Linwood Barclay - Fear The Worst

“Scared?” said Susanne. “Creepy?”

Evan shrugged again. “I don’t know. That’s what she said. She didn’t like to talk about work that much when we were hanging out. It’s not like we were hanging out all the time. We’ve all got lots of stuff to do.”

“What have you been doing?” Susanne asked. “When you’re in that room of yours all by yourself?”

Bob said, “Suze. Come on.”

“I’d like to know,” I said.

“You’ve already admitted that you’ve had sex with my daughter,” Susanne said. “So you might as well tell us about the other stuff.” She paused. “Why don’t we start with the stealing.”

“Susanne, he told you he didn’t do that,” Bob said.

But Susanne wasn’t looking at him. She still had her eyes fixed on Evan.

“The thing is,” Evan said, now looking at his father, “I asked you if you could help me out a bit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I told you I needed some money.”

“I gave you some money. For working around here.”

“I mean, more money.”

“Yeah, I remember,” he said. “And I said no.”

“Well, I kind of needed some extra cash,” Evan said.

“So you took it from my purse, from the office, and you took my watch,” Susanne said. She was on fire for someone who’d just collapsed.

“But I got it back from the pawnshop,” he said, like he thought he deserved some credit, “when I had a good stretch.”

“A good stretch?” I said. Evan glanced at me, realizing he’d made a slip. “A good stretch of what?” I took a shot. “Luck?”

“I guess.”

“What?” Susanne said to me, sensing I had figured something out.

“Gambling,” I guessed. “Online gambling.”

“It’s just once in a while,” Evan said. “Just for fun.”

“So you’re stealing money to pay off your credit card bills,” I said.

Evan didn’t respond. His father jumped in. “I gave you a card for emergencies, not for playing poker on the Internet.”

“How much do you owe?”

“Just, like, a thousand or so.”

“Or so?” Bob said.

“About four thousand,” Evan muttered.

“Christ on a cracker,” Bob said.

“Evan,” I said, “did you ever steal any money out of my house?”

He shook his head violently. “Never, swear to God, I never took anything from your place.” He paused. “But… I’ve borrowed some from friends.”

“In addition to the four grand on your Visa?” Bob asked.

Evan nodded sheepishly. “Like, about six hundred.”

All of us, except Evan, were doing a variation of the same thing. Looking down, shaking our heads, thinking, is there no end to the kind of shit that kids can get into?

Susanne turned to me and said, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

We took a few steps back in the direction of the office. I let her put some weight on my arm.

“This thing, the gambling debts?” she said. “That’s Bob’s problem.”

I wasn’t sure. I wondered whether Evan’s debt problems could have drawn Sydney in somehow, but I let Susanne continue.

“Maybe the reason she’s gone… is she’s pregnant. She’s too afraid to tell us and she’s run off to have the baby.”

I wasn’t buying it, although, in some ways, it would be a relief to learn this was the reason for Sydney’s disappearing act. At least it would mean she was okay. That she was alive. I could welcome home a pregnant daughter if there was a pregnant daughter to welcome home.

And yet.

“Why run off now?” I said. “If she is pregnant, it’s just at the beginning. Is she going to be gone for eight months? If she were going to run off to have a baby, wouldn’t she have waited a little longer?”

Susanne nodded. “I know, I know. Maybe she ran off to have it dealt with. To get an abortion.”

“She’s been gone for weeks, Suze. How long would she need to do that? And don’t you think, even if she was scared, and embarrassed, that eventually she’d screw up her courage and come to us for help? Something like this, wouldn’t she have come to you, if not me?”

Susanne was starting to tear up. “Maybe not if she blamed me. Because I’d moved us in with Bob, and then Evan. Because she’d think it was my fault.”

I thought there was something to that, but kept it to myself.

“It doesn’t explain other things,” I said. “What about that van you said has been watching your house? Syd’s abandoned car? Or me being tricked into flying to Seattle? My house getting torn apart?”

Susanne shook her head in frustration. “The van, that’s probably just my imagination. I’m so tense, I’m seeing things that aren’t there. You know?”

“Maybe,” I said.

“And it could have been kids who broke into your house. Just stupid vandalism.”

I didn’t bother to tell her about the phone I’d found, how that discovery tightened the knot that brought all these things together.

“And maybe the Seattle thing,” Susanne continued, “was just some prankster. You know there are some pretty sick people out there. It could have been someone who saw the website, just wanted to mess with you.”

How comforting it would be to believe what Susanne wanted to believe, that our daughter was out there, pregnant but safe, just waiting for the right time to come back home.

“Suppose I talk to Detective Jennings,” I said, “and tell her they should check with Planned Parenthood offices, abortion clinics, that kind of thing. See if anyone there has seen Sydney.”

Susanne sniffed and nodded. “Okay.”

“It’s worth a shot,” I said.

“Okay,” she said again.

“Excuse me.” It was Bob, with a contrite Evan standing at his side. Susanne and I looked at the two of them without saying anything. “Evan has something he’d like to say to the both of you.”

Susanne and I waited. Evan cleared his throat twice and said, “I’m sorry.”

Bob offered up several small nods, smiled. Susanne and I looked at each other, then back at Evan.

“Well,” I said. “Everything’s just peachy now, isn’t it?”

I LEFT A MESSAGE FOR KIP JENNINGS on my way to Riverside Honda. I pulled into the dealership a little after three, settled in behind my desk, and fired up the computer. Following my routine of the last few weeks, I checked the website for any tips about Sydney, and, finding none, checked my work voice mail. There were three calls from people wondering how much they could get for their used cars. I made a note of their numbers so that I could call them back.

The hell of it was, I still had to make a living. I had bills to pay, not the least of which was a round-trip to Seattle.

Andy Hertz had his head down at his desk, writing down some numbers on a yellow pad. “Hey,” I said to him. It wasn’t like him to be antisocial.

“Hey,” he said, glancing up. “Welcome back.”

“Anything going on?” I asked.

“Not much.”

“Sell any cars?”

“It’s been kind of slow,” Andy said. “This idea of yours, to call up people selling their used cars, that hasn’t worked worth a shit.” Then, remembering, “You find Sydney?”

“No,” I said.

I got back behind my desk, unable to think about anything but my daughter. But I’d been able to go through the motions before when she was the only thing on my mind, so I got to it. I dug out my book of recent leads-people who’d taken test drives, asked for brochures, made low offers, and walked away. I took a breath and started dialing numbers.

I didn’t leave messages when no one picked up. The chances that anyone would return a car salesman’s call were about the same as a Prius winning the Indy 500. You had to talk to people directly.