Something Jerry said rubbed at Morris. A pang of familiarity, a twinge at the back of his neck, but it dissipated as soon as he tried to chase the thought.
“Thing is,” Jerry continued, “he was adamant that he didn’t know what happened to her.”
“You believed him?”
“No reason not to.”
“Does he have an alibi for the night she disappeared?”
“And which night would that be?” Jerry sounded annoyed. “We don’t even know when she left town. You were in Japan, remember? She didn’t call you until Sunday. She could have been anywhere by then. In any case, Wolfe doesn’t need an alibi because as far as we know, there’s been no crime.” Jerry sighed heavily.
“What?”
“I don’t know,” the PI said. “Something’s off. Wolfe struck me as off. He was wound way too tight for a guy who grades papers for a living.”
“So what do we do now?”
“I could follow the kid around for a couple days. Seems to be the only option left. But I’ll be honest with you, Morris, I don’t expect anything to come of it. There’s nothing to go on here. It’s more about me wanting to squash the weird vibes I got, if that makes any sense. And it’ll be expensive.”
“Not exactly the same price point as the Golden Monkey.”
That got a chuckle out of Jerry, but then his voice was serious again. “Listen, there’s something else I want you to think about. It’s looking like a long shot, but let’s say that, miracle of miracles, we do find Sheila. She’s now all pissed off you tracked her down. She’s gone somewhere to start a new life and now there you are on her doorstep demanding answers and reminding her of the person she doesn’t want to be anymore. She tells you to get lost. Is that the reunion you envisioned? Is that what you need to move on?”
“I don’t know what I need anymore.” Morris drank straight from the bottle this time. “But I’m not ready to let this go. I need to see her face, Jerry. She needs to tell me it’s over in person. At the very least, I deserve that.”
“Okay then. Just making sure. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Hey,” Morris said before the private investigator could hang up.
“Yeah?”
“About Wolfe. What did you think of him?”
“I already told you. Kind of a weasel, jumpy.”
That twinge again. “No, not that.” Morris hesitated. “Did you think he was good-looking?”
“I don’t know, he’s a dude, ” Jerry said, exasperated. “And you’ve met him already.”
“Yeah, but I want to know what you think.”
“I don’t know.” Another sigh and the sound of knuckles popping. “I guess he’s good-looking. My wife is addicted to this soap opera, The Young and the Reckless -”
“Restless,” Morris corrected. “My ex was into that, too.”
“Whatever, it’s all crap. He looks like he could be on that show. He’s a handsome guy. Probably gets a lot of attention from the ladies because he’s young, fit, got a nice face.”
“Fantastic.” Morris took another swig.
“You asked.” A short silence. “Seriously, man, think about what I said about letting her go. You could spend your whole life wondering, ‘What if?’ The stress could kill you.”
Morris looked at the bottle in his hand. The deep amber liquid glowed in the dim light of the living room. “It already is killing me.”
He rode the elevator inside Puget Sound State University’s psychology building, armpits damp and fists clenched, feeling like a kid on the first day of school. Morris had checked his messages after he’d finished talking to Jerry the night before, and one of the office assistants from the university had left a voice mail. The department wanted Morris to clear out Sheila’s personal effects. They wanted to make room for a new professor who was currently sharing an office with someone else. Space was at a premium, so would he mind coming down at his earliest convenience to pack up Dr. Tao’s things?
Morris minded. But what choice was there?
The elevator doors opened and a small sign with a red arrow pointed the way to the psychology department’s main office. After a few short steps, Morris found himself standing in front of a long counter where three middle-aged women were working. All three heads popped up at his arrival.
The lady on the far right with the short, curly brown hair spoke first. “You must be Morris.” Her voice was girlish and she favored him with a smile. “I recognize you from the pictures in Dr. Tao’s office.”
They shook hands. The other two ladies exchanged a knowing glance, then went back to their computer screens. The office wasn’t busy. Morris would bet ten bucks they were playing FreeCell.
The secretary’s name was Dolores. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. Looking down at her from his height of six feet four, Morris could see graying roots and the spot on the top of her head where her hair appeared to be thinning. He managed a smile and followed her out of the office. On her wrist, she wore a bracelet made of keys held together with some kind of stretchy telephone cord. The keys jangled as they made their way back to the elevators.
“I had Maintenance bring by some boxes.” She punched the elevator’s up button with a short, unpolished fingernail. Glasses hung around her neck and rested on top of her embroidered sweater. “We could have packed up her office ourselves, but I thought you might prefer to do it. There are some personal items in her drawers you might want to bring to her. Or to her house, anyway.”
The elevator arrived and Dolores looked up at him. “How is she?”
Morris felt his face flush. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
The small elevator felt tinier than ever. He had no desire to fill it with talk of Sheila or the weather or the hundred other small-talk items that people saved for moments like this. All he wanted to know was where that bastard Ethan Wolfe was, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask.
They stepped out of the elevator, and he followed Dolores down to the end of the hallway, where she unlocked the last door with her master key.
She turned the knob, then hesitated. “Dean Simmons was wondering if you knew when she’d be back. He was surprised-well, we all were-by her abrupt departure. She said she was ill from stress, but… do you know if she’s found another position?”
“I really couldn’t say.” His tone was abrupt. “I know as much as you do.”
“I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”
“Don’t apologize. This is weird for everyone.”
He stepped inside the office and stifled a sigh. Despite her absence, the room was filled with Sheila’s presence. Traces of her perfume, a light floral blend, still lingered in the air. On her desk in a crystal vase was the bouquet of roses he’d given her the night he proposed, dried and preserved to perfection. Her favorite Pottery Barn mug sat near the computer. Its rim still had a lipstick stain-deep red, her color. Flattened boxes and a pile of newspapers were scattered on the floor.
“I’ll leave you then.” Dolores watched him with a sad look on her face. “When you’re done, dial extension two one two on the desk phone and I’ll have someone help you bring the boxes to your car. I believe everything here is hers, except the furniture and the computer.”
“Thank you.”
She closed the door behind her. Morris took a moment to compose himself before getting to work. It all seemed so surreal. Sheila loved her job-how could she have walked away from it? She’d said once that the university was the only thing that kept her going after her divorce.
He plucked her diplomas from the wall and wrapped them carefully in newspaper, stopping when a framed photograph caught his eye. He’d been in Sheila’s office only a handful of times, so he couldn’t say how long it had been there. It was a photo of him.