The Ghost and the Dead Deb

“A little after midnight,” said Courtney.

“I think it was closer to one a.m.,” said Stephanie.

“So she stepped out for a soda and you think to place a private call and then you never saw her again?”

Both women silently nodded their heads.

“Have the police searched the area?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” Courtney replied. “That one policeman—the cute one, Officer Falconetti—”

Franzetti, I thought, but didn’t correct her.

“—he searched the whole place, the swimming pool, the laundry room, looked around the parking lot and the woods, talked to the people in the motel office and all the guests. He even had the motel people let him search every empty room, but he didn’t find anything he said looked out of the ordinary.”

“The cop also said that because she was an adult, they still had to follow up on all known addresses and confirm she was really a missing person,” added Stephanie.

“Officer Falconetti did say he’d take a photo of her and send it to the State Police,” noted Courtney, “so they could put out a bulletin . . . I gave him one I took of Victoria last week . . . I’m sorry I don’t have another to give you for the flyers.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” I said. “We can talk to the police and work something out.” Then I rose. “Well, thank you for all of your help . . . Will you be staying in town much longer?”

Stephanie’s face was set. “I’m not leaving without Victoria.”

I walked to the door, then paused. “One more thing. Is it possible Victoria simply went back home to Newport or somewhere else without telling either of you?”

“Not unless she hitchhiked,” Stephanie said. “She left her purse here, along with her wallet—the police took them, though.”

Courtney nodded in agreement. “Victoria can’t drive, and Stephanie’s license is suspended. I’m the only one with a valid driver’s license. We came up together, in my Audi. It’s still parked outside.”

I peered through the window. “The black one?”

Courtney nodded.

“Well, thank you for your time . . . We’ll be in touch,” I said as I slipped out the door. I left Stephanie with her perpetual sneer in place, and Courtney’s doe-eyes imploring me to use all of my resources to find her friend.

And I would. Not just for their sakes, or Victoria’s, but for Johnny’s, Bud’s, and Mina’s.

Where you going, doll? said Jack as I began walking toward my car.

“I’m leaving,” I replied.

Oh, no you’re not. You haven’t given the place the up-and-down.

“The what?”

You haven’t cased the joint, baby.

“Cased the joint? You’ve got to be kidding. The police already searched the area.”

Jack laughed.

“Why are you laughing? What do you expect me to find?”

That’s easy, doll. You’ll find what they didn’t.

CHAPTER 15

Guesswork

Some time ago I read in a New York paper that fifty or sixty college graduates had been appointed to the metropolitan police force. . . . The news astonished me, for in my reportorial days, there was simply no such thing in America as a book-learned cop. . . .

—H. L. Mencken, 1942

I FOUND THE vending area easily enough. A short stroll past a dozen motel room doors took me to a recessed area under a wide orange-and-white striped awning that reminded me of the sherbet swirl bars Seymour sold out of his ice cream truck. I heard a humming before I turned the corner—but I rounded it so quickly, I walked right into seven feet of metal.

“Dammit!”

Whoa, baby, are you all right? What is that thing you just head-butted? asked Jack in my head.

“An ice machine.”

Excuse me?

“You’ve never heard of an ice machine? You just press the handle and freshly made ice comes tumbling out of a chute.”

The hell you say? I know a few bartenders would have loved that in their joints.

Next to the ice machine was a soft drink dispenser. “Five varieties,” I murmured, “Coke, diet Coke, iced tea, apple juice, and bottled water.”

Jack made a sigh of disgust. Bottled water, he muttered.

“Not again, Jack.” We’d had this discussion more times than I could count.

Really, baby, how much are they charging this time to resell you what’s free at every public drinking fountain?

“Let’s see . . . a dollar twenty-five.”

The biggest grift of your time yet.

Ignoring Jack, I continued to glance around. No food dispenser, no change machine, just a sign warning that the vending area was only for use by guests of the Comfy-Time Motel.

There wasn’t much to see beyond that. Smooth concrete floor mostly covered by a thick rubber mat so the customers didn’t call any slip-and-fall lawyers. There were also blobs of half-melted ice on the ground.

“The ice must come tumbling out so fast it sometimes misses the bucket,” I guessed.

Well, don’t you miss the bucket. You’ve got plenty of swift, so start casing the area.

“There’s nothing to case, but whatever you say,” I muttered, then bent low, trying to avoid contact with the melting ice on the rubber matting as I searched under the equipment for . . . what? I didn’t know.

A grill blocked any object larger than a dust mote from tumbling under the ice machine, but the soda dispenser was jacked up on three-inch legs. I saw dirt, gum wrappers, and bottle caps underneath. Far, far in the back, almost to the wall, a quarter twinkled. From its silvery gleam amid the filth, I deduced it had rolled there recently.

I rose and crossed the sidewalk. There was a three-inch drop from the paved concrete to a narrow swath of earth. On the ground I saw an outline of what looked to me like Eddie Franzetti’s size-twelve boot .

“If there was anything to be found here, Officer Franzetti found it,” I told Jack.

Don’t count on it. Buttons like him are aces when it comes to getting cats out of trees or grifting speeders, but as a rule, small-town copper’s don’t get enough action to stay sharp where the detection racket goes.

“But there’s nothing here, Jack. Absolutely nothing.”

After a long silence, Jack spoke.

Have you forgotten my advice, back when you needed a wise head?

I was hot, and not a little exasperated when I snapped back. “You make a lot of suggestions, Jack. Which one are you talking about?”

The one that netted you that goose who was wrecking your inventory list.

“I remember.”

A few months before, I was convinced our bookstore was being ripped off by a persistent and selective