CHAPTER FIVE
They breezed through L.A. but got caught behind a traffic accident in Corona that slowed them to a crawl for about twenty minutes. Finally they pulled into the driveway of Alan Lindley’s house in Riverside, not far from the University of California campus. The neighborhood was old and quiet, the houses probably built in the 1960s or ’70s.
Heat assaulted them as they climbed out of the El Camino. Riverside was on the edge of the desert, and summers could get pretty toasty.
The door swung open before they reached it. Standing just inside was a man in his late thirties. Hugging his leg and peeking around from behind him was a little girl.
“Logan Harper?” the man asked.
“Yeah,” Logan said, holding out his hand. “You must be Alan.”
A quick nod accompanied the handshake.
“This is my dad, Harp,” Logan said. “And our friend Barney.”
“Harp. Barney,” Alan said, shaking each man’s hand. He reached down and hoisted the girl up. “This is Emily.”
“Hi, Emily,” Logan said.
The girl tucked a knuckle into her mouth, then turned and planted her face firmly in her father’s shoulder.
“Come on in,” Alan told them.
He led them through a small entryway into a large, open-plan living area. The furniture was a cross between the new and the old, an eclectic mix that worked well together. On the wall hung a TV playing a cartoon, the one with the sponge character Logan had seen on T-shirts.
Alan set Emily on the couch. “Daddy’s going to talk to his friends for a few minutes, okay?”
She looked at Logan and the others warily.
“You want some goldfish?” Alan asked.
Emily’s eyes brightened and she nodded. “Goldfissss, yes!”
Alan looked at Logan and the others. “Give me a second.”
He went over to the kitchen area, and returned a few minutes later with a small plastic bowl of orange goldfish crackers.
“Here you go, sweetie.” He handed the bowl to Emily, and she immediately settled back on the couch and popped a cracker into her mouth, her attention now fully on the TV.
Alan watched his daughter for a moment, then said, “Why don’t we go over here?”
He led the group to the dining room table, a long oak affair that looked like it could have once been a door to an old church.
Once they were all seated, Alan said, “Callie tells me you can help find Sara.”
Logan raised a palm. “I think it’s a little too early to know that yet. If I can, I will.”
“I’ll take whatever you can do.”
Alan’s desperation wasn’t limited to his face. It encased him like a parka.
Across the room, Emily laughed at the TV. Her father’s gaze flicked to her, his eyes softening for a moment before worry filled them once more.
“Why don’t we start at the beginning?” Logan said. “How did you and Sara meet?”
“My job keeps me pretty busy,” Alan said. According to Callie, Alan ran a small accounting firm. “To keep it from driving me crazy, I got in the habit a few years ago of attending some of the free talks they give at the university. I’ve always enjoyed history, so anytime they had a lecture like that, I was probably there. It was a great way to not think about numbers. Sara and I met at a discussion about the terracotta warriors. You know, in China?”
Logan nodded.
“She was with a couple people I knew. We all got to talking, went out for coffee, and, well, she and I started hanging out.”
“Did she start talking to you first? Or you her?”
The muscles in Alan’s face tensed. “I know what you’re thinking, but she didn’t come after me. I went after her. Hard. She tried to break up several times while we were dating, but finally she gave in.”
Logan knew there were manipulators who could make a person like Alan think they’d done all the work. Was Sara one of these? He had no idea, but knew it was best not to share that thought at the moment.
“I love her,” Alan said. “I love her more than I’ve loved anyone in my life. Well, except maybe for her daughter…
“Tell us about the day she disappeared.”
Alan gazed down at the table, then told them about the afternoon in Tijuana. When he was through, Logan took a moment before he asked the next question.
“Who do you think took the bags out of your car?”
“I’ve thought about that a lot,” Alan said, frowning. “But I have no idea.”
“Could it have been one of her friends?”
“Sara didn’t have a lot of friends. Just a couple of the women here in the neighborhood, and a few people at the office. My accounting agency is small, but we do a good business. Sara worked there part-time, office management stuff.”
“What about the people she was with when you met her that first time?”
“She’d actually only met them at another lecture, and were just sitting together. After we started dating, she didn’t really see them much anymore.”
“But did you check them out?”
“Of course I did,” Alan said angrily. He paused. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s just…I’ve talked to everyone I’ve ever seen her with. No one knows what happened to her.”
“Could be one of them is lying.”
“I guess so, but I never got that sense.”
“Was there anyone you couldn’t find? A friend or acquaintance you haven’t been able to talk to?”
Alan shook his head. “I’ve talked to everyone I can remember. I realize someone must have helped her. I just have no idea who that could be.”
“Can you show me the note?” Logan asked.
Standing, Alan said, “It’s in my bedroom. I’ll be right back.”
“Why don’t I come with you?” Logan suggested. He wanted to take a look at the rest of the house, and try to get a sense of what Sara’s place had been within it.
Alan nodded. “Sure, okay.”
Logan followed him into a hallway, and up some stairs to the second floor. The upstairs hallway was lined with framed photographs, or rather, it would have been if not for the dozen or so empty nails spaced sporadically among the pictures that were left. Remembering what Callie had told him, Logan guessed the blank spots were places where photos Sara had been in once hung. Six weeks on, and Alan had not replaced them with anything. Was he hoping she’d come back and everything would return to the way it was, including the wall? Or did he want the physical reminder that his wife was gone? Most likely, the emotional wound was still so raw he didn’t have the energy to do anything about it.
The master suite took up the whole south end of the floor. In addition to the normal things a bedroom had, there was also a sitting area and a sliding glass door that led out onto a balcony.
Logan waited near one of the chairs while Alan stepped into a walk-in closet. A moment later, he reemerged holding a wooden jewelry box.
“This was my mother’s,” he said. “I gave it to Sara right after we got married.”
He opened it, revealing an empty, black velvet-lined tray. He lifted this out and put it on the chair.
