F. Paul Wilson - The Tomb

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for clues. I'm supposed to be a detective, remember?"

"I don't think a woman's disappearance is anything to joke about," Gia said, the frost returning to her words now that Nellie was out of earshot.

"I'm not joking, nor am I taking it lightly. But you've got to admit the whole thing has the air of a British drawing room mystery about it. I mean, either Aunt Grace had an extra alarm key made and ran off into the night in her nightie—a pink and frilly one, I'll bet—or she jumped off her little balcony here in that same nightie, or someone climbed up the wall, knocked her out, and carried her off without a sound. None of those explanations seem too plausible. "

Gia appeared to be listening intently. That was something, at least.

He went over to the dressing table and glanced at the perfume bottles. There were dozens of them; some names were familiar, most were not. He wandered into the private bathroom and was there confronted by another array of bottles: Metamucil, Philips Milk of Magnesia, Haley's M-O, Pericolace, Surfak, Ex-Lax and more. One bottle stood off to the side. Jack picked it up. It was clear glass, with a thick green fluid inside. The cap was the metal twist-off type, enameled white. All it needed was a Smirnoff label and it could have been an airline vodka bottle.

"Know what this is?"

"Ask Nellie."

Jack screwed off the cap and sniffed. At least he was sure of one thing: It wasn't perfume. The smell was heavily herbal, and not particularly pleasant.

As Nellie returned, she appeared to be finding it increasingly difficult to hide her anxiety. "That was the police. I rang up the detective in charge a while ago and he just told me that they have nothing new on Grace."

Jack handed her the bottle.

"What's this?"

Nellie looked it over, momentarily puzzled, then her face brightened.

"Oh, yes. Grace picked this up Monday. I'm not sure where, but she said it was a new product being test marketed, and this was a free sample."

"But what's it for?"

"It's a physic."

"Pardon?"

"A physic. A cathartic. A laxative. Grace was very concerned—obsessed, you might say—with regulating her bowels. She's had that sort of problem all her life."

Jack took the bottle back. Something about an unlabeled bottle amid all the brand names intrigued him.

"May I keep this?"

"Certainly."

Jack looked around a while longer, for appearances more than anything else. He didn't have the faintest idea how he was even going to begin looking for Grace Westphalen.

"Please remember to do two things," he told Nellie as he started downstairs. "Keep me informed of any leads the police turn up, and don't breathe a word of my involvement to the police."

"Very well. But where are you going to start?"

He smiled—reassuringly, he hoped. "I've already started. I'll have to do some thinking and then start looking." He fingered the bottle in his pocket. Something about it…

They left Nellie on the second floor, standing and gazing into her sister's empty room. Vicky came running in from the kitchen as Jack reached the bottom step. She held an orange section in her outstretched hand.

"Do the orange mouth! Do the orange mouth!"

He laughed, delighted that she remembered. "Sure!" He shoved the section into his mouth and clamped his teeth behind the skin. Then he gave Vicky a big orange grin. She clapped and laughed.

"Isn't Jack funny, Mom? Isn't he the funniest ?"

"He's a riot, Vicky."

Jack pulled the orange slice from his mouth. "Where's that doll you wanted to introduce me to?"

Vicky slapped the side of her head dramatically. "Ms. Jelliroll! She's out back. I'll go—"

"Jack doesn't have time, honey," Gia said from behind him. "Maybe next trip, okay?"

Vicky smiled and Jack noticed that a second tooth was starting to fill the gap left by her missing milk tooth.

"Okay. You coming back soon, Jack?"

"Real soon, Vicks."

He hoisted her onto his hip and carried her to the front door, where he put her down and kissed her.

"See ya." He glanced up at Gia. "You, too."

She pulled Vicky back against the front of her jeans. "Yeah."

As Jack went down the front steps, he thought the door slammed with unnecessary force.

12

Vicky pulled Gia to the window and together they watched Jack stroll out of sight.

"He's going to find Aunt Grace, isn't he?"

"He says he's going to try."

"He'll do it."

"Please don't get your hopes up, honey," she said, kneeling behind Vicky and enfolding her in her arms. "We may never find her."

She felt Vicky stiffen and wished she hadn't said it—wished she hadn't thought it. Grace had to be alive and well.

"Jack'll find her. Jack can do anything."

"No, Vicky. He can't. He really can't." Gia was torn between wanting Jack to fail, and wanting Grace returned to her home; between wanting to see Jack humbled in Vicky's eyes, and the urge to protect her daughter from the pain of disillusionment.

"Why don't you love him anymore, Mommy?"

The question took Gia by surprise. "Who said I ever did?"

"You did," Vicky said, turning and facing her mother. Her guileless blue eyes looked straight into Gia's. "Don't you remember?"

"Well, maybe I did a little, but not anymore." It's true. I don't love him anymore. Never did. Not really.

"Why not?"

"Sometimes things don't work out."

"Like with you and Daddy?"

"Ummm…" During the two and a half years she and Richard had been divorced, Gia had read every magazine article she could find on explaining the break-up of a marriage to a small child. There were all sorts of pat answers to give, answers that were satisfying when the father was still around for birthdays and holidays and weekends. But what to say to a child whose father had not only skipped town, but had left the continent before she was five? How to tell a child that her daddy doesn't give a damn about her? Maybe Vicky knew. Maybe that's why she was so infatuated with Jack, who never passed up an opportunity to give her a hug or slip her a little present, who talked to her and treated her like a real person.

"Do you love Carl?" Vicky said with a sour face. Apparently she had given up on an answer to her previous question and was trying a new one.

"No. We haven't known each other that long."

"He's yucky."

"He's really very nice. You just have to get to know him."

"Yucks. Mom. Yuck- o ."

Gia laughed and pulled on Vicky's pigtails. Carl acted like any man unfamiliar with children. He was uncomfortable with Vicky; when he wasn't stiff, he was condescending. He had been unable to break the ice, but he was trying.

Carl was an account exec at BBD&O. Bright, witty, sophisticated. A civilized man. Not like Jack. Not at all like Jack. They had met at the agency when she had delivered some art for one of his accounts. Phone calls, flowers, dinners had followed. Something was developing. Certainly not love yet, but a nice relationship. Carl was what they called "a good catch." Gia didn't like to think of a man that way; it made her feel predatory, and she wasn't hunting. Richard and Jack, the only two men in the last ten years of her life, both had deeply disappointed her. So she was keeping Carl at arm's length for now.

Yet… there were certain things to be considered. With Richard out of touch for over a year now, money was a constant problem. Gia didn't want alimony, but some child support now and then would help. Richard had sent a few checks after running back to England—drawn in British pounds, just to make things more difficult for her. Not that he had any financial problems—he controlled one-third of the Westphalen fortune. He was most definitely what those who evaluated such things would consider "a good catch." But as she had found out soon after their marriage, Richard had a long history of impulsive and irresponsible behavior. He had disappeared late last year. No one knew where he had gone, but no one was worried. It wasn't the first time he had decided on a whim to take off without a word to anyone.