Looking For An Honest Man-Chapters 13 & 14

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Chapter 13

Olivia poured a glass of wine after she’d finished cleaning the dinner dishes. This had not been a typical Monday. First, she had the dream, called the hotline and then Samantha wore her out. She couldn’t understand why Samantha had to be so nosy and rebellious at the same time. Even as a small child, Samantha had been that independent, rebellious child who kept coming back to her mother for reassurance. Olivia didn’t understand why Samantha continued to need her, but at the same time made every attempt to show her independence.  On Samantha’s thirtieth birthday, Will commented that he wondered if this was the year that Samantha would finally leave the terrible twos. Diagnosed as Attention Deficit Disorder with Hyperactivity at an early age, Will and she had tried behavior modification and medication and were able to get Samantha through school - barely. College had been a different matter. If it hadn’t been for Wally coming back into her life, Olivia didn’t know what would’ve happened to Samantha. She’d always refused to take her medicine, but Wally had the ability to keep her grounded and focused. Samantha was such a bubblehead, always denying her feelings for Wally, which made Olivia sad.

Olivia wearily propped her feet up and reached for the glass of Cabernet on the end table beside her chair. The mantle clock struck nine; It was time to let the worries of the day drift away and relax. She reached back and unwound the rubber band that held her hair in a ponytail. Dropping the rubber band on the table, she grasped the arms of the chair and pushed it into a reclining position. She sighed as her head fell back and pushed against the soft-pillowed headrest. Thank God, Monday was coming to an end.

Ding-dong.

The doorbell shattered Olivia’s silent thoughts. She started, as no sooner had the sound stopped, whoever was at the door pushed it again and again. Pulling the chair upright with a moan, Olivia struggled to her feet and stepped over her shoes lying on the floor. At first, she thought of Samantha, but she had her own key to the house. She stopped to pick up her wine glass and take a large swig. Totally unladylike, she thought, but really needed. A quick look in the door peephole revealed Gretchen Silk. Gretchen had a finger on the doorbell button and looked very disgruntled. Olivia opened the door to her friend.

Gretchen Silk brushed past Olivia before she could say hello. Tonight, she wore red jeans and a bright yellow sweatshirt with a rose in the middle. Her short black hair accentuated a very red face.

“Hello, Gretchen. Is something the matter that you couldn’t keep from punching the doorbell?”

“Nothing is wrong with me dear girl. I’m here to save you.”

Olivia laughed as she followed her friend into the kitchen.

“Save me? I didn’t know I needed saving,” she said, placing her wine glass down on the table.

Gretchen ignored her remarks and pointed for Olivia to sit down.

“First, I need some wine.”

“I have a Cabernet opened—want some?” Olivia asked.

Not waiting for an answer, she pulled a wine glass from the cabinet and poured Gretchen a generous amount and handed it to her friend.

“Thanks,” Gretchen muttered, and proceeded to down the wine in one gulp. She held the glass out and said, “Hit me.”

The bottle emptied at half-a-glass.

“Open another bottle?” Olivia asked.

“Please,” Gretchen responded.

Olivia brought the new bottle to the table.

“Is something wrong, Gretchen?” she asked, refilling her own glass.

“I’m worried about you old friend.”

Olivia stared blankly at her friend.

“Worried about me? What ever for?”

Gretchen pursed her lips and stared at the ceiling as if reaching for the right words.

“It has been two years since Will left.”

“I know, Gretchen.”

“During that time you’ve done nothing to get on with life.”

Olivia sat up straight in her chair with her hands folded in her lap.

“That is not exactly true…”

“Oh, come on, Olivia. Basically, you’ve done nothing, and now I learn that you’re having visions!” Gretchen stopped to tilt her head back and kill what was left of her wine. “What is going on with you?”

Olivia bit her lip to fight back the tears. This was unusual for Gretchen. She was never one to hesitate to tell you what was on her mind, but this time there was a certain bite to her words that hurt.

“Nothing is going on with me,” Olivia said softly. “Why are you so concerned about a silly dream?”

“I heard on the news that they found the body of that missing girl. Did you have another dream?” Olivia hesitated and Gretchen eyed her suspiciously. “Did you call the hotline?”

“No, no I didn’t. I was just thinking that I’m glad they found her.”

Gretchen appeared relieved.

“I’m afraid if you start having dreams like this one, it will only make you isolate yourself even more.”

“Isolate myself? Whatever are you talking about, Gretchen? Do you mean get back into the dating scene?”

Gretchen raised her head and gave Olivia a smug look.

“Yes. You need to get out there and get your mind off of things instead of having silly dreams.”

“Maybe I don’t want to get out there.”

“You’re going to become a shriveled-up old woman,” Gretchen snapped.

Olivia didn’t say anything. After fifty years, she was accustomed to Gretchen’s outbursts. In grade school, Olivia had been devastated by these outbursts so much that her mother banned Gretchen from the house for almost their entire third grade year at Visitation. Gretchen’s mother marched her daughter to confession every Saturday afternoon, but it didn’t appear to help.

Sitting across from each other, Gretchen continued. “You know how hard it is to find someone at our age?”

“We’ll be sixty next year,” Olivia snorted. “I don’t exactly call that over the hill.”

“You haven’t been out there, my dear,” Gretchen replied with a wave of the hand. “You’ll find out when it’s your turn.”

Gretchen reached for the wine and poured another glass. Olivia thought about what Gretchen had said.

“Let me guess. You thought you’d found Mr. Right, but it turned out he was Mr. Wrong.”

The wine was beginning to have its effect.

“That’s right,” Gretchen said with a slight slur.

“How many times has this happened to you?” Olivia asked.

“Three or four,” Gretchen said.

Gretchen’s head bobbed up and down as her eyes blinked to stay awake, but it was a losing battle. Silently, Olivia wondered how much Gretchen had consumed before she pushed the doorbell.

“We’ll talk about this in the morning. Let’s get you to bed.”

Olivia took Gretchen by the arm and pulled her to her feet.

“I’m fine,” Gretchen said as she sloshed wine down the front of her sweatshirt.

“I know,” Olivia said taking the wine glass from Gretchen’s hand.

Once she had Gretchen settled Olivia closed the bedroom door because Gretchen snored like a freight train, and returned to the kitchen. She tossed the empty wine bottles in the recycles, and rinsed out Gretchen’s wine glass. Returning to the living room, Olivia found Gretchen’s handbag in the middle of the living room floor with half of its contents scattered on the rug. So typical, she thought. She kneeled down and started to pick up when a bright yellow card caught her attention. She turned the card over in her hands and read Fish in the Sea, an exclusive online dating site for older women seeking younger men. Olivia’s hand flew to her mouth as she attempted to suppress a laugh. Gretchen was a cougar! The thought was ridiculous because no younger man would go for Gretchen. They’d have to have a strong stomach to get passed the Botox bumps. She sat down and reached for the case beside her chair and retrieved her iPad and Googled Fish in the Sea.

The home page flashed across the screen showing an older woman standing knee-deep in water and bent over backwards with a bent fishing pole in her hands. At the end of the fishing line were six men, each with his arms outstretched, attempting to be “hooked.” Olivia wondered how women could fall for such fluff. To one side of the woman sat a box where you could either join or log into your account. A blurb on the top left hand corner of the screen proclaimed that Fish in the Sea was the number one site for women over fifty and was the most successful in matching younger men and older women. Forgotten memories stirred in Olivia, and she could see how some women would be attracted to such sites. She started to join in hopes of finding out more information, but saw a message you had to be recommended. How strange, she thought. Maybe when Gretchen had sobered up she’d show Olivia her account.

Olivia returned the iPad to the case and leaned her head back. She knew she should go to bed, but she felt so relaxed and comfortable. She wondered what Samantha and Wally did after they’d left her condo. Wally was such a wonderful guy, but too gentle for Samantha. At one time, Olivia thought that Samantha would tear him apart. No more. Wally could take care of himself. Slowly Olivia’s thoughts became more disjointed as sleep started to overtake her.

Chapter 14

Samantha felt the warmth of the sun on her face as the first light of day stole in the windows of Wally’s loft. As she started to wake, a red glow appeared as the sun sneaked through her closed eyes. In the background, she could hear a scraping sound, the shuffle of feet, and running water. Samantha fought waking as long as she could, but the smell of fresh coffee drifted across her face and the thought of caffeine made her flutter her eyelids. She rolled over until her nose flattened against the bed sheets, and the smell was different. Her fingers gripped the bed sheets, and her eyes flew open at last. For a second, she thought the worst, and then realized that the smell was Wally’s. She rolled back over and pushed herself into a sitting position. Wally’s large frame hid the refrigerator as he opened the door to retrieve a carton of eggs and bacon.

 “Good morning,” she moaned, and managed a weak smile.

“Morning,” Wally answered with his back to her. “You might want to get dressed while I fix breakfast.”

Samantha frowned, letting her fingers pick at the oversized shirt of Wally’s she’d put on. She realized that underneath the shirt she was naked. A quick scan saw her cloths folded neatly over a nearby chair.

“Did you undress me?” she asked warily.

“Nope, you did that all by yourself around one o’clock after killing a bottle of wine,” he said.

Samantha didn’t know why, but she was disappointed for a second.

“Oh,” she said. “I forgot.”

“Well, breakfast is going to be ready in about ten minutes or less,” he said. “You’d better get up and get dressed.”

Samantha bounced out of bed, walked into the kitchen, and wrapped her arms around Wally’s warm body. She felt him tense for a second, and then he relaxed as she pushed her warm body against his.

“You’re so good to me,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah, now get dressed,” he said as he picked up the spatula. The bacon popped and crackled as he turned it over in the skillet. “Get me a paper towel for the bacon.”

“Sure.” Samantha handed the roll to Wally. The coffee smelled inviting, so she reached into the cabinet for a cup. “I’m going to drink a cup of coffee first.”

Wally turned to point the spatula at her.

 “I have an appointment at nine-thirty, so if you’re not ready to go by then, you’ll have to stay here. I can’t take you home.”

“Okay.”

Samantha sat at the table by the large picture window that overlooked the Missouri River. She saw a slow line of cars make their way across the Christopher Bond Bridge. The thought of being on a rigid time schedule for work didn’t appeal to Samantha: been there, done that. Selling real estate took long hours and a lot of work, but every day her schedule was different. She liked the idea she had to look her best, which allowed her closet to be filled with clothes. Now, she sold only lofts in the downtown-midtown area, and it had been very lucrative for her.

There was the clatter of plates on the granite counter.

“Breakfast is served.”

Samantha clapped her hands.

“Good, I’m starving.”

Wally set the plates down and went back for his coffee.

“You are always starving.”

Samantha’s eyes wandered around Wally’s loft. It was one large room, but the way Wally had arranged the furniture it didn’t feel like just one room. For the first time, she noticed the pillow and a balled up blanket on the sofa.

“You slept on the sofa last night? You could have gotten in bed with me,” she said taking a bite out of a piece of toast.

Wally sat down, unfolded a paper napkin, and placed it in his lap.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“Don’t be silly,” she said, waving a hand at him.

“I’m human, too, Samantha.”

Samantha giggled and took another bite out of her toast.

“I like your place better than mine,” she said.

Surprised, Wally asked, “You do? Why?”

Samantha shrugged her shoulders.

“Don’t know, just do.”

“Okay, I'll take your word, for it, but your place is bigger and fancier than mine. It actually has rooms.”

Samantha carefully picked the egg up with her fork and laid it atop the toast. Her teeth bit into the toast, and the egg yolk spurted yellow-orange yolk on her face. She giggled and immediately wiped her cheeks  I’m game. Why do you like hanging out with me?”

“You let me be me.  That’s why I like hanging out with you.” She took a sip of coffee and gave him a playful look. “You know why else?”

Wally wiped his mouth with his napkin and reached for the jar of strawberry jam.

“Why, Samantha?”

“Because when I get drunk, you undress me, and put me to bed…but you always keep my panties on.”

Wally’s arm froze in midair, and he frowned at her.

“You did that. You undressed yourself.”

Samantha giggled as she brought the coffee and held it under her nose.

 “What about my man Brent Mitchell?” she asked, changing the subject.

Inwardly, Wally heaved a sigh of relief.

“Mr. Mitchell? It appears that Mr. Mitchell is missing.”

Samantha sat up and slammed her coffee on the table. 

Looking For An Honest Man Chapters 11 & 12

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Chapter 11

Expecting a much younger bartender Samantha realized that Johnny had to be at least fifty. A skintight black tee emphasized his hardened abs. Always Available in large orange letters was printed on the front. He’d cut the sleeves off the tee shirt, and seemed to perpetually flex his muscles. Beads of sweat covered his shaved head but couldn’t hide the dark outline of a receding hairline as he tended to people shouting bar orders. Wally got in line and patiently waited for their turn to order.

“How am I going to ask him with all of these people around?” she asked.

The line inched forward.

“Let me do the talking. I know this guy from another bar. He likes bars that have a lot of young girls.” Wally chuckled. “He thinks he might get lucky.”

Samantha grimaced and stuck out her tongue.

“I doubt that!”

Wally laughed.

Johnny’s flashy smile left Samantha cold. He would stop mixing a drink to light a customer’s cigarette, his hand almost caressing the woman’s cheek as if protecting the flame of the lighter from a nonexistent breeze. Some of the women actually cringed as his hand touched them. The women’s responses to his flirting told Samantha that he struck out a lot.

As the line moved, Samantha drew closer to Wally. If he noticed that she was nervous, Wally didn’t say anything. Samantha screened the mostly young, causally dressed crowd, and she recognized many from around the neighborhood. Standing with one hand clutching Wally’s shirt, Samantha pressed her face against his back. There was a constant buzz of meaningless conversation and laughter. The deck had a small eight by four-foot square sheet of plywood in the middle that was packed with ten young women waving their arms above their heads, bodies grinding to the music. A small group of men quietly stood around the dance floor with drinks in their hands watching the women with lecherous eyes.

“Samantha, it’s our turn. You okay?”

She nodded.

“Wally, my man. How are you?”

Wally bumped fists with Johnny.

“Give me a Sam Adams. The lady wants a Marguerita.”

Johnny face broke into a large grin as he peered around Wally to find Samantha.

“You’re coming up in the world, my man. Good for you.”

Samantha cringed.

“I need to talk to you, Johnny. When can you give me five minutes?”

“Well, I don’t know, Wally. This place is buzzing tonight.”

“We’re going to find a table out here. Bring us our drinks and we’ll call it even between us,” Wally said quietly in a firm voice.

Dumbstruck, Johnny’s eyes darted from Wally to Samantha. He chewed his lower lip as he picked up a towel and wiped his hands.

“Even?” he asked.

“Even,” Wally replied.

Johnny nodded his head to an empty table next to the bar and the brick wall of the building.

“I’ll get your drinks and be there in less than two minutes.”

Wally dragged a shocked Samantha to the empty table, pulled out a chair for her to sit down and sat down next to her.

“You didn’t tell me you knew him,” she said.

“Didn’t know it was this Johnny. I know about three or four bartenders in town with that name.”

Samantha leaned forward and spoke in a whisper.

“What are you calling even?”

Wally leaned over until their noses touched.

“None of your business,” he said and abruptly pulled away and laughed.

“Wally!”

“Here’s your drinks,” Johnny said, sliding into the chair beside Samantha, and giving her what he liked to think of as the look.

“That was fast,” Wally said.

“We make big pitchers of Marguerites and keep the pitcher in a small refrigerator. Now, I have to get back to the bar, so what can I do for you Wally?”

“It’s her,” Wally said, refraining from telling Johnny Samantha’s name.

Johnny reached out and cupped Samantha’s hand.

“What can I do for you?” he crooned.

Samantha immediately withdrew her hand.

 “I’m looking for a guy with short blonde hair, always wears a suit, and a little overweight. Pale skin, freckles all over a slightly bent nose, and a scar on his left cheek that runs from the corner of his left eye to the corner of his mouth.”

She ran a finger down her left cheek to emphasize the scar.

“Brent Mitchell,” Johnny replied, his hand softly slapping the table.

“How did you get that so fast?” Samantha asked.

“The scar, baby. Everything else was our typical customer. The scar gave him away.”

“Do you know where he lives?” Wally asked folding his hands on the table.

“Haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks. We think he was slipping girls something in their drinks, so the manager told him not to come back.”

“Tell me about it!” Samantha said.

Johnny suddenly became serious.

“You may be lucky.”

“Why?” Wally asked.

“One of the girls he met up with ended up missing.”

Samantha became excited.

“Vickie Taylor?”

“Naw, this was a couple of weeks ago. Her name was Pat Wilson. Older woman. Probably in her fifties. Good looking chick, if I say so myself.” He turned to Samantha and displayed a sly smile. “Too old for my tastes.”

Johnny stood up and pushed his chair back under the table.

“Why do you connect Brent Mitchell to this Pat Wilson?” Wally asked.

“He was all over her one night. She turns up missing, and Brent hasn’t been seen since that night. Looks funny to me.”

Johnny pointed a finger at Wally before returning to the bar. Samantha turned to Wally.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know, Sam. Johnny does not exude confidence. He tells a good story, but it may not be the truth. We did get a name for your guy, and that’s a start.”

Samantha nervously fingered the rim of her glass for salt. She sucked on her finger and sighed.

“Where do we go from here?”

“Where else? We see whether this guy is on Facebook.”

Chapter 12

“Facebook?”

“Sam, a guy like this is going to tell all on Facebook. He wants everyone to know him. Let’s see whether he has friends we know, or look at his pictures to learn more about this guy.”

“You think it’s that easy, huh?”

“Sam, it is going to be that easy. Your place or mine? Or would you rather call it a night and I’ll take you home?”

The gears ground as Wally shoved the gearshift into reverse to back out of the parking space.

Samantha made a face.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“I know,” Wally replied. “I’ve got to take it into the shop, but I haven’t had time.”

Wally stopped in front of Café Al Dente to wait for Samantha to make up her mind. Her eyes wandered inside the restaurant at a small gathering seated by the window, their glasses raised in toast. Not a care in the world, she thought.

“What?” she yelped when Wally jabbed her in the side.

“Your place or mine?”

“Yours,” she said sullenly.

Wally turned left on Fifth Street and headed east.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

Samantha folded her arms across her chest defiantly.

“Why do you think something’s always wrong?”

“Sam, I know you—and I’m not your mother. You don’t have to play the defensive game with me,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean you’re not my mother?”

Wally cast his eyes toward the darkened stalls of the City Market as he passed. The River Market area was vacant at night until around three o’clock in the morning when it began to come alive again. The low rumble of the Jeep bounced off the darkened buildings in the quiet night.

“When you get upset, you generally take it out on your mother—or me. I’m used to it, but it still affects your mother.”

Samantha unfolded her arms and leaned against the door to fully look at Wally.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said huffily.

“Forget it,” he replied with a sigh. “Let’s get back on track. Just for my information, what are we going to do once we find Mr. Mitchell?”

Samantha sat up in her seat, the seat belt snapped to restrain her.

“I’m going to tell that son-of-a-bitch what I think of him,” she snarled.

Wally’s nonchalant expression did little to appease her.

“And after that?” he asked.

Samantha stared daggers at him, which Wally returned with arched eyebrows and a slight smile. Samantha plopped back in her seat and stared straight ahead with her hands folded in her lap.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled. “It is so unfair.”

“Unfair or not, don’t you think we have to have a plan—or something?”

They were quiet until they reached Wally’s loft. He pulled into the parking lot and turned off the engine. Samantha didn’t move. Wally could see her eyes glisten with tears. Her fingers played with the string on her windbreaker. Stuffing his car keys in his pocket, Wally leaned back and waited for Samantha to say something. The one thing Wally’s experience had taught him about Samantha was she wouldn’t divulge anything until she was ready. The streetlights reflected off the car roofs in the parking lot, and he could hear the hum of traffic from the freeway.

Finally, she spoke in that quiet, childlike voice she used when she was undecided.

“Wally, what would you do?”

“I think you need to decide what you want to do. You say you were raped. Do you want to beat the bastard up? Get the police involved? It's a little late to do anything except beat the son-of-a-bitch up,” Wally growled.

She raised her head and gazed at him mournfully. The edges of her mouth sagged downward causing her chin to wrinkle. The sorrowful, tear filled eyes tugged at his heart. Wally reached over and gently cradled Samantha in his arms.

Looking For An Honest Man Chapters 9 & 10

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Chapter 9

“Mother! What are you doing? The dinner is cold, and I find you out here on the balcony staring down at the traffic. Are you okay?”

Olivia thought that Samantha’s voice had a note of concern.

“I lost track of time,” she replied with a weak smile. “I guess I should go back inside and warm dinner.”

She brushed passed Samantha, but before she could enter the apartment, Samantha’s hand held her back.

“Not so fast, Apache. I think you have some explaining to do.”

Olivia gave Samantha a puzzled look.

“Explain what? I have to get dinner on.”

Samantha braced and held her mother at arms length.

“I heard on the radio coming over here that they found Vickie Taylor’s body.”

Olivia blinked and looked over Samantha’s shoulder.

“That’s nice, dear. I’m sure her parents are relieved.”

Olivia attempted to break away from Samantha’s tight hold, but it was useless.

“You had another vision, didn’t you? You were the one that called the hotline, am I right?”

Samantha’s eyes saw the truth.

“Yes, I had another…vision. I’d rather call them dreams. I called the hotline and told them where I thought they would find the body.”

Samantha pulled Olivia gently to a chair and pushed her down.

“I want to know everything,” Samantha said.

Olivia waved an arm toward the patio door.

“The dinner. It needs to be warmed.”

“Wally’s on it. Believe it or not, he’s very handy in the kitchen. Now, forget dinner and tell me what happened.”

Samantha pulled a chair up and positioned herself across from her mother. Cupping her mother’s hands in hers, she motioned for Olivia to tell her.

“After I left you this morning, I came home, and looked up all the news stories on Vickie Taylor. It sounds silly, but I took notes on my iPad. I don’t know what I was going to do with them. I guess it’s kind of a habit.”

“What about seeing where Vickie was buried?” Samantha asked, softly shaking her mother’s hands.

“Oh, I don’t know. I was on the balcony, and I saw this white flash. You know, I’ve talked about seeing a white flash when I do my self-hypnosis.”

“Where you standing up or sitting down,” Samantha asked.

“Oh, I was sitting down.”

“That’s a relief. Were you trying to hypnotize yourself at the time?”

“No, no. It just happened. The next thing I know, Vickie is showing me where someone had hidden her body.”

 “She took you to her grave?”

Olivia’s eyes focused on the patio door.

“No, not a grave. She took me to a place that I knew as a child and pointed down the hill. I saw someone rolling her body through the brush and then covering her body with leaves. I don’t remember walking; I was just there.” Olivia’s hand flew to her mouth. “How horrible for a parent to know something like that happened to your child. The husband must be frantic.”

Samantha pulled her hands away and leaned back in the chair.

“He is the prime suspect,” she said.

“He didn’t do it,” Olivia said.

Samantha chuckled.

“How do you know that, mother? Did you have another vision you didn’t tell me about?”

Olivia frowned and bowed her head.

“I don’t know. I didn’t have a vision. It’s just a feeling.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t do it,” Samantha said.

Olivia thought about the dream for a second. What was it that Vickie showed her that made her think it couldn’t be her husband?

“The person in my dream had to roll the body down the hill.”

“What difference does that make?” Samantha asked.

“I don’t know—but it does.”

Samantha stood up and pushed her chair back, making an annoying scraping sound.

“Visions and feelings. I’m not going to question you after what you did today, but I wouldn’t go around bragging about this to anyone.”

Olivia reached out and grabbed Samantha’s arms.

“Please, don’t tell anyone about this. Not even Wally.”

The stress on Olivia’s face surprised Samantha.

“I’ve already told Wally, but he won’t tell anyone. I won’t either.” Samantha pulled her mother to her feet and hugged her. “Let’s go eat. Wally made the salad and one of his homemade salad dressings.”

Walking into the kitchen, they found that Wally had the table set with the chicken breasts on a hot plate. Olivia loved Wally. Standing six feet four and weighing two hundred and eighty pounds, Wally didn’t have a hard time getting a college football scholarship. Will used to joke that when Wally stayed for dinner, it was like feeding two families. Back then, Wally didn’t have a beard and goatee and a baldhead. At thirty-four he was trying to decide whether to shave it or try hair transplants. Once they were seated, Wally's massive frame leaned over the table and delicately tossed the salad.

 “Looks good, Mrs. K,” he said not taking his eyes off of the salad.

“Thank you, Wally. It’s really not that hard to make,” Olivia said, unfolding her napkin and placing it in her lap.

“Sit down, Teddy Bear,” Samantha said, tugging on Wally’s arm.

Olivia arched her eyebrows and turned to Samantha.

“Teddy Bear?”

“Yeah, Wally is nothing but a big old teddy bear. I’ve called him that for years.”

“I’ve never heard you call him that,” Olivia said.

Samantha flashed Wally a smile.

“I guess not.”

 “It sounds so personal. You two aren’t…”

“No, Mother. Wally and I are just the best of friends.”

Wally picked up the Pyrex dish with the chicken breasts and passed it to Olivia.

“Here, you start the process, Mrs. K.”

“Thank you, Wally.”

They ate quietly for a few minutes until Samantha broke the silence.

“You know there is a reward for finding Vickie Taylor.”

“They said something about it when I called the hotline.”

Wally ate quietly and did not join in the conversation.

“You need to check to see whether you get a reward, Mom.”

Olivia wiped her mouth with her napkin before answering.

“I couldn’t do that. I’d feel like…I don’t know what I’d feel like, but it sounds awful.”

Samantha placed both elbows on the table and leaned toward her mother.

“Dad left you with zilch. You have no real skills in the world, and you certainly don’t have the money to keep this place up. You have to be practical.”

Wally stabbed a large piece of chicken with his fork and brought it to his mouth. “She’s got a point, Mrs. K.” The fork disappeared in his mouth and his cheek puffed out as he began to chew.

Olivia’s eyes shifted from Wally to Samantha. She started to say something, but thought better of it and continued to eat her dinner. Samantha concentrated on the meal while Wally seemed to be entertained by something on the balcony. Olivia stopped and picked up her glass of wine. The reward would certainly tide her over while she got on her feet, she thought.

Chapter 10

“What do you think that your mother will do?” Wally asked, navigating around some orange barrels placed on Broadway that narrowed the road to one-lane each way.

Samantha had spent the past ten minutes silently staring out the passenger-side window. She stretched and turned to Wally.

“I really don’t know. All of this is so mind-boggling. First of all, I hope she takes the reward. Secondly, I hope she doesn’t tell anyone else about what has taken place. Mother isn’t ready for notoriety at the moment.”

“Who would she tell?”

“Gretchen. She and Gretchen have been friends forever. And if she thinks the dream makes for good drama she’ll dine out on the tale until the whole city knows it. Mom won’t have a moment’s peace.”

“I thought Gretchen found out about the dream this morning at breakfast,” Wally said.

“She did. I don’t think she really picked up on it. It was just foolish talk to her. Mother needs to keep quiet now so Gretchen will forget about it. Gretchen doesn’t know that mother called the TIPS Hotline.”

Wally stared straight ahead.

“Would that be so bad? Maybe it would help your mom get over the trauma.”

Samantha smirked.

“Why doesn’t she just call CBS news?”

“That bad?” he asked.

“Worse,” Samantha replied.

The Jeep Wrangler wound around Broadway and the downtown skyline came into view. Samantha tensed for a second because in another five minutes they’d be back on Delaware Street in the River Market area and Harold’s Top Hat Club.

“I’m going to get on the freeway,” Wally said.

“No problem.” As the Jeep roared down the ramp and onto the freeway, Samantha asked, “You mind being called Teddy Bear?”

Wally grunted and pulled over into the far left lane.

“You’ve called me a lot worse,” he said. “Although you lied to your mother. You’ve never called me that before.”

“I know. I guess I think of you as a big teddy bear when I get into trouble. Remember that time in high school at the Halloween hayride our junior year? I fought with my mother about wearing a coat and wore a light jean jacket instead. You opened your coat and held me tight. That’s the first time I thought of you as a big teddy bear.”

Wally shook his head.

“You’re a mess, Sam. You’re my best friend and a mess.”

She laughed and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

Wally pulled onto Delaware street and found a place to park about a block away. The restaurants had few customers on a Monday night, but come the weekend, they’d be packed. The flashing neon of a red top hat tilted to one side stood out at the end of the block. As they neared, a guy came outside to smoke a cigarette and the blaring music followed him until the door closed. It was apparent that the Top Hat didn’t have the problems of sparse crowds on Monday nights. Samantha’s watch said it was close to eight-thirty, and it was packed already.

Wally’s hand lightly pressed Samantha’s shoulder.

“You ready for this?” he asked.

“I think so,” she said, taking a deep breath.

Harold’s Top Hat held a completely different atmosphere at night. A sign on the door warned that this was a smoking establishment.  The stench of cigarette smoke hit Samantha the minute she entered. The neon beer signs appeared brighter, the music louder, and the low rumble of people talking reminded Wally of a freight train. He took Samantha’s arm, threaded it through his arm, and pushed toward the bar lined with people of all ages. Wally’s height gave him the advantage of being able to see over everyone’s head. He found the bartender next to the cash register.

“That’s Bill,” he shouted in Samantha’s ear.

“Do you think Johnny is with him?” she asked standing on tiptoe so she could reach his ear.

“Naw. He’s probably on the back deck. There is a small bar out there.”

“I know,” she said.

He tugged on her arm as he pushed his way through the throng of people bouncing up and down to the canned music. It was only eight-thirty, and some of the people were already on their way to getting plastered. A couple of guys winked at Samantha and remembering what happened the last time in Harold’s Top Hat, she clung even tighter to Wally’s arm. Wally made his way toward a hallway with a sign that pointing out the restrooms.

Entering the hallway, the pungent odor of smoke became overwhelming and Samantha thought she would gag. Samantha had risen to a high level of stupidity many times in her life, but smoking was not one of them. A couple of women stood in the narrow hallway outside the restroom with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Samantha pinched her nose as they passed, and the women looked at her as if she were weird. Wally swung open the door that led to the deck to find no relief from the acrid smoke. The deck had a tin roof and windows that swung up and were attached to the rafters. The smoke rose straight up, clinging to the ceiling.

 “God, they need a fan in here!” she exclaimed.

“They have one ceiling fan, but it doesn’t do much good,” Wally said, pointing up at a small aluminum fan with three blades painted white.

“That fan is so small it wouldn’t blow out a match!”

Wally threw an arm around her shoulder and marched her to the bar.

“There’s Johnny,” he said.

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Chapter 7

Located near the corner of Fifth and Delaware on the east side of the street, there was nothing fancy about Harold’s Top Hat. Samantha swung open the front door and walked inside. At night a bouncer sat at the front door asking for identification and collecting a five-dollar cover charge from men, which Samantha could never understand. Why would guys pay five-dollars to squeeze into a bar that had a small dance floor in the back and no live music so they could watch women freestyle to canned music. Wally called it a meat market. Samantha frequented it occasionally when a friend wanted to go. The last time she went by herself she got in trouble—big trouble.

“Hey, Larry.” Wally waved at the tall, skinny bartender with the wavy brown hair.

Larry held his lips in a tight pucker as he busily dried glasses. They saved the good-looking bartenders for the night shift, Samantha thought.

“Hey, Wally. This business or pleasure?”

“It ain’t business, but I don’t call eating the food here a pleasure.”

“I’m with you man. You and the lady want something to drink besides ice tea?”

“Yeah. Give me a Corona and she’ll take the house wine—white.”

Harold’s Top Hat looked naked during the day. Ugly white metal ceiling fans pushed stale air while cheap light fixtures with colored bulbs and metal shades hung between each fan to bathe the small cocktail tables in a myriad of colors. The usual neon beer signs hung on the walls. Samantha couldn’t imagine why she came here alone two weeks ago. Wally was right. Harold’s Top Hat was nothing but a meat market.

“Where do you order something to eat?” she asked.

Wally called to the bartender.

“Hey, Larry, you taking the orders today?”

Larry brought the drinks to the table. Samantha noticed that Larry’s white shirt had breakfast on the front, his pants hung low on his hips and acne covered his pallid face. He had a small tuft of hair on his chin.

Please Larry, she thought, don’t lose your pants. If your pants fall down, I’ll hurl.

Larry cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Beatrice! You got two out here.”

“Coming!” she yelled back. “Give me two minutes.” Samantha glimpsed Beatrice at the kitchen door hugging a cell phone to her ear. A large, black woman with short, curly hair and long dangling earrings, Beatrice did not appear to be in a good mood. “What do you mean you couldn’t come home last night…”

Beatrice disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Sorry about that,” Larry offered, but Wally waved it off.

“Sit down for a sec, Larry. My friend has some questions she wants to ask.”

Larry looked warily at Samantha while he wiped his hands on the rag hanging on his shoulder.

“What kind of questions?” he asked.

Wally reached over and pulled out a chair for Larry to sit down.

“Sit down, Larry. Sam ain’t going to hurt you.”

“She a cop?” Larry asked. Wally indicated that Samantha wasn’t a cop. “A lawyer?”

“I sell real estate,” Samantha said.

“I ain’t got no money,” he said starting to stand up.

Wally’s large hand clasped Larry by the shoulder and pulled him back down.

“Sit down, Larry!”

Larry’s anxious eyes darted between Wally and Samantha.

“The man I’m looking for has short blonde hair, wears a suit, so I believe he is a professional, and is slightly overweight. He has real pale skin with freckles all over his slightly bent nose. You know, as though he’s been in one fight too many. There is a scar on his left cheek that runs from the corner of his left eye to the corner of his mouth.”

“Don’t know him.” Larry didn’t hesitate and started to leave.

Samantha leaned forward.

“You sure?”

Larry drummed his fingers on the table and shook his head.

“Two groups come in this bar. Daytime and nighttime and never the two meet. The daytime crowd is older, drink mostly beer and that’s when we sell sandwiches. At night, the crowd orders drinks and appetizers: a younger crowd looking for encounters. You should come back at five-thirty when Johnny comes on board. He may know the guy.”

Larry stood up, adjusted the towel on his shoulder and walked back to the bar.

“Well, you want to come back tonight?” Wally asked.

“We’ll see. I’m supposed to go to my mother’s house tonight for dinner.” She thought for a second and reached for his hand. “You want to come?”

“Sure, it will be good to see your mom. I haven’t seen her in a long time.” Wally clasped his hands together and rested them on the table. “Sam, when are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Samantha looked away, but she couldn’t hide her watering eyes.

“I did something stupid, Wally.”

Wally’s huge hand cupped her chin and gently turned her head to face him.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

Samantha crumpled and almost fell out of her chair. Wally caught her and pulled her to his lap. The tears poured down her cheeks as their eyes met, causing Samantha to bury her head on his shoulder and cry even harder.

“I’ve done something stupid, Wally, and I don’t know what to do.”

“What have you done that is so stupid?” he asked softly.

Her hands pushed against his chest until she looked directly in his eyes. She could smell the blend of Old Spice aftershave and his morning coffee. Gazing into Wally’s eyes reminded Samantha of the ads to save the baby seals - they held no secrets. She knew that Wally loved her, and she wished that she could return that love, but she couldn’t—at least not yet. At the same time, she couldn’t let him go. Wally the anchor, she’d tell herself. He was always there for her.

“I got drunk, and someone raped me,” she whispered, fighting back the tears. “I think it was the guy I’m looking for.”

Wally frowned and pushed her away.

“What!” he exclaimed.

 “I think someone raped me,” she whispered, placing a hand on his lips.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m okay physically,” she answered.

“What does that have to do with the Top Hat?” he asked. “And you’re still on the pill, right?”

He reached over to pick up a napkin for her to blow her nose.

Samantha took the napkin and made an awful honking sound. She balled the napkin tightly in her hand and for once, she couldn’t face him.

 “About two weeks ago, I came to the Top Hat by myself.  My doctor had taken me off the pill for a month. I was lonely that night. You were out of town visiting your sister and my mother was off with Gretchen. I met this guy I described to you. He was big, like you are, and I guess I substituted him for you. Anyway, to make a long story short, he bought me a drink, and the next thing I remember is waking up with a policeman wrapping on my car window to see if I was okay.”

“Where was that?” Wally asked.

She took a deep breath.

“The same place we parked today. The only problem was that I was half-naked.”

They were quiet for a moment. Wally pounded his fist on the table.

“He gave you something,” he said.

“I can’t prove anything,” she said.

“Did you go to the police?”

Samantha held the napkins to her nose and blew.

“No,” she said weakly through the tears.

“Do you think you’re pregnant?” Wally asked.

“No, I took the morning after pill to be safe,” she said, burying her face in Wally’s shoulder.

“After dinner tonight, we’ll come back to the Top Hat,” he said.

Chapter 8

Olivia pulled the rolled chicken breasts out of the oven and placed them on the counter beside a cast iron skillet filled with potatoes, butter and fennel. The potatoes were a golden brown and soft and creamy inside. The crisp brown breasts had a thin line of goat cheese mixed with oregano seeping from the edges where a string held them together. The smells blended, and Olivia found a gnawing hunger for the first time in months. Samantha had promised to bring a dessert, so Olivia only had to make a salad. The wall clock in the living room chimed five o’clock; time for the early evening news. Wiping her hands on her apron, Olivia ran into the living room and picked up the remote. A weather map flashed across the screen.

“Oh, no,” she whispered, and quickly changed the channel.

A young woman reporter stood in a wooded area with police cars, an ambulance behind her. Yellow police tape fluttered in the wind that cordoned off an area behind the reporter. Olivia realized that the sound was muted. She pressed a button and caught the reporter in mid-sentence.

 “… the break came in earlier today from an anonymous tip. The police have had over one thousand tips since the disappearance of Vickie Taylor, but for some reason, they took this one seriously and put it at the top of their list to checkout. I spoke with detective Ed Hines earlier.”

The screen flashed, and an older detective joined the young reporter. He was vaguely familiar to Olivia. She’d seen him recently on the news discussing his thirty years on the police force. Bright silver hair and a face that reminded her of a bulldog. She got the impression that he was the type of person who didn’t give up easily.

“I have to give the guys on the hotline the kudos for this one. They get a lot of tips, and they know when to call us when they have a live one.”

“What was different about this tip compared to others they received?” the reporter asked.

“I don’t know exactly. This one didn’t seem like a nut case. In fact, the caller was nervous and wanted off the line”

“Do you think there is a connection between this woman—it was a woman I understand-- and the murder of Vickie Taylor?”

Olivia’s head flew back at the reporter’s question. Did they think that she had anything to do with this girl’s disappearance?

“Don’t know. I’d really like to talk to her.”

“Did this woman know the exact location of the body?” the reporter asked.

The detective stroked his chin and thought for a second.

 “She didn’t give the exact location, but her description on how to find the body was pretty precise.”

The reporter shoved the microphone closer.

“What did she tell you, Detective Hines?”

Detective Hines shook his head and smiled.

“That’s all I’m saying for now.”

He turned and walked away.

The young reporter turned back to the camera and Olivia turned the television off. Sitting down on the edge of the sofa, a cold, empty feeling crept through her. Did they think that she might have something to do with Vickie Taylor’s disappearance? She hadn’t given her name to the hotline, but would they look in their records and get her telephone number?

Ring!

Her cell phone’s loud ring made her jump. With a trembling hand she pulled it from her apron and stared at the caller id - unknown. She pushed the call button and lifted the phone slowly to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Mother, Wally and I are on our way. I hope you don’t mind my inviting him to have dinner with us. We are running late, but we should be there in thirty minutes.”

Olivia heaved a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank goodness. The caller id said an unknown caller. I didn’t know who it was. And yes, it’s okay for Wally to join us.”

 “I’m using Wally’s business phone because mine needs charging.” Samantha didn’t say anything for a second. “Mother, are you okay? You’ve sounded funny all day. Why are you so jumpy about caller id? We all get phone calls like that?”

Olivia held her hand to her throat as if struggling to breathe.

 “I’m fine, Samantha. I need to go and put dinner back in the oven to keep warm.”

Olivia hung up over Samantha’s protests and held the cell phone tightly in her hand. She didn’t move. The sun had moved further west, filling the living room with its warmth. She gazed at the rays shining through the patio door and the fine cloud of dust caught in the beams of light. She walked across the room to close the drapes. Her eyes stared vacantly into the distance. Vulnerable was the only word she could think of to describe how she felt at the moment. She had laid herself bare to some unknown voice over the phone, and now she questioned the confidentiality of her call. The living room felt claustrophobic and began to close in on her. She opened the patio door and rushed outside to inhale large gulps of air.

Her world had changed so fast in so short period of time. Will’s declaration of love for his associate came just days after they’d spent a romantic weekend in a small bed and breakfast in Weston, Missouri. After the scenic drives, wonderful meals and leisurely, devilish times in bed, he dropped the bomb two days later. The next day he’d left. The loss of husband, home, and life had been hard for her to take as she neared her sixtieth birthday. Just as she was starting to get back on her feet, Vickie Taylor entered her life. What scared Olivia about the vision of Vickie Taylor was she didn’t seem to have any control over when and where it could happen.  Olivia didn’t realize how long she’d stood on the balcony until Samantha’s voice shattered her thoughts.

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