Stalking Steven Read online

  I followed. “I don’t think it’s bad. It’s probably just that he isn’t here. He can’t answer the door if he isn’t home.”

  Diana nodded. “Just as long as nothing’s wrong.” She pushed the door open and rushed inside. “Steven? Steven!”

  I followed, more slowly. While Diana ran up the stairs to the second floor, I took in the downstairs.

  What I could see of it from where I was standing, was lovely. Not ostentatious, but clearly a product of good taste combined with enough money to indulge it.

  I grew up poor. It was just my mother and me in a small apartment, and she worked two jobs to make ends meet. I put myself through college—until I met David and he proposed and I dropped out to marry him. Quite the Cinderella story, rags to riches and all that. David also had enough money to make his house look good, but he hadn’t trusted my taste to do it; he had hired an interior decorator instead. I still felt a bit inadequate about that, and just a little out of place here. Not that I thought Diana looked down on me for my background—she probably didn’t even know about it—but I still felt like I’d climbed above my station in life. While I like antiques and quality furniture, I can’t reliably tell the difference between a real Duncan Phyfe sofa and a copy.

  Above my head, Diana was running from room to room calling for Steven. Since she was still calling, I assumed she hadn’t found him.

  I headed up the stairs. When I reached the second floor, Diana came out of a door halfway down the hallway. “He isn’t here.”

  So at least Steven hadn’t had a heart attack in bed or the shower this morning. Or God forbid, gone the way of Mrs. Grimshaw. “I don’t suppose you checked the closet?”

  “Why would he be there?”

  I didn’t think he was there. “In case he packed a bag,” I said.

  Diana pressed her lips together in a tight line, but swung on her heel and headed for the closet. She pulled the double doors apart, and I looked in at racks of sedate suits and shirts and neatly aligned shoes along the floor.

  “It doesn’t look as if anything’s missing.” There were no obvious gaps or empty hangers where something had been removed.

  Diana shook her head.

  “Maybe he got a phone call and had to go somewhere in a hurry. Does he have family? Other than you, I mean?”

  “His mother’s still alive,” Diana said. “I should call her. Make sure everything’s all right.”

  I nodded. “Probably a good idea. I’ll walk through the downstairs. Maybe he left a note or something.”

  “Do people leave notes anymore?” Diana was busy scrolling through her phone, probably looking for her mother-in-law’s number. “Don’t they just text?”

  Usually. Unless Steven had wanted to let Diana know where he was going, but not right away. Texts are immediate. A note left on the kitchen counter is something you don’t read until you get home. Giving whoever left it a head start.

  Naturally I didn’t say any of that. I just headed down the stairs to let her talk to her mother-in-law in peace. Depending on whether the senior Mrs. Morton had heard from Steven or not, I figured it could get ugly.

  There was no note downstairs. A lot of lovely furniture and lovelier knick-knacks and artwork of all sorts, but no note. There were snapshots of Diana and Steven in every room, and from what I could see, they looked happy together. Snorkeling somewhere where the water was turquoise and there were palm trees in the background. Sharing a toast at a small outdoor café in what looked like an Italian village. Sitting side by side in rocking chairs on the porch of a cabin. In a few of the pictures, there was a young man included. He resembled Steven, in height and facial features. One of them showed him in a cap and gown, with a beaming Diana and Steven on either side of him.

  The kitchen was neat and clean, all white cabinets with glass fronts and marble counters. Very classic and elegant. There was a used bowl in the kitchen sink—looked like someone had had oatmeal for breakfast—so maybe Steven had eaten before he left.

  Diana nodded when I pointed it out. “Cholesterol.”

  Of course. David had eaten his own share of oatmeal in the year or two before he died. “There’s no note,” I said. “Had his mother heard from him?”

  Diana made a face. “No. Although she intimated she’d seen it coming. We’ve been married fifteen years, and she’s been waiting through every one of them for him to realize he can do better.”

  Sounded like my mother-in-law. “David’s mother never liked me, either.” After a second, I added, “I think she probably liked Sandra better. Sandra was the first wife, and the mother of the grandchildren. I was the hussy who made David leave his wife and kids.”

  “Mothers never see their children clearly,” Diana said. “I’m sure she thought it was your fault when he left you for Jacquie, too.”

  “I’m sure she would have. But she wasn’t around anymore when that happened. She died a few years ago.” And good riddance.

  “Anyway,” Diana said, “Steven’s mother hasn’t heard from him. She said she’d let me know if she did, but I’m not sure I trust her to.”

  I wouldn’t have trusted David’s mother to, either. “Where does she live?”

  “Virginia,” Diana said.

  “If he’s driving, he wouldn’t get there for a few hours yet.” And anyway, if nothing was wrong with the mother, there was no reason for him to go there. Especially if this had something to do with the young blonde from yesterday. A cheating husband doesn’t run away to his mother. “Any other family? Brothers? Sisters? What about his son?”

  I figured the young man in the pictures had to be David’s son, but not Diana’s. Not if they’d only been married fifteen years. The young man had been ten years older than that in some of the photographs.

  “David doesn’t have any children,” Diana said. “And we got married later in life. He spent a long time traveling for work—photojournalist—before he started teaching, and I was busy establishing myself as a lawyer. We were in our thirties when we got married.”

  “David already had Krystal and Kenny when I entered the picture,” I said. “They were ten and twelve, or something like that. He didn’t want to start over again with the diaper changes and midnight feedings. And he was probably worried that I’d lose my figure. Or that he wouldn’t get enough sex.”

  I’d been twenty-two when David and I got married. He’d been in his mid-thirties. I didn’t fool myself into thinking he’d married me for my intellect.

  “Do you regret it?” Diana asked.

  I had to think for a moment. “I never had a choice, really. David didn’t want more children. If I had insisted, he probably would have left me sooner. Since I didn’t, he stayed with me until I was forty.”

  Diana nodded.

  “But now... I don’t know. My mother is gone. I never knew my father. My husband’s dead. His children never liked me. If I’d had children of my own, at least I wouldn’t be alone.”

  There was a moment of silence. Perhaps Diana was contemplating the possibility that she would now find herself in the same situation. If Steven was gone and not coming back, she might very well do just that.

  “You have a lot of pictures of a young man who looks like Steven,” I said. “I thought maybe it was your son. Or his son, once you said you’d only been married fifteen years.”

  Diana shook her head. “That’s Trevor. Steven’s nephew.”

  “Have you called him? Maybe he knows where Steven is.”

  Diana reached for her phone. “I’ll do it right now.”

  “Where’s the garage? Do you have one?”

  Not everyone in these old neighborhoods do. There were cars parked up and down the streets all over Richland.

  “Out back,” Diana said, waving toward the rear of the house.

  “I’ll go see if his car is there while you make your call.” I headed off in that direction as she dialed. By the time she started speaking, I had located the double French doors from the family room—surely an
addition to the original house—onto the deck, and gone out that way.

  The garage was a separate structure at the back of the property. It might have been a carriage house at one point, when the neighborhood was new, or it could have been a later addition made to look like it had always been there.

  It opened into the alley. The yard was enclosed with a privacy fence on all sides, so the only way out was through the garage. I tried the side door. It was locked. This time I did press my nose to the glass and peer inside. The garage was empty.

  I trudged back through the yard and into the family room. “Nothing.”

  Diana nodded. “Trevor hasn’t heard from Steven. Or so he says.”

  “Do you have any reason to think he’d be lying?”

  She shook her head. “He’s in Los Angeles. It isn’t likely Steven would go to him.”

  Probably not. That was even farther than Virginia. “I guess we just have to wait,” I said. “At least nothing seems to be wrong. He left of his own accord this morning. Maybe he’s just somewhere out of cell phone range. Or he turned off his phone for some reason. Or forgot to charge it last night, so it ran out of juice.”

  Diana nodded. Although I noticed she had gnawed the lipstick off her bottom lip. “I have another appointment in...” She checked her watch, “forty minutes. I have to go back to the office.”

  “Let me know if you hear from him,” I told her, as we walked out the front door together, and I watched her close and lock it. “I’m sure nothing’s wrong. But let me know what you find out.”

  She nodded. “You do the same.”

  I promised I would. We got into our respective cars, and I sat and waited until Diana zoomed off, back toward Germantown and the office. Then I pulled out my phone and dialed Mendoza. “I just wanted to update you,” I told him when he came on, sounding harried. “Steven Morton wasn’t at home, alive or dead. His car’s gone. His clothes are all here. He had oatmeal for breakfast and left the bowl in the sink. He didn’t leave a note. There’s nothing to indicate he left under duress or in a hurry. His mother in Virginia hasn’t heard from him, nor has his nephew in California. Or so they both say. Diana is worried, but trying to hold it together. She went back to the office for an appointment.”

  Mendoza thanked me.

  “Anything new on your end?”

  “Nothing pertaining to Steven Morton,” Mendoza said. “Go walk the dog, Mrs. Kelly.”

  He hung up. I deduced he was busy.

  * * *

  By the time I got back to the office, poor Edwina was practically crossing her legs on the sofa. “I’m sorry,” I told her, as I shook the leash out and snapped the end of it onto her collar. “I’m sure you have to go. Let’s take a walk.”

  She jumped off the sofa, ears flapping. Her nails skidded on the floor as she headed for the hallway. I hurried after, through the lobby and outside. For having such short legs—albeit four of them—she could put on a lot of speed. Behind me, Rachel giggled.

  Outside, Edwina made a beeline for the nearest flower bed. I could almost hear the sigh of relief when she squatted among the mostly bare stalks. Then she nosed around for a minute, peed again, and trotted back toward the door.

  “This is the office,” I told her as we walked. “For the rest of the day,” just a couple of hours now, “you’ll have to stay here. You’ll get very comfortable with that particular flowerbed, I bet. If you stick around, maybe you can come with me when I go places sometimes, but a lot of the time I’ll have to try to look inconspicuous, and there’s nothing inconspicuous about you.”

  She turned to look at me, ears at attention.

  “You can sleep on the sofa,” I continued, “or I’ll try to find you a doggie bed. It depends on how long you’re staying. Someone else might want you.” Someone with a legal claim, like Mrs. Grimshaw’s next of kin. “But tonight, unless something changes, you can come home with me. You’ve already been there. It’s where you walked around in the bathtub.”

  Her little stub of a tail wagged. I don’t think she had any idea what I was saying, but maybe she liked being talked to. If it had been just her and Mrs. Grimshaw in the house, chances were Mrs. Grimshaw had talked to her a lot.

  Inside, we stopped at Rachel’s desk for a moment. When I blew through earlier, in and out, I’d been too busy to stop and talk. Now we lingered as I asked for an update.

  “No calls,” Rachel said. “Zachary wrote his report and put it on your desk. Then he left again. He said he was going back to the university for afternoon classes.”

  He was probably just hoping he’d get lucky and catch a glimpse of the blonde, but OK. He’d let me know if Steven showed up. “The house next door to Mrs. Grimshaw is empty. The house where Steven and the blonde spent at least an hour yesterday.”

  Rachel looked politely inquiring, and I added, “Mendoza let me in.” Or rather, Mendoza had opened the door, and I’d walked in. “Nobody lives there. There’s no furniture. Not even a rug to sit on. I have no idea what they can have been doing for the hour or more they spent in there.”

  “That’s strange,” Rachel said.

  I nodded. “See if you can track down contact information for the owners. And see if maybe the house is for sale or for rent, or something like that. Mendoza suggested that maybe the blonde was a real estate agent.”

  Rachel scribbled notes to herself. “What about you?”

  “I’m not quite sure,” I told her. “Zachary knows what the blonde looks like. I don’t. It won’t do me any good to look for her. I wouldn’t recognize her if I saw her. And with Steven God knows where, it’s not like I can follow him. And I think I’ve bugged Mendoza enough today. If I show up over at Mrs. Grimshaw’s house again, I’m afraid he’ll have me arrested for trespassing.”

  Rachel nodded. “For now, maybe you can just go read Zachary’s report. Maybe something will strike you.”

  Maybe. At the moment I was fresh out of ideas.

  “Let me know what you can dig up about the house and the owners,” I said. “Edwina and I are going to my office.”

  “Any word on how long she’s sticking around?”

  I shook my head. “Mendoza didn’t mention anything about having notified next of kin. There might not be anyone to notify. Mrs. Grimshaw lived alone—except for Edwina—so maybe her husband was gone. And not everyone has children. And as old as she was, she might not have parents or siblings left. We could get stuck with the dog.”

  Rachel peered across the desk at her. Edwina’s tongue lolled out of her mouth as she grinned. Her stub of a tail wagged.

  “I prefer cats,” Rachel said.

  “I don’t mind her,” I answered. “She’s not much trouble.” And she was a good excuse to stay in touch with Mendoza.

  Rachel shrugged. “I’ll see what I can find out about the house. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  I said I would, and then Edwina and I headed down the hall to my office.

  Chapter 7

  Zachary’s report was complete and thorough, if perhaps a little overly dramatic. I think he thought I might share it with Mendoza, because it was full of what I guessed to be police slang. Abbreviations like ATL, which seemed to mean attempt to locate, and RO—registered owner—and MUTT, which at first I thought might apply to Edwina, but it seemed to refer to a person Zachary didn’t like.

  The bottom line was the same thing he’d already told me. Steven hadn’t been at the university today, nor had the blonde. We had no way of knowing whether the blonde was ever at the university, of course, but if she was a student, she wasn’t in class this morning. Not anywhere where Zachary could have seen her.

  I put the report on the desk and my feet next to it, and leaned back, contemplating the ceiling. There was a spot up there, the result of a former roof leak, that looked like Virginia.

  For all I knew, Steven was on his way there right now. No reason to think he was, of course. Then again, no reason to think he wasn’t, either.

  Over on
the sofa, Edwina opened her eyes and looked at me for a second, before burrowing her snub nose back into her legs and closing her eyes again.

  It wasn’t until I heard the front door open that I realized that her sharper ears had picked up what mine hadn’t.

  “Good afternoon, Rachel,” Jaime Mendoza’s smooth voice said.

  I could imagine Rachel’s expression. She thinks Mendoza is handsome. So does every other woman in the world. “Good afternoon, Detective. Are you looking for Gina?”

  “I’m looking for the dog,” Mendoza said, and dashed my hopes.

  “They’re both back there.” Rachel probably waved a hand. “Go ahead.”

  A second later, I heard Mendoza’s footsteps along the hallway. A second after that, he appeared in the doorway.

  “Mrs. Kelly.”

  “Detective,” I said politely, and took my feet off the desk.

  He stepped through the opening into the office. “Thinking?”

  “It’s the only thing I can do at the moment. Steven’s gone, so I can’t follow him. I don’t know who the blonde is, so I can’t follow her. I could follow Diana, but I don’t know what good that would do, other than give me the impression I’m doing something.”

  Mendoza nodded. “May I?” He gestured to the spot on the sofa next to Edwina.

  “Of course. Have a seat.” I straightened and watched as he sat down on the opposite end of the sofa from the dog. She opened an eye and contemplated him. Then she did a sort of doggie double-take, and opened the other eye. Both of them stared at him for a few seconds before she uncoiled, picked her way across the sofa, and collapsed again, this time with her head in Mendoza’s lap. She gazed up at him, pop-eyes adoring, and he put a hand on her stomach and rubbed. She wiggled with pleasure.

  I wouldn’t mind being in that position myself. To distract myself from it, I said, “I heard you tell Rachel you wanted to see the dog. You’re not taking her away, are you?”

  “Not yet,” Mendoza said, while Edwina licked his hand.

  “As you can see, she’s fine. I took her out earlier. She’s not suffering. And I let her get on the furniture. She doesn’t have to sleep on the cold, hard floor.”