Two for Flinching (12 page)

I waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t.
“Would she leave town without telling you?”

“I wouldn’t think so.”

“Would she leave without telling her mother?
Her sister?”

“Definitely not her mother. Maybe her
sister.”

I narrowed my eyebrows. “Madison?”

“They had a complicated relationship.”

To say the least.
“What about her
relationship with her husband?”

“You would probably know more about that than
I would.”

Zing!

“Your opinion might be helpful.”

Vanessa made a face. “It wasn’t good. Steven
cheated on her left and right. She got sick of it and decided to
have some fun. That’s where you came in.”

“She sick enough to file for divorce?”

“She was thinking about it. What did she tell
you?”

“She was thinking about it.”

Vanessa said, “Steven’s restaurant is
struggling. This economy, you know. He didn’t handle stress very
well and had been lashing out at her.”

“How?”

Vanessa didn’t answer.

“Physically?”

She made a noncommittal motion with her
hands. “Amber told me there had been some shoving—not abuse—they
were just pushing each other.” She tucked an errant strand of hair
behind her ear. “Lately, though, I think she was scared of
him.”

I felt my blood run cold.

***

For once, the meteorologist had not let us
down. It was a beautiful day and I sat in the hard chair on my
front porch. Sarah was riding her bicycle in the driveway. The lot
was fairly level, yet, occasionally she would still get stuck and
scream for me to rescue her. It was one rescue I could handle.

Steven crossed our yards and stopped at the
foot of the steps. He was in his restaurant garb, black pants,
black button down, getting ready for a long night of labor. “You
haven’t called.”

“I haven’t found her.”

“Are you making any progress?”

“A little.”

Steven crossed his arms. His right hand was
still wrapped, but he wasn’t wearing a sling. “You want to tell me
about it?”

“I want to ask you some questions first.”

“Ask away.”

“When I asked for a list of her friends, you
gave me a list of your friends. Why?”

Steven shrugged. “It was all I had. Amber
knew all of them.”

“Do you always sleep with women who know
Amber? Or do you make a distinction?”

His face went hard, jaw clinching. “Listen,
Beason, I asked you to find my wife—not run a background check on
me. Who I may or may not have been sleeping with is no concern of
yours.”

“It might be.”

“I don’t see how.”

“How was your marriage, Steven?”

“How do you think it was? She was fucking my
next door neighbor.”

I nodded. “Did you fight about it?”

“I didn’t know about it. If I had, I would
have done something about it. Unlike some people, if my wife was
having an affair, I wouldn’t have ignored it.”

Zing!

“What would you have done?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would you have hit her?”

Steven gave me a look. “What’s that supposed
to mean?”

“I’ve talked to some of her coworkers. They
think there might have been abuse.”

“Who? Vanessa?” Steven shook his head again.
“Did Amber tell you I hit her?”

“No.”

“There you go.”

“She wouldn’t have told me.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Steve, she knew I would put you in
the hospital.”

He smiled. “Not on your best day, pal.”

“What did you fight about?”

Steven uncrossed his arms, considering what
to tell me. “You believe I was cheating on her, once she thought
the same thing. She attacked me and I pushed her off. That wasn’t
abuse—it was self-defense.”

“Uh huh.”

“Look at me, Beason.” He held out his hands.
“I’m six foot three, two hundred thirty-five pounds. Amber was
what? Five five, a buck ten? She would have shattered like glass if
I hit her.”

I knew how possible it was for a man to hold
back, to strike without leaving too much damage. I had also seen
Steven’s anger, that night he had taken a couple of swings at me. I
didn’t believe he was capable of that kind of restraint.

I nodded. Reluctantly.

“You like to think you’re special, unique.
You’re not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You really believe you were the only one
Amber was fucking? That she was a virtuous woman until you came
around? You weren’t.”

I have to admit, I was shocked. That wasn’t
exactly what I believed, but it was close enough. “What did you do?
You said you wouldn’t stand for it.”

“We fought. Verbally. I won’t lie, once in a
while I slipped and my cock got the best of me. It’s only fair to
assume the same thing happened to her. We had it out and moved
on.”

I wasn’t sure I believed that.

“I love my wife and contrary to what she may
have told you or Vanessa, we had a good thing going.” He narrowed
his eyes at me. “Amber never would have run off with another
man.”

I was growing tired of his superior attitude.
“I’m going to need the names of these other men.”

“Fuck you, Beason.”

My eyes went to Sarah. She was on the edge of
the driveway, close to the street, too far away to hear Steven’s
swearing. I had seen other kids on their bikes with more body armor
than I wore when I was chasing the Taliban. I didn’t force my
daughter to wear a helmet. I had never worn one and I had turned
out fine. Ask anybody.

Steven’s gaze followed mine. “Cute kid.”

Her long black hair flowed behind her as she
picked up speed. “Yeah.”

“I gotta go to work.” He pointed at me with
his good hand. “If you find something, let me know. You need to
think
long and hard about where she might have gone.”

“We’ll see.”

He stomped off. Sarah pedaled up the
sidewalk, proudly sliding to a stop, the bicycle balancing on the
training wheels. “I don’t like that man.”

“Neither do I.”

“What did he want?”

“I’m helping him.”

“Why? If you don’t like him?”

“Sometimes we have to do things we don’t
like, honey.”

“Like eating broccoli?”

“Exactly.”

“What are you helping him do?”

“I’m helping him find somebody.”

“Who?”

“His wife.”

“Where is she?”

I smiled. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m
hunting for her.”

“Oh.” Her beautiful face contorted in
confusion. I loved that face. “Why you, daddy? Why are you looking
for her?”

“That’s what daddy does. Sometimes he helps
finds people.”

“Why didn’t you ever find mom?”

***

I was in the front room. When my wife had
still been with us, it had been a formal dining room, complete with
an antique oak table and matching china cabinet. Felicia and Orrin
had long ago removed the set and the room had gradually developed
into a playroom/home office, dolls and teacups on the hardwood
floor, the home computer pushed into a corner. I sat at the
computer. The princess was sound asleep in her bed. Hopefully.

I sipped from my glass, a short one so I
didn’t end up in the bag and muck this up. A notebook was on the
desk. The screen stared at me. I stared back. I was stalling and I
knew it. I had been stalling for four years.

Another sip and I went to my favorite people
finder website. I put in Stella’s full name—including maiden—social
security number, our home address, our old address and the address
of her parents. The information was in the notebook, but I didn’t
need it, filling in the blanks as fast as I could, afraid to pause,
unsure if I would have the courage to continue. I finished and
clicked submit.

That bastard hourglass symbol rotated on the
screen.

Nothing.

Well, not nothing exactly. The website
accessed public records, insurance records, a host of internet
sites, and any likely mention in the press. There were plenty of
results, a birth certificate, our marriage certificate, property
records—even pictures from our engagement and marriage
announcement. Sarah’s name popped up. But nothing from the last
four years.

I frowned to myself. It was as if she had
dropped off the face of the earth. Stella may have expected me to
look for her, but I couldn’t see her going to this much trouble and
expense to create a new identity. Short term, maybe, but not for
this long. New identities required work and money to maintain,
usually only lasting for a short period of time before falling
apart. It would make sense to go back to her true identity in time,
maybe legally changing her name and applying for a new social once
she was confident I wasn’t looking for her. And even if I was, so
what? Yeah, I was pissed off and of course I would’ve beaten the
hell out of Adrian, but there was no law against leaving your
husband.

The totality of her disappearance disturbed
me. One day, she lived here with Sarah and I, the next she was
gone. New identities didn’t happen overnight. She had emptied our
bank accounts and could have lived off the grid for a little while,
but this looked as if Stella had been planning it for some time.
Four years ago, we had all assumed she had run off on a whim,
trapped in a difficult marriage, overwhelmed with work and an
infant child. She hadn’t even packed a bag, taking only the clothes
on her back and the car.

The car. I went to a different website and
had to open the notebook. I inputted the VIN and her tag number.
The bank had showed up three and a half years ago—quite a few times
actually—to repossess the car. Stella had taken all of our money, I
was soon after out of a job, and I still had the Jeep payment and a
mortgage to make—not to mention a daughter to rear—and didn’t see
why I should keep up the payments on her car. The bank was
unsympathetic. My credit took a hit, but there was only so much I
could do. Stella might have been on the run from the bank, but she
would still have to do something with the car. Register it, sell
it, or abandon it. There would be a record.

Only, there wasn’t.

That VIN had never been registered with
another owner, had never been in an accident, never reported stolen
or found abandoned. There was a red flag from the bank, claiming
all rights to it. The car had dropped from the face of the earth
with my wife.

I reached for my glass only to find it empty.
I didn’t make another. I went back to the first website and flipped
pages in my notebook. The familiar bitterness washed over me and I
fought it back down. I couldn’t do that if I had another drink. I
inserted all the information I had for Adrian Shipley. It wasn’t as
extensive as I had for Stella, yet it was still a lot. Full name,
last known, and social. The more you had, the easier you could
narrow the search. I hit submit and got the hourglass.

Then nothing fresher than four years old.
Birth certificate and marriage certificates, first to Ann Quimby,
then to Margaret Hatch. Divorce certificate to Ann, nothing else
with Maggie. Brief work history, closing with the Indianola County
Sherriff’s Department. Adrian had more press clippings, noted for
being the arresting officer on various cases. My name was next to
his on several of the stories. The newspaper never told what a
slimy asshole he was. Absolutely nothing I could use to track him
down.

Adrian had left his car behind—along with his
wife and two sons—so that wouldn’t help me. Adrian would have some
idea on how to establish fresh identities and apparently had bought
one for him and Stella. Yet, I couldn’t see why. He would
understand the wrath of a spurned husband, but he never felt he
wasn’t as good as I was. He was mistaken, though, I couldn’t see
him being that afraid of me. Plus, he was always a cheap bastard
and had to know the money they left with wouldn’t last long. And it
wasn’t much money to start with.

I slid open the bottom drawer to the desk. I
expected dust to fly out since it hadn’t been opened in years. I
dug through the files and found the last bank statement. Stella had
taken out four thousand three hundred and fifty-six dollars. And
seventy-four cents. Leaving me with exactly one thousand two
hundred and four dollars. That number didn’t make sense. True it
had come in handy, but it wasn’t a game changer. It wouldn’t cover
our mortgage, wouldn’t leave much after the car payments. Sarah’s
insurance was from my job and she couldn’t know I would get fired
in the coming weeks. Sorry, she wouldn’t know I would
leave
my job in the coming weeks.

I went into the kitchen and made myself a
drink, using one of the big glasses.

Chapter Nineteen

Sarah clung tightly to my hand as we made
our way down the carpeted aisle. She looked like a miniature doll,
red dress, white stockings, tiny high heels. Her dark curls bounced
on her shoulders. The pews were white with green cushions.

They were halfway back on the right side,
where they always sat. Where we had always sat. Sarah and I pushed
our way by pulled back knees and joined them. The gorgeous blond
gave me a gorgeous smile. The kids, a young teenage boy and a fifth
grade girl, grinned at our arrival, doting on Sarah. I sat beside
the grumpy looking man next to the blond.

“Must be serious,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Whatever problem you have,” he said, “to get
you in a church.”

“Funny, Gus. Real funny.”

Announcements were made, hymns sang. I didn’t
sing, not wanting to wear out my welcome, following the words on
the big screen. The last time I had been to church, we had used
hymnals. They were still there, in the back of the pews, but we
didn’t need them. I guess it was an improvement since I always got
lost trying to read music. The preacher stepped to the podium and
welcomed everyone to Chickasaw Falls Baptist and encouraged us to
shake hands and hug necks. I made sure to hug Tonya real tight. My
brother pretended to ignore it.