“What is it that I can do for you?” I asked.
“I want you to find my sister. She’s been missing for three days. All her clothes are still here. And not one word from her. I’m worried. It’s not like her at all.” She wrung her hands. Her nails were long and tapered. Clear fingernail polish and no rings.
“My fee is one hundred fifty dollars a day plus expenses. In a case like this, I usually get paid three days in advance. If I don’t find her in a week, I work the next week free, or until I find her.”
She was silent for so long that I got uncomfortable. I started checking to see if my shirttail was hanging out. It was. And there was no way I could be discreet about tucking it back in. How could she not notice? I began to fidget.
“OK,” she finally said. “When do you begin?”
“Right now,” I said as I opened my notebook and clicked my pen. I couldn’t believe that she bought it.
A half-hour later I was back on the street with a check for $450 and a photograph of a girl in my pocket. My entire shirttail was out now, but I couldn’t care less. I couldn’t have been happier. My first real case! The first thing I did was stop at a public phone and call in sick. I had 780 hours of sick leave accumulated. There would never be a better time to use some of it. I couldn’t believe it. Someone actually hired me; something was actually happening to me!
Lauren Wright, until three years ago, had been a fashion model for the Miller & Rhoads Department Stores. She got bored with it, or so her sister said, and frustrated by the fact that she would never make the New York modeling scene — her legs were too thin and slightly bowed. After she quit her job, she moved in with her sister, let her body hair grow, and didn’t do much more than watch soap operas for about a year.
Two years ago she started attending the local college, and five months ago took a part-time waitressing job at a place called Berrini’s. She had no steady boyfriend, dated occasionally, but never spent the night away from home. Sometimes her male friends would sleep over, but no one ever spent more than two nights, and she hadn’t dated anyone in at least a half a year.
Sara Wright, my employer, was a lawyer with McGraw and Litman who specialized in accident cases. When I asked her why she didn’t hire an investigator that she knew, she said that she wanted to keep her private affairs private. That didn’t make much sense to me, but I wasn’t about to give her money back.
I looked at Lauren’s picture. There was something familiar about her. High cheekbones, fleshy mouth, expertly applied makeup. It was taken when she worked as a model. I wished that I had a more recent photo.
I figured that I’d try the college first. After all, she may have had an argument with her sister that Sara didn’t tell me about and decided to cool it for a while, or maybe she had fallen in love and was on one of those in-town honeymoons. Anyway, Sara said that she was very serious about school, so maybe she could be missing from home but not from school. The idea was pretty weak, but I had to start somewhere. I had her class schedule, and besides, I was hungry. The college snack-bar would be as good a place as any to have lunch.
Before I went to the school, I stopped at the bank. Once again they had changed tellers, and they wouldn’t cash the check. Rather, I had to deposit it and then write a check for cash. And once again, I threatened to close my account. Fifteen years at the same bank entitles you to some respect, but apparently I was the only one who thought so.
At the snack bar, I ordered three hamburgers and smothered them with mayonnaise and onions. As an afterthought, I got a large Diet Coke. I figured that it would make up for not jogging that morning.
There was an empty table near the far window that gave a pretty complete view of the place. It didn’t occur to me until after I was seated that nobody paid much attention to me. I didn’t look like a professor, and certainly not a student. A book salesman, that was it. Luckily, I had my briefcase.
They served the kind of hamburgers that are best eaten fast — if you took your time, you’d wonder what kind of meat was used — so I had to be inconspicuous for the next thirty minutes. Who was I kidding? I couldn’t have stood out more if I was Babe the Blue Ox. I removed the morning paper from my case, spread it on the table before me and then started to study the clientele. Most of the students looked like students — young, loud, sloppy. Lauren would have stuck out in this crowd, especially if she still dressed like a model, which would probably be unlikely.
After two cigarettes, a familiar pain in my chest returned. Before I started jogging, I thought I was having a heart attack when it came. But now I usually felt that the most it could be was heartburn. While walking across campus to Oliver Hall where Lauren’s American Lit class was, I broke wind and felt much better. If Lauren was at school, chances were good that she’d show up there. Sara said that Lit was her favorite subject.
At 1:45, I was outside the door. Class would dismiss in five minutes. A few professors passing in the hall eyed me suspiciously. There were not many students about. Maybe nobody took a class after two o’clock.
The door opened and six students came out. I could still hear voices inside the classroom. I waited a while longer before I looked in. Three students were gathered around the professor’s podium. None of them was Lauren. I smiled and waited in the hall. Very shortly, a man came out and stopped in front of me. I smiled again.
“May I help you?” He sounded like Lee Marvin. I guessed he was the Lit professor, though he certainly didn’t look like one to me. About thirty-five, longish blond hair and a big mustache, he was wearing one of those Hawaiian shirts with jeans and boots. He was big and looked like a TV private eye. He did not smile.
“Do you have a Lauren Wright registered in this class?”
“Who are you?” It was more of an accusation than a question.
“I, ah...” I felt my smile grow and my face flush. “I’m her father.” I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God for my quick mind. “I’m only in town for the day. I haven’t seen Lauren for quite a while, and, ah, her sister told me that she was at school. Do I have the wrong class?”
“Come with me,” he said.
I followed him a few yards until he opened the door to his office.
“Have a seat.” He sat behind his desk. The room was dimly lit, almost dark. He lit a cigarette. I felt uncomfortable under his gaze.
“Lauren never mentioned a father to me,” he finally said.
Who was this guy, I thought. What does he do, take a case history of his students? Seems more than just a professor to Lauren.
“Well, I hardly ever see her,” I said. “You see, me and her mother split up about fifteen years ago, and...” then it struck me why he was so suspicious — Lauren looked about as much like me as a quarter horse does a buffalo. “I, well, you know how things are.” I smiled again. “Thank God the girls look like their mother,” I added. The words seemed out of place. I felt that he didn’t believe me.
“No, she wasn’t in class today. The first class she missed all term. Didn’t call either.” He paused. “I ask the students to call if they are not coming to class. Sorry, I can’t help you. I’ll tell her that you stopped by when I see her.” He rose. The interview was over.
On the way to my car I debated whether or not to follow that guy. He knew a lot more than he let on. When I got to the parking lot, I had no idea what to do next. I had only one other place to check out and that was Berrini’s, where Lauren worked. It was pointless going there before dark, however. I had the whole afternoon ahead of me.
I sat in my car and thought about killing time. I could go home and take a nap. It was a sunny, warm fall day; it would be a shame to sleep on a day like that. I could go for a long walk in the park, but my Diet Coke was my one concession to fitness for the day. I went to the library instead.