Finding Sarah (24 page)

“Right now, you’d better start
thinking about a word at a time. I don’t need any more complaints, warranted or
otherwise.” Laughlin pulled on his glasses and picked up the papers from his
desk.

Randy trudged down the hall to
his office. So much for calling Victoria without a warrant, and so much for
getting the damn thing.

Before Chris could reach her,
Sarah clapped her hand over her mouth and bolted for the bathroom. She heaved
until there was nothing left in her stomach and sat back to catch her breath.

“Are you all right, my darling?”
Chris called from behind the screen.

Another paroxysm overwhelmed her
and she succumbed to the dry heaves until her stomach burned. “Leave me alone,”
she managed to cry between spasms of retching. She blew her nose and wiped her
face before peeking around the screen into the bedroom. Chris stood there, a look
of genuine alarm on his face.

“Are you all right?” he asked
again.

“No, I’m not. I think it’s the
aftereffects of the ether. I’m going to have to go to bed, Chris. I’m sorry to
delay the wedding, but I’m sick.” She hoped she managed to sound disappointed.

“Oh, you poor thing. Of course. I
can wait a little while. I’ll check on you in a bit.”

“Please. Go. Leave me alone.” She
rushed back into the bathroom and ran the water in the sink, made some choking
noises and flushed the toilet. She listened until she heard the door close
before brushing her teeth to get rid of the bitter taste of bile, then returned
to the bedroom. Chris had rewrapped the dress and laid it on top of the trunk.
She curled up on the bed.

Chris was sick. No question. She
could probably put him off tonight, and maybe she could figure a way out of
here.

Shoes. She needed shoes. Earlier,
she’d peeked out the windows, and the trail was not something she could
navigate barefoot. Rocks, sticks, leaves. She thought she’d seen some snow
patches, too—they must be up fairly high. They hadn’t had snow in Pine Hills in
over a month.

She went to the trunk, moved the
dress to the bed, and lifted the lid. He wouldn’t expect her to be married
barefoot, would he? There would be shoes. She pulled out more tissue wrapped
packets and at the bottom of the chest found a pair of white satin pumps with
sturdy two-inch heels. Darn. Stilettos would have made a good weapon, but she
might be able to run better in these. She tried one on. It was at least two
sizes too large, but she could stuff the toes with tissue. The height of the
heels would be a problem, but at least she wouldn’t have to risk shredding the
soles of her feet on the trails in the woods. As footfalls approached, she
replaced everything and lay down on the bed.

Chris tapped on the door. “Sarah?
Are you asleep?” The door opened. “I brought you some soup.” He crossed to the
bed and touched her shoulder. “You’re not asleep, are you?”

“Not anymore. What do you want? I
told you to leave me alone. I’m sick.”

“I want you to feel better.” He
set a steaming Styrofoam cup on the nightstand. “Chicken broth. You can sip it.”

“Thanks. Maybe in a little while.”

“I hope so. Please don’t make me
angry. Those bad girls made me angry, and sometimes they got hurt. I don’t like
it that way. I’ve been waiting for you, so we can do it the right way. You went
off with that cop, so I can’t wait any longer.” He grasped her arm, this time
hard enough to make her wince.

She yanked it back, trying to
pull loose from his grasp. “Stop, Chris. You’re hurting me.”

She heard his breathing rasp as
he slowly relinquished the grip on her arm. His eyes had taken on a feral
gleam. “You put on the dress and come out. I’ve waited long enough. I said I
don’t want to hurt you.” He squeezed her arm harder and there was a look of
arousal on his face. She lowered her eyes and saw the evidence of his growing
erection.

“Tell me about the bad girls, so
I don’t make any mistakes. Please. I don’t want to be a bad girl.”

“They weren’t important, Sarah.
Not like you. They were just girls, but they liked too many men. It didn’t work
with them, so I had to hit them and they hit back, but you’re not a bad girl,
so we shouldn’t have to hit. Sometimes I forget.”

She choked back her panic. “You
won’t forget with me, Chris, will you? That I’m not a bad girl? That we don’t
need to hit?”

“I’ll try to remember.”

“I’ll try not to make you angry,”
she said. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Finish your soup and get
dressed.”

“Oh, but I can’t do that. You
know it’s bad luck to see the bride on her wedding day. I’ll stay in here
tonight and we can have the wedding tomorrow. Besides, my stomach is still
queasy.”

“No, I think not. We’ll get
married tonight. I’ve waited so long.” His tongue darted in and out of his
mouth, licking his lips. Sarah couldn’t help but think of a snake.

“Tonight, then,” she said, the
smile frozen on her face. She prayed he couldn’t read her face the way Randy
could. “But it will take awhile. I don’t have my maid of honor and bridesmaids
here to help, you know. And I want to look beautiful for you.”

“I’ll go change, and I’ll be
waiting. Call me when you’re ready.” He left the room and locked the door
behind him.

She shoved everything she knew
about Chris from her mind. This was a different person, someone walking a thin
wire between fantasy and reality. Sarah unwrapped the dress and removed the
rest of the contents of the trunk. She gathered everything and took it into the
bathroom. Thank goodness the lingerie was new. Nevertheless, she couldn’t
repress a shudder of disgust while putting on the bra and panties.

She slipped the dress over her
head. Its cool satin caught on the fear-induced sweat coating her body. The row
of tiny buttons up the back fought her trembling fingers, but she managed to
fasten them. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. A simple, elegant
dress. High-necked, with long, lace sleeves. She remembered trying on her
wedding dress and knowing that in it, she was truly beautiful. Chris’ aunt had
probably felt the same way. How sad that now the dress was going to be used for
such ugliness. A tear slithered down her cheek.

She attached the train to the
hooks at her waist and set the headpiece and veil into her hair. She hadn’t
washed it, and it felt matted and grimy. What was she thinking? Put a wedding
dress on a woman and she automatically wants to look her best? She balled up
her fists and put them to her mouth against a rising wave of hysterical
laughter.

Even with tissue stuffed into the
shoes, she could barely keep them on her feet when she walked. How would she
manage to run in them? She’d manage. She had to. With any luck, she’d be
rescued before she had to go too far.

“Randy. Where are you?” she
whispered. He was a good detective. He’d find her. She jerked at the sound of a
tap on the door.

“Sarah? How are you doing?”

“Almost done.” How long would he
wait?

“I think you’ve had plenty of
time. Everything is set.”

The impatience in his voice
answered her question. “One more minute,” she called. “I need to be perfect.”

She peered into the trunk one
last time. In the corner was one more tissue-wrapped package. She opened it and
discovered a small bible bound in pale blue leather. Old, new, borrowed, blue,
flashed through her mind. Chris had covered everything. She pulled the veil over
her face and crossed to the bedroom door. After a shaky breath, she rapped on
its wooden surface. “Chris,” she said in a tremulous voice. “I’m ready.”

* * * * *

“Thanks to Mr. Flinn’s
confession, we might get out on time for a change,” Kovak said as he and Randy
left the interrogation room. “I love it when they see the error of their ways.”

Randy smiled. “Yeah, but catching
them with three wallets, five watches, and an eyewitness identification doesn’t
hurt.”

“That’s true enough. But I like
to think it’s my charming powers of persuasion that got Mr. Flinn to admit he’d
been burglarizing that neighborhood.” Kovak looked at his watch. “Look, the guy’s
been booked and as lead on the case, the paperwork is mine to file. Go. Find
your woman.”

It
was
officially end of
shift. Randy raised his eyebrows. “You sure? I still owe you for last week.”

“I’m sure I’ll collect.”

“Thanks, but call if you need me.”

“What part of ‘go’ don’t you
understand?”

Randy was out the door and in his
pickup in under a minute. He should be able to catch Sarah at the store before
she went home. He punched her number on his cell phone and waited out the
recording. It wasn’t quite five-thirty. She should be doing paperwork. “Hi, it’s
me. You there?”

When she didn’t pick up, he drove
a little faster. He parked in the alley and rang the back doorbell. No answer.
She must have had a slow day, not much paperwork. He got back in his truck and
drove to her apartment, trying not to grin like an idiot as he knocked on her
door. The grin faded as the seconds ticked away and she didn’t answer. She
could be on the bus. In the john. Taking a shower. On the phone. He called her
apartment and could hear the phone ringing through the door, then her machine.

He told himself to calm down, to
quit worrying and walked across the hall. Maggie answered his knock, Othello
cuddled in her arms.

“Have you seen Sarah?” he asked.

“Not today, no. I was on a Big
Sister retreat all weekend—didn’t get home ‘til late and was volunteering at
the Women’s Center all day. Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like we
had plans. I stopped by the shop and she wasn’t there, and she’s not here.
Probably still on her way. Stopped at the store or something. Sorry to bother
you.”

“Wait here.” Maggie passed
Othello to Randy.

“Feeling better, guy?” The cat
snuggled against his chest and purred. Dr. Lee had predicted Starsky and Hutch
would be released in a day or two, but Randy enjoyed a moment with the warm
ball of fur.

“I’ve got her key. Let’s check.”

“Maggie, I think that might be a
little presumptuous.”

She cocked her head and looked at
him. “Well, maybe I thought I heard something and as a good neighbor, I should
check it out. And since you’re here and you’re a cop, if maybe I did hear
something, maybe you should come with me.”

“Can’t fault that logic.” He
swapped the cat for the key and they walked across the hall.

Randy unlocked the door. Maggie
called out to Sarah, but there was no response. They stepped inside. Everything
was neat. No signs of anything amiss. And then Randy saw the folded bundle of
clothing on the couch next to Sarah’s purse. The clothes she’d been carrying
when he dropped her off last night. A steel band tightened his gut.

“Wait here,” he said to Maggie. “And
please don’t touch anything.”

“Oh my God. You think something’s
happened to her?”

“Is it like her to leave without
her purse?”

Maggie shook her head.

“I think you should go back to
your apartment. I’m going to check things out. There’s nothing you can do here.
And Sarah might try to call you.” He cut off her attempts to argue.

Maggie’s lips flattened. “I’m
going to call around to her friends.”

“That’s a good idea. Let me know
if you hear anything.”

She left, rubbing the cat to her
cheek.

Randy walked through the
apartment. Sarah’s bed was neatly made, her closet orderly. Saturday night’s
dinner dishes were in the rack by the sink. The kitchen wastebasket sat in the
middle of the floor, empty. Was she taking out the trash? He’d feel like an
idiot if she came marching up the back stairs. But a happy idiot.

He went to the back porch and
tried the back door. Unlocked. He called her name. Nothing. He dashed down the
wooden stairs and stopped on the bottom landing. Stepping carefully, he crossed
the yard and circled the Dumpster, eyes scouring the ground for anything
unusual, as if finding trash beside a Dumpster might be unusual. He pried the
lid open and peered inside. One lone plastic bag of trash sat in the middle of
the container.

Back inside Sarah’s apartment,
Randy forced himself to slow down and think. He was a detective, for God’s
sake. This was his job, and he usually did it very well. The answering machine
light blinked. He hit the play button. A mechanical voice told him there were
seven new messages.

Three beeps. One automated
message about a foolproof investment opportunity. One from Sarah’s mother
asking why she hadn’t called. That had been at seven—Sarah had still been with
him. Another beep. Then Sarah’s mother again. He listened to her voice. It
could almost have been Sarah’s.

“It’s Mom. If you’re not home
yet, I hope you’re having fun, whatever you’re doing. Don’t bother to call
back. I’m going to bed. Talk to you next weekend. Love you.”

He picked up Sarah’s green
sweater from the couch. He turned it in his hands, absorbing her scent. He
folded it carefully and sat down to check her purse. She would have taken it if
she’d left on her own. He spilled the contents onto the cushion beside him and
suppressed a pang of guilt as he peeked into her private life. Her keys,
wallet, a cosmetic case—all there. The steel band tightened another two
notches. Wherever Sarah was, it was not someplace she had planned to go, and
she’d left in a hurry.