Finding Sarah (25 page)

Sarah wiped her hands on the
handkerchief she’d found in the trunk. The pounding of her heart almost masked
the footfalls coming toward the door. She took deep breaths, trying to ignore
the ringing in her ears.
Stay calm. Don’t get him angry.
Thank goodness
the veil would hide her face.

The door opened. Chris stood
before her, decked out in a black tuxedo with tails, silver cravat, cummerbund
and pocket square. Strains of Wagner’s wedding processional issued from the
living room. Chris handed her a bouquet of white silk roses. Her knees
threatened to give way, and Chris took her arm and led her from the room.

“You look exquisite,” Chris
whispered in her ear as he stopped in front of the television. Through the haze
of tulle, she made out some sort of clergyman reciting the first words of the
traditional wedding ceremony from the screen. He looked vaguely familiar. She
stood at Chris’ side, dumbfounded, as she watched a television wedding
ceremony, complete with attendants and guests. When the clergyman used Chris’
name, then hers, she snapped to attention. Chris had recorded some wedding and
doctored it so that their names were inserted into the ceremony. She looked
again. Good Lord, a TV show wedding, not even a real ceremony. She didn’t know
whether to laugh or cry.

Now it was her turn to say, “I
do.” Unable to speak at first, she felt Chris squeeze her hands and she managed
to croak the words. He beamed at her and reached into his pocket. He held her
left hand in his and placed a gold band on her fourth finger. The ring burned
like fire against her chilled hands. “You may kiss the bride,” seemed to
reverberate through the room. Chris lifted her veil. She closed her eyes in
dread. His lips pressed against hers. She would bite his tongue if he went any
further, but his kiss was a chaste one. The music changed to Mendelssohn’s
recessional and Chris led her to the kitchen where a platter of cheese and
microwaved hors d’oeuvres awaited. A silver ice bucket and a bottle of
champagne sat next to a tray of cookies.

He dropped her hand long enough
to open the champagne and pour two glasses into plastic flutes. “To the new Mrs.
Christopher Westmoreland,” he said, raising his glass and handing her the
second. He touched her flute with his and Sarah stifled a snicker at the dull
click of the plastic glasses.

“Drink, my bride,” he said.

She touched the glass to her lips
and placed it on the table.

“Let’s sit in the living room and
join the party,” Chris said. He filled a large paper plate with an assortment
of offerings from the table and handed Sarah back her glass. “Don’t forget your
champagne. It’s a special occasion, after all.”

With a sigh, she carried her
champagne to the living room. Chris had stoked the fire while she was dressing,
and he gestured to one of the chairs. The television set displayed a ballroom
filled with elegantly clad guests dancing to the music of a small orchestra.
Chris set the plate on the hearth and lifted a cookie to her lips. “I’m sorry
we couldn’t have a real wedding cake, but it wouldn’t have survived the trip.
This will have to do.”

So much for stabbing him with a
cake cutter. She nibbled a bit of the cookie.

“Don’t be so dainty,” he said. “Eat
the whole thing. Then you feed me one.”

Sarah chewed the cookie, although
sawdust would have been easier to swallow. She took a sip of champagne to force
it down. Tempted as she was to smash a cookie into Chris’ face, she held one to
his mouth. He grasped her hands and guided the morsel into his mouth, licking
her fingers in the process. She almost gagged.

Get him talking. Keep him
occupied, out of the bedroom. “Why don’t you get the champagne?” she asked. “Like
you said, it’s a special occasion.”

“Good idea. You wait right here,
my love.”

She forced a smile. As soon as he
left the room, she threw the remains of her drink into the fireplace. The fire
hissed, then glowed. She tilted the empty glass to her lips, lowering it when
Chris returned with the bottle. He smiled and filled her glass with the bubbly
spirit.

“You, too,” she said. “But finish
yours first. No fair if I’m ahead of you.” She watched as he quaffed the
remainder of his glass and refilled it.

He took his seat across from her,
sipping his champagne and gazing into her eyes. She met his for a moment. God,
where to go next? Chris thought they were at their wedding reception. What
would he expect the new bride to do? Eat? Dance? Both turned her stomach. The
thought of the bedroom was worse. She tried more small talk. “You did a nice
job with the wedding,” she said. “How long have you been planning it?”

“The wedding? Not that long. But
marrying you? I’ve known for years we were meant to be together. I decided it
was time to do something.”

“So you decided we’d get married
here, in secret? And you kidnapped me to bring me here?” Sarah scrutinized
Chris’ expression, searching for any clue that he was getting upset. So far, he
seemed content to be chatting away at their wedding reception. She held the
platter out, and he took some cheese.

“I’ve already told you I was
sorry to have to do it that way. But I was running out of patience. I had to
keep you from becoming a bad girl with that overgrown cop.”

She heard the irritation
returning to his voice, saw him clenching his fists. She smiled and stood,
moving toward the television set, where the guests were still dancing. She
began waltzing herself around the room, trying to see out the windows. The
moonlight gave glimpses of shadows and trees beyond the front porch, dimmed by
the light inside the cabin. They’d arrived in a car. Where was it now? She
glanced at Chris, who was watching her with undisguised admiration as he sipped
his champagne.

“You’re beautiful,” he said and
stood up to join her dance.

An icy chill ran down her spine.
Thank God, the music changed to an upbeat rock and roll tune. She could handle
dancing as long as they didn’t have to touch. She watched his moves, seeing no
evidence that the champagne had affected him yet. Disheartened, she vowed to
try harder. When the song finished, she whirled back to the hearth and poured
another glass of champagne for Chris. “Here. I’ll bet you’re thirsty after all
that.”

He accepted the glass.

“Drink,” she said.

“You, too.”

“Sure. But would you mind
bringing me one of those strawberries from the table? I love a strawberry in my
champagne. A big one, please.” As soon as he left, she splashed the remainder
of her glass into the fire.

Chris returned with the fruit and
a huge grin. “Here you go, my sweet.” He plopped it into her empty glass with a
flourish.

“Drink. Once the cork is out, it
goes flat.” She added a bit of champagne to her glass. “I think I might be
ahead of you again.”

Chris drained his glass and
accepted her refill. “You wouldn’t be trying to get me drunk, now, would you?
It’s our wedding night, after all.”

* * * * *

Randy sped to Sarah’s shop. Was
she inside, unconscious? The front door was locked, the “Closed” sign in the
door of the dark interior space. He forced himself to calm down, to regroup.
After three deep breaths, he knocked on neighboring shop doors until he found
someone at the Golden Needle. Someone who hadn’t seen Sarah all day. Someone
who had noticed That Special Something had been closed at noon when she’d gone
to Sadie’s for lunch.

“You didn’t call anyone?” Randy
asked the clerk.

“Who should I have called? Sarah
worked alone. If she was sick, the shop would have been closed. It’s not usual,
but it’s happened.”

“You’re right. Thank you, Ms …”

“Parker. Peggy Parker.”

Randy remembered to write her
name and comments in his notebook before he ran for his truck. When he got back
to the station, he went straight to Laughlin’s office. He rapped once on the
doorjamb and barged in. “I need a subpoena for all incoming calls to this
telephone for the past two months.” He extended a piece of paper with Sarah’s
name and phone number to the chief.

“Reason?” Laughlin asked.

“Missing person.”

Laughlin looked up and opened his
mouth as if to question the request, but something in Randy’s face must have
telegraphed his despair. He nodded, picked up the telephone and punched in some
numbers. “Preston Laughlin for Judge Nachtigall, please. Yes, I’ll hold.” He
turned toward Randy. “Go. Call the phone company. I’ll make sure everything
will stand up in court.”

Laughlin began talking to the
judge. Randy mouthed a thank-you and went to his desk to call Victoria. He had
explained what he needed when Laughlin appeared in the doorway.

“My office. Now.”

Randy thanked Victoria and
followed the chief to his office. He knew he was in for it, and he didn’t care.
He thought about all his cases where a loved one was involved. He’d always
thought he’d been understanding. He hadn’t been close. How had they stood it?
Not knowing, wondering what someone was going through, if they were hurt, or—

“Out with it. What’s going on?”
Laughlin’s concerned expression belied the gruffness of his tone.

Randy slumped down in his chair. “Sarah
Tucker’s been missing since last night. I found out about it a little while ago
and went to her place.”

“Signs of violence?”

“No, but—”

“Not even twenty-four hours.”
Laughlin said.

“I know that she wouldn’t have
left of her own free will.”

“Didn’t we have the talk about
not getting your personal life involved in your cases?”

“Yes, sir.” The steel band
tightened again. “And because of that, I followed the rules and didn’t dig when
my gut told me there was something going on that didn’t fit within the
boundaries of a legitimate case.” His heard his voice getting louder, but didn’t
bother to lower it, or to disguise the anger. “And now whether it’s personal or
not, someone is missing and fuck the rules, I’m going to find her.”

“
We’re
going to find her.
I have permission for the subpoena—you start the paperwork, but put Kovak’s
name on it. Get your phone numbers, get whatever you can out of the computer
and turn it over to Kovak. It’s his case now.”

“But—”

“Randy.” Laughlin’s tone was
even. “Kovak is the lead. I don’t want you doing something that will destroy the
case or cost you your job. You can back him up, but from your desk.”

“Yes, sir.” Randy returned to his
office. After kicking the desk a few times, he felt no better. He dug the heels
of his hands into his temples. Sarah would be fine. They’d find her and she
would be fine. She could take care of herself. Kovak came in with two cups of
coffee. He put one on Randy’s desk.

“Chief says you have a case for
me.”

Randy handed Kovak the subpoena
form. “Chief’s got the judge’s approval. Needs a signature and I’ll fax it over
to the phone company. They’re already working.”

“I’ll get on it, but what’s the
case?”

“Sarah Tucker. She hasn’t been
seen or heard from since last night.”

“Shit.” Kovak dragged his hand
across his hair. “What do you have?”

Randy stood and stormed to the
window. “Nothing. A whole lot of nothing.”

“Hey, take it easy. We’ll find
her. One step at a time. Chief was right. You’re way too close. Start at the
beginning. When’s the last time someone saw her?”

“I saw her last night. Dropped
her off at her place at eight-thirty. According to her answering machine, her
mom called at nine-fifteen, but Sarah didn’t answer, so I think she’s been gone
since then.”

“You checked with friends?
Neighbors?”

“Dammit, I checked what I could.
I don’t know that much about her friends, but her neighbor assures me that she
wouldn’t have left her purse behind if she was going somewhere.”

“Relax. You said you had reason
to believe someone was trying to sabotage her business.”

“Yeah, but all I have is a bunch
of names that don’t seem to exist.” Randy pulled out the sheet of paper where
he’d written them down and handed it to Kovak. “None of these show up anywhere.”

Kovak raised an eyebrow. “Any of
your suspects into photography?”

“What?”

“Big guy, these names are all
famous photographers, except you spelled Muybridge wrong.”

“Shit, give me that list.” Randy
snatched the paper from Kovak’s hand. “You sure?”

“Yeah, Janie took two years of
photography at night school. I helped her study.”

Randy felt the adrenaline surge. “Owen
Scofield. Owns an art gallery. Big photography exhibit going on. Sits on the
board of Consolidated. It connects.” He jumped for his windbreaker. “I’m going
to his place.”

“Shit, Randy. Chief took you off
the case.”

“So, I’m not on the case. You are.
You can get the judge’s signature, wait for the phone records, and I’ll bet
some number registered to Owen Scofield will show up. Meanwhile, I’m going to
find him and have a little chat.”