Authors: L. J. Sellers
After a few minutes Katrice motioned him to come sit at the middle of the bar. “That way we can talk while I wash this pile of glasses,” she said. Eric liked the way she talked out of the side of her mouth with a southwestern accent. New Mexico, he thought.
“Can you believe this place doesn’t have a dishwasher behind the bar?” Katrice snorted. “Two twenty-inch color televisions and they can’t afford one little dishwasher. Ha!”
“You mean being friends with the manager doesn’t pull any weight around here?”
“Works against me, more likely.” Katrice wrinkled her nose in a funny smile. “How can you say ‘no’ to a friend when she calls you on your day off and begs you to come in? Especially when she already knows you have no plans.” The bartender was suddenly serious. “By the way, have you seen our mutual acquaintance lately?”
Eric’s heart sank. He had hoped Katrice would know something, anything. “Not since Saturday. Have you?”
“No, damn.” Katrice yanked her hands out of the sudsy water and grabbed a small bar towel. “Why would Jenna take off like this again when she knows how it upsets me?” Her anger dissipated rapidly, replaced by a worried frown, as she absent-mindedly rubbed her hands.
“She’s done this before?” Sounded like good news to Eric.
“In July.” Katrice shook her head. “Jenna took a week’s vacation and left without telling anyone where she was going. Of course, Stoltz knew when she’d be back at work, but that was it.”
“Stoltz?”
“The owner.”
Eric nodded, relieved. “Where’d she go?”
“You’re not going to believe this.” Katrice’s expression dared him to guess.
Eric was not in the mood. “Tell me.”
“Disneyland.”
“Disneyland?”
“Yep. She said she always wanted to go as a kid but never could, and if she didn’t do it now, she’d be too old to enjoy it.” Katrice leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I never quite believed it, though. I mean, Jenna is so straight-laced, so serious about everything. I just can’t see her in Disneyland. I personally think she had some kind of elective surgery she didn’t want to talk about, you know, like having fat sucked out of her ass or something. She lost a lot of weight, you know.” Katrice looked worried again, as if she’d said too much or thought of something unpleasant.
“Where do you think she is now?”
“I feel a little uncomfortable discussing this with you. Even though Jenna told me about your date.” She arched her eyebrows. “And I can tell she likes you a lot, even though she wouldn’t come right out and say it. This seems too personal to discuss with a relative stranger.”
“What’s personal?” Eric forced himself to stay focused on the conversation. Inside he was singing,
Jenna likes me
. To Katrice, he said, “You mean the weight loss? She told me about that.”
Katrice looked away. “There’s more to it. I think I might know what she’s up to.”
“You mean the artificial insemination?”
Katrice’s head snapped back. “She told you?”
“We met for coffee and she told me all about wanting a family and not being willing to wait any longer.”
“She must really like you. No one else in the restaurant knows but me.”
“You think that’s why she’s missing now?” Eric was doubtful. It didn’t feel right. If their night together meant even half as much to Jenna as it did to him, then she would postpone her pregnancy plans long enough to give their relationship a chance. He had to believe that. “I thought she was waiting for blood test results from a lab in Portland.”
“What if she got them back, then rushed off to get pregnant before something else went wrong?”
“What else has gone wrong?” Trouble comes in threes, his mother’s voice echoed in his head.
Katrice hesitated. Finally she said, “Jenna’s blood analysis indicated she was a cystic fibrosis carrier. At first, she was pretty depressed, then she called her mom. I guess no one in her family has ever had CF, so I advised her to get a second test.” The bartender scowled. “I neither like nor trust doctors.”
“Where would she go for the insemination?” It was hard for him to think about Jenna getting pregnant by someone else, even in a clinical way.
“Good question. She liked most of the staff at the Reproduction Clinic, so I assumed she would go back there. Even if she went to Portland instead,” Katrice squinted as if trying to see something far away, “I don’t see why she would be gone almost a week. It’s not like an operation.”
“It doesn’t explain the two guys in the van either.”
“What guys?”
The printer at the service bar jumped to life, rattling off a list of drinks to be made. “Don’t go away,” Katrice instructed, reluctantly moving to pick up the order.
Eric drained his coffee and made a trip to the restroom. The carpet in the lobby was new, the bloodstains from the night of the robbery whisked away—back to business as usual. Jenna couldn’t have been the only one affected by the crime, Eric mused. Maybe he should interview other staff members who were in the restaurant that night. Maybe there was a bigger story.
When he returned to the lounge, Katrice was chatting with one of the waiters. Eric waited patiently. He didn’t want to be anywhere else. Geronimo’s was starting to seem like home. It made him feel close to Jenna to be in the restaurant where she worked, where he’d first seen her. As if she might come waltzing in any moment with a good reason for standing him up last Saturday night.
The young woman who’d waited on him the day before spotted him at the bar and came over to say hello. Eric tried desperately to remember her name.
“Did you ever figure out what Jenna is up to?” she asked quietly.
Eric shook his head. “I’m still open to suggestions.”
“Ask Katrice. She and Jenna are good friends.”
“Ask me what?” Katrice leaned into the conversation, elbows on the bar, chin in hand.
“The same question I’ve been asking for days: Where in the hell is Jenna McClure?” Eric felt suddenly deflated. He hadn’t slept well since Saturday, and the coffee could no longer mask his exhaustion.
“By the way, what did you mean by two guys in a van?”
How many times had he told this story? “Saturday, after the River Run, I saw Jenna get into a gray van with two guys. I was a block and half away and couldn’t tell if she went voluntarily or not. I talked to a friend in the police department, but he thinks I’m overreacting. He thinks Jenna just went off to recover from the trauma of the robbery.”
Katrice scowled again. “I was supposed to run with her. I called that morning and canceled. She sounded a little depressed, but not traumatized.” She began to pace. “I can’t think of anyone she knows who drives a gray van. I should have been there. I should have seen it.” She turned back. “What did these guys look like?”
“One was dark-haired with a ponytail and well dressed. The other was semi-bald and shabby.”
“They sound like a couple of creeps.”
“Maybe they’re friends or relatives,” the waitress offered tentatively. “You know, like they showed up unexpectedly.”
“Jenna doesn’t have any family except her mom.” Katrice suddenly brightened. “Have you tried calling her mother?”
“Yes, but I didn’t come right out and ask about Jenna because I didn’t want to worry her.” Eric wished he had waited and simply told Jenna’s mother the truth. “I don’t think Jenna is there, but I can’t swear to it.”
The young waitress—Stacey, he remembered a moment too late—wished him luck and went back to work. Katrice offered to call Mrs. McClure again and find out what she could. Eric thanked her and started to leave, but Katrice grabbed his arm. “Do you have something of hers I could borrow?”
“What do you mean?”
“Something that belongs to Jenna, like a book or a piece of clothing.”
“No, why?” Eric was baffled.
“My group will need something to handle. I have some of Jenna’s clothes, but they’ve been in my apartment a long time and, of course, I’ve worn them all several times.” She paused, deep in thought. “I don’t think we could get Jenna’s psychic vibrations from them. We need something she’s worn or touched in the last few weeks.”
“Psychic vibrations?”
“Sure.” Katrice shrugged casually. “Everybody has their own energy patterns. They rub off on things, sort of like a fingerprint of the soul. Maybe someone in our group can find her. We found Julie’s wedding ring.” Her eyes clouded. “We found Eva’s dog too, but he was dead.”
Eric didn’t know what to say. He personally had never experienced anything that science couldn’t explain, but he also had his own superstitions. He never swore at his car, he never wished bad things on other people, and he never said anything negative about God or any other entity possibly greater than himself. Being a practical man, Eric didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t touch, see, taste or smell—but he didn’t burn his bridges either.
“You’re skeptical, I can tell.” Katrice ruffled his hair like she would a silly child. “My Aunt Sylvie and I have been communicating telepathically for years.”
Eric tried to be open minded. “Is Sylvie alive?”
“Of course.” Katrice laughed lightly in the same way she moved, as if keeping in tune with music only she could hear. “You think I’m some spook who talks to dead people?”
That’s exactly what he’d thought, but he liked this gypsy lady too much to hurt her feelings. “I think Jenna is lucky to have you for a friend. Let me know if you find out anything.” He dug out a business card and handed it to her.
“Hey, you too.” Katrice’s aqua eyes seemed to have lost their sparkle.
“Don’t worry. She’ll turn up.”
“Sure.”
Chapter 12
Wednesday, Nov. 1, 9:37 a.m.
Elizabeth stepped outside, shivering against the chill, and lit a cigarette. Her nerves were already shot, and now that she had a moment to make the phone call, she wanted to be as steady as possible. Quitting smoking was such a bitch. She had to be off nicotine completely before she got pregnant. Elizabeth intended to be the best mother a child could want, and smoking just wasn’t in the picture.
She inhaled deeply, trying to take in as much as she could as quickly as she could. An old habit. She hadn’t had a relaxing, indoor smoke in years. In fact, David was the only person who knew she still smoked. Her colleagues at the hospital shook their heads in disgust at patients and nurses who wouldn’t quit. Doctors who smoked were considered more foolish and self-indulgent than their civilian counterparts.
She stubbed out the last third of the butt and hurried back to her office. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, she spent mornings in the Assisted Reproduction Clinic doing pre-implantation embryo diagnosis, which had become more satisfying than her search for a genetic marker for ovarian cancer. But this morning she couldn’t concentrate. All she could think about was her sister. And her sister’s mother. Wouldn’t Mrs. McClure also have to be her mother? Elizabeth shivered.
Finding her real mother had been a lifelong dream, abandoned only when her adoptive father threatened to cut off her funds for medical school if she continued to search. Now Ralph was dead, the phone number was in her hands, and it was time to discover everything she could about her biological heritage. Especially now that she could never be close to McClure. It was heartbreaking to think she would live in the same town as her sister and wouldn’t be able see or contact her. Elizabeth had made her choice. She would have a daughter instead, and maybe discover the woman who had given birth to her.
The thought that she might speak to her real mother for the first time made her knees weak. She held the paper with Mrs. McClure’s number and tried to prepare for the possibilities. The woman would hang up on her. Mrs. McClure was Jenna’s step-parent. Their real mother had died… or disappeared… or was in a mental institution somewhere.
Elizabeth took a deep breath and dialed the number. As it rang, she rehearsed the speech she’d been preparing for days. As a doctor and a scientist, she was always confident. But this was about family, the part of her life that always failed her.
“Hello?” The voice was high-pitched and abrupt.
Elizabeth’s heart sank. “Patricia McClure?”
“Yes?”
“This is Dr. Meyers at North McKenzie Hospital in Eugene. I’m with the genetic science department.”
“What can I do for you?”
“You have a daughter named Jenna McClure?”
“Yes, why?” Panic pitched her voice even higher. “Is something wrong?”
“No. I’m sorry if I alarmed you. We’re conducting a study of families with genetic markers for cystic fibrosis. Do you–”
“I can’t help you,” Mrs. McClure cut in. “As I told Jenna, I don’t know anything about her father’s family, and there’s never been any history of the disease in mine.”
“What about your other children? Has any–”
“I told you, I can’t help you!”
The woman was frightened and hiding something. Elizabeth knew she wouldn’t get another chance if Mrs. McClure hung up.
“I don’t mean to cause you any discomfort,” Elizabeth said, struggling to sound soothing. She didn’t understand how anyone could refuse to cooperate with medical research. “Our intention is to find a cure for the disease so that people like your daughter can become pregnant without worrying about the health of their child. If we knew her father’s name and whereabouts, we could get the information from him directly.”
“His name is Jack McClure, but I don’t know where he is.” Mrs. McClure’s voice stiffened with old indignities. “Why don’t you just forget it? That’s what I told Jenna when she told me about the blood test. If she wants to get knocked up by some guy she never met, she’ll just have to take her chances.”
“You disapprove of artificial insemination?” Elizabeth began to hope this abrupt and selfish woman was not her mother.
“Doesn’t matter.” She sniffed. “Jenna does what she wants.”
“What about your grandchild? What if he or she is born with cystic fibrosis? Wouldn’t you like to help us find a cure?”
In the silence that followed, Elizabeth could hear her soften, could hear her searching for a way to help without revealing her secrets. She had a small pang of guilt about making up the CF condition.