Footprints of a Dancer (Detective Elliot Mystery) (7 page)

“What makes you say that?”

She held the card out and shook it for emphasis. “Says here you’re a cop.”

“But I’m not here as a cop, just a concerned friend.”

The lady placed her hands on her hips. “And why should you be concerned?”

“He called a few days ago, said he had something to discuss with me, but he never showed. I haven’t heard from him since.”

“Sounds like Stan,” she said. “If lack of communication is the only reason you’re worried, you must not know him very well.”

A man appeared behind the lady. It wasn’t Gerald.

“This guy bothering you, Cheryl?”

The lady glanced at Elliot and said, “He’s just a friend, helps us out around the house, does the lawn and stuff.”

Elliot studied him through the doorway. “Does lawn-boy know where Gerald is?”

“Hey, like the lady said, he’s not here. So why don’t you get out of here before I step outside and help you along?”

Elliot tensed, but forced himself to relax. “If this is a bad time, I could come back when it’s more convenient for you.”

“Just give me a minute,” the lady said. She pushed lawn-boy aside and closed the door.

Seconds later, the garage door opened, and a late model Mercedes backed out and drove away. It was lawn-boy.

When the lady returned, she said, “Why don’t you come on in?”

Elliot followed the lady to a dining area situated near a bay window. The light coming through showed a dirty tiled floor.

She sat at the table and gestured for Elliot to do the same. “All right, Detective, what’s this all about?”

Elliot chose the chair directly across the table from the lady. “What’s your relationship with Stanley Reynolds?”

A puzzled look crossed her face. “I had the impression you’d already done your homework. My name’s Cheryl. I’m Stan’s wife.”

Elliot leaned back in the chair. Cheryl Reynolds was awfully calm, considering her husband was missing. “I hadn’t heard from, Gerald, or Stan, since college. He said he was in trouble. Do you know anything about that?”

“He’s been acting a little strange lately, but he never said anything about trouble.”

Elliot’s nerves were tingling, like something was about to happen. He halfway expected lawn-boy to come running into the room, carrying a shotgun. “When was the last time you saw your husband, Mrs. Reynolds?”

She looked away, staring at something outside the window. “It’s been a few days. Look, I’m not going to pretend everything is okay. You’ve probably already figured it out anyway. Stan and I are having problems. We’ve been having problems for months, but recently it’s gotten worse.”

“Any idea why?”

“He’s been getting phone calls. He said she was an old friend. I think he said her name was Laura. I suspect they’re having an affair.”

“Laura Bradford?”

“Yes, I believe you’re right. Do you know her?”

Elliot thought about seeing Laura on the running path, the voice on the phone at the hotel. “She and Gerald used to hang out together in college.”

“Were they lovers?”

She was in my car. I turned around and she was there.
“I don’t know. It’s possible.”

Cheryl Reynolds’ expression more resembled resignation than defeat. “I’m not trying to do your job for you, Detective. But the way I see it, it’s pretty simple. You find this girl, Laura, and that’s where you’ll find Stan.”

Elliot saw no indication of children with the marriage; no photos on the furniture, no memorabilia on the walls. “Does Stan have an office or a study in the house?”

“Why do ask?”

“Maybe he left something behind,” Elliot said. “Any kind of clue at all would be helpful.”

Mrs. Reynolds pursed her lips. “Stan’s pretty protective of his little domain. He asked me not to let anyone in there. In fact, he asked me to leave it alone as well, said he’d keep it clean and for me not to worry about it.”

“And did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Leave the office alone?”

Cheryl Reynolds got out of her chair and walked across the room and down a hallway.

Elliot followed.

Near the end of the hallway, she retrieved a key from the top of the door frame, unlocked the door and pushed it open.

An eerie, bluish light glowed from the screen of a computer, but other than that, the room was empty.

Elliot glanced at Mrs. Reynolds.

“Stan always liked the room neat and uncluttered, but nothing like this. I have no idea what he did with all the stuff.”

“What about the computer?” Elliot asked.

“I’ve tried. Everything’s password protected.”

Elliot noticed a document lying in the printer tray, and he picked it up and examined it.

The printout depicted a photograph of the Spiro Mounds area, an ancient, Native American ceremonial center. The caption across the top read: Caddo Fundamentals—Spiro and the Arkansas Basin.

Elliot’s stomach tightened. Laura had claimed to be Native American, and more to the point, she had said she was Caddo. He showed the printout to Mrs. Reynolds. “Does this mean anything to you?”

She shrugged. “Stan was always fascinated with such things, Native American Culture and all.”

Another question formed in Elliot’s mind. “Have you checked with Stan’s employer?”

“I doubt it would do any good. He got himself fired a few weeks ago.”

Elliot placed the printout back in the tray where he’d found it. Gerald’s life had recently changed, and the turn had taken him to the point of losing his job and wrecking his marriage. Was Laura to blame, or was the failing marriage the cause and not the effect? Cheryl Reynolds’ actions didn’t fit those of a jilted wife. Elliot suspected the source of her irritation was more complicated than marital problems.

“Could you give me the name of the company where your husband used to work?”

A guarded expression came across her face. “I already told you he won’t be there.”

Elliot pulled his notepad. He was on to something. Cheryl Reynolds had become a little more defensive. “Someone from the company might be able to help.”

“Gerald and I did love each other at one time,” she said, “but people change. And then old girlfriends show up.”

Chapter Twelve

The door to the side entrance of the garage rattled.

Wayne Garcia dove behind a cardboard box, snagging his shirt on something near the old workbench. He shouldn’t have messed around and knocked over the toolbox. Someone must have heard the noise. Jimmy said nobody would bother him there, but someone was definitely trying to make a liar out of Jimmy.

The bottom of the door dragged noisily across the cement floor, as it had when Jimmy had let Wayne in, and let the sunlight in.

Wayne held his breath. Whoever it was had come into the garage. He did his best not to move, not to make a sound, but he was sure the thumping of his heart would give him away.

“Is anyone there? I have a phone. I’ll call the police if I have to.”

Wayne relaxed a little. It was Jimmy’s mom. He thought about giving himself up. But what if she’d already called the police? Worse yet, what if she had a gun? His scaring the wits out of her by standing and announcing his presence could get him shot.

“Jimmy, is that you? If you’re in here ditching school I’ll make you wish you hadn’t. And you’ll have your father to deal with, too.”

Wayne shook his head. He was getting Jimmy into deep trouble.

It was quiet for a moment, then the light went out and the door closed.

Wayne waited a few minutes and dared a peek over the box.

Jimmy’s mom was gone. Probably to call someone, maybe even the police. He couldn’t put Jimmy in any more danger. He had to get out of there. He stepped away from the protection of the box, out into the open.

The word
Christmas
was scribbled across the box he’d hidden behind.

His mom loved Christmas, and the thought caused him to worry about her, and what his running away might do. His vision blurred, but he was doing the right thing. He crept across the garage floor and went to the side entrance Jimmy’s mom had used. It wasn’t the only way out but it was his only option. He’d been there when Jimmy had opened the overhead doors at the front and they’d made plenty of noise.

Near the door, a hooded sweatshirt hung from a clothes rack.

Wayne pulled it down and wiggled into it. He guessed Jimmy had outgrown it, but it fit him well enough. Jimmy couldn’t help it. He liked to eat, that’s all.

Wayne zipped the jacket and pulled the hood over his head, edged to the door, opened it a bit, and peeked through.

Jimmy’s house sat about fifty feet away from the garage. Jimmy’s dad had built the garage later and he’d wanted it there for some reason.

Wayne took a deep breath and readied himself. He didn’t know if Jimmy’s mom would see him or not when he left the garage, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do. And the longer he waited, the worse things could get. He laid his shoulder against the door and shoved it open. He didn’t bother closing it again. He ran for the weeds behind the garage where he hit the ground and rolled beneath the barbed wire fence that separated Jimmy’s yard from old man Langford’s property.

Wayne lay still in the weeds, watching Jimmy’s house.

Nothing seemed to be happening. He had to find Jimmy. He belly crawled through the weeds for a spell to get some distance, and when he’d gone far enough he rolled back under the fence. He headed for the school. He wasn’t sure what he would do when he got there, but he’d think of something.

Wayne made his way along the street, and a few minutes later he was near the school.

Most of the kids were outside.

Wayne checked his phone for the time. Sure enough he’d caught some luck and arrived during lunch break.

An idea of what to do next came to him. He’d go inside the school building. With all of the commotion, he probably wouldn’t be noticed and he’d make his way to Jimmy’s locker, maybe even find him there. If not, he’d leave a note. He started toward the building, but halfway across the playground, someone tugged at his shirt.

“Wayne, is that you?”

Wayne turned around to see Patricia Cook, standing only inches away. She was cute, real cute, though they’d never really hit it off. He took a step back. “Hey, Patricia.”

She grinned. “What are
you
doing here?”

“I go to school here, just like you do.”

“Not today you don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everybody’s talking about it.”

Wayne pulled the hood tighter around his face. “I don’t get it. Why’s my missing a day of school such a big deal?”

“Don’t know. Why are you dressed like that?”

Wayne glanced around. “I’m not supposed to be here, remember?”

She giggled. “Well, if you’re trying to skip school, this isn’t exactly the place to do it. Besides, you look like a gangster.”

“Funny. Anyway, I need to talk to Jimmy.”

“Wouldn’t you rather hang out with me?”

Wayne’s face grew warm. “Well, sure, but I’m kind of busy right now.”

He stared at the ground. He was blowing this big time. “What I mean is this is real important.”

Wayne turned and resumed his walk toward the school.

“Wait,” Patricia said. “What if you don’t find him?”

“I’ll leave a note in his locker.”

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Patricia put her hands on her hips. “You’re already in trouble. They catch you inside and you’re in deep. Let me do it for you.”

Wayne glanced across the schoolyard. Patricia was right. It would be safer to let her do it. “All right. Do you have a pen and some paper? I’ll write one up.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me? You came here just to leave someone a note, and you didn’t bring anything to do it with?”

“I didn’t really plan any of this. It’s just sort of happening.”

She shook her head. “I’ll take care of it. But you need to get out of here. We’re starting to draw attention.”

Wayne glanced around. Some kids were talking and pointing in his direction. He nodded. “See you around.”

“Wait. What do you want me to tell Jimmy?”

“Tell him to meet me at the ball field.”

She shook her head. “Not a good idea. Under the bleachers at the high school would be better.”

“Okay. And thanks, Patricia. I mean it.”

She smiled, but didn’t say anything.

Wayne knew he should be leaving, but instead he looked into Patricia eyes. He’d heard being hungry could do strange things to a person, and he guessed he must be starving. The thought of never seeing Patricia again went through his head and he leaned close and kissed her on the cheek.

She pushed him away. “Go.”

Wayne glanced at the school. A small crowd had gathered and now a teacher was coming onto the playground.

Wayne turned away and started walking. He heard Patricia tell him to be careful. He quickened his pace, and when he reached the fire station he broke into a run.

They were on to him. It wouldn’t be safe to meet Jimmy at the ball field or the bleachers. He ran back to old man Langford’s and once he was again on his belly in the weeds he pulled his phone and called Jimmy. He only let it ring a couple times because he knew Jimmy wouldn’t answer. But he’d call back.

A few seconds later, Jimmy came through.

“Wayne, what’s up?”

“There’s been a change of plans. I can’t stay in your garage.”

“You wised up and decided to go back home?”

“Not exactly. It was your mom. She almost caught me.”

“Of all the rotten luck. Are you sure she didn’t see you?”

“I don’t think so. But she knew somebody was there. She might have called the police.”

“Aw man. Don’t tell me.”

“It’s okay. I’m all right. But I have to get out of here. I know what I need to do now.”

“Go home and forget about it, right?”

Wayne truly wished he could do that. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I have to talk to my dad.”

“So call him on your phone.”

“It won’t work as well. I need to be there, so I can see his face when I ask him what I done wrong.”

“Aw, Wayne. You didn’t do nothing.”