M orris couldn’t put his finger on it, and that was what was bothering him.
He was a solutions guy. He liked to fix things. He liked to take a problem and, using a combination of research, experience, and good judgment, figure out the best answer, the best plan, the best course of action. He’d had two careers in his life-football and banking-and both relied on well-thought-out strategies and their proper executions. And, of course, great instincts, which he normally had. How could his instincts have been so wrong about Sheila?
He should have been relaxing over SportsCenter, as he usually did after a long day of work, but instead he was going over every event of the past few weeks in his mind, like an instant replay he couldn’t shut off. Every conversation with Sheila, everything they’d talked about, everything they’d done or hadn’t done. But the analysis wasn’t getting him anywhere. He was a fat hamster running on a little wheel.
He was stuck.
With every passing day, the chances seemed to grow slimmer that Sheila would ever turn up. There were no real leads. Jerry Isaac hadn’t said as much, but Morris knew the PI was running out of ideas. There was nobody left to interview.
Sheila had left him, willingly, just as her phone message had said. Why couldn’t he accept that, instead of throwing money at a guy who was probably only too happy to keep looking so long as Morris kept paying?
His beautiful son was the only bright spot at the moment. Randall had swept back into his life, and it appeared that whatever chip had been on his shoulder all these years had finally been knocked off. Morris knew he had Sheila to thank for that. Regardless of the pain and anger and worry she was causing him, he knew he would love her the rest of his life for what she’d done.
He poured another shot of Johnnie Walker and pushed away the guilt that came with every ounce he downed. So far Randall hadn’t mentioned Morris’s drinking, but it was probably par for the course as far as his son was concerned. He’d never known his father sober.
The thought saddened him.
His BlackBerry rang. He stared at it until it stopped. It was after 8:00 p.m. and they could call back tomorrow. Then he heard his home phone. Not a work call, then. He reached over and picked it up.
“It’s Jerry,” a voice said on the other end. “You busy? You didn’t answer your cell.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m on a hot date right now.” Morris’s laugh was bitter. “Got a cute blonde with me. Hang on while I remove her from my lap.” He looked at the bottle of Johnnie Walker Gold, still in his hand. Close enough. “What’s up?”
“I met with Ethan Wolfe today. I meant to call you earlier but my wife wanted to go out to dinner. It’s our weekly date night.”
“Let me guess, you took her to the Golden Monkey.”
“Don’t knock it, man. Best Chinese food in Seattle.”
“Do Chinese people agree with you?”
“Bite me. Do you want to know what happened with Wolfe or not?”
“Let me hear it.”
Jerry cleared his throat. “I definitely think he was the one Sheila was having an affair with.”
“He actually admitted it?” Morris felt a stab even though the news wasn’t surprising. He thought once again about the night they’d met in Sheila’s office. The way Wolfe had taunted her, and she didn’t even bust his balls. It all made sense now. He poured himself another shot of whiskey, wondering if the PI could hear it through the phone line.
“I have a very strong hunch. After thirty years as a cop, that ought to mean something.”
“So they were screwing. No shock there.” Morris kept his tone light. Holding the phone away, he downed his whiskey in one gulp. “What does this mean?”
“It might not mean anything.” Jerry paused. “But the guy’s a bit weird, you know? Squirrelly. Freaked out when the door closed. Guess he didn’t want to be stuck in a room alone with me.” The PI snorted. “Logically, I can’t blame him for not copping to the affair. Why would he admit it?”
Something Jerry said rubbed at Morris. A pang of familiarity, a twinge at the back of his neck, but it dissipated as soon as he tried to chase the thought.
“Thing is,” Jerry continued, “he was adamant that he didn’t know what happened to her.”
“You believed him?”
“No reason not to.”
“Does he have an alibi for the night she disappeared?”
“And which night would that be?” Jerry sounded annoyed. “We don’t even know when she left town. You were in Japan, remember? She didn’t call you until Sunday. She could have been anywhere by then. In any case, Wolfe doesn’t need an alibi because as far as we know, there’s been no crime.” Jerry sighed heavily.
“What?”
“I don’t know,” the PI said. “Something’s off. Wolfe struck me as off. He was wound way too tight for a guy who grades papers for a living.”
“So what do we do now?”
“I could follow the kid around for a couple days. Seems to be the only option left. But I’ll be honest with you, Morris, I don’t expect anything to come of it. There’s nothing to go on here. It’s more about me wanting to squash the weird vibes I got, if that makes any sense. And it’ll be expensive.”
“Not exactly the same price point as the Golden Monkey.”
That got a chuckle out of Jerry, but then his voice was serious again. “Listen, there’s something else I want you to think about. It’s looking like a long shot, but let’s say that, miracle of miracles, we do find Sheila. She’s now all pissed off you tracked her down. She’s gone somewhere to start a new life and now there you are on her doorstep demanding answers and reminding her of the person she doesn’t want to be anymore. She tells you to get lost. Is that the reunion you envisioned? Is that what you need to move on?”
“I don’t know what I need anymore.” Morris drank straight from the bottle this time. “But I’m not ready to let this go. I need to see her face, Jerry. She needs to tell me it’s over in person. At the very least, I deserve that.”
“Okay then. Just making sure. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Hey,” Morris said before the private investigator could hang up.
“Yeah?”
“About Wolfe. What did you think of him?”
“I already told you. Kind of a weasel, jumpy.”
That twinge again. “No, not that.” Morris hesitated. “Did you think he was good-looking?”
“I don’t know, he’s a dude, ” Jerry said, exasperated. “And you’ve met him already.”
“Yeah, but I want to know what you think.”
“I don’t know.” Another sigh and the sound of knuckles popping. “I guess he’s good-looking. My wife is addicted to this soap opera, The Young and the Reckless -”
“Restless,” Morris corrected. “My ex was into that, too.”
“Whatever, it’s all crap. He looks like he could be on that show. He’s a handsome guy. Probably gets a lot of attention from the ladies because he’s young, fit, got a nice face.”
“Fantastic.” Morris took another swig.
“You asked.” A short silence. “Seriously, man, think about what I said about letting her go. You could spend your whole life wondering, ‘What if?’ The stress could kill you.”
Morris looked at the bottle in his hand. The deep amber liquid glowed in the dim light of the living room. “It already is killing me.”
He rode the elevator inside Puget Sound State University’s psychology building, armpits damp and fists clenched, feeling like a kid on the first day of school. Morris had checked his messages after he’d finished talking to Jerry the night before, and one of the office assistants from the university had left a voice mail. The department wanted Morris to clear out Sheila’s personal effects. They wanted to make room for a new professor who was currently sharing an office with someone else. Space was at a premium, so would he mind coming down at his earliest convenience to pack up Dr. Tao’s things?
Morris minded. But what choice was there?
The elevator doors opened and a small sign with a red arrow pointed the way to the psychology department’s main office. After a few short steps, Morris found himself standing in front of a long counter where three middle-aged women were working. All three heads popped up at his arrival.
The lady on the far right with the short, curly brown hair spoke first. “You must be Morris.” Her voice was girlish and she favored him with a smile. “I recognize you from the pictures in Dr. Tao’s office.”
They shook hands. The other two ladies exchanged a knowing glance, then went back to their computer screens. The office wasn’t busy. Morris would bet ten bucks they were playing FreeCell.
The secretary’s name was Dolores. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. Looking down at her from his height of six feet four, Morris could see graying roots and the spot on the top of her head where her hair appeared to be thinning. He managed a smile and followed her out of the office. On her wrist, she wore a bracelet made of keys held together with some kind of stretchy telephone cord. The keys jangled as they made their way back to the elevators.
“I had Maintenance bring by some boxes.” She punched the elevator’s up button with a short, unpolished fingernail. Glasses hung around her neck and rested on top of her embroidered sweater. “We could have packed up her office ourselves, but I thought you might prefer to do it. There are some personal items in her drawers you might want to bring to her. Or to her house, anyway.”
The elevator arrived and Dolores looked up at him. “How is she?”
Morris felt his face flush. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
The small elevator felt tinier than ever. He had no desire to fill it with talk of Sheila or the weather or the hundred other small-talk items that people saved for moments like this. All he wanted to know was where that bastard Ethan Wolfe was, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask.
They stepped out of the elevator, and he followed Dolores down to the end of the hallway, where she unlocked the last door with her master key.
She turned the knob, then hesitated. “Dean Simmons was wondering if you knew when she’d be back. He was surprised-well, we all were-by her abrupt departure. She said she was ill from stress, but… do you know if she’s found another position?”
“I really couldn’t say.” His tone was abrupt. “I know as much as you do.”
“I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”
“Don’t apologize. This is weird for everyone.”
He stepped inside the office and stifled a sigh. Despite her absence, the room was filled with Sheila’s presence. Traces of her perfume, a light floral blend, still lingered in the air. On her desk in a crystal vase was the bouquet of roses he’d given her the night he proposed, dried and preserved to perfection. Her favorite Pottery Barn mug sat near the computer. Its rim still had a lipstick stain-deep red, her color. Flattened boxes and a pile of newspapers were scattered on the floor.
“I’ll leave you then.” Dolores watched him with a sad look on her face. “When you’re done, dial extension two one two on the desk phone and I’ll have someone help you bring the boxes to your car. I believe everything here is hers, except the furniture and the computer.”
“Thank you.”
She closed the door behind her. Morris took a moment to compose himself before getting to work. It all seemed so surreal. Sheila loved her job-how could she have walked away from it? She’d said once that the university was the only thing that kept her going after her divorce.
He plucked her diplomas from the wall and wrapped them carefully in newspaper, stopping when a framed photograph caught his eye. He’d been in Sheila’s office only a handful of times, so he couldn’t say how long it had been there. It was a photo of him.
He was smiling, standing beside his giant stainless steel barbecue wearing a red plaid shirt and blue jeans, a soda in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other. This would have been early last summer. They’d eaten steaks and salads on the patio and talked for hours. Afterward, they had watched a movie on pay per view. He couldn’t remember the name of it now, but it was a comedy. He could still remember the way Sheila had felt snuggled up in his arms, and the light in her eyes when she laughed.
Morris blinked back tears, appalled at the thought that someone might catch him crying in her office. He grabbed a box from the stack and methodically began to fill it.
After the boxes were brought out to his car, Morris went back inside the office to speak to Dolores.
In a low voice, he asked, “Do you know where I can find one of Sheila’s teaching assistants? Ethan Wolfe. He, uh, might have something of Sheila’s that I need to bring with me.”
“Let me check.” Dolores typed something into the computer. “Yes, he has office hours today. Room six oh six. Make a left when you leave the elevator.”
Morris thanked her one last time.
Two minutes later, he was standing outside a small, sparsely decorated office, staring at the back of Ethan Wolfe’s head. The grad student was seated behind his desk but was turned toward the window, his back to the doorway. Morris rapped his knuckles hard on the doorframe.
“It’s open,” Wolfe said, spinning around in his chair. His face froze.
Morris stepped inside.
The kid was better looking than he remembered, but then again, he hadn’t looked at Wolfe too closely the night they’d met. Morris had been too focused on whether Sheila had liked her diamond bracelet. Feeling self-conscious, he sucked in his gut and stood up straighter.
Wolfe was on the phone. “Gotta go,” he said quietly into the receiver. “See you at home.” He placed the handset back in its cradle.
“Howdy.” Morris was trying for pleasant, but it came out gruff. “Don’t know if you remember me. I’m Morris Gardener.”
“Sheila’s fiancé. Of course.” Looking less than enthused, Wolfe lifted himself out of his chair.
They shook hands and Morris found himself pressing harder on the younger man’s palm than was necessary.
“What brings you by?”
“The lady in the office asked me to pack up Sheila’s things.” Morris gave the smaller man a deliberate once-over. “Guess they need the office space.”
Wolfe nodded and sat back down. The Seahawks bobble-head on the desk vibrated. “Office space is like gold around here. Sheila had the best spot in the building, with the best view.”
“Mind if I sit?”
“Go ahead.”
Morris reached for the door.
“Would you mind leaving it open?” Wolfe said quickly. “It gets pretty stuffy in here.”
That pang again.
Morris shut the door firmly behind him. “I think you’ll agree that what we need to talk about is best kept private.”
Wolfe stiffened.
Morris eased himself into the small chair across from Wolfe and studied the young man, who was sipping something from Starbucks and watching him with a furtive expression. Christ, Ethan Wolfe was still a kid. And he looked completely uncomfortable. It was a total one-eighty from the last time Morris had seen him, when he was all cock and swagger.
Something about the way the kid sat in the chair was familiar. The thought nagged, and Morris allowed himself to ruminate on it for about five seconds before reminding himself that he and Wolfe had met before.
The TA finally broke the silence. “Is there news about Dr. Tao?”
“I don’t have any answers for you, son.”
Wolfe bristled at the condescending term. “Well, if you talk to her, let her know we miss her. I’m working under Professor Easton now, and just between you and me, I’m afraid to pick up a pencil, if you know what I mean.” Wolfe’s chuckle sounded forced. A bead of sweat was at his hairline, though the room was cool. He stood up suddenly. “Mind if I open a window?”
“Not at all.”
As Wolfe tugged at the small pane, Morris couldn’t help noticing the bulge of the younger man’s biceps below the short sleeves of his T-shirt. The last time he’d been that lean, Morris was sixteen and playing high school football. A moment later a blast of cool air filled the room.
Wolfe sat back down, his face a little brighter than before. His lips turned up in an arrogant smile. “So, Morris, if there’s no news, what is it you want to discuss?”
“How long have you been working with Sheila? A year?”
Wolfe’s expression was cool. “Just about. She was my mentor. I’m really disappointed she left because this is my last year. I would have loved to finish under her.”
And over her, and from behind, and any other position you get her into, blowhard.
“She’s the best professor at this school,” Wolfe continued. “Hands down. Her lectures were incredible, as I’m sure you know.” He sipped his coffee again, no longer rattled.
“I wouldn’t know, actually.”
“You’ve never heard her lecture?”
“Never had the privilege.”
“Wow.” Wolfe leaned back in his chair, smug. “I’d have thought being engaged and all, you’d have taken an interest in her work. She was the most dynamic-”
A knock at the door interrupted Wolfe midsentence. Morris realized he was breathing hard and forced himself to calm down. Turning his head, he saw Dolores in the doorway.
“Hi again, Morris.”
She gave him a warm smile and he forced himself to smile back. The woman had no idea she’d just saved Wolfe from getting his face smashed into the desk.
“What’s up, Dolores?” Wolfe sounded breezy.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you gentlemen, but, Ethan, Danny Ambrose is here. He’s really upset. He said Dr. Tao told him he was getting a B, but you entered a C into the system and now he’s having problems with his scholarship. Can I steal you for a quick sec?”
“This might take a few minutes,” Wolfe said, standing. He seemed amused for no reason Morris could see.
“I’ll wait,” Morris said.
Alone, he looked around at the dismal office, much smaller than Sheila’s and lacking personality. He poked hard at the Seahawks bobblehead to make it nod faster and contemplated how he was going to ask Wolfe about the affair. Should he come straight out with it? Or dance around it and try to make the kid squirm?
The bobblehead’s abnormally large cranium fell off its skinny body with a clatter and rolled around on the desk a few times. Morris made a grab for it before it could fall over the edge and hit the floor.
Shit, it was broken. Holding the plastic head in his hand, he allowed himself a smirk at the sight of the headless body. It was a nice parallel for what he felt like doing to Ethan Wolfe.
Fumbling with large fingers, he worked at reattaching the head. As he fiddled with the springs, something small and shiny rolled away from the base. Morris picked it up, assuming it was another broken part. But it wasn’t, not even close.
He knew exactly what this was, because it belonged to him.
Stunned, he traced the engraved initials on the platinum face. MG.
It was the missing cuff link he’d been looking for. What the hell was Wolfe doing with it? Morris’s mind raced.
Had Sheila given it to her boy toy? No, that made no sense. What would have been the point of giving Wolfe just one cuff link? Besides, they were personalized with Morris’s initials.
Had he left it at Sheila’s house and Wolfe had swiped it from there? No, impossible. Morris had never worn the cuff links to Sheila’s house.
Wolfe would be back any minute. Slipping the cuff link into his pocket, Morris made his way out of the office.
Six minutes later he was in his Cadillac. He closed and locked the car doors. In the privacy of the vehicle, he pulled out the cuff link and stared at it in disbelief.
What the hell did it mean? Think, damn it.
The last time he’d worn these cuff links was when he was working on the Okinawa deal. He’d had an early-morning breakfast meeting with two of the investors and had worn his charcoal suit with his favorite cerulean blue tie. Then he’d had a conference call with another investor in Japan. Afterward, if he wasn’t mistaken, he’d met with Randall’s friend Tom Young for a preliminary interview. They’d gone out to dinner later that evening.
Christ. Tom Young. The pieces fell into place.
He knew he’d remembered Ethan Wolfe from somewhere. The desire to leave the door open at the interview, the posture, the cocky grin…
Tom Young was Ethan Wolfe.
The hair was different, the skin lighter, but the voice, the mannerisms… Morris would bet his life on it.
He grabbed his phone. Jerry answered on the first ring.
Morris didn’t bother with pleasantries. “We got a problem.”