Just One Look
But that’s not what happened.
Charlaine heard the slight whir and knew immediately what it was. Freddy’s electric garage door had been activated.
She moved closer to the window. There was the sound of a car starting up, and then Freddy’s hunk-of-junk Honda pulled out. Sunlight reflected off the windshield. The glare made her squint. She blocked it by cupping her hand above her eyes.
The car moved and the glare cleared. She could now see who was driving.
It wasn’t Freddy.
Something, something base and primitive, commanded Charlaine to duck out of sight. She did. She dropped down and crawled for the robe. She pressed the terrycloth against herself. The smell—that combination of Mike and stale cologne—now seemed oddly comforting.
Charlaine moved toward the side of the window. She pressed her back against the wall and peaked out.
The Honda Accord had stopped. The driver—the Asian man behind the wheel—was staring at her window.
Charlaine quickly flattened herself back against the wall. She stayed still, holding her breath. She stayed that way until she heard the car start moving again. And then, just to be on the safe side, she stayed down another ten minutes.
When she looked again, the car was gone.
The house next door was still.
chapter 7
At exactly 10:15 A.M., Grace arrived at the Photomat.
Josh the Fuzz Pellet was not there. As a matter of fact, nobody was there. The sign in the store window, probably left from the night before, read CLOSED.
She checked the printed hours. Opens at 10 A.M. She waited. At ten-twenty, the first customer, a harried woman in her mid-thirties, spotted the CLOSED sign, read the hours, tried the door. She sighed in high drama. Grace gave her a commiserating shrug. The woman huffed off. Grace waited.
When the store had still not opened at 10:30 A.M., Grace knew that it was bad. She decided to try Jack’s office again. His line kept going into voice mail—eerie hearing Jack’s too-formal recorded voice—so she tried Dan’s line this time. The two men had, after all, spoken last night. Maybe Dan could offer a clue.
She dialed his work number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Dan, it’s Grace.”
“Hey!” he said with a tad too much enthusiasm. “I was just about to call you.”
“Oh?”
“Where’s Jack?”
“I don’t know.”
He hesitated. “When you say you don’t know—”
“You called him last night, right?”
“Yes.”
“What did you two talk about?”
“We’re supposed to be making a presentation this afternoon. On the Phenomytol studies.”
“Anything else?”
“What do you mean, anything else? Like what?”
“Like what else did you talk about?”
“Nothing. I wanted to ask him about a PowerPoint slide. Why? What’s going on, Grace?”
“He went out after that.”
“Right, so?”
“I haven’t seen him since.”
“Wait, when you say you haven’t seen him . . . ?”
“I mean, he hasn’t come home, he hasn’t called, I have no idea where he is.”
“Jesus, did you call the police?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
“My God. Look, let me get out of here. I’ll be right over.”
“No,” she said. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. I have some things to do,” she said lamely. She moved the phone to the other ear, unsure how to put this. “Has Jack been okay?”
“You mean, at work?”
“I mean anywhere.”
“Yeah, sure, he’s Jack. You know.”
“You haven’t noticed any change?”
“We’ve both been stressed about these drug trials, if that’s what you mean. But nothing unusual. Grace, are you sure I shouldn’t come up?”
There was a beep on her phone. Call Waiting. “I need to go, Dan. That’s the other line.”
“Probably Jack. Call me if you need anything.”
She clicked him off and checked the Caller ID. Not Jack. At least, not his cell. The number was blocked.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Lawson, this is Officer Daley. Has there been any word from your husband?”
“No.”
“We tried you at home.”
“Right, I’m out.”
There was a pause. “Where are you?”
“In town.”
“Where in town?”
“I’m at the Photomat store.”
A longer pause. “I don’t mean to sound judgmental, but isn’t that a strange place to be when you’re concerned about your husband?”
“Officer Daley?”
“Yes?”
“There’s this new invention. It’s called the cell phone. In fact, you’re calling me on it right now.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Have you learned anything about my husband?”
“That’s why I’m calling, actually. My captain is in now. He’d like to do a follow-up interview.”
“A follow-up?”
“Yes.”
“Is that standard?”
“Sure.” He sounded like it was anything but.
“Have you found something?”
“No, I mean, nothing to be alarmed about.”
“What does that mean?”
“Captain Perlmutter and I just need more information, Mrs. Lawson.”
Another Photomat customer, a recently streaked quasi-blonde about Grace’s own age, approached the empty store. She cupped her hands around her eyes and peered inside. She too frowned and scoffed away.
“You’re both at the station now?” Grace asked.
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there in three minutes.”
• • •
Captain Perlmutter asked, “How long have you and your husband lived in town?”
They were jammed into an office more fitting for the school custodian than the police captain of a town. The Kasselton cops had moved their station house to the former town library, a building with history and tradition but very little comfort. Captain Stu Perlmutter sat behind his desk. He leaned back at the first question, hands resting on a tidy paunch. Officer Daley leaned against the door frame, trying to look comfortable.
Grace said, “Four years.”
“Like it here?”