Rings of Memory, Part Four

Rachel told me later how she and Colin went inside. The woman at the front desk made another call and waved them through.

            Rachel knew Colin well enough to see how nervous he was, even without any psychic sight. She put a hand on his arm. “It’s going to be okay.”

            “I know.” He sighed. “What did you mean, don’t do anything stupid?”

            She sighed. “Tom has a tendency to get into trouble. Drives me crazy.”

            Lillian’s door was half open. Colin knocked, then pushed it open. “Grandma?”

            Her head jerked up, as if she’d been dozing. The TV was on, muted, to CNN. “Colin. Weren’t you just here? What is she doing here?”

            Rachel could feel her anxiety. Her fear. “Do you remember me?”

            She blinked. “You were here before. With the other man. And Colin. I don’t remember your name.”

            “It’s Rachel,” Colin said. “Look, Grandma, I know Kirk was here today. What’s going on?”

            Her arm trembled as she reached for a teacup on the table next to her. “In the closet. I’m not supposed to have it. There’s a bottle.”

            They looked at each other. Rachel opened the closet and looked around. “Where?”

            “In the boot. In back.”

            Inside a black boot Rachel found a pint bottle of vodka, half empty. She closed the door to the room and brought it to Lillian. 

            She poured it into the teacup and drank it down. Then she poured more, and thrust it out to Rachel. “Put it away. They can’t see it.”

            After Rachel closed the closet she folded her arms. “What are you afraid of?”

            “Him.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

            “Who?”

            “Bradley.” She sipped some vodka. “I’ve always been afraid of him. Ever since he was little.”

            “But he’s dead now,” Colin said. “Isn’t he?”

            “He talks to me.” She waved a hand around. “In my head.”

            “What does he say?” Rachel asked.

            Lillian closed her eyes. “He wants to come back.”

            “Come back?” Colin looked at Rachel, confused, then back at Lillian. “Um, how?”

            “I did it,” she whispered. “A long time ago. That night . . .”

“Does he talk to Kirk?” Rachel asked. “Like Eileen talks to Colin?”

            She nodded. “He came to see me a few weeks ago. Kirk. I didn’t see him for years, and then suddenly he was here, asking questions.”

            “Right after your father died in prison,” Rachel said to Colin. “What did Kirk want today?”

            “The house,” Lillian whispered.

            “What house? What about the house?”

            “Our house.” She seemed annoyed that they didn’t get it. “Where we lived. He didn’t remember the address.”

            Rachel looked over. “Do you remember?”

            Colin shook his head. “I haven’t been back there in—”

            “What’s the address?” Rachel snapped. 

            Lillian recited it from memory. Rachel put it in her phone. “It’s only a few miles. Come on.” She grabbed Colin’s arm.

            

 

I was parked in front of a ranch-style house, one story, with a “For Sale” sign planted in the front lawn. The windows were dark, the lawn needed a trim, and Kirk’s van was sitting in the driveway.

            He’d left the apartment about 10 minutes after Rachel’s call that they were going into the nursing home. He went through a McDonald’s drive-through, which made me hungry. I was out of sandwiches. He must have eaten as he drove to the house, not stopping to enjoy his burger and fries inside.

            Other houses were scattered up and down the street, none close. I drove past, turned in a driveway, and parked across the street just in time to see Kirk pull his new shovel from the back of the van, along with the buckets and plastic. He walked around to the side of the house and headed to the back.

            Now what? One light shone in the front window behind closed curtains, but otherwise the house looked deserted. Kirk wouldn’t have walked straight to the backyard if anyone was home, right? Should I go back and confront him?

I waited, nervous. Then my phone buzzed.

“He’s going to a house at—hang on, I’ve got it.” She read an address. 

“Yeah, I’m there right now. What’s he up to?”

“No idea. Kirk only started visiting when the father died. Lillian’s afraid of the father, he talks to her. Hey! Stop sign!”

“How close are you?”

“About two minutes, according to the map thingy on my phone.”

“Okay, I’ll wait. Don’t get into an accident.”

They pulled up in Colin’s car five minutes later. Rachel wore a long coat, one pocket hanging down. 

I frowned. “Did you bring Daffy?” She’d trained with the handgun—a big Glock. She’s actually a better shot than me.

Rachel shrugged. “I just had a feeling.”

I’d learned not to ignore her feelings, but I didn’t feel much calmer. “Try not to shoot anyone, please.”

“Where is he?” Colin was in a windbreaker, breathing hard and looking nervous.

“In back, with a shovel.” I had a flashlight. “Let’s go.”

We walked around the house. The sun had fallen and shadows surrounded us. We were quiet as we stepped carefully across the grass, although I could hear Colin’s raspy breathing next to Rachel.

At the corner of the house I held up a hand. We could hear harsh, heavy breathing from the back yard, and the rhythmical sound of a shovel hitting the dirt. 

I looked at Rachel and Colin. Colin nodded. Rachel slid her hand into her pocket. I shook my head. She pouted, but pulled her hand out.

I stepped around the corner of the house. “Kirk?”

He jerked around, slamming the shovel into the ground. Kirk was stockier than Colin, a little shorter, with a longer beard. “Who the hell are you?”

I started to speak, but Colin stepped forward. “I’m Colin Mannes.” His voice was firmer than I expected. “I’m—your brother.”

Kirk cocked his head, staring at him. He looked us over. Then he yanked the shovel up out of the dirt and held it in front of him. 

            “Who are these guys?” he asked.

            “They’re my friends.” Colin glanced at Rachel and me. “They’re helping me. I started getting messages from—from mom.”

            Kirk blinked. “Mom’s dead.”

            “Yeah. So is dad. You been hearing from him?”

            Kirk stared at us.

            “What are you digging up?” I asked. 

            He looked down at the hole. “Dad told me to find it.”

            “So he’s sending you messages too?”

            Kirk took a step forward, blocking the hole. “It’s mine. He told me so. You can’t have it.”

            Colin spread his hands. “That’s fine. I don’t even know what it is. You can have it. I just want mom to leave me alone.”

            “Mom?” Kirk snarled. “I don’t have a mom. They never let me—they only told me about dad. He was gone.”

            “He killed mom. He was in prison. Didn’t they ever tell you that?”

            Kirk lifted the shovel with both hands like a weapon. “Just stay away.”

            “No one wants to hurt you,” I told him. “We just want to know what’s going on with you and your parents.”

            Kirk stepped back, around the edge of the hole he’d dug. He dropped the shovel and knelt, reaching down. Grunting, he hauled something up out of the ground—a big metal box, about two feet long and 12 inches deep. He dropped it on the sheet of plastic. 

            He grinned. “Just like dad said.”

            I looked at Colin. He shrugged, as puzzled as me. I looked at Rachel. She stared at Kirk, her hand clutching the handgun in her pocket as she tried to read him.

            “Anything?” I whispered.

            Rachel shook her head. “I’m not sure—”

            Kirk unsnapped the metal lid and pulled it up. I couldn’t see inside, and I took a tentative step to the side. He didn’t say anything as I leaned over, slowly moving the flashlight’s beam toward the box.

I caught a glimpse of green—cash. Something wrapped in plastic—the shape of a handgun. And a small white envelope.

Kirk picked up the envelope. It was sealed. He ripped it open and bent his head to look inside. Then he turned it over, dumping out something bright and shiny. A gold ring. Two rings. They dropped onto the plastic.

“What’s that?” Colin asked. “Is that—”

Rachel gasped. “He’s here. They’re here.”

I looked around. “Who?”

Before she could answer, Kirk had slipped one of the rings onto his finger. His eyes flared wide, and he sank back, suddenly breathing hard. He blinked rapidly, and held his hand up to his face, staring at the ring.

Then he stood up, holding the other ring. “Put this on, son.”

Colin’s jaw fell open. “Dad?”

“Put it on.” Kirk tossed the ring.

It hit Colin’s chest and fell into the grass. Colin stared at his brother. “What the hell?”

I glanced at Rachel. “Is that—”

“The rings,” she whispered.    

Eileen’s wedding ring was gone when they found her body. Did Bradley take it? Could he—

“Put it on!” Kirk—Bradley?—bent over the box. He snatched up the plastic, scattering a handful of $20 bills across the ground. Then the plastic fell away, and Kirk was holding a handgun. “Put it on!” 

Colin stood in shock, his mouth open. Before Kirk could shout again he was on his knees, frantically searching the grass. “Okay—okay—wait—wait!” He jumped up, the ring in his fingers.

“Go on, son,” Kirk snapped. “Do what I say.”

Colin nodded, his eyes locked on his brother’s face. His hands trembled as he slid the ring down one finger, and then he staggered back, catching his breath as if a cold wind had pushed him off balance. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again at Kirk. 

“B-Bradley? Brad?” His voice quivered, like an old woman.

Kirk smiled. But it wasn’t a friendly smile of welcome. “Hi, Ell.”

“W-what’s going on?” He turned his face to look at me and Rachel. Then he looked down at his body. Then Colin stared at Kirk. “How are you here?”

“Mom. Lillian, you know?” He shuffled on his feet, unsteady. “She took my ring when they came to the police station. After I fuckin’ killed you.”

“You took Eileen’s ring too,” I said, surprised to hear myself speaking without my voice shaking.

“She threw it at me.” Kirk—Bradley—gestured toward Colin. Eileen. “Told me to get out of there. Told me you didn’t want to see me anymore. Yelled at me to stay away from your son. You didn’t know—” He laughed. “After I was done I put it on my other finger. The cops didn’t notice. Mom took them both. She said—it would bring me back.” His eyes flickered. “I didn’t know what she meant. Not then.”

I looked over at Rachel. She glanced down, toward her pocket—her hand on the gun. I nodded and edged closer to her.

“What’s with the money there?” I looked at the hole. Then I remembered. Three meth dealers murdered. Just a few days before Eileen. “You killed those meth dealers? Nineteen years ago?”

Kirk cocked his head, as if searching his memory. “Yeah. Yeah, I did that. Went to their house to buy, and they tried to rob me, so I—I was pretty drunk, but I managed to get their gun and shoot them, and then I took their money and burned the place down.”

“And buried it in your mom’s backyard.”

“When?” Colin’s voice cracked. “When did you—”

“The night before,” Kirk snapped. “The night before you got me so mad, so goddamned mad—you bitch. You worthless bitch!”

He pointed the pistol at Colin.

Rachel pulled the Glock from her pocket. I held my hand out, and Rachel passed the Glock to me. 

I pointed it into the sky and squeezed the trigger.

The gunshot roared in the air. Kirk jumped back, his eyes wide, and his finger jerked the trigger of his pistol. 

Nothing happened. He looked down and yanked the trigger again. This time the gun barked, jumping in his hand, and Kirk dropped it, cursing. 

Rachel rushed forward for the shovel. I moved to have a clear shot at him if I needed it—hoping I wouldn’t—but Rachel snatched up the shovel as he lunged forward. She hit Kirk on the side of his head before he could get near her, and he dropped to the ground, groaning and clutching his skull.

I dropped my gun and raced toward him. “The ring,” I ordered as I grabbed his arms. “Get the ring.”

Kirk struggled, rolling on the ground, but Rachel caught his wrist and clawed at his fingers. It took her a moment, but she managed to pull the ring free and clutch it in her fist.

Kirk sagged on the ground, gasping. 

Colin stood over us. “Bradley? Is he—”

Rachel scrambled to her feet, took Colin’s arm, and yanked his mother’s ring from his finger. Colin staggered back, blinking, and looked around as if he’d forgotten where he was and who we were.

I picked up Kirk’s pistol. When I’d bought my Glock, the woman who trained me and Rachel on using it had warned us to keep it clean even if we didn’t fire it. I’d figured a handgun buried underground for 19 years wouldn’t behave well or fire accurately. Fortunately it hadn’t blown Kirk’s hand off.

I scampered around, gathering up the loose bills, the envelope, the plastic covering, and everything else, and pushed it all back into the metal box, slamming it shut. Then I sat there, letting my heart return to a reasonably normal rhythm, listening to everyone catching their breath.

Rachel put a hand on my shoulder. “Now what?”

I turned. Kirk was sitting up, looking confused. “Who are you people?”

Colin stepped toward him, his arm out to help him stand. “I’m your brother. Colin.”

Rings of Memory, Part Five

Kirk’s apartment was a dump. Clothes everywhere, empty pizza boxes and fast food bags, a stained futon and chairs from Goodwill. A single lamp cast dim light and shadows over the walls. At least he had a big flatscreen TV.

            He offered us beer or whiskey—or tap water. Rachel and I took beers, Colin had a glass of whiskey, and Kirk drank from the bottle.

            The box sat in the center of the floor.

            “I started getting these emails about a month ago.” Kirk’s voice was low, emotionless. “From dad.”

            “Around the time he died in prison,” Colin said.

            Kirk held out his phone for me to look at.

 

            Kirk—it’s me. You’ve got to find something. Dad.

 

            It’s me. Dad. Ask grandma where it is.

 

            You’ve got to find it. Before anyone else does. 

 

            Go to grandma. Ask her.

 

            “I didn’t know what it meant.” He slurped some whiskey. “I mean, it couldn’t be dad, right?”

            “Yeah, I got the same ones. From mom.” Colin sipped his drink. “Telling me to find you. And stop you—I guess, from finding that.” He pointed to the box.

            “The rings brought him back,” I said. “Brought them both back. Your grandma took them from Bradley in the police station. She must have known something. Or done something. Maybe we should go back to talk to her.” I checked my phone for the time. Visiting hours were long over. “Tomorrow.”

            Kirk shook his head. “I don’t think I can go back there.”

            I shrugged. “Maybe she’ll talk to me without either of you there—

            “Come on, guys!” Rachel shook her head. “We were just talking about it. The rings?”

            Oh. She had a point. I looked at Kirk and Colin. “What do you think?”

            He stared at me. At Rachel. Then at Colin. “You want me to?”

            “I mean . . .” He rolled his eyes. “I’d like to find out what’s going on. But only if you want to.”

            “I don’t know.” Kirk’s head drooped. He drank some whiskey. Rachel and I looked at each other. I sipped my beer.

            Kirk’s head came up. “All right.” He drank more whiskey, then refilled Colin’s glass. “You want to tie me up? I’ve got some duct tape somewhere.”

            “Let’s just make sure you keep away from any guns.” I finished my beer and went to open the box.

            I gave the rings to Rachel. She held them in her palm for a moment, eyes closed, and shivered once. Then she handed them back to me. “Definitely magic.” 

            It pays to have a psychic girlfriend. Especially a hot one. I took the rings, looked them over, and handed one to Kirk. “I think this is the groom.”

            He grinned. “Hard to think of him in a tux.” Then, after another swallow of whiskey, he slipped it on his finger.

            We waited. Kirk’s body jerked on the futon, and one foot jumped up and down on the floor. Then he sat forward, like a cat looking for an escape. “What’s going on?”

            “Bradley?” I kept my voice low. 

            He frowned. “Who are you?”

            “My name’s Tom.” I pointed toward Colin. “This is your son.”

            He turned his face. “Colin?”

            “Dad.”

            Kirk-Bradley looked at me again. He smiled at Rachel. He looked down at his hand and saw the ring, and moved his hand around to look it over. 

            He looked up at Colin again. “Put yours on.”

            Colin hesitated. He looked at me, at Rachel. Then, with a shrug, he held out his hand. “Okay.”

            I handed him the other ring. With a deep breath, he slipped it on and closed his eyes.

            When his eyes opened again, he looked up at Kirk-Bradley, frightened. “Brad?”

            He sneered at her. “Ell. You bitch.”

            Rachel stiffened. I was ready to tackle Kirk and yank the ring off if he started anything. But Kirk shook his head and held up a hand.

            “I’m, uh, sorry.” He looked away from Colin-Eileen. “About a lot of things.”

            “You—you beat me.” He shuddered. “You hurt me. You have no idea how bad it hurt. It hurt so bad. It didn’t stop. You didn’t stop. Until—until it did. Everything stopped. Everything.”

            “I was crazy.” Kirk-Bradley couldn’t look at her. “I thought about it every day. Every damn day.”

            Colin-Eileen sighed. “It doesn’t make it go away. I hated you. Right then I hated you. And I still do.”

            He nodded. “I know.”

            They fell silent, avoiding each other’s face. It was time to ask some questions—while I had them here. I looked at Kirk-Bradley. “You wanted Kirk to have that money, right?”

            He looked up, still confused about me. “I shouldn’t have—let them take him away. Mom was—she was always a little crazy. Never liked Ell. I wanted to do something—one thing. But I couldn’t when I was in jail. I had to wait—wait—” His voice froze.

            I went to Colin-Eileen. “When you realized he was dead, you reached out to Colin. To help him get the money.”

            “He’s my son. My only son. I didn’t—” He peered at Kirk’s face. “I never knew. Damn her.”

            “What about the rings?” Rachel asked, digging an elbow into my ribs. “How do they do—this?”

            “Mom.” Kirk-Bradley looked at the floor. “She told me to give her my ring, and I had Ell’s. She said she could—bring me back. If Kirk had it. Just Kirk. I told her where the money was, and she said she’d put the rings in with it. I didn’t know—I just put it in the garage, I don’t think the cops ever found it. I didn’t know where it was. I had to—tell Kirk. Tell him to ask her.” He groaned.       

            I looked at Rachel. “So Lillian is—what? A witch?”

            “I told you there was something in the air when we saw her. Maybe she was a witch a long time ago, enough to do something with the rings. We’d have to ask her.”

            Kirk-Bradley grunted. He reached for the whiskey and took a long swallow until the bottle was empty. It dropped to the floor and rolled under the futon.

            He looked at Colin-Eileen. “I want to go now.”

            He nodded. “Good. Stay there.”

            “Yeah.” He stared at his son’s face, her eyes flickering, then abruptly pulled the ring off and threw it into a corner behind a plant.

            Kirk gasped, leaning back, his eyes wide. “What—what happened?” He looked at his brother. “Colin?”

            Colin-Eileen looked him over, tears in his eyes. “My son. My—son. I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you grow up.”

            Then, with a sniffle, he slipped the ring from his finger and set it on the table next to his drink.

            Kirk lifted the whiskey bottle and found it empty. “Damn it.” He stood and staggered to the kitchen for beer.

            Colin looked at Rachel. “I sort of remember—but what happened?”

            “Your grandmother did something with the rings,” she told him. “To bring your father back. He and your mother managed to communicate with both of you. We’ll have to ask your grandmother about it. If you want.”

            Colin thought about it for a moment and shook his head. “No. I can’t. Not now. Not—” He looked down at the box on the floor. “What do we do with that?”

            Ordinarily I’d have advised taking it to the police. The gun was evidence in a murder case. They’d never believe us, of course, but I’m used to that.

            But the case was almost 20 years old. No one else had been harmed. There didn’t seem to be much point in digging up trouble now. No pun intended. 

“I’ll get rid of the gun. You guys can split the cash. Just be careful about spending too much of at once—”

            “I don’t want it.” Kirk slammed his beer can down on the table. “You take it.”

            “I don’t want it either.” Colin crossed his arms. “You two should take it. I can’t pay you what I owe you for this anyway.”

            Rachel and I looked at each other. “It would help pay for school,” I said.

            She rolled her eyes. “I can’t exactly drop a wad of 20s to pay for next semester’s tuition.”

            “We can work it out.” I know a little bit about laundering cash. 

            “And the rings.” Colin got up and removed the plant to retrieve Kirk’s ring. “Get rid of them. Both of them.”

            “Yeah.” Kirk gulped his beer. “Melt ‘em down, or whatever. Just get them out of here.”

            We gathered everything up in the box. Kirk sat with his eyelids drooping, ready to pass out. 

            Colin tapped him on the shoulder. “We’re going.”

            “Okay.” Kirk lurched forward and stood up unsteadily. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—at the house. I was just—a little crazy. With dad and all.”

            “Yeah.” Colin stuck out a hand. “Brothers?”

            Kirk grinned and shook it. “Brothers.”

            Outside I put the box in the trunk of the Prius. Colin and I shook hands, and Rachel gave him a hug. “You okay?”

            “I guess.” He shrugged. “A lot to think about.”

            “Drive safe.” She kissed his cheek.

            He glanced at me, embarrassed. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

            We followed his taillights most of the way back to Chicago. Rachel was quiet. 

            “You okay?” I asked as we pulled into our parking space.

            “Just thinking.” She opened her door. 

            “About what? Homework? Dinner? What to watch on TV?”

            “Families. They’re so—complicated.”

            “It must be worth it to some people.”

            “I suppose.” She yawned. “Whose turn is it for dinner?”

            “I’ll find something in the freezer.” It was almost eleven.

            “I want to watch Cobra Kai, since you did. No sharks tonight, sorry.”

            I grinned. “Just glad to be home.”

 

Colin called the next morning. Rachel was at her desk. I waved her over.

“I got a phone call just now.” Colin sounded tired. “My grandma died last night. In her sleep. Her heart just—stopped.”

            “I’m so sorry.” Rachel put a hand on my shoulder.

            “Yeah, thanks. I don’t know how I feel. I guess we’ll never find out some stuff.”

            “That happens,” I said. “But we found out a lot.” 

            “Are you okay?” Rachel asked.

            “Yeah, just tired mostly. I think I’m going to miss class today. Take notes for me?”

            “Sure thing.” She smiled.

            We hung up. Rachel sighed. “That sucks.”

            “I hope finding his brother helps. Did you get any read on him?”

            “Angry. Confused. Drunk.” She walked back to her desk. “Typical guy.”

            “I resent that.” I laughed.

            She sat down and swiveled around in her chair. “Wait’ll I rescue you from the sharks again tonight, captive.”

            I smiled. “Aye-aye, captain.”

 

# # #

 

Daughter Lost and Found

 A young woman’s disappearance and mysterious return without a memory lead Tom Jurgen and Rachel on a strange case of kidnapping and twisted love.

Daughter Lost and Found, Part One

 

“My daughter Adria disappeared two months ago,” Maureen Alcott told me. “Then she came home, and she doesn’t remember anything that happened. Adria, this is Tom Jurgen. The private detective I told you about.”

            Adria, 23, was shy and nervous. “H-hello. I’m Adria.” She sat at the other side of the kitchen table. Skinny, with short blond hair, she wore a pale yellow dress and a silver bracelet on her left wrist.

            Maureen sat between us. In her early fifties, her face was thin and tense, with dark brown eyes and a thick nose. Her arms were crossed on the table. She looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something.

            “Nice to meet you.” I took a sip of coffee from the cup in front of me. “Can you tell me what happened?”

            Adria looked at her mother. Maureen shook her head. “She doesn’t remember. Like I said.”

            Okay. “What do you remember before it happened?”

            Again she looked at her mother. Again Maureen answered: “Nothing. She just—”

            “Adria? Can you tell me?” I wanted to hear her speak more than a few words.

            She looked down at the table. Her voice was so low I had to lean forward. “I was—I think I was walking down a street. I didn’t know where I was. Then I was here.” She glanced at her mother. “She said my name was Adria, and she’s my mother.” 

            Adria bit her lip, as if fighting back tears. 

            “Where did you find her?” I looked at Maureen.

            “Outside. On the front porch.” We were in her house in Evanston. Adria’s father had died 11 years ago. Maureen was unmarried, although she’d mentioned a boyfriend. He wasn’t here.

            “What did the doctors say?”

            “She’s fine.” Maureen rolled her eyes in frustration. “No physical injuries, no head or brain trauma. They did CTs, MRIs, blood tests, spinal stuff, heart, liver—she’s perfectly healthy, she just can’t remember anything.” She glared at Adria, then softened her eyes. “It’s not your fault, honey . . .”

            Adria was crying silently. Maureen grabbed a napkin from the counter behind her and pushed it into her hand.

            “What did she have when you found her?” I asked when Adria had wiped her eyes.

            Maureen stood up. “Just a minute.”

            We were alone while Maureen went into the other room. “How do you feel?” I asked quietly.

            She gazed at me, as if trying to remember who I was. “Scared.”

            I nodded. “Do you remember what happened since you came home?”

            “I have—trouble. You’re Tom, right? I know Maureen—mom. I can remember where the grocery store is now. I recognize the doctors. One of the police who interviewed me was kind of cute—” She blushed, and Maureen came back before she could go on.

            She dropped a cardboard box on the kitchen table. “This is what she was wearing. Everything. Even her shoes.”  She crossed her arms. “It’s what she was wearing when she disappeared.”

            There wasn’t much. A Northwestern University sweatshirt, a gray T-shirt, jeans, sneakers, and underwear. Everything, like her mother had said. The clothes were clean. The pockets were empty.

            “They tested everything,” Maureen said. “Looking for dust or dirt or DNA. They didn’t find anything. They might be brand-new.”

            I replaced the clothing in the box. Then I looked over at Adria. “What about that bracelet?”

            The bracelet was a simple silver band around her wrist with a black stone at the clasp. She pushed it up and down, twisting it. “I just found it in my room. I like it.”

            “Rick gave it to her. Rick Dunley.” Maureen frowned. “Adria’s boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.”

            “Were they involved when she disappeared?”

            “He broke up with her, four, five months ago? Do you remember—no, of course you don’t.” She shook her head. “They stayed friends. The police talked to him. When she disappeared.”

            I looked down at the box, then over to Adria. Then to her mother. “I’m not sure how much I can do. But I’ll try. Can I take the box? And can you give me Rick Dunley’s number?””

            She wrote the phone number and address down, along the names of friends she remembered. She also wrote me a check. I put both in my wallet and hefted the box. “I’ll be in touch. Thanks.” I smiled at Adria. “Glad you’re okay.”

            She seemed surprised. “Th-thanks.”

            Adria went back up to her room. Maureen took me to the door and held it open for me.

            “She’s adopted,” she said as we walked to my Prius. “She knows. I never got married, but I wanted to raise a child, and—well, anyway, she’s my daughter. I need to know what happened to her.”

            I nodded. “I understand.”

            She looked away from me suddenly, her eyes glistening with tears. “Th-thank you.”

I put the box in the trunk of my Prius and climbed in behind the wheel, thinking.

            Mostly I wished Rachel was here.

 

Rachel, my girlfriend, was studying for a psychology degree. Right now she was in class: “Freud, Dreams, and The Matrix: The Limits of the Unconscious.” I couldn’t call her like I usually do to let her know what I was up to—just in case I get ambushed by a serial killer or a vengeful ghost—so I sent her a quick text.

            In addition to having red hair and hazelnut eyes and being hot in general, Rachel has psychic powers. They could have come in handy talking to Adria Alcott. But I couldn’t ask her to skip class for one of my cases, and she would have jabbed an elbow into my stomach if I tried.             

            It was more than just not having her help on cases. Most of them don’t involve the supernatural anyway—just cheating spouses, employee background checks, embezzlement, and the like. But even though she’d cut back on her graphic design work, school was taking up more and more of her time—classes, studying, projects, papers. I’d encouraged her to enroll, wanting to be a supportive boyfriend, but we didn’t have as much time for each other lately. I’m insecure enough to worry that she might meet someone she liked more, or that she’d just grow tired of me as she explored life more than she’d done in years.

            I tried to remind myself that she still said she loved me, sometimes. I couldn’t control her life—and I’d end up in pain if I tried. Mostly I reminded myself that I had my own job, and we needed my income to pay the cable bill more than ever.

            I called the number Maureen had given me for Rick Dunley. He was a lawyer at a firm in town, and he agreed to talk to me, without any enthusiasm about it. “I don’t really know anything about what happened to her,” he told me on the phone. “And I said that two months ago.”

            In his office in downtown Evanston, Dunley sat behind a small desk in front of a window that looked down on the main street. He wore a loose necktie, his jacket hanging over the back of his chair, and he had slim shoulders and close cut hair. 

The firm handled patent law with two other partners and a secretary, and even though he was barely 30, Dunley seemed to be doing well. 

            “Like I told you, I can’t really help you. Or Adria. I’m sorry, but . . .” He shrugged.

            “I understand. Your name just came up when I was talking to Adria and her mother, and I thought I’d start with you, since you’re close.”

            “Came up how?” He frowned, on guard.

“Adria was wearing a silver bracelet you gave her. Do you remember it?”

“How is that important?”

“Maybe it’s not. She says she doesn’t remember you.”

Dunley nodded. “Yeah, I bought that for her. We were dating. We dated for close to a year, and then we just—It wasn’t a big fight or anything, we just decided it wasn’t really going anywhere. We stayed friendly.”

“Do you remember giving her the bracelet?”

His frown and annoyance grew deeper. “Yeah, and it’s none of your business, all right? We—” He stopped, took a deep breath, and relaxed. “Okay. I gave that to her after the first time we slept together. That’s all I’m going to tell you about it. Okay?”

“Fine.” I wasn’t expecting much from Dunley anyway. “I know you’ve been through this before, but can you think of any reason why Adria would have disappeared? Do you think she ran away, or got kidnapped or—”

“Abducted by aliens?” He laughed. “Believe me, I thought about it. The cops questioned me three times. Adria’s mother didn’t like me. I don’t know, man. Adria was always—well, shy. Introverted. She was still living with her mother, you know? Working at a coffee shop. I liked her, don’t get me wrong. It just—didn’t seem like it was going to work out. She knew it too.”

I nodded. I could delve deeper into Dunley’s personal life later if I had to. “Do you remember anyone who, uh, didn’t like her? Or maybe liked her too much?”

He looked down at his keyboard, thinking. “There was this one guy working there who was always a little too friendly, just this side of sexual harassment. I think his name was Anderson. Or maybe Henderson. And her manager was a bitch. She was a little paranoid about her neighbor next door, but that was nothing.” He shook his head. “I told the cops all of this when she disappeared. I don’t think there’s anything more I can tell you now.” He pushed his chair back.

I could take the hint. I stood up before he did. “Here’s my card—” I dropped it next to his keyboard.” If you think anything else, please let me know—phone call, text, email, whatever. Thanks for your time.”

“Sure thing.” His head was down, already back to work.

“Oh, by the way—”

“Yeah?” His head jerked up, suspicious, as if I was pulling a Lieutenant Columbo thing on him.

“Where’s the coffee shop where she worked?”

 

The manager of the coffee shop, a tall woman named Teri, didn’t have much time for me. I could see how Adria might have disliked her—she shouted curt orders to her staff and barely smiled at her customers. 

            “She just didn’t show up one day.” Teri watched two baristas behind the counter with her arms crossed as she talked to me. “I called her at home, her mother said she wasn’t there. We were swamped. The next day I hired a new girl. Patricia! Refill the cream!” She shook her head, frustrated.

            “There was a co-worker named Anderson. Or Henderson? He used to bother the staff, I’m told.”

            “He quit. Haven’t seen him in months. Dash, that’s a cappuccino, not a latté!”

            I bought a coffee and found a seat, waiting for the rush to fade out. Teri watched her staff like a cat waiting to snatch a mosquito, but eventually she disappeared into the back for a break, or a cigarette.           

Dash, a young white guy with a mustache and a tattoo of a hammer on his arm, came by with a tray and a rag for clearing cups and wiping down tables. I asked him about Adria, but she’d been gone when he got hired. As he headed to another table, the door opened, “Hi, Mr. Haldane! Mrs. Haldane!”

            “Hi, Dash,” said Mr. Haldane, holding the hand of a woman in her 30s in sunglasses and a floppy hat. She was blonde, slender, and unsteady on her feet. Haldane was closer to my age—late 40s—but in much better shape, darn him, wiry and athletic in slacks and wool sweater. At least he was balding.

            His wife sat down at a table in the corner, and Haldane went up to the counter to order their beverages. He chatted with the other barista, waiting for his order, but Ms. Haldane sat almost motionless, hands in her lap, staring nowhere behind her dark glasses.

            Teri emerged from the back and said hi to Haldane, and I decided it was time to go before she kicked me out. At least the coffee was good.

 

I spent a few more hours in Evanston tracking down Adria’s friends, none of whom had any information that helped me. Or her. So I went back home to work from my computer.

            Rachel was still in class. The office felt spooky without her working near me. I forced myself to start calling the people on Maureen Alcott’s list without looking over my shoulder at Rachel’s desk every two seconds. When I was finished with the names, I went onto the internet to look up news stories reporting on Adria’s disappearance. 

            The case had gotten decent coverage in the local media for about a week, then predictably faded away. Maureen was all over social media, though, posting photos of her daughter, offering a reward, and begging for help from anyone who might have seen Adria or knew anything. “Please help me find my daughter.” Have you seen my daughter?” “Please share any information you have about my daughter—REWARD!” 

            A few people responded. Someone had seen Adria in a brown Audi in Chicago. Someone else saw her at a truck stop in Texas. Another person pretended to be Adria. 

            One friend said he’d seen Adria in an Evanston park. Nothing seemed to come from that. An old boyfriend said online that she’d just gotten sick of living with her mother and ran away. That started a fight that got ugly, until the guy got blocked everywhere.

            Maureen had been tenacious, but she must have been exhausted by the time her daughter finally came back.

            I heard the door open. “Honey! I’m home!” Rachel stuck her face inside the office door. “What’s for dinner, sweetheart?”

            It was my night to cook. “Pasta salad. How was school? Play with anybody at recess?”

            “Those boys are so mean, they never share their baseball. And the teachers give too much homework.” She waved a hand. “Let me change.”

            She came back to the office ten minutes later. I don’t know what she’d changed from, but now she was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt from the college. “I’ve got two chapters to read and a test to study for, and I’ve still got to finish that stupid web page for that stupid client.” She paused for a quick kiss. “Anything new in the P.I. world, shamus?”

            “Actually, if you’ve got a minute—” I stood up and lifted the box of Adria’s clothes. “Could you take a look at this? See if you get anything?”

            Rachel sighed. “Sure. What am I looking for? Or don’t you want to tell me?”

            Sometimes it’s better if she has no idea what to search for, but this time I told her about Adria. “Anything about where she was, or where this came from, or who she was with, or anything like that.”

            She sat on the floor and went through the clothes one by one. She held up the panties. “I assume you examined this thoroughly?”

            “Not in front of her mother.” 

            She picked up the gray T-shirt. “No bra?” 

            “She’s kind of, uh, slender, I guess.” 

            “Cute?” She cocked an eye at me. Rachel can get jealous too.

            I shrugged. “Like a kid sister. Are you getting anything there?”

            “Nothing.” Rachel stood up. “It might as well be brand new.”

            “Maybe it is.” Whoever took Adria could have bought her new clothes before letting her go, if that’s what happened. “What’s your day like tomorrow? More classes?”

            “Just one in the morning. Why? Oh.” 

            “Yeah.” I picked up the box and carried it back to my desk. “I don’t even know if there’s anything supernatural about this. But if you could, you know—”

            “Do a Vulcan mind-meld on her? It doesn’t work like that.” She sank into her chair.

            “I know.” I sat down too. “It’ll just take a few minutes. I can pick you up from class. We can get something to eat, or—”

            “A chocolate milkshake at the malt shop with two straws? Will you carry my books?” She sighed. “Fine. I could use a break.”

            “Thanks.”

            “Now don’t bother me. I’ve got work to do.” She snatched her mouse and went to work.