Chapters 23 & 24 Looking For An Honest Man

 

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Chapter 23

The Trolley Trail winds its way from the Plaza through Brookside and finally ends at Eighty-fifth Street in Waldo. The morning had proved to be uneventful, and Olivia’s attempt to read failed, so she decided to walk the trail to the Roasterie for a cup of coffee. After that, a quick trip to Brookside Market for a bottle of wine. She tightened the collar of her jacket to keep out the cool air and walked briskly across Fifty-fifth Street. The parking places in front of the shops on Fifty-Fifth were beginning to fill as the lunch crowd started to arrive for the two restaurants in the small Crestwood shops.

 “Olivia! Wait up.”

Margaret Fowler crossed Brookside Boulevard to join Olivia. She was a small woman with short, gray hair with thin strips of black. Margaret was an old friend, a successful psychologist, and widowed. Olivia always thought of Margaret as the woman with dark piercing brown eyes and a determined expression. They exchanged greetings and Margaret fell in beside Olivia as they continued on the trail.

“I hate to walk alone,” Margaret said, her short legs pumping to keep up with Olivia’s long strides.

“I’ve never seen you on the trail before,” Olivia said, shortening her stride.

“Doctor’s orders.”

“Is something wrong?” Olivia asked.

“He says I sit on my butt too much, so he bought me a new pair of walking shoes.”

Olivia thought for a moment.

“Your doctor is your boyfriend?”

“We call them our significant other these days.”

 “Oops, sorry.”

Margaret laughed.

“You have to keep up with the times, you know.”

They approached Fifty-ninth Street and stopped for the light. Margaret panted and rested her hands on her hips while Olivia realized it had been nearly five years since she’d last seen Margaret. Even though they both went to the same church, their paths never crossed that much after her first husband had died.

“How are you doing, Margaret since Bailey died? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Okay.” Margaret paused, “It took me a lot longer than I thought it would to get over it. I’m a psychologist and you’d think I’d adapt better.”

“You’re human, Margaret,” Olivia said.

“Don’t I know it? It was a big lesson for me. I have a much better understanding of some of my clients who’ve lost a loved one.”

The light turned green. Olivia and Margaret crossed the street and continued down the trail.

“You still have a family practice?” Olivia asked.

“Yeah, but I do a lot of consulting for the police, now,” she said through gritted teeth.

Olivia stopped in her tracks.

“You do?” she asked.

“Is something wrong, Olivia?”

Olivia gave a forced laugh and continued walking.

“No, I’m just surprised. You always did family practice. I’ve never thought of you doing police work. Do you find it interesting?”

“I went back to school to learn to profile. Since my practice has been mainly helping women, they usually call me in when a female suspect is involved.”

“Oh,” Olivia uttered. “Are you working on a case right now?”

“Two of them. The latest is the Vickie Taylor murder.”

“The one that the police found yesterday?” Olivia asked, hoping her voice didn’t betray her. Her heart seemed to have skipped a beat as she took a deep breath.

“Interesting case. I don’t know whether I can profile this one.”

“Why not?” Olivia asked.

“Vickie was a friend of the family.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Margaret waved her off, and they continued to walk. Olivia lifted her head and saw that they were coming to 62^nd Terrace. The Roasterie would be across the street and to the right. Olivia changed the subject.

“You up for a cup of coffee?”

“Sure. I’ll finish my walk after some caffeine.”

Olivia found a table outside in the sun on the patio of the Roasterie, a local coffee house while Margaret waited for the coffee. She set the coffee in front of Olivia, but took a large swig before she sat down.

“This is my first cup of the day.”

“I’m surprised anyone can make it this long without coffee.” Olivia leaned back in her chair and thought how good the sun felt on her face. She surveyed her old friend. “You said earlier that this case with…Vickie Taylor would be hard to profile. Why is that?”

Margaret became very serious.

“Maybe not enough experience yet.”

Olivia sat up in her chair.

“And you’re working on two cases?”

Margret nodded, “An older woman named Patricia Wilson is the other case. She disappeared a couple of weeks ago.” Margaret looked around at the few people at other tables before continuing. “She disappeared one night, and we haven’t found one clue that’s helpful.”

“Do you think that these two cases are connected?”

Margaret shrugged.

“Don’t know. There are no real similarities that we can think of, but you never can tell.”

“Hmm. That is interesting. Now, that you mentioned it, I do remember reading something about this Patricia Wilson missing.”

“We lucked out when someone called in about Vickie Taylor. Maybe this person will call in about Ms. Wilson.”

“Really? So you do think there is a connection?”

Margaret watched a young mother push her newborn in a stroller, and she did not see Olivia set her cup down and nervously place her hands in her lap.

“Don’t know.”

It took all the courage that Olivia could muster to ask the next question.

“Do think that person had something to do with it? I mean, the person who called in about Vickie Taylor.”

Margaret avoided her eyes and stared at what coffee remained in her cup.

“Maybe. I really can’t discuss that part of the case, Olivia.”

Olivia sat back again in the chair.

“Maybe the woman was a psychic.”

Margaret laughed.

“We’ve had all the psychics call about Vickie Taylor to tell us we’d find her in a wooded area. But, that was a no brainer with all the wooded areas in Kansas City.”

“This one was different?” Olivia asked, feeling her body tense.

Margaret jabbed her finger down on the table.

“She took us right to the body, Olivia. What would you think if someone told you almost exactly where the body was buried?”

“Don’t psychics do this for the police?” she asked.

“Don’t kid yourself. Not like this one did.”

“If she was involved, why did she call?” Olivia asked.

“Who knows? Guilty conscience.”

“Do you have any idea who this person might be?”

“No, but we’re working on it.” Margaret glanced down at her watch.  “It was good seeing you again, Olivia. Give me a call and we’ll do this again.”

“Back at you,” Olivia said, raising her coffee cup in toast.

Margaret pointed a finger at her.

“Right you are. See you.”

Chapter 24

Olivia felt cold and scared as Margaret pushed open the small gate that led off the patio. As the gate closed behind her, she turned to give Olivia one last wave goodbye. Olivia felt relieved once Margaret had left. Margaret was a psychologist and probably could see through the thin veil that Olivia hid behind. What if the police could trace her telephone call to the hotline back to her? She shuttered at the thought. Picking up her cup, she went inside and found a small table in a corner. Reaching in her bag, she pulled out her iPad and googled Patricia Wilson.

Olivia checked E-Star, the electronic Kansas City Star newspaper, and found that Patricia Wilson was front-page news two weeks ago. How did I miss this story? Olivia asked herself. Wilson was the owner of an upscale real estate firm that specialized in finding housing for wealthy clients moving to or out of Kansas City. Divorced with no children, she was well known in Kansas City for her philanthropy concerning women’s issues. Her co-workers and friends said she was very happy and looked forward to each day. She was an inspiration to all who work around her. Blah, blah, Olivia thought. She remembered her mother always saying that ‘what you see may not be the same once they close their front door.’ Olivia knew very little about Patricia Wilson after reading the paper. It was fluff, and she was determined to know more.

She packed away her iPad, stopped to throw her cup in the trash and walked outside with a determine stride. This was a new Olivia Kennedy Kimsey who strode out of the Roasterie. Olivia really didn’t understand this determination to learn what she could about Patricia Wilson, but something in her gut told her it was important. She didn’t know where this new intuition came from, but she wasn’t going to challenge it. If nothing else, it took her mind off the financial disaster that loomed ahead in the not to distant future. She breezed through Brookside Market, buying Roasterie coffee, a can of crushed tomatoes and fresh basil for marinara sauce, a bottle of wine and a loaf of Farm To Market Farm Bread.

Olivia was thankful for the solitary walk back home. It gave her time to mull over Patricia Wilson and Vickie Taylor. Margaret had hesitated when Olivia asked whether the two cases were related. Nothing that Olivia had read in the paper indicated that the two women knew each other; they came from different worlds. Maybe Margaret had been called in because their disappearance was the work of a serial killer. Somehow that didn’t seem plausible. The person who killed Vickie Taylor had rushed to bury her, but was counting on coyotes and other animals to finish the job. The thought was revolting that someone left a beautiful young woman out in the woods in the elements.

The sun slid behind a dark cloud to chill the air. Olivia picked up her pace. Crossing Sixty-second Street, she heard footsteps behind her with a heavy tread on the gravel path, making an irritating scraping noise. She didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt very vulnerable. The Trolley Trail sliced through the neighborhood from 62^nd Terrace to Fifty-ninth Street and on either side of the trail stood darkened houses. Olivia quickened her pace, turning her head slightly as the footsteps drew nearer. Her eyes caught a lifeless child’s swing in a backyard strewn with toys. A black and white cat quietly dug in an uncovered sandbox, and it didn’t even look up as she passed. The footsteps were almost on her and Olivia closed her eyes and clutched at the jacket collar to keep out the cool air.

“Morning,” she heard a breathy voice say as a young man with a large backpack walked by on her left. He smiled, nodded and continued on his way: a student. How stupid, she thought. Why would she think she was in danger? No one had traced her telephone call to the hotline. The Tips Hotline website said that there was no caller id on their phones, so they didn’t know who called. There was no other way anyone could find out her telephone number. Suddenly, Olivia stopped. What if the police got a court order for the telephone company to reveal that she called the Tips Hotline? Could they do that, she wondered. The sun finally started to creep from behind the clouds, and Olivia felt its warmth but it didn’t allay her fears.

Looking For An Honest Man Chapters 21 & 22

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Chapter 21

“You want lunch?” Wally asked.

 “Sure, I’m game. Where do you want to go?” she asked bouncing in her car seat.

“Why are you so excited because you think—lets me emphasize the word think—that Brent Mitchell had an appointment?”

“Because, I bet that is the night he went missing. Whoever he met probably killed Brent and Pat Wilson.”

Wally shook his head in disbelief.

“Okay that my be a possibility. We’ll talk about it over lunch. Let’s go to the O’Malley’s in Brookside. I’m up for some Irish stew.” Wally glanced at Samantha when she didn’t respond. “What? You don’t want to go to O’Malley’s?”

“No, it’s just that mom likes their Rueben.”

“Call her and invite her to meet us. It’s not that far for her to drive.”

Samantha thought about it for a few seconds, and then negated the idea.

“I want some time to talk to you, and give some thought to my conversation with Mrs. Mitchell.”

“You think that went well.”

“Yeah—at least for me. It brought back memories that I’d blocked out, and they returned effortlessly.”

“That’s good,” Wally said, giving her a questioning look.

“I guess. It’s strange, Wally. I’m excited because Brent Mitchell had an appointment, but even if he had an appointment with the person who killed him and Pat Wilson, what difference does it make?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it is confirming something, somehow, to you in your mind. Our boy Johnny talked like Brent Mitchell was a real creep.” Wally reached over and patted Samantha’s knee. “Was there anyone else that you talked to that night?”

Samantha shrugged.

“I can’t remember. I got pretty smashed out of my mind.” She pushed her hand against her forehead. “Why am I so stupid at times?”

“Maybe because you don’t take your medicine? And when you don’t take your medicine, you make stupid mistakes sometime.”

Samantha’s face turned a bright red.

“Dammit, Wally, don’t you ever listen? That medicine makes me feel funny. I don’t like it. I’ve told you that a hundred thousand times.”

Wally was used to Samantha’s outbursts and continued driving as if nothing had happened.

“There’s new medicine, Sam.”

Wally heard a loud grunt as Samantha folded her arms across her chest and stared defiantly out the front window.

“Some times you make me so mad, Wally. Damn you. Damn you, damn you, damn you. I am so pissed.”

“You asked the question, Sam. All I did was supply the answer. The doctor told you at your last appointment that there were newer and better medicines.”

“I’m never going to take you to another doctor’s appointment. I thought you were my friend,” she grumbled.

They drove the rest of the way in silence.

O’Malley’s is a local Irish restaurant in Kansas City known for their fried catfish, Irish stew and sandwiches. It caters to an older crowd. The minute you walk through the double doors into the bar area, the smell of stale tobacco smoke is overwhelming. It’s embedded in the wooden wall paneling. It has a nice atmosphere like a local pub in London or Dublin. As they entered, a young woman came from behind the bar to greet them. She was dressed in a white blouse, a short black apron around her waist, and a pair of jeans. She flashed a toothy smile as she approached.

“Two?” she asked picking up a couple of menus.

“Yes, please. We’d like to go to the back room,” Wally said.

The wood floor squeaked under their feet as they walked in single file through one dining area into the larger back room. A brighter area with a large fireplace as the centerpiece of one wall and sat between two windows facing Wornall Road as the low sound of a fiddle and penny whistle floated in the air. Wally pointed toward a table by the window. It was early for lunch, but in another half an hour, the big room would be teeming with the lunch crowd. Wally stepped in front of Samantha and pulled a chair out for her and she promptly ignored him and walked around to the bench seats that lined the wall and sat down.

The waitress eyed both of them hesitantly before she asked for their drink order.

“What would you like to drink?”

Wally gestured to Samantha to go first.

“I’m still looking. You go ahead, Wally.”

“I want a Smithwick and a glass of water,” he said.

Samantha smiled sweetly at the waitress.

“I’ll take the same. Also, this will be on one bill,” she said pointing at Wally.

“Two Smithwicks. Got it.”

The waitress left.

Samantha stared out the front window while Wally twiddled his thumbs as he aimlessly swept the room to see whether he knew anyone. He didn’t. The staccato sound of Samantha’s foot nervously tapping the floor seemed to penetrate the room, and the few people eating lunch stopped to stare. Wally cleared his throat and flattened his hands on the table.

“So, tell me more about your conversation with Mrs. Mitchell,” he said.

The frozen expression on Samantha’s face left little doubt in Wally’s mind that she was still pissed. She turned back to the window and Wally focused his attention on a man and woman who entered and took a table nearby. There was something familiar about the woman, but Wally couldn’t place her. Probably in her forties, the woman had blonde hair clipped in back. The man with her wore a blue suit, white shirt and red tie. They both smiled when they saw Wally look at them. Embarrassed, Wally bowed his head and waited for his drink to arrive. As the waitress set his drink on the table he looked up and could have sworn that the woman had taken his picture with her cell phone. The waitress smiled.

“Your food should be ready in about ten minutes.”

She left to attend to the man and woman.

“Sam,” he whispered. “Does that woman look familiar to you?”

“What woman?” she asked, swinging back around.

Wally nodded his head to the right.

“I mean it. Does that woman to my right look familiar to you?”

“It’s not going to work, Wally. I don’t want to talk to you. You pissed me off, hurt my feelings and I’m tired of it. Of all my friends, you are the meanest. My friends notice it, too. They notice how mean you are to me.”

While other men would shrink under Samantha’s sharp gaze, Wally was no stranger to Samantha.

“Okay, Sam. Let’s call some of these friends so I can find out in what way I’m mean to you.” He pointed to her cell phone she’d placed on the table. “Go on, pick it up and call them.”

“I don’t want to, Wally. I don’t want to.”

Wally shook his head in frustration.

“You take the cake, Sam.”

“Well, you take the cake, Wally,” she taunted.

“Okay, I take the cake. Now, will you look at the woman at the other table? She looks familiar to me. Does she look familiar to you?”

Closing her eyes, Samantha took a deep breath and looked as if she were patiently counting to ten. She peered through half closed eyes at the woman. Wally saw a puzzled expression on her face.

“What’s wrong? Do you know her?”

“She looks like the woman in Starbucks. The only difference is she isn’t wearing any glasses. She must have been waiting on that man. What a coincidence.”

“It’s no coincidence. She took a picture of me with her cell phone,” Wally murmured.

“Oh, get out of here. You’re just imagining things because I’m pissed at you.” Samantha straightened and pointed a finger a Wally. “And I’m still pissed at you.”

Chapter 22

The waitress brought lunch and asked, “Will there be anything else?”

Wally leaned over and motioned to her with his hand to come closer. She looked at him warily.

“Do you know those people at the other table?” he asked quietly.

A man’s voice behind her said, “She won’t have to tell you anything.”

The woman sat down beside a surprised Samantha and looked up at the waitress.

“Will you bring our drinks over here? We want to talk to our friends.”

The wide-eyed waitress nodded and quickly complied with the request before almost running out of the room, revealing the man standing behind her. He looked bigger as he slid onto the chair beside Wally.

“Who are you?” Wally asked. “What do you want?”

 “I think we’ll ask the questions, buddy,” the man said roughly.

“Let’s turn that question around.” The woman turned to Samantha. “Who are you, and why did you go see Mrs. Mitchell today.”

The woman reached in her purse and produced a badge.

Samantha appeared as if she were about to have a panic attack.

“What’s this all about?” Wally asked.

“We’ll ask the questions, buddy,” the man, said. He pointed at the woman to continue.

“Let me tell you,” Wally interrupted. “First, this is Samantha Kimsey and I’m Wally Sikes. Sam wanted to talk to Mrs. Mitchell because she thought she may have been the last person to see her husband.”

Samantha sat in a daze as the woman detective leaned closer.

“We got that on tape,” the woman said. “That did nothing but upset her. What was your motive?” she asked Samantha.

“What is going on?” Samantha pleaded. “All I did was talk to the woman because I thought I may have been the last person to see her husband. That’s all.”

“Did you know Brent Mitchell?” the man asked. When Samantha shook her head, the man turned to Wally.

Wally held his hands up, palms out.

“Never met either.”

The woman detective reached into her purse and pulled out a picture of an attractive older woman in her fifties and from the looks of her stylish hair, a professional woman.

“Have you ever met this woman?” she asked. When Samantha mouthed no, she turned the picture toward Wally.

“Nope. I’ve never seen her before.”

“You sure?” the woman detective asked with a sweep of the photo from Wally to Samantha.

“What’s her name?” Wally asked.

“Pat Wilson.”

Samantha turned to Wally.

“That’s the woman that Johnny said disappeared the same time Brent Mitchell did.”

Wally sighed and gave her a forced smile.

“Did you know her?” the man asked.

Wally rested his hands on the table.

“No, we’ve never met her. When we asked the bartender about Brent Mitchell, he mentioned her name. He thought Brent Mitchell had something to do with her disappearance.”

The woman detective leaned forward.

“Why were you asking about Brent Mitchell?”

Samantha shrunk away from the detectives, not knowing what to say.

“She had a loft that she thought he might be interested in, so we went back to ask Johnny if he knew him,” Wally said.

“And that led to a conversation about Pat Wilson?” the man asked.

“Johnny’s a talker.”

“Why did he think Mitchell might have something to do with Pat Wilson’s disappearance?”

Wally shrugged his shoulders.

“l have no idea. Johnny’s a talker.”

“Do you know this woman?” the woman detective asked reaching into her purse again.

This time they recognized the picture of Vickie Taylor.

“Just what was in the papers,” Wally answered.

The woman detective turned to Samantha.

“A woman called the hotline and told us where we could find her body. Was that you?”

“No—no, it wasn’t me.”

“We have a copy of her telephone call. I could get a court order to have you record your voice for comparison.”

“I didn’t call in. I didn’t know her!” Samantha screamed. “Why are you asking me all of these questions? All I did was go see a woman because I was the last person to see her husband.”

The soft murmur of other customer’s voices was hushed by Samantha’s outburst. The woman detective looked over her shoulder and then at Samantha.

“I am going to leave my card. If you think of anything, call me or detective Hines.”

The woman nodded to her partner. She pulled a card from her purse and handed it to Samantha.

“Stacy Myers, homicide detective,” Samantha read.

Looking For An Honest Man Chapters 19 & 20

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Chapter 19

“Mrs. Mitchell, my name is Samantha Kimsey.”

Mrs. Mitchell cleared her throat, glanced down at the table before meeting Samantha’s eyes.

“I’m still not sure why I’m here. The police told me to call them if someone contacted me about Brent.”

Samantha watched the small creamy smiley face instantly dissolve as she stirred her coffee.

“Did you call them?” Samantha asked.

“Should I have?” Mrs. Mitchell asked.

Samantha thought for a second.

“It doesn’t matter. You can if you want. I don’t know anything.”

Mrs. Mitchell’s pale face hardened as her hand slapped the table making the teapot rattle.

“Then why am I here?”

Samantha’s head flew back, and her eyes widened.

“I—I—told you over the phone. I believe I was the last person to see your husband.”

Mrs. Mitchell slapped the table again. The light blue eyes seemed to come alive.

“Where was that?”                         

Samantha pushed her chair back.

“The Top Hat. Harold’s Top Hat. Look, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. Just forget it. It was a stupid idea.”

Samantha rose to leave, when Mrs. Mitchell reached across the table, grabbed Samantha by the wrist and motioned for her to sit back down.

“Please, sit down. I didn’t mean to scare you, but I’ve had my share of crackpots trying to help me. Psychics from all over the United States have come out of the woodwork to help. They are either seeking free advertising or money.”

Samantha stood silently with her hands cupped like a praying mantis in front of her.

“Please, sit down.” Mrs. Mitchell pleaded pulling on Samantha’s arm.

Samantha slowly edged back into the chair, but didn’t pull it up to the table.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” she said.

Mrs. Mitchell motioned to Samantha’s coffee.

“Please, enjoy your coffee.”

Mrs. Mitchell gave Samantha a weak smile as she picked up her tea. Samantha returned the smile and pulled her chair up to the table. Glancing to her right, the woman across the room must have watched the whole incident. She quickly adjusted her glasses and returned to her book when Samantha looked at her. Samantha glimpsed Wally out the window clutching the steering wheel, and his head moving to the beat of the music on the radio. Suddenly, Samantha wished that she’d brought Wally in with her. He was better at talking with people. He certainly had a knack of calming Samantha when she became upset.

“I don’t know anything but,” she started, “I thought if I talked about it with you, something may come back to me that might help.”

“How did you meet my husband?” Mrs. Mitchell asked.

Samantha sighed, her mind going back to that fateful night.

“I sell real estate, specifically lofts in the downtown area. I’d just closed a big deal, and I wanted a drink to celebrate. My friend was out of town, so I went by myself to the Top Hat. It’s close to where I live.”

“Brent had to go there from time to time on his last case, but he hated the place. He called it a meat market.”

Samantha laughed.

“He’s not the first. My friend calls it the same thing. Why did he have to go to Harold’s Top Hat?”

“He’s been working on a case for the past three months before he disappeared. That is where they agreed to meet since it’s usually crowded at night.”

“What kind of case was it?”

Mrs. Mitchell’s fingers toyed with the now empty cup.

“I don’t know. Brent usually worked divorce cases, paternity suits and the like. This one was different. He’d never talk about his cases because of confidentiality, but this time he told me he might be in over his head.”

“What did your husband mean by that?”

Mrs. Mitchell shrugged.

“I don’t know, but it had to be more than the normal divorce case.”

“Do you know who the client was? Did he talk about them?”

“He did tell me that much. It was that woman who disappeared, Pat Wilson.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“No. Just that Pat Wilson was his client and he may be in over his head.”

“You don’t know what your husband meant by that?” Samantha asked again.

Mrs. Mitchell reached up and wiped a tear from her eye.

“I told you. I really don’t know. I questioned him, but he’d become evasive.”

“Do you know how Pat Wilson got your husband’s name?”

“No, but I’m sure he was recommended by a former client.”

They were quiet for a minute, each collecting their thoughts. Finally, Mrs. Mitchell broke the silence.

“You said Brent talked to you.”

Samantha nodded.

“Yes. He sat down beside me at the bar. At first, I thought he was alone, but he immediately turned to the woman beside him and they began talking.”

“Do you remember what she looked like? That must have been Pat Wilson.”

 “I just didn’t pay that much attention. Your husband turned to talk to her, so she was hidden by his body.” Samantha squinted her eyes and thought for a second. “I do remember that she was sitting at the bar when I arrived, but her back was to me. She turned around when your husband sat down.”

“Did they talk long?”

Samantha hesitated before answering.

“Not real long. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. She seemed excited about something because she said something like ‘Oh, good.’ Your husband didn’t say anything. He took her by the arm, and they went outside. When he came back a few minutes later, he was alone.”

Mrs. Mitchell looked away, brushing tears from her eyes.

“I should have stopped him. He knew it, I knew it, but the money was just too good to give up. Now look at what he gave up. It wasn’t worth it.”

Chapter 20

Samantha touched the woman’s shoulder, and then pulled back. She really didn’t know what she should do at a time like this. She thought back to that night in the bar. After Brent Mitchell returned from the outside, he sat down at the bar to order a drink. He turned around to face the back of the bar. Jerking his head back, he downed the drink and stared into space, as if deep in thought. Brent Mitchell was okay looking although slightly overweight. He combed his long blonde hair straight back on his head, and Samantha vaguely remembered that he had a noticeable scar on his cheek. He ordered another drink and realized that Samantha had been staring at him.

“Buy you a drink?” he asked, pointing a finger up to signal the bartender not to leave.

“Sure, why not,” Samantha replied.

“You look lonely,” he said.

Oh, no, Samantha thought. Here comes the pickup line.

“I wanted to celebrate a big sale tonight, but my friend is out of town.”

“Boyfriend?”

Samantha cocked her head and stared at him.

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

He shrugged.

“Just wondered.”

“Okay.”

“Johnny, bring the little lady a drink. Give her whatever she wants. Give it my special touch.”

“What is your special touch?” she asked.

“More liquor less filling,” he laughed.

The drinks arrived, and Brent Mitchell raised his up in salute,

“Here’s to you, young lady. May your good looks bring you good fortune and you never have to turn to an online dating site.”

“Hear, hear,” Samantha replied.

Mrs. Mitchell sniffling brought Samantha back to the present.

“I’m sorry. It hurts so bad not knowing what happened to him.”

“I understand. I want to tell you what I remember from that night, and then I want to ask you just one question,” Samantha said, lacing her fingers with Mrs. Mitchell.

Samantha relayed the short conversation she had with her husband. Mrs. Mitchell appeared thankful to have any news about his last known moments.

“Did he say anything else?” she asked.

“No, I’m sorry he didn’t. He gulped his drink down, glanced at his watch, and walked away without a goodbye.”

Mrs. Mitchell cradled her face with her hands and laughed through the tears.

“I don’t know why, but this does make me feel better.”

“Good, now my question.”

Mrs. Mitchell shook her head.

“What exactly was your husband working on?”

Mrs. Mitchell dropped her hands to the table and stared at Samantha.

“I think it had to do with some kind of online dating site.” She shook her head and dropped her eyes to her lap. “I just can’t remember.”

Samantha gave Mrs. Mitchell her card and thanked her for meeting with her. She waved and walked out the door to find Wally with his chin buried in his chest and fast asleep. The door made a squeaking noise, and Wally immediately awoke.

“You have a nice nap, Teddy Bear?” she asked, pinching his cheek.

Wally pushed her hand aside and grunted. He wasn’t in any mood to be played with after being awakened by a pinch on the cheek.

“Stop it,” he growled.

Samantha gently rubbed his cheek and kissed it.

“I’m sorry.”

Wally straightened his body and reached for the key to start the motor.

“She kept the appointment.”

It felt like Wally had hit her between the eyes. Why hadn’t she seen it before? It was so obvious. She reached over and slapped Wally’s arm with the back of her hand.

“He left because he had an appointment.”

“What?” Wally fussed. “What are you talking about?”

“Brent Mitchell left me without saying goodbye because he had an appointment. Oh, Wally, you are wonderful.”

She again reached over to kiss him.

“Did he have an appointment that late at night?” Wally asked backing out of the parking place. “Maybe another client?”

Samantha slipped on the seat belt.

“That’s what we need to find out.”

Samantha settled back in her seat as Wally pulled onto Mission Road. She closed her eyes to reflect on what had taken place. The conversation had done little to help Mrs. Mitchell, but it had brought back forgotten memories to Samantha. She slowly went over the short conversation with Brent Mitchell and remembered that he’d called the bartender Johnny. She couldn’t remember what the bartender looked like, and she wondered if it were the same Johnny from last night.

 After Wally and Samantha had left, the older lady in Starbucks walked over to talk to Mrs. Mitchell. Mrs. Mitchell nodded her head and pulled out the small microphone planted in her hair.