Last Seen Alive (18 page)

Scott set down the silly china cup with a bang. “Is something wrong with my parents?”

“Your
parents?”

“Are they all right? They’re supposed to be back in three days. Dad has a heart murmur… Mom exercises too much. Are they hurt? Sick?” Scott demanded loudly.

Irma looked alarmed enough to jump up and flee the room. “No, Scott, your parents are fine. My land, if I’d known you were going to get so upset… It must be that post-traumatic stress syndrome or something….”

Irma was exactly right. Six months ago he would have heard her out instead of immediately imagining disasters. But six months ago, before the plane crash, he’d been a different man. “I’m sorry, Irma, but will you just tell me what the hell is wrong?”

Irma’s hand had flown to the area of her heart, which Scott imagined was beating as fast as a hummingbird’s. “It’s Deirdre, Scott. Deirdre Mayhew.”

“Deirdre? What’s wrong with her?”

“She went to a Halloween party last night. Ben didn’t

want her to go, but I…” Irma’s big, pale eyes began to fill with tears. “I told him she worked hard and a girl should be allowed to have a good time once in a while. So he agreed.
I
talked him into it!”

Scott’s breath began to calm. This was probably nothing more than Deirdre drinking too much beer, Ben blowing his top and firing Irma, whom he would rehire next week, to her vast relief. Scott was certain Irma had her eye on Ben as a potential husband. “So whose party did Deirdre go to?”

“Her best friend, Lynette Monroe’s.”

“I don’t know Lynette.”

Irma’s expression turned sour. “She’s Deirdre’s age. I’ve heard people say she’s pretty, but I think she’s just a lot of bleached blond hair and makeup and tight clothes—you know, the trashy type,” Irma said with disdain. “If I were Ben, I wouldn’t let Deirdre hang around with her. I’ve told him she’s trouble, but he doesn’t listen.”

Scott doubted that Ben listened to any of Irma’s character judgments but said nothing. Irma continued. “Anyway, the party was supposed to start at eight and I heard Ben tell Deirdre to be home by eleven. At twelve-thirty, my phone rang and woke me up. It was Ben looking for Deirdre. I said, ’Well, what in the world do you think she’d be here for?’ And he said, ’Because she’s not here and I thought she might have drunk liquor when I told her not to and came to your house to sleep it off.’ Imagine that! Like I take in drunken teenagers all the time!” Irma demanded indignantly. “I told him to call where they were having the party….”

Irma seemed to drift away for a moment and the tears that had been gathering for so long finally made it over the slopes of her fat cheeks. “He did and she wasn’t there, Scott. Nobody saw her leave. The kids that were left at the party started looking for her. At last, the parents came home—Ben nearly had a stroke when he realized there’d been no parents around—and then neighbors came and finally … finally….”

Scott was on his feet, fully aware that his robe hung open and just as aware that he was on the verge of strangling the information out of Irma. “Finally
what?”

“At the back of the yard there’s a rhododendron hedge and beside one of the shrubs they found signs of a struggle. There were broken branches, the ground was scuffed up, and …” Irma took a deep breath. “And they found just
one
of Deirdre’s shoes!”

Irma abruptly burst into full-fledged crying. Scott slowly pulled his robe around him and sat down on the bed, his hand automatically going to the new scratches on his wrist as Deirdre Mayhew’s pretty amber-eyed, dimpled face flashed in front of him.

“It’s always the same,” Irma sniffled. “I’ve already talked it over with some people and they agree with me.”

Scott felt as if he were slowly returning to the reality of the sun-filled bedroom. “You told people that Deirdre was missing and you talked
what
over with them, Irma?”

“That Deirdre’s disappeared just like all those other teenage girls throughout the years. We never saw
them
again and we’ll never see
Deirdre
again.” Her red-rimmed eyes looked directly into Scott’s. “And I know whose fault it is! Every time Chyna Greer comes to town, a girl goes missing. Zoey Simms, Heather Phelps, Edie Larson, now little Deirdre Mayhew.”

Scott drew back, his gaze hardening, but Irma didn’t seem to notice. Her voice rising, she leaned forward, her ugly eyes filled with malice. “I’m telling you, Scott, Chyna Greer is bad news. She’s worse than bad news, because nothing on this earth can convince me, and a whole lot of other people, that there is
not
a connection between her and all those poor, lost girls.”

“I used to babysit for Deirdre Mayhew,” Beverly said as she sat in the big, sunny kitchen of the Greer home. Ned had brought her and the children for a visit with Rex, but anyone could tell Beverly was more concerned with discussing Deirdre’s disappearance with Chyna, and Rex had kindly

taken Ian, Kate, and Michelle into the backyard, where the children threw a Frisbee for the dog.

“When Irma Vogel called this morning with the news that Deirdre had been taken, I just couldn’t believe it,” Beverly went on. Her brown eyes were red and she held a tissue damp with tears in her hand. “I’d hardly gotten any sleep last night because of Kate, and then I heard Deirdre was gone and I just lost control. I love Deirdre, and the Mayhews have had such a hard time of it the last couple of years. Now this. Ned helped me get hold of myself so I wouldn’t scare the children. I know you’re exhausted after last night, too, but he suggested I come over here. I told him I was too nervous to drive, so he dropped us off while he goes on the search for Deirdre.”

“Good lord,” Chyna murmured, a strange, sinking feeling in her stomach. “She’s only been gone since last night, though. There could be a lot of reasons why she didn’t come home….”

“Such as? Chyna, she’s devoted to Ben. She’d never scare him by staying out all night without calling. I just hope the police can find her.”

“The police? Deirdre hasn’t even been missing for twenty-four hours. Are they looking for her anyway?”

“Unofficially. After all the missing girls we’ve had around here, no one is taking lightly another one going missing, especially a mature, responsible girl like Deirdre.”

Chyna slowly nodded. Her hands felt icy although she had them wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. She’d had a bad night but not for the same reason as Beverly. Chyna’s experience in the hospital waiting room had deeply upset her, and she couldn’t stop thinking about it—not the flash of white, not the feel of something scratching her arms, not the sweet scent that had sent her into oblivion. Or rather, sent someone else into oblivion. Could Deirdre’s experience have been what she felt last night? She’d wanted to believe time had changed things for her, that she would never again live someone else’s life if only for an instant, and she still wasn’t quick to embrace the possibility that she could exist in another person’s reality.

“We don’t know Deirdre has disappeared like the other girls,” Chyna said determinedly, as much to herself as to Beverly.

“Then what’s happened to her?” Beverly demanded.

Chyna immediately felt herself placed on the defensive. Beverly clearly thought her formerly clairvoyant sister-in-law was holding back information, and Chyna flushed although her hands remained oddly cold. “I don’t know any more than you do,” she said, feeling as if she were telling a half-truth. “Deirdre was at a party. You said she’d stepped outside, but there were over a dozen people just a few feet away. She wasn’t alone.”

“Heather Phelps, the second girl who disappeared, wasn’t alone, either. She was downtown,” Beverly argued almost aggressively.

“But it was bitterly cold that evening and town was nearly deserted. Besides, Heather was in a large space. She could have gone north on Main and then somewhere else. Or south on Main, or across the street to Elm….” Chyna raised her shoulders in bewilderment. “What I’m saying is, she wasn’t confined. From the little bit you’ve told me, the backyard from where Deirdre seems to have vanished is small. The party was downstairs, where there are sliding glass doors leading into the yard. If someone took Deirdre, he would have stood a good chance of being seen by at least one of the teenagers looking out the doors.”

Beverly fired back, “It was lighted inside and dark outside. Besides, I doubt if a bunch of drunken teenagers at the party were gazing out at a starlit lawn. And what about the broken branches of the hedge? Or the scraped ground? Or her shoe? Did she leave on a cold night wearing one shoe, for God’s sake?” Beverly glared for a moment, then ran her hand across her forehead. “Oh, Chyna, I’m yelling at you like this is your fault. I’m so sorry. I’m worried about Deirdre.”

“I know—”

“Mostly, though, I’m scared because I have a daughter who’ll be a teenager someday and this kind of thing just

keeps happening!” Beverly rushed on, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “What if this happens to Kate?”

“Don’t even
think
such a thing!” Chyna shot back, surprising herself. Beverly jumped, startled, and Chyna closed her eyes. “Now it’s my turn to apologize for snapping, but here you are, working yourself into a fit because you’re certain something terrible has happened to Deirdre and anticipating an awful fate for Kate when maybe nothing bad has happened to Deirdre at all. For heaven’s sake, Bev, Deirdre was last seen at the party at about ten o’clock last night. It’s not quite noon today. There could be a lot of reasons why no one has seen her for fourteen hours.”

“Such as?”

“She went off with a boyfriend.”

“That’s what everyone said about Edie Larson. They thought she’d run off with Gage Ridgeway, but she hadn’t.” Beverly had been slowly shedding her tissue and now grabbed up all the damp pieces in a bunch. “But Deirdre wasn’t the type to go off with a boyfriend even if she had one, which I don’t think she did. Her father depends on her
so
much since her mother died. She’s his whole world.”

“Maybe that’s why she would run away, with a boyfriend or all alone,” Chyna suggested, struggling not to sound as agitated as she felt. “I met Deirdre yesterday. She’s pretty and obviously smart. I could tell she was disappointed that she wasn’t going to college this year, although she downplayed her feelings. I believe the girl has a lot of dreams she’s terrified she won’t get to live out, either this year or any other.”

“That’s what she was thinking when you saw her yesterday?” Beverly asked anxiously.

“What she was thinking?” Chyna stiffened. “I’m not a mind reader, Beverly.”

“Yes, you
are.”

“A long time ago I seemed capable of knowing what people were thinking. I’m not capable of that anymore. Not at all,” Chyna lied without an ounce of guilt. Letting Beverly believe she still had her “special powers” could only lead to

trouble, she thought, trying to keep up her facade of being perfectly ordinary with everyone except Scott. “And even years ago, I didn’t
always
know what was going on in people’s minds,” she firmly told Beverly. “All I’m saying is that yesterday I got a feeling from Deirdre that she felt trapped. That’s all it was—a feeling any halfway perceptive person would have picked up on.” Beverly was still looking at her doubtfully. “Also, I’ve heard how attached Ben is to her,” she added almost desperately.

“Ben wouldn’t have made Deirdre stay with him, Chyna,” Beverly pounced. “He’s not a selfish man.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have
consciously
done it, but you said she’s his life. Apparently, he hasn’t rebuilt a life of his own without his wife, and Deirdre struck me as the kind of girl who would try to fill up all the holes in his.”

“Then why would she run away?”

It was hard to keep arguing doggedly with Beverly when she was making so much sense, but Chyna couldn’t stand to see Bev growing distraught. Chyna’s need was so strong that words seemed to flow from her effortlessly, words she didn’t believe. “Yesterday, Scott and I were in the cafe. She talked about wanting to go to medical school. Maybe thinking about what she’d like to do with her future, or being with her friends last night, most of whom are probably going to college, or even drinking too much caused her to act on a moment of impulse. She thought if she didn’t leave
now,
she’d never leave.”

Beverly frowned. “So she took off for parts unknown with no clothes except what she was wearing, no money, and one shoe?”

“You told me earlier that the shoe had a high heel that was broken,” Chyna said. “Maybe she was in a bad mood, or a little tipsy, like I said before, thought to hell with an old, broken shoe, and left it behind on purpose.”

“But Ben said she had no money—”

“She might have had money saved up, hidden away. Teenage girls don’t tell their fathers everything. And even if

she didn’t have money of her own, she might have left with someone who
did
have money.”

Beverly looked stubbornly angry. “Chyna, you’re making up ridiculous excuses because you’re as worried as everyone else but trying not to show it. Either that or you’re just trying to get me to shut up, in which case I resent you dismissing me as if I’m just a silly kid getting all worked up over nothing. And furthermore—”

Kate saved Chyna from hearing what else Beverly resented by dashing into the kitchen, her cheeks rosy from the crisp air outside, her long curly blond hair bouncing on the shoulders of her wool jacket. No one could have guessed that last night she’d been pale, sweating and vomiting. Chyna knew Beverly still shuddered at her brief terror that the child had been poisoned. Chyna was certain Kate cared more about her ruined princess dress than what her mother had thought was a brush with death.

“Mommy, can me and Ian and Michelle go for a walk in the woods with Uncle Rex?” Kate asked breathlessly.

“Do you feel up to it?” Chyna asked.

Kate looked at her, puzzled. “Sure. Why not?”

“Well, you were sick last night—”

Before Chyna had finished, Kate put her index finger over her mouth and let out a gigantic hiss. “That’s a secret. I don’t want other kids to know about me making such a big mess.”