I ordered another beer, waited for it to arrive, and then asked Marilyn, “Why would Kate disappear?”
She hesitated and then shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Things with Randall are okay?”
She fiddled with one of the gold buttons that ran down the middle of her suit and glanced around the bar. “Randall is wonderful.”
“Not what I asked.”
Marilyn chuckled and shook her head. “Maybe I made a mistake in coming to you, Noah.”
I nodded, thinking the same thing. “I’ve been wondering if I should put that on my business cards.”
She leaned across the table. “Kate loves Randall. You won’t be able to turn this into a ‘win her back’ contest. She loves him.”
I took a long swallow from the beer and stared at her without saying anything. I tried to recall the name of the cartoon superhero who could shoot lasers out of his eyes because, at that moment, I really would’ve liked to use those lasers on Marilyn Crier.
“I am not interested in a ‘win her back’ contest,” I said, finally, setting the glass down and moving closer to the table to meet her gaze. “I’m an investigator, so in order to do the investigating, I normally ask questions.” I paused, watching her lean back, away from me. “I asked if things with Randall were okay because it’s what you ask when a married person disappears. You investigate-there’s that word again-the missing person’s relationships first.”
I sat back in my chair, exhaling and folding my arms across my chest. I momentarily wished I’d had the guts to speak like that to her in high school.
“I’m sorry,” Marilyn said, nodding tersely in my direction. “I was rude.”
“Yeah. You were.”
“It won’t happen again.” She paused and then refolded her hands on the table. “Their marriage is…a work in progress.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means their marriage is no different than anyone else’s. They have their good times and their bad times.”
I stood up, angry with myself for having entertained the thought that I could work for Marilyn Crier. I had hated her in high school, and the eleven years that had passed hadn’t changed my feelings. So much for maturity.
“This isn’t gonna happen,” I said, fishing some money out of my pocket. “In order to find a person, Marilyn, I need straight answers. About everything. You’ll be better off telling this story, whatever it is, to someone you won’t be embarrassed to tell it to.”
I tossed several bills on the table and avoided looking at her. I walked away from the table and headed out of the bar. The gas fumes and salty haze were stifling in the evening air as I headed up Mission toward my place.
“Noah! She needs help!”
I slowed to a stop, listening to horns honking as cars cruised the boulevard. Kids leaned out of windows, waving at one another, their faces illuminated by the moon and streetlights. I turned around slowly.
Marilyn walked quickly to me, her face as tight as a drum. But her eyes were different than they’d been. Worry now invaded them.
“She needs help,” she repeated, clearly struggling for what to say. “I’m not sure what the problem is. I don’t know if she’s hiding. I don’t know much about her marriage, but I do know there are some things she is unhappy about.” She stopped, catching her breath, glancing at the line of cars moving slowly along the street. She looked back to me. “I need your help-to find her and to see if she’s okay.”
I shoved my hands in the pockets of my shorts, her words making me uncomfortable. If she wanted my help, there was probably a reason to think Kate might be in trouble. Marilyn probably would’ve been happy never hearing my name again. But here she was.
I looked past her at the roller coaster that dominated the Mission Beach skyline, rising high above the street. Small dots of light illuminated the tracks against the black night. Kate and I had ridden the coaster on our first date.
“Where’s Randall?” I asked.
“He’s here. He’s staying at the La Valencia,” she said, her voice relaxing at my interest. “He’s been here since Sunday.”
I nodded absently, watching the coaster cars crest the top of the tracks and dive to the bottom, the elated screams of the riders echoing down the boulevard.
“I’ll start with him,” I told her.
“So you’ll help me then?” Marilyn asked, gratefulness almost creeping into her voice.
The screams on the coaster died as the hydraulic brakes screeched and cracked in the dark, the ride coming to an end.
“No,” I said, moving my gaze to Marilyn’s eyes, wanting her to see my face. “But I’ll try to help Kate.”