All Your Pretty Dreams (27 page)

“
No need to leave. I’ve
got your food right here, as promised.” She handed him the brown
bag. “Hero sandwiches, one meatball, one salami, chips, sodas. All
for you. I got extras because I didn’t really know what you like. I
hope you’re not a vegan or anything.”

“
No.” He cradled the bag.
“Thanks.”

She stepped toward the
door. “Coming?”

“
I have to get home. But
thanks for the heroes.”

“
But— ”

“
Good night,
Jill.”

Sonya and Artie were
sleeping in the basement. Artie was stretched out on the sofa, his
feet over the arm, a hole in one sock. Sonya was curled awkwardly
in the recliner. The television was on with the sound off, tuned to
Headline News. Were they expecting bad news, an abduction, a
kidnapping? Jonny snapped it off.

In the kitchen he chewed on
the meatball hero, barely tasting it. Then called Terry
again.

“
Yo.” Static blurred the
signal.

“
It’s Jon Knobel, from Red
Vine.” He explained quickly. Terry was traveling back to Kentucky.
He hadn’t seen Wendy.

Well, that was it. So much
for that idea unless Isabel had come up with something. He dialed
the number at the University. No answer. It was after seven, on a
Friday night. Why hadn’t he gotten her home number? Because he’d
been afraid to ask. She’d basically accused him of stalking the
students.

He finished his sandwich
and poured himself a glass of milk. Drinking it at the sink he
watched the play of twilight build across the yard. The weeping
birch next door fluttered in the breeze, its shadow almost alive,
dancing on the grass. At the far fence white phlox glowed in the
dusk.

Time progressing,
noiselessly, endlessly. Friday night. Was Wendy out having a good
time? Was she exploring a new city, having coffee with new friends,
dancing at a nightclub? Smiling, laughing, twirling?

He sure the hell hoped
so.

The telephone was ringing.
He had dozed off on the living room sofa. He stumbled to the
kitchen and picked it up.

Artie was already on. “Do
you have some news?”

Jonny looked at the clock.
Ten-thirty. Isabel was saying she had contacted everyone on the
field crew. No one had seen Wendy.

“
Well, thank you for your
trouble, Miss Yancey,” Artie said. “Good night.”

“
Isabel,” Jonny blurted. A
click as Artie hung up. “Are you there?”

“
Yes.”

“
Do you have another phone
number? In case, you know.”

“
In case you get another
bright idea about the field crew?”

He bristled. Was she
taunting him? For his stupid notion that one of the students had
been responsible for Wendy’s disappearance— and not her own wild
nature? He supposed he deserved it. His sister was incorrigible.
Spoiled rotten without manners or morals. Sonya had been saying so
for years.

“
In case I have to talk to
you,” he said. It was the best he could do, half-asleep.

She gave him a number, a
cell phone. He scrawled it on Sonya’s blackboard with blue chalk.
He was ready to hang up and go back to sleep, if possible.
Downstairs the television blared ominously, public television on
the march.

“
Jonny?” Her voice had
gone soft.

“
Yeah.”

“
I’m so sorry about Wendy.
It must be awful, not knowing where she is. I wish there was more I
could do.”

He closed his eyes. “Me
too.”

Chapter 19

Isabel fell asleep on the
professor’s desk at home, mashing one cheek on an open book. She
jerked awake, stiff and sore. The page was wrinkled where her face
had lain, and she smoothed it. The professor’s textbooks were
sacred. She hadn’t exactly given her permission for Isabel to
peruse them.

Climbing the stairs to her
room, she flicked off lights. The old house was everything an
academic’s should be, a sanctuary full of books and projects, with
a few spare bedrooms and a vast, cluttered kitchen.

The professor’s houseplants
had suffered in her absence. Isabel had been able to revive a few,
one of her duties as houseguest. She was grateful not to have to
find an apartment at this busy time, and would try to find
replacements for the two brown things. One sat next to her bed,
awaiting identification.

She crawled under the
covers. As she drifted off she heard a beeping from somewhere. A
smoke alarm? The oven? She padded back downstairs. The cell phone.
Sighing, she sat on the desk chair and read the text message. “Wht
abt Curtis? A thot. Mads.”

Sent at 2:45 a.m. from
Maddie Elliot. The driver, of course. The return call went straight
to voicemail. She snapped the phone shut.

Curtis drove the van back
to the campus on Friday, full of the screens and protective gear
and logbooks from the crew. Professor Mendel had arranged to have
all that delivered to her lab at the Bee Research Lab. Isabel never
saw Curtis after he dropped her off at the motel that last morning.
Had Wendy talked him into taking her somewhere?

Isabel felt a tingle of
hope. What if Wendy had hitched a ride with Curtis? Was she nearby,
on campus? But this Curtis— who was he? A predator, a creep preying
on young women? He didn’t seem that way. But what did she know
about him?

Not much beyond
observation. He was quiet, sullen compared to the chatty girls.
About thirty-five, dark hair, skeletal, the look of a smoker.
Prompt to a fault, all-business. Never went to the Owl. Never
partied with the students. Read a lot. She’d seen him once
with
Madame Bovary
.

She didn’t even know his
last name. She’d been too busy with the problem children to pay
attention to the driver.

The morning sun glared off
vehicle mirrors, making her squint. Isabel pulled the orange Bug
alongside the chain link gate of the campus bus barn and cut the
engine. The gate was padlocked. A rusty sign told the hours, Monday
through Friday, 6 to 6. Closed Saturdays— today. Isabel got out and
yanked on the lock, cursing. If only somebody had thought of Curtis
yesterday. Now she’d have to wait until Monday. Was there an
emergency number? None listed.

Inside the chain-link boxy
white vans like the one Curtis drove were lined up. Twenty or
thirty of them. On the other side yellow school buses, pickup
trucks, bigger trucks, nice and tidy. In the center a wide parking
lot and a green metal barn, its big doors secured with another
padlock. All quiet as the grave.

She hadn’t gotten here as
early as she hoped. After tossing for an hour, she’d overslept. Ten
o’clock and the sun was heating the expanse of asphalt and
shimmering off the metal buses. Who could she call? Maintenance?
The Chancellor? Not if she wanted to keep this quiet. If Curtis got
fired for transporting Wendy, things could get dicey. All future
field studies might be in jeopardy. She might never finish her
thesis. She might be held liable, even charged with some crime.
Lillian would never get to be chairman of the department. The sky
would collapse around their ears. Reputations would
crumble.

Wait
. That was Mendel thinking. Wendy had to be found. And
quickly, before she got desperate or someone took advantage of her.
It was ludicrous to think future field studies or dissertations or
even wild bees were more important than a young girl’s future. Even
if her future involved Hooters.

Isabel called Maddie Elliot
again. Still no answer. Isabel left a message: “Do you know
Curtis’s last name or anything about him? Call me.
Urgent.”

She drove back through the
edge of the campus. The place was still dozy from summer vacation
but slowly waking up. Sororities were airing mattresses, stacked on
their porches. Trucks double-parked in front of dorms, unloading
crates of frozen pizza. Gardeners tidied the flowerbeds in front of
Memorial Stadium. In another week the place would be
howling.

Everything was still in
summer mode at Beans & Me. Inside the smell of roasting coffee
beans permeated the air. She ordered a plain cup of something grown
under shade trees and sat down to read the paper. She made it
through the second page before she called Jonny.

“
Miss Yancey,” Art Knobel
said. Did he think she was 80? “Any news? Wait. Here’s my
brother.”

“
Miss Yancey,” Jonny
echoed with a tease in his voice. “Mister Knobel here.”

“
Listen, I had an idea.
One of the girls actually. About the van driver, Curtis. Do you
remember him? Wendy might have hitched a ride in the van. He had
plenty of room.”

“
Have you talked to
him?”

“
I don’t know how to get
hold of him. I don’t know his last name. The bus barn is locked up
for the weekend. I might find somebody in the office at the
physical plant.”

He talked to someone, then
said, “I’m coming down.”

“
She might not be here at
all. He could have dropped her off anywhere—”

“
It was something she
said. She looked at the Illinois website. She was talking about a
scholarship. She might have— I’ll be there— as soon as I can.” He
hung up.

She frowned at the phone.
She couldn’t delay calling Professor Mendel now.

“
Hold on— oy! Stop that, I
have a phone call. Can’t you see?” Lillian Mendel modulated her
voice, a little, for the telephone. “Isabel. My physical terrorist
is harassing me. How are you?”

“
Quick question. Do you
know how I could get hold of Curtis, the driver? Somebody left
something in the van.”

“
At the bus barn, I
suppose. They’ll have cleaned out the van by now. They probably
have a lost and found.” She yelped again, then cursed at the
physical therapist.

“
This is urgent. Something
valuable got left.”

“
Oh good heavens. Students
think everything is urgent. Tell them to wait until Monday.
Whatever it is, it’s been there a week already. I must go, dear. Is
the house all right?”

“
Yes, Dr. Mendel. Thanks
again for letting me stay there.”

“
It’s a favor to me.” She
signed off, yammering about her foot.

Isabel set the phone down
on the newspaper. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Wendy
was
a valuable thing.
Still, she could have told the professor. She also could have
called the campus police. Or the sheriff from Red Vine. But she
didn’t.

She put her head in her
hands. Wendy wasn’t her responsibility. And yet, if Curtis had done
something wrong— ?

No.
She
had done wrong. She should have
completed her obligations toward the field crew, to the host at the
motel. Not run off on personal missions. Made sure everything was
squared away, all towels accounted for. Checked off the students
like toddlers, made damn sure everybody got home with all their
stuff and only their stuff— no extra teenagers.

But she didn’t. And now,
what should she do? She opened the paper and found her
horoscope.
Virgo
—
practical and picky.

“
Think positive thoughts
and all will go your way. Obstacles will crumble. But only if you
dream big, believe in the power inside you, and send the powerful
vibes of your most heartfelt wishes to Mother Earth.”

Okay. Here goes.

Mom Earth: Let Curtis be a
good, honest lad, and while you’re at it, cure him of that nicotine
habit. Let Wendy be safe. Let Jonny find her quickly. And Mom? If
it’s at all within your power, let me help.

When she got out of the
shower an hour later the cell phone was beeping again. Maddie had
left a message.

“
I don’t know Curtis’s
last name, Isabel, sorry. He wasn’t exactly Mr. Social, was he?
When we did talk it was about the books he was reading. He said
there was a really good bookstore in Urbana, near campus, and he’d
stocked up on novels before the study. From his description, a big
chain store, maybe a Barnes & Noble? He said he bought a few
video games there too.”