Читать книгу Caught In A Bind - Gayle Roper - Страница 9

“I’m sorry.” Edie grabbed her napkin and blew her nose. “I’m all right. I am.” The tears rolled down her face.

“Oh, Edie.” I put my arm around her shoulder. She began to cry harder.

Jolene grabbed my arm, looked at me over Edie’s bent head and mouthed very clearly, “Fix it.”

“How?” I mouthed back.

Jolene made a desperate face and gave a great shrug.

I shoved my napkin into Edie’s hands. “Here. Blow again.” I patted her shoulder some more. When in doubt, pat.

“I’m sorry,” Edie said again. “I’m such a baby.”

“No, you’re not. And we don’t mind the tears, do we, Jolene?”

She mumbled something that sounded like, “Mmmphmm.”

I rolled my eyes and said softly to Edie, “We just mind whatever is making them fall.”

She smiled weakly at that.

Jolene took one look at that travesty of a smile and decided Edie was well on the way to recovery. She awkwardly patted Edie’s hand. “Okay, girlfriend, that’s enough. It’s time to straighten that spine.”

Once again I was appalled and once again Edie responded positively.

“You’re right.” She stuffed the napkins into her purse and sat up straight. “No more.”

Jolene nodded as if she expected nothing less. “It’s Randy, isn’t it? Has he gotten arrested? Failed a big test? Gotten kicked out of school?”

Edie shook her head. “It’s not Randy, believe it or not.” Her eyes were full of pain.

I frowned. “Then it’s Tom?”

Edie looked at her clenched hands and nodded.

I always hated it when a husband and a wife had trouble, but I especially hated it now because Curt and I were so happy. Not that we were husband and wife, but I knew it was just a matter of time. I wanted everyone to be as happy as we were.

“What’s he done, Edie?” Jolene leaned in, fire in her eyes. She was ready to hate Tom for Edie’s sake.

“I don’t know,” Edie whispered.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

I shot Jolene a look. “Easy, girl.”

She scowled at me but lowered the intensity level considerably.

“I don’t know,” Edie repeated, her voice again full of tears.

I stuffed Jolene’s napkin in Edie’s hand just to be prepared. “Then how do you know there’s a problem?”

She forced herself to look at us. “Tom didn’t come home last night.” Then she looked away, embarrassed.

Jolene slapped the table, making Edie and me jump. “Another woman! It’s got to be. The rat!”

“Jolene!” I was appalled at the suggestion.

Edie paled. “No! Please, God, no.” It was an anguished prayer.

“That can’t be the problem,” I said, ever eager to comfort. “I’ve seen you and Tom together. If ever two people loved each other, Edie, it’s you guys.”

“I always thought so too.” She looked at us with haunted eyes. “But what if I’m wrong? What if Jolene’s right?”

Just then our waitress brought Jolene and me our salads. I stabbed a cucumber, but it might as well have been Styrofoam for all the taste it had.

“He wasn’t in an accident or anything, was he?” I asked. “Maybe he was injured and couldn’t contact you.”

“Merry the Merciful.” Acid etched Jolene’s comment. “Always looking for the Pollyanna way out.”

“It’s better than always assuming the worst.” I stabbed a poor, innocent cherry tomato since I couldn’t stab Jo, and it shot through the air and landed on the table of an elderly couple across the aisle. When they looked up in surprise at the incoming missile, I made believe it wasn’t mine.

“I spoke to the hospital and the police,” Edie said. “The hospital says he’s not there, and the police say there was no accident involving bodily injury last night anywhere in the county.”

“That’s good.” I gently skewered another tomato. It shot a stream of red juice and seeds straight at my heart. I stared at the red stain on my new pink blouse and sighed. That’s what I got for not being brave enough to own up to the first cherry bomb.

Edie smiled weakly. “I can’t decide whether it’s good news or bad news.”

I remembered the old line: If I have to choose between another woman’s arms and mangled in the street, I’ll take mangled in the street anytime.

“Well, it’s only one night.” Jo took a huge bite of garlic bread.

I think she was trying to be encouraging after her initial outrage, but Edie shook her head. “We vowed when we got married that we’d never be separated for the night unless it was unavoidable. And then we’d always call.”

“So he couldn’t find a phone.” Even without Edie and Jolene’s stares, I knew that was a foolish line in this day and age.

“Did he show up at work this morning?” Jolene asked.

Edie shook her head. “They haven’t seen him at the dealership since nine last night. It’s like he’s disappeared.”

“Aliens,” said a snide voice behind me. “Though why they’d want him is beyond me.”

“Randy!” With a mixture of surprise and hurt Edie looked at her son looming behind her. “What are you doing here?”

“I got your message about going to dinner with the girls.” Somehow he made those few words sound like Edie was participating in a Roman orgy. “I came to get some money.”

“How did you get here?” Edie asked.

“I rode my bike.” He glanced out the window where we could see it chained to a parking meter. “Only four more months until I get my car. Then I’m never riding a bicycle again in my life!”

He was getting a car for his sixteenth birthday? He bad-mouthed Tom and still expected a car? What gall!

He extended his hand to Edie, palm up. “Money.” It was a command.

“But I gave you your allowance the other night.” Edie scrambled to sound forceful but failed. “You wanted it early because you and the guys were going out somewhere.”

“Well, it’s gone. I need more.” He stared down at her, tall, handsome and hostile.

I wanted to poke him hard, inflict a little pain. Edie just sighed and began rummaging in her purse.

“By the way, Mom.” I could hear the nasty glee in Randy’s voice and knew he was going to say something that would hurt Edie. “The police were at the house.”

“What?” Edie grabbed his arm. “Did they say anything about Tom? Is he hurt? Where is he?”

“Don’t get all overheated, Mom.” Randy pulled free. “They don’t know where Tom-boy is. In fact, they’re looking for him, just like you.”

Edie blinked. “But why?”

I studied the blond man-child with the wicked glint in his eyes. “Exactly what did the police say, Randy?”

“They said—” and he paused for effect. “They said that they needed to talk with Tom.”

“That was it?” Edie asked.

He looked at his mother with a smirk. “Isn’t that enough, Mom? I mean, the cops are after him!”

Jolene opened her mouth to retort when a sweet young voice called, “Hey, Randy.”

Randy jerked like he had been hit with a taser. He spun to look at the lovely girl passing us on her way to a table on the other side of the restaurant. Gone was the smart-mouthed kid who delighted in causing his mother distress and in his place was a self-conscious, thoroughly smitten young man who stared at the little ebony-haired beauty, his heart in his eyes.

“Sherrie,” Randy managed to say. “Hey, yourself.” He wandered after her as if he couldn’t do anything else.

“His tongue’s hanging out so far he’s going to step on it any moment,” Jolene muttered, but she was laughing.

The girl was with a woman who had to be her mother, their hair and eyes showing that relationship clearly. A young man was with them, probably a brother by the casual way he treated Sherrie. When Randy, all charm, took the last seat at the table without waiting for an invitation, the young man looked at his mother and just shook his head.

Edie stared at her son in wonder. “Look at him. He’s being polite.”

“You’ve done a good job as a mom, Edie,” I said. “Maybe a better job than you realized.”

She grunted, unconvinced, and we finished our meal. When the bill came, we gathered our belongings and went to the cash register. Edie glanced toward Randy, but he was studiously avoiding us as he listened attentively to Sherrie’s mother talk.

Edie giggled as we left the restaurant. “He never did get the money he wanted. He’ll ruin any good impression he might be making when he pulls out an empty wallet and that poor girl’s mother has to pay for his food.”

“Serve him right,” Jolene said succinctly.

We walked in the spring dusk to the parking lot behind the News and dispersed to our separate cars. I was just about to put the key in my ignition when a thought struck me. I climbed out of the car and walked to Edie, who sat staring out the windshield of her little red Focus.

“Edie, Tom will be at work for two to three more hours.” Assuming he was at work and not missing. “Let’s stop for a video and watch it together until he gets home.”

I watched Edie’s shoulder sag in relief and knew she’d been afraid to go home. I resisted the urge to pat her, got in my car and followed her to the video store. We argued gently over our choices of films and ended up with a comedy and an action/adventure, both nicely escapist.

I followed Edie to the outskirts of town where she pulled into the driveway of a white and brick split-level with maroon shutters and lots of uninspiring yew bushes. Clumps of daffodils nodded their heads among the yews, warm splashes of sunshine in the glow from the light beside the slightly buckling walk.

Edie unlocked the front door, painted maroon to match the shutters, and we stepped into an entry hall. The first thing I saw was a beautiful cherry pedestal occasional table with a delftware bowl and a pair of matching candlesticks on it. Above it hung what could only be an original Curtis Carlyle.

“Hey, great painting.” I shrugged out of my coat. “Great artist.”

Edie actually smiled. “You’re prejudiced.”

I looked at Curt’s lovely portrayal of a creek running beside a stone farmhouse. The roses and golds of early morning turned the water into a shimmering mirror reflecting the lush greens of the towering evergreens beside the house. I felt restful and serene just looking at the scene. I reached out and ran my fingers over the signature.

“You’re smiling,” Edie observed.

I smiled more broadly. “I’m not surprised.”

“You love him.”

“Very much.”

Edie studied the picture. “I prize this painting. Tom gave it to me for our fifth anniversary last October.” She blinked rapidly, turned and led the way into the living room. She indicated a couch with a wave of her hand and kept on walking. “I’ll just be a minute. I want to check the answering machine.”

“Of course you do. Go right ahead.”

I turned and looked at the living room, really looked at it, and I felt my mouth drop open.

The living room was full of the softest robin’s egg-blue leather furniture I’d ever felt. It sat on the plushest of pastel floral carpets and was lit by Stiffel lamps in glowing brass. The end tables were cherry with a satin sheen, and the coffee table was a great glass and cherry rectangle that took up half the room. The drapes—no, they weren’t drapes; they were window treatments—repeated the blue of the furniture and all the pastels of the rug. The walls were covered with more original watercolors including a Scullthorpe, a Gordinier, a Bollinger and another Carlyle, this one with a dark and stormy sky of deepest purples and blues. As I looked at it, I could feel the heaviness of the storm, hear the crackle of lightning, smell the ozone.

Edie came into the room. “Nothing. Not a single message, let alone one from Tom.”

I turned to tell Edie how sorry I was and my eyes fell on the adjoining dining room. Again the furniture was magnificent. Too overwhelming for the size of the room, but magnificent. Cherry sideboard, table and breakfront gleamed above an oriental rug of luminous crimsons and blues laced with cream. The drapes echoed the colors of the rug, as did the matching seats on the heavy chairs crowded about the table.

I thought of my apartment with its well-used furnishings, most taken from either my bedroom or my parents’ attic when I left Pittsburgh and moved to Amhearst. I had started to slowly buy better pieces, but it’d be years if not forever before I could afford the quality Edie had. Tom must really be doing well at the dealership.

When we slouched on the blue leather sofa to watch the videos, I felt I’d slide right off the cushy piece onto the floor. I pushed myself upright time after time, only to feel myself slip south, a victim of the smooth grain, featherbed softness and gravity.

It was almost eleven when we finished watching both films, and Tom wasn’t yet home.

“Would you like me to stay the night?” I asked. I hated to leave her alone.

She looked momentarily tempted, then shook her head. “No, thanks. Tom’ll be home soon.”

Neither of us added, “I hope, I hope, I hope.”

No sooner had we fought our way out of the sofa’s warm embrace—no easy feat, let me tell you—than the doorbell rang.

Edie looked frightened, and I didn’t blame her. Who rang your doorbell at eleven at night? Only people bringing bad news. The question was: Was the bad news about Tom or Randy?

She straightened her shoulders and walked into the entry. I trailed behind and watched as she looked through the little peephole in the door.

“It’s the police.” Her voice shook. “William.”

Somehow that made me feel better. We both knew Sergeant William Poole fairly well from our work at the paper. We were always in contact with the police about one story or another, and William was frequently our contact man, but as soon as I saw his face, I knew he wasn’t here for PR now. Officer Natalie Schumann was with him.

William looked distinctly unhappy as we all stood in the entry, his deeply furrowed face pulled into a great frown. William was the human equivalent of a shar-pei, those Chinese dogs that are all wrinkles. Tonight he appeared to have acquired a few more.

“Is it Randy?” Edie’s voice was tight with fear.

William shook his head. “I’m not here about Randy.”

Edie exhaled in momentary relief. One fear defanged. One to go. She closed her eyes as if gathering herself. “If it’s not Randy, then it’s Tom?”

William nodded. “I need to speak with him.”

“What about?”

William shook his head. “I need to speak with him, Edie.”

Edie’s shoulders sagged. “I need to talk with him too.”

“I know you spoke to dispatch about him last night.” William’s brow creased more deeply. “He’s still not here?”

“No.” It was obvious that confessing to his absence pained her deeply.

William reached into a shirt pocket and pulled out a tablet and pen. “When did you last see him?”

“Yesterday morning about 7 a.m. when I left for work.”

I watched William scribble Th 7 a.m. “Did he act in any unusual way? Say anything that in retrospect seems significant?”

“No. It was a morning like every other. He leaves for work later than I do, so he walks me to the car and sees me off. He—” She broke off and looked embarrassed.

“What?” William asked. “Tell me, Edie.”

“It’s just a little ritual we have. He presses me against the car and gives me a big hug and kiss. We started it when we were first married because Randy didn’t like to see me kiss Tom. The garage is private.”

I thought of having to go to the garage to kiss your husband. Another blot against good old Randy.

“Randy told me you were here earlier looking for Tom,” Edie said. “Now you’re back. Something serious is going on here.”

William returned Edie’s direct look. “Charges have been filed against him, and I need to question him.”

Edie paled. “Charges? What do you mean, charges?”

William watched Edie carefully. Watching for a guilty reaction? “Eighteen thousand, five hundred dollars is missing at Hamblin Motors.”

Edie stared at William. “And they think Tom took it?”

“It’s missing, and so is he.”

Edie looked wild. “But William, that’s circumstantial! No one saw him take it, did they? Of course they didn’t. This is Tom we’re talking about. He’d never take anything!”

“Then where is he, Edie?”

“Believe me, I wish I knew.” Edie ran a shaking hand through her hair. “Then you’d know.” She turned desperate eyes on me. “Tell him, Merry. Tell him Tom would never do such a thing.”

Oh, Lord! It was a plea shot straight from my heart to God’s ear. What do I say?

And an answer came.

“William, how did over eighteen thousand dollars go missing?” I asked. “It’s not like Tom walked up to a cash register and grabbed it, is it? Or held up the dealership like a bank robber does bank tellers? When people buy cars, papers get signed, down payment checks get written, but cash doesn’t get exchanged.”

William just looked at me.

Suddenly I was overcome with doubts. “It doesn’t, does it?”

“It seems that Tom sold a car to an elderly couple Thursday night,” William said. “The deal was concluded about 8:50 p.m. This couple paid cash and drove the car off the lot at 9:05.”

“Cash?” I was surprised. “They walked into the dealership with eighteen thousand, five hundred dollars on them?”

“In her purse. In fact, they had about five thousand dollars more because they weren’t certain how much the car they finally decided on would cost.”

“And you think Tom just kept this money?” Edie’s voice shook with outrage.

William’s craggy face was impassive. “The register was closed for the evening by the time the deal was concluded. Policy in situations like this is to seal the money in an envelope, have it initialed by the salesman and the manager and lock it in the cashier’s drawer until morning when it can be entered into the record appropriately.”

“And Tom didn’t follow procedure?” I asked.

“He did,” William said. “That’s how we know about the money.”

“You mean that if he hadn’t had the manager initial the money, no one would have known?” I was intrigued. “He would have been able to walk off with the money?”

William nodded. “At least no one would have known until the monthly inventory of cars on the lot, and one was found to be missing. Or until the couple brought the car in for servicing, and there was no record of the sale or the service warranty.”

“But surely if Tom wanted to steal the money, he wouldn’t have gone to the manager,” I said. “He’d have pocketed the money and walked out the door.”

William flipped his notebook shut. “The manager says Tom didn’t get the chance to just walk out because he was passing by as Tom took possession of the money. Together they prepared the envelope as soon as the couple left.”

“So it’s Bill Bond’s word against Tom’s.” Edie eyed William.

He nodded.

“Now there’s a tough call.” Edie was derisive. “Bill Bond is not the most stable of men.”

“Why do you say that?” William asked.

“Tom’s told me lots of Bill Bond stories. One day he’s fine, the next he’s not. One day he’s your friend, the next he’s out for your hide. He’s difficult to work under, very egocentric. Not that he does anything illegal. He just likes to ride awfully close to the line. Obviously he has finally crossed it.”

William said nothing.

“What?” Edie asked. “Don’t you believe me?”

“Edie,” William said gently. “Bill Bond is here to talk to. Tom isn’t.”