said, wanting to bring the topic back to the subject at hand.

Holland shrugged. “Fine with me. I'm leaving anyway.”

“No. I want you to stay. I have some questions I need to ask you.”

“About her?” Holland tilted her head toward Beth.

“She won't mind, will you?”

“Do I have a choice?” Beth snapped.

“Not really.” And I told Holland to come in and shut the door behind her. With her green nail polish, black eyeliner, long, blond hair, and dark purple lipstick, she looked like some exotic tropical bird, whereas Beth reminded me of a small brown house wren.

What do you know about Jill?” I asked when Holland had turned back toward me.

“The saint? You already asked me that question.”

“I know I did, and now I'm asking it again.”

Holland shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Why did you call her that?”

“The saint? Because Melissa spoke to her and she spoke to God.”

“That really is not nice,” Beth commented.

“I'm not nice, or haven't you noticed,” Holland told her.

“Oh, I've noticed all right. It would be hard not to.”

Holland glowered at her. “At least I don't say one thing and do another.”

“Meaning?” I asked, assuming she was talking about Jill.

Holland turned her gaze from Beth to me. “Meaning that I don't go snitching to the R.A. when someone has a few bottles of beer in their room.”

“Jill did that?”

“Twice. A third time, and I'd have been kicked out.”

“Jill and Melissa sounded like a match,” I observed.

“And how,” Holland agreed. “A match made in roommate hell.”

“You had a keg,” Beth said.

Holland tossed her hair out of her eyes. “So I had a couple of parties. Big deal. It was still none of her business. I never would have ratted her out.”

“You were disturbing the whole floor.”

“The whole floor was there. It's not my fault that Jill was such a little nerd.”

“She couldn't drink then. She explained that to you.”

“That's ridiculous. I know lots of people who drink when they're on Prozac. I do.”

“She was on Prozac?” I interrupted.

Holland waved her hand and then inspected one of her nails. “Damn. Do you have an emery board?” she asked Beth.

“Could we stick to the point,” I said.

“Jeez. I was only asking.” Holland put her hand down. “Paxil. Prozac. Wellbutrin. One of those things. I told you that. Why are you taking notes if you don't reread them? What's the point?”

I let the dig go by. “I remember. You said something about her being depressed.”

“She was when she stopped taking the stuff,” Holland observed. She shuddered. “She was so unpleasant. Really. I was praying she'd go back on. Always moaning about that guy who dumped her. It got so I just went around her whenever I could. So she got dumped? Big deal. Get over it. I offered to introduce her to some of the guys I know. She wasn't interested.”

“Given your friends, I can understand that,” Beth observed dryly.

Holland bristled. “At least I tried to do something. Which is more than I can say for you.”

Beth opened her mouth to reply, but I cut her off before she could. “What guy?”

“I don't know,” Holland replied. “She didn't tell me, and frankly, I didn't ask. I told you this before. It would have just been encouraging her to talk about him some more. To listen to her, you would have thought this guy was better than the second coming. He was so smart. So sweet. So sensitive. He had just broken up with her for her own good. The worst thing was that every once in a while he'd call to chat and see how she was doing. And that would send her right over the edge.”

“Over the edge?”

“She'd spend a day or two in bed, crying. If this guy was so nice, why was he acting like such a shit? Personally, I think he hates women, but, hey, that's just my opinion. He was like a drug to her. She couldn't stay away, but he was absolute poison.”

I turned to Beth. “Did Jill tell you who he was?”

“No.” Beth chewed on her lower lip. “I didn't want to hear about him either. I actually agree with Holland about that. Listening to her was too painful.”

“Okay. What do you know?”

“I know that Missy was beside herself. She didn't know what to do. She tried pleading with Jill. She tried yelling. Nothing worked. She was even talking about going to speak to this guy and telling him to leave Jill alone. Without telling Jill, of course.”

“That would have put a damper on their friendship.”

Beth absentmindedly wound a strand of her hair around one of her fingers. “I think she would have if she could have found out who he was.”

Holland snorted. “Don't be ridiculous. Of course she knew. She was just telling us that she didn't.”

“No. I don't think she did. This was Jill's deep, dark secret. The first love of her life.”

“Well I for one still don't believe that.”

“Why do you think Missy didn't know?” I asked Beth.

“Because I met her when she was coming out of their room when Jill was in the middle of one of her episodes.” Beth bracketed the word
episode
with her fingers. “And she said to me, ‘If I knew who this guy was, I'd wring his neck.' So obviously she didn't.”

“She must have had her suspicions.”

“Maybe. But she didn't tell me what they were if she did.” I leaned against the wall. “Why wouldn't Jill tell her best friend? What else are they for?”

“I told you Jill was weird,” Holland replied.

“Anyone who doesn't spend fifty dollars a week on cosmetics is weird to you,” Beth shot back.

“Then how would you describe her?” I inquired.

“She was intense. She took everything very seriously. If you ask me,” Beth added, “I really don't think she was ready to be away from home.”

“You must have had an idea,” I said.

The two girls stopped talking. I could hear the hall phone ringing. Then it stopped. Someone must have picked it up. Rap music began to vibrate through the walls.

“I hate that stuff,” Beth announced to no one in particular.

Holland tousled her hair with her hand. “Actually, I always thought she was seeing Melissa's boyfriend or her brother. Why the big secrecy act otherwise?”

“You're crazy,” Beth said, but her tone wasn't convincing.

It was clear from the way she sounded that she agreed with Holland. She just wasn't going to admit it, that's all.