Chasing Shadows (15 page)

After a few false starts, I did get back into the story I was reading, but when I'd stopped for the night and turned out the light, it was a long time before I managed to get to sleep.

Isn't it funny how you can trace back bits of dreams to the events of the day before? That night, I had a long, convoluted dream that included a parakeet squawking, “No peach, no peach,” over and over while Nadine's landlady dangled a key in front of my eyes and intoned, “One key is the key to everything.”

The key connection to the previous day was easy to figure out, but it took me a few minutes to put together the part about the bird and the fact that I'd been disappointed to find we were out of peach yogourt.

By the time I'd showered and was fully awake, the other details of the dream had faded completely away. I towel-dried my hair, brushed it out, slipped on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and grabbed a bowl of cereal.

“Are you working today?” Mom asked, coming into the kitchen.

“Tonight. Four until closing,” I said.

“How are you finding the job?”

“It's okay. The work isn't bad, and I like the shifts I do with Ben. But Lisa is kind of grouchy most of the time, and Carlotta is practically psycho.”

“They're all related, right?”

“Yeah, though you'd never know that Ben was one of them. He's the only nice one of the family.”

“He's the one you work with most of the time, isn't he?”

“Yes, thank goodness. I don't think I could stand it if I worked mainly with Carlotta. It's bad enough that she's weird, but she's nasty too.”

“That makes things very unpleasant,” Mom frowned. “Isn't there someone you could talk to about it?”

“Not really. Lisa runs the place, though it's a family business. And she and Carlotta are cousins, I guess. I know they're both cousins to Ben, so I guess that's what they are to each other too.”

“They could both be cousins to Ben, but be sisters to each other,” Mom pointed out.

“Possible,” I said. “The relationship has never been clear to me, and I don't like to ask questions for fear someone ends up accusing me of being nosey. But they don't look that much alike, and they don't seem very close.”

“Well, I guess all you can do is try to make the best of things,” Mom said. “I don't like to think of you
being treated unkindly there, but I know there are sometimes limits to what a person can do about a situation like that. If it got so that you dreaded the thought of going to work because of it, you'd just have to quit.”

“Oh, it's not that bad,” I said hastily. “Anyway, it's worth it on payday. It's so cool having a cheque at the end of every week.”

“Yes, and you'll be able to put some money away toward university too,” Mom said.

I tried to summon an enthusiastic expression for this idea. I guess I'll have to start saving up for when I go away to school eventually — but I just started working and I'd much rather enjoy being able to spend my money for the first few months.

“Oh, Shelby, what's your schedule this weekend? I was thinking of inviting Malcolm and Greg over for dinner one evening if you and Greg are both free.”

Malcolm is Greg's father, Dr. Taylor. He's pretty cool, and I usually look forward to seeing him. But with things kind of awkward between me and Greg at the moment, I wasn't all that keen on the idea of doing some big family get-together thing.

“Why don't you and Dad just have Dr. Taylor over this time,” I said. “That way if Greg and I want to see a movie or something we won't be stuck here.”

“Nice way to put it,” Mom said.

“No, I didn't … you know what I mean.”

“Shelby, check to see if we're getting low on eggs, dear.” Mom changed the subject, opening a notebook and picking up a pen at the same time.

“Yeah, there are only four left. Are you doing the grocery shopping this morning?” I asked as I shut the egg carton.

“Not a full shopping; I'm just picking up a few things. Why, was there something you wanted?”

“More yogourt. We only have blueberry and vanilla left.”

She jotted that down along with the other things on her list.

“I'm heading over to Betts's place pretty soon,” I said. “I'll call if we're going anywhere. Otherwise, we're just going to hang out at her house for the day. I'll be home before work, though.”

“Well, have a nice time.” Mom stuck the list into her purse, which she slung over her shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, do you think you can give me a lift to work tonight?” I asked, remembering the weather announcement I'd heard on the radio a bit earlier. “It's supposed to rain.”

“I'm sure that either your father or I can manage that.”

I rinsed out my bowl and put it in the sink, then swept the floor, which I had forgotten to do the night before. The phone rang.

“Shelby, I have to cancel on you today,” Betts said, her voice quavering. “I'm sorry.”

“What's up, Betts?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Is it Derek?” I asked, ignoring what she'd just said.

“No, it isn't Derek. It's way worse than that.” She began to cry and just barely choked out, “I gotta go,” before hanging up.

“Betts, wait …” The dial tone told me it was useless. I briefly considered phoning her back, but that seemed pointless. She'd talk about it when she was ready.

That was the alarming thing, though. Betts is
always
ready to talk — about amost anything. I spent a good half-hour wandering through the house wondering what could have upset her so much that she couldn't even discuss it.

Finally, realizing the futility of trying to figure something like that out without the benefit of any information, I slipped into my sandals and headed out for a walk.

Snatches of my dream came back to me as I made my way in the general direction of Broderick's Gas Bar. I hadn't planned specifically to go see Greg — in fact, I wasn't even sure if he was working this early, though he'd mentioned being scheduled during the day today — but it seems my feet were heading there so I guess that's what I was doing.

If I'd reached Broderick's, Greg and I would probably have had a long talk and worked out the day before's problem. That might have pushed the other thoughts that were apparently trying to surface completely out of my head.

Thank goodness I didn't get there in time for that to happen!

The realization, when it hit me, stopped me in my tracks, though of course it was summer and I wasn't actually
making
any tracks.

I'm not exactly sure how it happened either. It seemed as though things just suddenly clicked together in my head, first one thing and then another. It was like pieces of a puzzle, all falling into place until they began to form a picture.

It was a scary picture too, let me tell you. I kind of tried to turn it around, see it from another angle. I did my best to find the flaw that would make the whole thing unravel or fall apart. Only I couldn't.

“It's just a theory,” I reminded myself, actually talking out loud alone on the street. Luckily, no one was around. “It's too crazy to be true. I'm making things up again. Surely it isn't true. But what if it
is
?” I found
myself pacing, walking back and forth on the sidewalk, which probably looked as nutty as talking aloud without the benefit of an audience.

I tried to calm myself down and think of what to do. The first thing — and of course the most sensible thing — I thought of was to go to the police. I started in that direction. In fact, I was almost to the station when doubts began to dispel any enthusiasm I felt over sharing my theory with an officer.

“Oranges and peaches, noisy water pipes and keys,” I said, expelling air disgustedly. “Who's going to listen to a wild theory like that? And suppose they did, suppose they believed me. What would they look into? It wouldn't likely be Nadine. They'd check out the other thing first, to see if any further investigation was warranted on her disappearance. And that would give her captors time to dispose of her, if they haven't already done that.”

They probably had. A cold shudder ran down my spine, in spite of the warmth of the day. I knew it had been over a week since Nadine had vanished. What were the odds that she was still alive?

“I have to believe that she is,” I told myself. “If I stop believing that …”

I pushed aside any thoughts that she might, in fact, already be dead. The image of her face, smiling while she chatted casually, rose up in my head. She was so
young, so alive. Surely no one was evil enough to kill her, not for that kind of reason.

What's a good reason to a killer, though? What do I know about such things? I wanted to start running and keep going until this whole thing was left somewhere far behind. But I couldn't.

If I was right, I was the only chance Nadine had.

I toyed with the idea of going to Greg, but dismissed it faster than I had the notion of talking to the police. There was enough bad feeling between us over this, and besides, he hadn't really believed anything had happened to her. Or if he had at first, he'd become persuaded she was okay after the police had looked into it. Convinced as I was that he'd only gone along with me to humour me I wasn't inclined to involve him any further.

Without Greg as an option, there wasn't anyone for me to go to. I was on my own.

Forming a plan was no easy thing. There were too many things that were wide open, too many unknowns, for me to come up with anything concrete. All I knew for sure was that I
somehow
had to find out an address, get inside, and check it out without being discovered.

The worst thing was that I was going to have to wait until after work tonight to do it. I thought until my head hurt to find a way around that, but there just wasn't one.

The least I could do would be to prepare myself, in case things worked out for me to somehow find my way to the one place I would need to get into —
if
I was to have any hope of getting some sort of evidence, which was what I'd need to ensure the police would reopen the whole investigation.

What that evidence might be, I wasn't one hundred percent sure. I just had to believe there would be something incriminating. The best-case scenario would be finding Nadine's suitcases, full of her things, which shouldn't be too hard to locate. If those had been disposed of, then I'd just have to poke around a bit harder.

I headed for the hardware store. There, I purchased a glass cutter, a suction cup, and a flashlight. For good measure, I added some pieces of wire, a penknife, and the loudest whistle they had, just in case.

When I got back home, I packed my purchases into a small overnight bag. I threw in a multi-head screwdriver of Dad's and then added Mom's cell phone, making a mental note to mention it to her just before I left for work. The less time she had to wonder why I needed it, the better. I was pretty sure I could come up with a reasonable excuse that wouldn't require any out-and-out lying.

I knew I looked as though something was up, so I was glad to have the excuse of telling Mom that Betts had cancelled our day's plans and that she'd been upset, though I didn't know why. Just as I'd hoped, Mom
read my mood as concern for my friend. She offered some helpful advice, which I didn't hear at all.

At last it was time to go to work. Mom drove me there because by that time it was drizzling lightly.

“I think I'm going to be pretty late tonight,” I said as we pulled into the parking lot of The Steak Place. “I brought your cell phone with me so I can call a cab after I'm done. Lisa is so grouchy these days that I don't want to have to ask her if I can use the restaurant's phone, even for something like that.”

“Why will you be so late?” Mom asked. “Is there a late party here or inventory or something?”

“I'm not really sure what's happening,” I said (which was, you must admit, practically the truth). “I just know I'll be later than normal. Don't wait up.”

“All right. Well, have a good night then.”

I knew Mom would wait until I was in the door before she left. When I reached it I turned and waved. I felt a pang of guilt as she smiled and waved back. I don't usually hide things from my folks or lie to them.

It bothered me a lot that I was deceiving my mom, but there seemed no way around it. If I'd told her what I was up to she'd have hauled me back into the car and taken me straight home.

I wondered how I was going to act natural at work all evening, knowing what I'd be doing as soon as the place was closed for the night.

Ben looked up with a smile when I pushed through the doors into the kitchen. I smiled back and hoped I looked normal.

“Your folks throw you out?” he joked, seeing the overnight bag I was carrying.

I didn't think I could force a laugh in my present mood, so I nodded sadly and said, “I guess I should have cleaned my room after all,” as I dropped the bag casually into the corner.

“Young people nowadays,” he shook his head in mock sorrow. “I don't know what will become of you.”

“It's hard to say,” I said as I pulled my apron on. Turning to the first task of the day, I began to clean up the dishes that had accumulated throughout the afternoon. For once I wished they were piled sky high. I'd
have loved to have something that would keep me busy and help the time pass quickly.

It also wouldn't hurt to avoid conversations with Ben and Lisa. I was sure that the fact that I was up to something was written all over my face, and it wouldn't do to have anyone see it and stop me.

It wasn't that busy, though, and I'm not sure how the evening finally dragged to a close. For a while, it had seemed as though it would go on forever.