Dancing in the Dark (10 page)

“So, you and Gary Bing are stuck in a fleabag. I’m sorry, Matthew.”

“Ah, it’s no big deal. We won’t be there much.” Matthew glanced at
his watch. “I better get going. I told Gates and Bing I’d meet them at
the police station. Want me to drop you at Audrey Patterson’s store?”

“Yeah, thanks. Let me get that over with.”

A bell tinkled as Diane opened the front door to Lavender &
Lace. The shop’s cool air was filled with the aromas of potpourri and
scented candles. Embroidered linens, fine lace, and hand-milled soaps
were displayed on white shelves that lined the lavender walls. Antique
hat pins stood in tall porcelain holders, while boxes of ornate
stationery and greeting cards crowded the counters. There were gaily
colored parasols in umbrella stands, a display case full of fanciful
gloves and feathered fans, and dozens of beaded evening bags hung from
tiny hooks throughout the store. As she surveyed the room, Diane
wondered how a search headquarters could possible have existed in this
place. There wasn’t enough room for one more stickpin, let alone a
small army of volunteers.

She paused to look at the collection of stuffed teddy bears that
were arrayed on the steps of an old wooden ladder. Each was dressed in
a lavender taffeta skirt, wore a matching wide-brimmed bonnet with lace
trim, had a strand of faux pearls draped
around its neck, and held a feathered fan in one of its paws.

A trim, middle-aged woman came out from behind the beaded curtain
that covered a door at the back of the shop. She managed a wan smile as
she navigated her way down the narrow aisle toward Diane.

“May I help you?” the woman asked automatically, pushing strands of
gray-streaked hair behind her ear.

“These are delightful,” said Diane, picking up one of the bears.

“Thank you. I’ve been carrying them for years, ever since my
daughter fell in love with hers.”

Diane put the bear back on the ladder step. “Are you Mrs. Patterson?”

“Yes.” There was caution in the woman’s voice.

Diane took off her sunglasses and extended her hand. “I’m Diane
Mayfield.”

“
Oh.” Audrey Patterson was flustered.
“Forgive me. I didn’t recognize you. I’m so sorry. I guess I have too
much on my mind.”

“Please. There’s absolutely nothing to apologize for. I shouldn’t
have left my sunglasses on.”

Diane could feel Audrey studying her face.
She’s
looking for every line and wrinkle
,
she thought—just like
most people do when they meet someone they’ve seen only on television.
She’ll want to tell her friends that the KEY News personality looked prettier, homelier, thinner, fatter,
older, younger in real life than she does on the screen.

“I was hoping that we might be able to talk some more,” she said,
getting to the point.

“About Leslie being on your show, right?”

“About interviewing her. Yes.”

The bell at the front of the shop rang as a pair of older women
walked inside.

“Let’s go to the back,” Audrey suggested.

“I can wait, if you need to help your customers,” offered Diane.

“No, come on.” Audrey lowered her voice to a whisper. “Those two are
in here all the time. They’re browsers, not buyers.”

They went through the beaded curtain into a large storage room.
Cardboard shipping cartons had been stacked high against the walls to
make room for trestle tables that were littered with used paper coffee
cups and empty donut boxes. A map of Ocean Grove and the surrounding
towns was mounted on a giant easel. Grids had been drawn in red crayon
across the map, organizing search areas.

“Would you like to sit down?” Audrey indicated a metal folding chair.

“Thank you.”

Audrey leaned against the corner of the table. “I talked about it
with my husband last night, and he says we have to wait until we hire a lawyer and see if he thinks it’s all right
for you to talk to Leslie.”

“When do you think that will be, Mrs. Patterson?”

“Lou is making more phone calls today. But you know, Leslie hasn’t
been officially charged with anything yet.”

“Let’s hope she isn’t,” Diane said with sincerity. “It would be a
terrible ordeal for a young woman to go through. I have a daughter of
my own, and I can imagine how worried you must be.”

Tears welled up in Audrey’s dark eyes. “How old is your daughter?”

“Fourteen.”

“Fourteen,” Audrey repeated. “That was the year Leslie started to
have problems.”

Diane felt a pang of anxiety as she thought of Michelle. The idea of
her own daughter following Leslie Patterson’s path was beyond
distressing. But the journalist in her recognized an opportunity.
Audrey Patterson was opening up, and Diane had to encourage her to keep
going.

“What kinds of problems?” she asked gently.

“Eating problems.” Audrey cast her head downward, as if ashamed.
“She got thinner and thinner. She was exercising more and more. At
first, I didn’t think too much of it. I’ll always blame myself for
that. By the time I realized anything was really wrong and got her to a
doctor, he diagnosed her as having anorexia.”

“Was he able to help her?” Diane felt herself rooting hard for an
affirmative answer.

“God knows, he’s tried.” Audrey shook her head. “Owen Messinger is a
saint as far as I’m concerned. He’s treated Leslie for all these years,
and he’s been unfailingly patient with her when I…” Audrey’s voice
trailed off, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Why is it that mothers always blame themselves?” Diane asked
gently. But the real question she wanted to ask was, If Owen Messinger
was such a good therapist, eight years later why wasn’t Leslie well?

Matthew and the crew staked out their positions in front of the
yellow concrete building on Central Avenue. Gary Bing attached a
microphone to the wooden podium set up by the entry to the Ocean Grove
substation of the Neptune Township Police Department. Sammy Gates
picked out an advantageous spot to set up his camera.

Finding a tree to stand under as protection from the blazing sun,
Matthew relaxed as he scanned the competition and waited for the news
conference to begin. There was no other national network
news presence, though New Jersey Network was represented. So was WCBS.
A couple of print reporters, notebooks poised, stood at the curb. All
in all, less media representation than might have been expected. Yet
Matthew wasn’t all that surprised. Given ever-decreasing attention
spans and limited coverage resources, assignment editors had chosen not
to send any of the few camera crews they had on the weekends to follow
up on the Leslie Patterson story… a story that could be considered old
in a twenty-four-hour news cycle. Leslie Patterson went missing, Leslie
Patterson had been found, and police thought Leslie Patterson had
staged the whole thing. The television editors were making an educated
guess: there wasn’t going to be anything announced at this news
conference that couldn’t just as easily be told in twenty seconds by
the anchor on the evening news. As long as an Associated Press reporter
was there, the broadcast outlets were covered. They could get the
information they needed from the wire service. The only reason KEY News
had a crew here was that Joel Malcolm had a bee in his bonnet for this
story for
Hourglass
.

The door of the station house opened. A police officer emerged and
took his place at the podium.

“Can everyone hear me?” he asked. The broadcast technicians checked
their meters.

“Go ahead,” one of them yelled.

“I’m Chief Jared Albert of the Neptune Township Police Department.”

“Spell it,” the AP reporter shouted.

“J-A-R-E-D. A-L-B-E-R-T,”

The officer paused before reading his prepared statement, waiting
until the print reporters looked up from their notebooks.

“Early this morning, the Neptune Township Police Department was
notifed by the parents of a twenty-year-old female Ocean Grove resident
that their daughter had not returned home after a babysitting job last
night. Because it comes on the heels of the disappearance of another
Ocean Grove resident earlier this week, the Neptune Township Police
Department is investigating this situation immediately and is appealing
to the public and the press for help.”

Matthew straightened from his slumped position beneath the shady
branches of the tree and edged closer to the podium, where Chief Albert
was holding up a photograph of a youthful, smiling face. The pretty
blond wasn’t Leslie Patterson. What was going on?

“This is Carly Rachel Neath. She is five feet, one inch tall and
weighs approximately one hundred pounds. She is blond, blue-eyed, and
has a birthmark on the inside of her left wrist. She was last seen
wearing a pair of white hip-hugger slacks, a blue-and-white-striped
halter-type shirt, and white leather sandals. Anyone with any
information that might help in finding Carly Neath should notify the
Neptune Township Police immediately.”

Matthew snapped his gaze in the direction of Sammy Gates. The cameraman had his video lens
trained on the glossy picture. As Chief Albert finished his statement,
Matthew shouted out the first questions. “What about Leslie Patterson?
Does this mean that you no longer think she staged her own abduction,
that the same person who kidnapped Leslie has now kidnapped Carly
Neath? Are charges still going to be filed against Leslie?”

The police officer wiped the perspiration off his brow with the back
of his hand before answering. “We are investigating all possibilities.
At this time, no charges are being filed against Leslie Patterson.”

Carly opened her eyes but could see nothing. She realized that she
was blindfolded. Her head throbbed so painfully that she was almost
grateful for the darkness. Where was she?

The soft but persistent sound of dripping water felt closer than the
roar of the ocean she could hear in the distance. Was that ruffling
noise birds’ wings above her? Was that cooing sound coming from a
pigeon or a dove?

Shivering with fear, Carly lay on the damp ground and tried to
recall what had happened. She’d been walking home, that was it. She’d
left Shawn and was walking home from the Stone Pony. Now she
remembered. She’d gotten mad at him and stalked out.

And then what
?
Carly
concentrated despite the headache that made her pray for the relief of
sleep. Gradually, the memory began to come back to her. She’d come out
of the club and crossed the street. Then she’d had to decide which way
she was taking back home. She’d chosen the shortcut around the old
Casino when she was hit from behind and must have been knocked
unconscious.

Was the pounding in her head from what hit her or was it one of her
old migraines come back? Whatever its source, it was the worst pain
she’d ever felt.

She had to get out of here. Carly struggled to get up, falling back
again as she realized that her hands and feet were bound. The gag cut
into the sides of her mouth as she tried to scream for help.

After leaving Lavender & Lace, Diane found a bench beneath a
tree on Main Avenue, sat down, and pulled out her cell phone to call
information for the listing for Dr. Owen Messinger. Knowing that it was
a long shot to reach him in his office on Saturday, she was about to
try his number anyway when her phone rang. She glanced at the tiny
identification screen before placing the device next to her ear.

“Hi, Matthew.”

“Diane.” There was urgency in his voice. “There’s another girl
missing.”

“What?”

“Another young woman. Carly Neath. Just about the same age as Leslie
Patterson. She never came home from her babysitting gig last night.”

“And the police think there’s a connection?” Diane asked.

“They didn’t go so far as to say that, but they are pursuing it
earlier than they would have at another time. And they say they aren’t
filing charges against Leslie.”

“Wait till Joel hears. He’ll be apoplectic,” Diane predicted,
thinking her boss could be agitated about this newest development. If
another young woman was missing, was Leslie Patterson telling the
truth? If Leslie hadn’t cried wolf, would that leave her out as a
subject for the
Hourglass
broadcast?
But whether Joel decided to include Leslie Patterson or not, the fact
that another young woman had been kidnapped was newsworthy on a
national level. Matthew’s next words didn’t surprise Diane.

“
Weekend Evening Headlines
wants
a piece on this tonight,” he said.

“Let me guess. I’m the correspondent.”

“Yes. The assignment desk doesn’t have anyone in the Northeast
Bureau to send down here. With the exception of the correspondent at
the Broadcast Center who’s there on bulletin duty, everyone is on
vacation.”

“Just like we should be,” Diane said before switching into planning
mode. “I’m starving. Let’s get a little lunch and figure out where
we’re going. Oh, and Matthew? I haven’t gotten the green light to
interview Leslie Patterson yet. I don’t know if Joel will even care
anymore for
Hourglass
,
but I’d
love to get her reaction to Carly Neath’s
disappearance for the
Evening Headlines
piece.”