Ethan hung up, sat for a moment, then got his jacket and keys. Irene Kelly and Frank Harriman were, as far as he was concerned, family. Closer to him than any of the losers in his own family had been, in fact. He wasn’t going to sit in an office if Frank needed help finding Irene. On his way out to his car, he called Ben Sheridan.
Despite the maître d’hotel’s best efforts, Frank, Ben, and Ethan got past him and interrupted the dinner Lydia and Guy St. Germain were enjoying at the exclusive restaurant in the Cliffside Hotel.
Guy saw them first, and he came to his feet as the men approached. “Frank? Is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure,” Frank said. “Irene didn’t come home this evening, and I can’t reach her by cell phone.”
Lydia, accurately reading the pained look on the maître d’s face, said, “We just finished. Let’s talk outside, okay?”
The maître d’ accompanied them to the door and started to apologize to Mr. St. Germain, one of his best customers, but the gentleman replied that he would have been far more upset if his friends had not been allowed to speak to him.
He paused, as the others moved ahead of him, and added, “Did I ever tell you how I learned of this restaurant?”
The maître d’ admitted he had not.
“Detective Harriman and his wife, Irene Kelly, recommended it.”
As he watched them leave, the maître d’ felt a headache coming on.
After hearing Lydia’s story, Frank exchanged a glance with Ben Sheridan, the only one of the group outside the Cliff-side who was staying calm. Or appearing to. Frank appreciated that, in part because it reminded him that if he didn’t also stay calm and keep control of this situation, he’d never get the information he needed. Even as he thought this, Ethan began badgering Lydia.
“You’re sure you didn’t hear his name?”
“Of course I’m sure! I’d tell you if I knew.”
Frank intervened. “I know you would, Lydia. Do you think Irene knew who he was?”
“Absolutely. He was definitely someone she knew and felt comfortable with,” Lydia said. “I think she might have known him from that astronomy story she worked on. They made some kind of joke about it. But maybe not, because he wanted to talk to her about a missing person case. Didn’t set off any alarm bells for me-he was polite and charming, even invited me to join them. But I needed to get home, because Guy and I were going out here tonight.” She bit her lower lip. “I can’t say why, but I just find it hard to believe he wanted to hurt her.”
“He may not have. He might have told her his story and that’s all there is to it. But I need to find out who he is and when he last saw her so that I can try to find out what happened after they met.” Frank looked down at his notes. “Tall, blond, good-looking man in his thirties.”
“Yes-early thirties. Short hair. Green eyes. Neatly dressed-a dark blue suit and lighter blue tie. White dress shirt. Muscular build, but not like a bodybuilder or wrestler. Just in good shape. Looked as if he spent time outdoors.”
“He approached on foot? You didn’t see him get into or out of a vehicle?”
“Right. In fact, he didn’t really approach us. Irene saw him walking down the sidewalk near the station, waved to him, he waved back, and she went over to talk to him.”
“And from there they walked into the Fireside?”
“Yes, that I’m sure of. I did wonder if I should go with her anyway, but I watched them and there was really nothing that made me feel worried. She was totally at ease.” She hesitated, then said, “Frank, I’m so sorry. If anything has happened to her because I didn’t insist that she drive straight home or-”
“Lydia, I’d love to believe that anyone could ‘insist’ she do anything. This isn’t your fault, and I don’t even want to assume that something bad has happened to her. She may be perfectly fine. I just need to find her.”
“What can we do to help?” Guy asked.
“For the moment, there’s probably not much more you and Lydia can do, but if I can find some security camera footage, I may need to get Lydia to confirm that I’m looking at the right guy.”
“Call us-don’t worry about the hour. I don’t think we’ll be getting much sleep tonight.”
“Do you want us to wait at your house?” Lydia asked. “In case she calls or comes home?”
“If you don’t mind-”
“Of course not!”
“I’ll call Jack and ask him to let you in. He’ll probably want to wait with you.”
“We have security cameras outside the station,” Ethan said. “I can look through the footage. I should have thought of that earlier.”
“I can help you with that,” Ben said.
“There’s a branch of the Bank of Las Piernas near there,” Guy said. “Its cameras will have a good view of the street. All of our cameras transmit images to our main office.”
“Can you get a look at the video?”
“Security reports to me, and that office operates twenty-four hours a day. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Lydia, you can take my car to Frank’s house,” Ethan said. “I’ll get a ride back with Frank and Ben. Is that okay with you, Frank?”
“That’s fine with me. Let’s get going.”
It felt good to have a plan, Frank thought. Good to be taking some action. Something to fight the undertow of worry, pulling him toward his worst fears.
Frank caught some luck, if you could call it that, at the Fireside.
The place was busy, and a band was playing loud enough to make conversation nearly impossible. The band took a break, but Frank’s conversation with the bartender was constantly interrupted as he served his customers.
The bartender, at first reticent, soon became convinced that Frank was not an irate husband of a cheater but a man sincerely worried that his wife was in danger. This conviction was brought home to him, perhaps, after Frank called the manager over, showed him his badge, and said that although he wasn’t working a case, he could get some people in here who would be working one, and do it before closing time.
“Talk to him,” the manager said to the bartender. “Use the office. I’ll cover for you here.” To Frank, he added, “I’m doing you a favor, so please don’t take all night, okay?”
Before Frank could reply, the bartender said, “Should I give him the phone she left?”
“Sure. It’s in the lost and found drawer. You have the key, right?”
The bartender assured him he did.
As Frank followed the bartender to the small back room, he fought down the despair he felt at learning Irene had left here without the phone. All the scenarios he had imagined, trying to rationalize why he hadn’t heard from her-she had gotten caught up covering a story, she had seen an old friend and lost track of time, she was feeling hemmed in and just decided to go AWOL for a few hours, even the ones in which she was hurt but in a hospital, cared for and just not yet located-all those fantasies collapsed.
In the relative quiet of the office, the bartender took another look at one of the photos Frank carried of her and said, “Yes, that’s her. She and a big blond dude came in here at the beginning of my shift. I didn’t think they were lovers, if you’re worried about that.”
“I’m not, but tell me what makes you say so.”
“In the first place, he was expecting someone else to join them. I overheard him say he had a friend on the way. But mostly, well, they weren’t loverlike. I mean, at first I thought she was this good-looking cougar or something, ’cause she was older than him, but she wasn’t flirting with him, and he wasn’t flirting with her. That’s straight. It was almost like it was just a business discussion, him doing most of the talking. Which is probably why she ended up drinking so much more than he did.”
“What?”
The bartender explained that the lady had downed the better part of a pitcher of margaritas and was none too steady on her feet when they left.