Carol Clark - Laced

Brian picked up the phone and called the front desk. He hadn’t wanted to order an early wake-up call because he thought it would arouse suspicion. He and Sheila had planned to wander casually past the desk at 4:15 A.M. with a camera and say they weren’t sleepy and thought they’d take pictures of the wonderful grounds of Hennessy Castle as dawn broke. Now he sounded crazed as he asked the clerk how soon he could get a cab.

“Hold on.”

Brian could hear the clerk talking to a cab company in an annoyingly nonurgent manner.

“Mr. O’Shea, that will be forty-five minutes.”

“Forty-five minutes!”

“Yes, sir. Should I go ahead and place the order? We can bill it to your room.”

“No! That’s too long! Thank you.” Brian hung up. “Wear your sneakers, Sheila!” he ordered. “We’re going to run all the way to Margaret’s.”

“Call Margaret and tell her we’ll be late,” Sheila suggested as she rushed around the room.

“I’m afraid she might tell us to forget the whole thing.”

They threw on clothes, brushed their teeth, and were out the door in a flash. In his frenzy Brian pulled the door so hard that it sounded as if it had been slammed shut.

Down the hall Regan woke up, startled by the loud noise. She heard a woman’s voice admonishing, “Be careful!”

“I’m sorry!”

Sheila and Brian, she thought. Regan looked at the clock. It was 5:07. What in the world are they up to now?

After Keith got the call that Hortense Hager was home, he raced to La Guardia Airport and caught a ten o’clock flight to Rochester. A patrol car picked him up at the airport, and by midnight he was ringing Mrs. Hager’s doorbell.

“I hope she’s still up,” Keith said to the young patrolman.

The patrolman laughed. “You don’t have to worry. Hortense drives her snowmobile at all hours. We get complaints about the noise.”

The door was pulled open by a wild-haired woman in her seventies wearing ratty snow pants and a sweatshirt. But her makeup was perfect.

Love the makeup, Keith thought. Please let this be a case of like mother, like daughter.

“Hello, Phil,” the woman said. “I know I still have my snow pants on, but I put the snowmobile away a couple of hours ago. The neighbors shouldn’t be complaining.”

“No, Mrs. Hager, that’s not what we’re here about. This gentleman needs to speak to you.”

“Was there an accident?” she asked nervously. “I just spoke to my daughter a few hours ago…and my son sent me an e-mail this afternoon.”

“No,” Keith answered. “I’m with the NYPD,” he said and showed her his badge. “I would like to ask you some questions about your daughter.”

“About Anna?”

“Yes. May we come in?”

“I suppose I have to say yes,” she said, her tone now feisty.

She knows this isn’t a social call, Keith thought as they followed her inside to her den where a big-screen television was tuned to a cable news station. The embers of a fire were burning in the fireplace. The furniture was well worn but comfortable. The room had the feeling of a homey ski lodge.

“This is where I spend most of my time,” she said as she pushed the remote button and turned off the television. “Have a seat and tell me what you want to know.”

Keith and Phil sat on the afghan-covered couch. “Could you tell me where your daughter lives now and what she does for a living?”

Hortense sat on an overstuffed chair. “Anna lives all over. She is married and doesn’t have to work.”

Keith raised his eyebrows. “Sounds nice.”

“I suppose. Her husband is a consultant. His job requires them to be on the go constantly.”

You’re not kidding, Keith thought. “Where is Anna now?” he asked.

Hortense paused. “I don’t know.”

“But didn’t you say you just talked to her?”

“I did. But his job is-I know it sounds silly, but he doesn’t like to disclose where they are. Someone could be tapping my phone, you know.”

“It sounds as if his job could be dangerous,” Keith suggested.

“I don’t know. I really don’t.”

“Do you have a cell phone number where we could reach her?”

“No.”

“So if there was an emergency, you couldn’t get in touch with your own daughter?”

“She calls every week. Listen, if something happens to me or her brother, she’ll know soon enough.”

“Do you have an e-mail address for Anna?”

“No, I don’t. If I need to leave her a message, I blog onto Sweetsville’s message boards and make a comment. Anna knows that if I’ve left a message, she should call me. It’s very easy.”

“Could you tell me her husband’s name?

“Bobby.”

“And his last name?”

“Marston.”

“Where did they meet?”

“In New York City. He moved into an apartment across the street from her in Greenwich Village. They bumped into each other in the corner deli, and the rest is history.”

That’s for sure, Keith thought. “So I guess he wasn’t doing any of his top-secret consulting at that time?” he asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “I mean, he had an apartment then but he doesn’t now?”

“What can I say?” Hortense spat. “They met, fell in love, and got married. He changed jobs. People do.”

“What did he do then?”

“I can’t remember.”

“What about Anna?”

“She was a make-up artist. And a very good one!”

Keith’s heart skipped a beat.

“Mrs. Hager, are you telling me that you can’t get in touch with your daughter at this moment? You have no idea where in the world she is?”

“Listen to me! I’m not happy about it. She could be in the Witness Protection Program for all I know! I hardly get to see her. But she’s still my daughter.”

“What did she say on the phone tonight?” Keith asked.

“We didn’t talk long. She told me that Bobby wasn’t feeling well. The cap on his front tooth fell out-the kind of thing that normal people talk about. Nothing high drama. Then my doorbell rang, and I hung up. It was a policeman asking about my snowmobile. I now realize the visit was nothing but a phony excuse to see if I was here so they could bring you around.”

“Mrs. Hager,” Keith said, “we’re interested in locating Anna, and I’m sure you are, too. If you had a picture of Anna and Bobby, it would help. I understand she called to cancel her visit last Christmas. Didn’t that strike you as odd?”

Hortense Hager’s eyes bore holes in Keith’s. “Are you saying I wasn’t a good mother? That she’s acting this way because I didn’t raise her right?”

“What? Not at all.”

“If Anna’s up to no good, it isn’t my fault. I did my best. Now get out of my house! Get out! Out! I’m not giving you any pictures! If you’re such a great detective, scout them out yourself, you Sherlock Holmes you!”

As Keith and Phil walked back to the patrol car, Keith was frustrated but satisfied. We’ll get them, he thought. It’s only a matter of time.

When Brian and Sheila came huffing and puffing on the road toward Margaret’s house, they suddenly saw her car roaring down the driveway at a great rate of speed, kicking up dust and gravel. The car made a left turn and popped and stalled briefly before picking up speed again.

“Margaret!” Brian screamed, waving his arms and racing toward the disappearing jalopy.

“Margaret!” Sheila shrieked. “Margaretttttttttt! Stop!”

Their efforts to capture Margaret’s attention were obviously successful. Her car skidded to a halt. A moment later it started chugging backward.

When the whining vehicle came to a halt next to Brian and Sheila, who were both holding their aching sides, sweating, and gasping for breath, Margaret rolled down her window and smiled. “Top of the morning to ya, lazybones.”