“I’ll be fine,” Julie reassured him. She sounded doubtful and knew it.
“I know,” he said, sounding equally unsure. “I’ll swing by in a little bit to see how you’re doing, okay?”
“Okay.”
As Mike headed into the garage, Julie took a deep breath and crossed the street. Downtown wasn’t busy yet-the fog seemed to have set back everyone’s clocks just a little-but halfway across she imagined that a car was suddenly speeding toward her, and she broke into a jog, trying to dart out of the way.
Nothing was there.
As soon as she reached the sidewalk, she adjusted her purse and looked again, trying to collect herself. Coffee, she thought, another cup of coffee and I’ll be fine.
She swung into the diner. The waitress filled her cup from the pot on the warming burners. She added cream and sugar, spilling a bit on the counter, and as she reached for a napkin to wipe it up, she had the strange sensation that she was being watched by someone in the corner. Her stomach knotted as she turned in that direction, scanning a series of booths, some cluttered with the remains from earlier breakfasts.
But no one was there.
She closed her eyes, on the verge of tears. She left the diner without saying good-bye.
It was early-the salon wouldn’t be open for another hour or so, but she was sure Mabel was already in. Wednesdays were her days for taking inventory and placing orders, and when Julie pushed open the door, she saw Mabel dutifully scanning the shelves of shampoos and conditioners. When Mabel glanced over her shoulder at Julie, her face assumed a look of concern. She set aside the clipboard.
“What happened?” were the first words she said.
“I look that bad, huh?”
“Richard again?”
Julie bit her lip in answer, and Mabel immediately crossed the room and put her arms around her, squeezing tight.
Julie inhaled sharply, fighting for control. She didn’t want to break down; aside from feeling scared, crying seemed to be the only thing she’d been doing lately.
And she was exhausted. So despite her efforts she felt tears prick the backs of her eyes, making them sting-and a moment later she was sobbing in Mabel’s arms, her body shaking, her arms and legs so weak that she felt she would fall over if Mabel let go.
“There, there,” Mabel murmured. “Shh . . . you’re going to be okay. . . .”
Julie had no idea how long she cried, but by the end her nose was red and her mascara had run. When Mabel finally let her go, Julie sniffed and reached for a tissue.
She told Mabel about seeing Richard near her house. She told her everything he’d said and the way he’d looked; she recounted her call to Officer Romanello and their conversation in the kitchen.
Mabel’s face expressed the depth of her concern and sympathy, but she said nothing. When Julie told her about Emma’s phone call, Mabel shivered.
“I’ll go give Andrea a call,” Mabel offered quickly.
Julie watched Mabel cross the room and pick up the receiver. She offered a tentative smile that gradually gave way to a look of concern when it became obvious that Andrea wasn’t answering.
“I’m sure she’s already on her way in,” Mabel said. “She’ll probably be here in just a couple of minutes. Or maybe she’s decided to take one of her personal days. You know how she is. Wednesdays are usually fairly slow, anyway.”
To Julie, it sounded almost as if Mabel were trying to convince herself.
The Guardian
Jennifer spent part of the morning-when she was supposed to be finishing Pete’s reports-surreptitiously making calls to utility companies. Her suspicions were confirmed. Each bill had been paid through Richard’s corporation, RPF Industrial, Inc. All had been paid on time.
From there, she called the secretary of state’s office in Denver, Colorado, and learned there was no company presently incorporated in that name, though there had been an RPF Industries, Inc. It had gone out of business a little more than three years ago. Acting on a hunch, she called the secretary of state’s office in Columbus, Ohio, and she learned that Richard’s Ohio corporation had been incorporated a little more than a month before he began working with J. D. Blanchard Engineering and only a week after RPF Industries had gone out of business in Colorado.
Calls to the bank where his corporation had its accounts in Columbus provided little information, except for the fact that Richard Franklin did not have a personal checking or savings account registered there.
At the desk, Jennifer pondered this new information. To her, it seemed obvious that Richard Franklin had folded one business only to start another with a similar name in another state and that afterwards he had made the decision to live his life with the lowest-possible profile he could. Both decisions had been made at least three years earlier. Strange, she thought. Not criminal, but strange.
Though she’d first assumed that it might have been because he’d been in trouble with the law-who else would go through this type of trouble to hide, and with all that was going on with Julie, it seemed obvious-she dismissed the notion. Low profile was one thing, invisible was another, and Richard Franklin could be found relatively easily by anyone willing to look for him, including the police. Simply look up his credit report and the address was right there. So why all the cloak-and-dagger stuff?
It didn’t make sense.
Jennifer checked the clock, hoping her call to J. D. Blanchard would shed some light on the subject.
Unfortunately, she still had another couple of hours to wait.
The Guardian
Pete Gandy entered the gym on his lunch break and saw Richard Franklin on the bench press. Richard worked through six reps-not as much weight as Pete Gandy could do, but not bad-then put the weight back on the bench.
When Richard sat up, it took him just a moment to recognize Pete Gandy.
“Hey, Officer, how are you? Richard Franklin.”
Pete Gandy approached him. “I’m fine. How are you feeling?”
“Getting better.” Richard smiled. “I didn’t know you worked out here.”
“I’ve been a member for years.”
“I was thinking of joining. I got a trial membership today.” He paused. “You want to work in a set while I recover?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
A chance meeting, followed by small talk.
Then, a few minutes later: “Hey, Officer Gandy . . .”
“Call me Pete.”
“Pete,” Richard said. “I just realized there was something I forgot to tell you the other night, and you probably know about it. Just in case.”
“Yeah?”
Richard explained. Then, as he was finishing: “Like I said, I wanted you to know. Just in case.”
Walking away, he thought of Officer Dugan and his expression when Richard had opened his jacket. Idiot.
Thirty-two
The Guardian
Julie would always remember it as the last normal day she would know.
And that was in the general sense of the word, since nothing had seemed normal for weeks. Singer was strangely nervous at the shop; he paced restlessly between the chairs as Mabel and Julie worked. Customers came in, but none seemed particularly chatty. Julie supposed it was due to the fact that she didn’t want to be there (she didn’t want to be anywhere else, either, for that matter, unless it was someplace far, far away) and assumed her clients picked up on that, especially the women.
After the fog burned off the temperature soared, and to make things worse, halfway through the morning, the air conditioner stopped working, which only added to the oppressive feel of the place. Mabel propped the door open with a brick, but because there wasn’t so much as a slight breeze, it didn’t seem to do much, other than let the heat in. The ceiling fan was inadequate, and as the afternoon wore on, Julie was on the verge of breaking into a serious sweat. Her face had taken on a shiny glow, and she tugged irritably at the front of her blouse to fan her skin.
She hadn’t cried since Mabel had held her, and by the time Mike stopped by, she’d composed herself enough to hide the fact that she’d broken down again. She hated that she’d succumbed this morning; she liked to imagine that she’d been handling this with a quiet dignity. It was one thing to show Mike what she was really feeling, it was another thing to let everyone else know, even if they were friends. Since the morning, Mabel had been casting furtive glances her way, as if ready on a moment’s notice to charge across the room with arms held wide in case she needed to be held again. It was sweet, but in the end, all it did was remind her of why she was so upset in the first place.
And Andrea. She still hadn’t shown up. After checking the appointment book, Mabel noticed that she had no appointments scheduled until later in the morning, so there were a couple of hours where she could still convince herself that Andrea was just taking the morning off.
But as the hours passed and Andrea’s customers began to show up, Julie’s worries grew.
Though she and Andrea weren’t really friends, she hoped Andrea was okay. And she prayed she wasn’t with Richard. She debated calling the police, but what would she say? That Andrea hadn’t come in? She knew that the first question they would ask was whether her absence was unusual. And Andrea had always been flighty about coming to work.
When did Richard and Andrea get to know each other, anyway? During the haircut? There’d obviously been some sort of attraction on Andrea’s part, but from what Julie observed, Richard hadn’t seemed to respond. No, she thought, his eyes had kept angling toward me while I worked. He looked at me then the same way he looked at me as soon as Edna had walked away.
Andrea was with Richard, Emma had told Mike. I just saw him kiss her.
It wasn’t more than a few hours after she’d seen him in the woods that Emma had called. Moreover, if they were together in Morehead City-a half-hour drive from Swansboro-he must have gone from their little visit to meet Andrea. And he did this, she thought, right after he told me that he loved me.
It made no sense at all.
Had Richard known that Emma was nearby? Though they’d met only once, she had no doubt that Richard would recognize Emma again, and she wondered if it was intended as some sort of message for Emma to report back. But if it was a message, she couldn’t figure out what it might be. If he’d done it to lull her into a false sense of security, he was barking up the wrong tree. She wasn’t about to fall for that one again.
No way, nohow. There was nothing he could do to surprise her anymore.
At least, that’s what she thought.
The Guardian
On the phone with Casey Ferguson of J. D. Blanchard, Jennifer held her pen over her pad.
“Yes, of course,” Ferguson said, continuing to stall, “but we’re not supposed to release this information. Personnel files are confidential.”
“I understand that,” Jennifer said, shifting in her chair, doing her best to sound as serious as possible. “But as I said, we’re in the middle of an investigation.”
“We have strict confidentiality agreements. The states require them for us when we contract with them.”
“I understand,” Jennifer said again, “but if we have to, we’ll subpoena the files. I just didn’t want your company to be accused of obstructing an investigation.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, of course not,” Jennifer said, but she knew she’d overplayed her hand when Ferguson spoke again.
“I’m sorry I can’t help,” Casey Ferguson finally said. “If there is a subpoena, then of course we’ll be happy to cooperate.”
A moment later, he clicked off and Jennifer swore under her breath as she hung up the phone, wondering what she was going to do next.
The Guardian
That night at Julie’s, Mike took her hand and led her to the bedroom.
They hadn’t made love since the night before they’d encountered Richard in the bar. Despite that, neither of them felt any sense of urgency. Their lovemaking was slow and tender, filled with gentle kisses. Afterward Mike held Julie close for a long time, his lips brushing against the skin between her shoulder blades. Julie drifted off until Mike’s movement roused her from sleep. It was dark but early, not yet ten, and Mike was pulling on his jeans.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to take Singer out. I think he’s gotta go.”
Julie stretched. “How long did I sleep?”
“Not long-an hour or so.”
“Sorry.”
“I liked it. It was nice listening to the way you were breathing. You must have been really tired.”
Julie smiled. “I still am. But I’m going to grab a bite to eat. Do you want anything?”
“Just an apple.”
“That’s it? No cheese or crackers or anything?”
“No. I’m not all that hungry tonight. Just beat.”
He slipped out of the room as Julie sat up and turned on the lamp, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the light. She rose and went to the chest of drawers to pull out a long T-shirt. Pulling the shirt over her head, she walked down the hall.
Mike was standing in the doorway, waiting for Singer, and he glanced at her as she passed him on the way to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a yogurt and a couple of chocolate-chip cookies, then grabbed an apple on her way back out.
It was while passing through the living room that she saw the locket, and she froze. It was on the desk near her calendar, partially hidden by a stack of catalogs, and the sight of it made her suddenly queasy. The locket brought with it images of Richard: how he’d looked as he’d given it to her, Richard suddenly grabbing for the door, Richard in the woods, waiting for her. She didn’t want it in the house, but in all that had happened, she’d forgotten it was there.
Now it was on the desk, and she’d spotted it easily, without looking for it. Without wanting to see it. Why hadn’t she seen it before now?