CHAPTER 7

"Who'd you say you were again, young fella?" Dick Hollis asked. "I ain't sure I should give you Miz Kincaid's key."

"My name's Bud Luckinbill. I've been seeing Sarah for awhile," Bud said patiently. "We go to church together," he added as if that might make a difference.

Dick eyed the two men standing on his front porch with concern. "You her boyfriend?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well, I'm not sure I'd go quite that far," Bud replied.

"You must've seen his car over here sometimes," Sam piped up.

Dick looked around them to scrutinize Bud's car in the driveway across the street. "OK, yeah, I do remember seein' that car. And Sarah did mention to me recently that she was seein' someone. About time, if you ask me. She's a good kid and she deserves to be happy." Dick was an old man, short and dumpy with a halo of white hair surrounding a bald crown, and a kindly twinkle in his eyes.

"But Bud hasn't heard from her since the bomb went off yesterday and he's worried about her," Sam said. "She's not answering her phone. He just wants to check to see if she's there and OK."

"Well, she looked OK when I saw her yesterday," Dick told them.

"You saw her yesterday?" Bud asked eagerly. "What time?"

"Lessee, now," Dick said, scratching his head to aid the thought process. "Must've been right around noon, I think. I come out here after lunch to have a smoke on the porch," he said. "Good way to get outta the house so's I don't have to watch the soaps with the Missus," he added with a wink.

"Did you talk to her?" Bud asked.

"Nah, I waved but I guess she didn't see me," Dick replied. "She seemed in a kind of a hurry."

"She's alive!" Bud cried.

"Well of course she's alive," Dick said testily. "Why wouldn't she be?"

"I thought she'd been in the Murrah Building," Bud explained. "She was gonna go to the credit union, but no one's seen her since then. Except you. Oh thank God, now I know she didn't die in there. Are you sure about the time?"

"'Course I'm sure," Dick replied. The Missus always makes lunch same time ever day so she can watch the TV afterwards. Her soaps, they weren't on because of that bomb, but that didn't change lunch-time."

"When did she leave?" Sam asked.

"Don't rightly know," Dick allowed. "I went back in the house and musta fell asleep. Don't remember her car bein' there last night, now that I think about it." He seemed to come to a decision. "You fellas wait right here and I'll get you that key. Sure hope she's OK. You'll let me know now, won't ya?"

"Sure will," Bud said.

Dick went back inside and Sam could hear him calling out to his wife about the location of the key. After several minutes of loud questions, and much slamming of doors and drawers, Dick reappeared with the key in hand. They thanked him and headed across the street.

Sam saw Al walk through Sarah's front door onto the porch; Al shook his head, indicating he had no good news from his exploration. Sam hung back as Bud unlocked the door, pretending to admire the flowerbed full of cutesy statues.

"No note," Al said. "No threatening letters or blackmail demands lying around, either. But the bedroom's all in a mess, drawers open and clothes hanging out of 'em. Maybe someone was looking for something she'd had hidden."

"What could it be?" Sam asked. "Have you checked her background – is there anything in her past that might explain this?"

Al tapped cigar ashes on the head of an especially odious garden gnome, who ignored the insult. "Nada, Sam," he replied.

"How about her friends, co-workers, um…people at the church?"

"Gimme a break! This is a big city, I can't check everyone out," Al said defensively. Then a little more calmly, "I had Ziggy look at a bunch of those folks, but there's nothing to indicate why she disappeared."

"Who's her ex-husband?"

"It isn't the ex-husband! Geez, why does everyone always suspect the ex-husband?" Al exclaimed. Then, more quietly, "Just because the poor sap wishes his ex-wife would disappear off the face of the earth…"

"Did he wish she'd disappear?" Sam asked seriously.

"No. Probably…I don't know, Sam." Al pulled the handlink from his pocket and began looking for information. "Ah, the guy's name is Jim Kincaid. He's a used-car salesman, works for one of those "we finance" type of places, seems to have a fairly stable job history. Oh! Here it says he got picked up a couple times for DUI, but no indication he likes to get in bar fights, no charges of spousal abuse."

"Who filed for divorce, him or her?" Sam asked.

"That'd be in the civil court records, not criminal," Al muttered to himself as he worked. He studied the display, and let the hand holding the handlink drop to his side with a dismayed look on his face. "Nope! That wasn't it. Jim filed, and Sarah didn't contest it. Looks like they split everything 50-50."

"OK, doesn't sound like he's a good candidate. But that doesn't rule him out! I can talk to him later if I need to," Sam said. "I'd better get inside before Bud wonders what happened to me."

Sam held the storm door open and gallantly gestured for Al to go in first. They played out the same silent scenario they had many times before; Sam giving a mock glare at the thought of Al walking through the wall, and Al looking smugly innocent as he walked through what was to him a holographic (and therefore non-existent) open doorway. As Sam let the door swing shut behind him he looked around to see Bud sitting in the living room listening to Sarah's phone messages, and obviously wondering who Sam had pretended to usher in.

Sam ignored Bud's questioning look and listened to the messages, which gave him a good excuse not to say anything. He looked around the room to see that the garden animals should've clued him in to Sarah's taste in decorating. The predominant color was pink, chintz seemed to be the fabric of choice, and there were ruffles everywhere possible. Not to mention dozens of ceramics that tended toward angelic children and cartoon-like animals. The tape came to the end after one of Bud's many messages and clicked off audibly.

"Anything besides your calls?" Sam asked.

"Couple of cold sales calls, and a charity begging for donations," Bud replied laconically. He heaved a loud sigh. "I was hoping someone from church had called asking her to help out."

"We don't know they didn't," Sam said, wincing inwardly at the suggestion of false hope that gave. It occurred to him that this at least gave him a reason to recommend they check Sarah's bedroom. "She might've been here to take the call, and if she did plan on staying with someone she'd have wanted to pack a bag."

"Sure!" Bud said with relief. "She'd want her own toothbrush and PJ's so they wouldn't have to worry about her. Let's go have a look-see." He got up and left the room.

Sam followed Bud into the bedroom with Al bringing up the rear. "It's not as bad as I'd thought," Sam said in an aside to Al.

"What's not?" Bud asked.

"The, uh…it's not as, as…as frilly as I'd expected," Sam stammered.

"Are you kidding?" Al asked. "I've seen bordellos that weren't this over-done! Just look at that canopy bed with all the eyelet lace."

Bud chuckled softly and said, "It is obvious that no man lives here!"

Sam wanted to point out to Al that since he, Sam, would never go to a bordello he'd have no means of comparison, yet something about that statement didn't ring true. He banished the thought with a slight shake of his head; he couldn't say anything without sounding like a lunatic to Bud anyway.

"Is Sarah always this messy?" he asked instead.

Bud blushed a little and said, "Don't know. This is the first time I've ever been in her bedroom."

"The rest of the house is neat as a pin," Sam remarked. He walked to the dresser and picked up the edge of something black and lacy that was hanging out of a slightly open drawer. "The kind of woman who keeps her house spotless doesn't usually leave her lingerie in plain sight."

Al scurried over to check it out. "Ooh, pick it up, Sam, let's see what it looks like!" he said excitedly. "I bet it's one of those baby-dolls, with a little red bow about here…" Al raised both hands to chest height to demonstrate the untying of such a bow. "Maybe it's got red fuzz on the bottom too." He was getting warmed up now. "Oh, and cute little matching undies…just think how much fun it would be to…"

Sam cut him short with a stern, "I'm not going to go through her lingerie drawer." He flipped the unknown garment back into the drawer and then shut it.

"Spoil sport," Al said petulantly.

"Better you than me," Bud said. "You're right though, Joe." He gestured around the room where they could both see other drawers partially open and clothes scattered about.

"Well, it's hard to tell what might have gone on here," Sam said thoughtfully. "I mean – no offense, Bud – maybe Sarah's careful about the rest of the house because that's the public part, but she's a slob in here because she doesn't expect anyone else to see it."

"Sam, the place's been tossed," Al insisted. "Isn't it obvious?"

"We-ell, I guess so," Bud said hesitantly. "I wouldn't have thought it of her, though."

"Whatever happened…" Sam cut his eyes toward Al. "isn't clear. There's a little bit of a mess in here, but it's not bad."

Bud let his eyes roam around the room, taking in the signs. "Looks kinda like someone was looking for something, doesn't it?"

"Maybe," Sam allowed.

"There's no 'maybe' about it!" Al maintained staunchly.

"I just can't figure what anyone would be looking for," Bud said, shaking his head. I mean, I don't think she had any money to speak of, and I don't even think she had any jewelry worth much."

"Let's see what's in the drawers that're open," Sam said. "Maybe that'll give us a clue."

"Like what?" Bud asked, clearly uncomfortable going through someone else's possessions, especially Sarah's.

Sam opened the lingerie drawer again and carefully moved the contents around to take inventory. Al leaned forward on the balls of his feet to get a better look, puffing on his cigar in anticipation of seeing another sexy negligee. Sam ignored Al, pointedly shut the drawer, and moved on to the next ones.

"Nightgowns in here, underwear, and socks." He pointed to each drawer in turn. "And in the big one…" he pulled it all the way open. "We have jeans."

"So?" asked Bud. "Isn't that exactly what you'd expect to find? Whoever searched the place either took what they were looking for, or didn't find it."

Sam straightened up from his search and looked at the closet door which was standing ajar. "Do you know if Sarah had a favorite piece of clothing? A jacket, or dress maybe."

Bud frowned a bit in concentration. "She had a big green cardigan sweater she wore a lot. She looked nice in it, set off her hair or something."

Sam strode to the closet and looked through its contents. "I don't see anything like that in here," he reported. He came back out carrying a medium-sized suitcase which he set on the bed. Bud stepped closer to watch as Sam opened it. Two more successively smaller cases were nested inside.

"It's a set," Sam said. "And I'd bet there was one more big one that these fit into."

"Well, isn't that what we hoped to find?" Bud asked in bewilderment. "She packed up a bag to go stay with someone."

"I don't think so," Sam said. "Why would she need her biggest suitcase if she were just going to stay overnight? Go check the bathroom, Bud. See if anything's missing. Toothbrush, shampoo, things like that."

"Wouldn't you expect that?" Bud asked, though he dutifully followed instructions and headed for the hall.

"What're you thinking, Sam?" Al asked. "Are you saying Ziggy is right and Sarah ran away?"

Sam was busy looking in the closet again. "That's exactly what I'm saying. There's empty hangars in here where she's pulled clothes out, and it looks like a couple pairs of shoes are missing." He pointed with his foot at gaps between the shoes neatly lined up on the floor of the closet.

"Ooh, look at her jewelry box, Sam," Al said with sudden insight. "A woman never skips out without her jewelry."

Sam crossed the room and opened the flower-patterned box set on a crocheted doily in the center of the dresser top. Strains of "Beautiful Dreamer" floated on the air in the peculiarly mechanical fashion of all music boxes. There was a jumble of necklaces, bracelets, and earrings inside. Sam stirred the heap with a finger, but it was impossible to tell if anything were missing. He closed the lid again, more to silence the music than anything.

"I had a girl run out on me once," Al said musingly.

"Just once?" Sam quipped. Then, "I'm sorry, Al."

"Her name was Carla," Al continued with his reverie as if Sam hadn't spoken. "She was a tall girl with raven hair and long legs. I bought her this full-length white mink coat, see, and when I'd come home after a hard day's work she'd meet me at the door wearing the coat." Al's smile had a dreamy cast to it. "Nothing on under it, just the coat." The smile disappeared and his voice became harsher. "I came home one day to find a note saying she was gone. The only thing she took with her was that mink coat."

"It's just a coat," Sam said reasonably.

"The damn thing set me back a thousand bucks!" Al said indignantly. Then his face softened as he said, "But it was worth every penny to see her slip it off her bare shoulders…"

"We're not looking for a missing coat here, Al," Sam snapped.

"Why not, pal?" Bud asked, having come back into the bedroom unnoticed by either Sam or Al.

Sam jerked his head around in surprise. "Huh? Oh, well, because it's April so it's not cold enough that she'd need a coat. Especially since she's got that green sweater with her," he said.

"Good save," Al applauded.

"Anything missing from the bathroom?" Sam asked.

"Toothbrush is gone, but nothing else that I can tell," Bud replied. "There's a big blob of something white in the sink, maybe toothpaste, I didn't wanna touch it to find out."

"It could be shampoo, Sam," Al offered. "Maybe she poured stuff into those little plastic bottles, uh, whadda ya call 'em..." His hands were making complicated pouring motions to demonstrate his point.

"Travel bottles!" Sam said. "She could've put her shampoo and stuff into travel bottles so they wouldn't take up so much room in her suitcase."

"More plastic in the landfills that won't break down for a thousand years," Al muttered.

"Well, that would make sense," Bud said reasonably.

"Maybe not," Sam said. "It looks to me like she packed for more than an overnight stay. She needed room for clothes, and probably figured she could buy toiletries if she ran out."

"You think she went somewhere out of town?" Bud asked in a surprised tone.

"Looks that way to me," Sam replied. "Does she take any prescription medications that you know of? Were they still in the medicine cabinet?"

"No, she doesn't. I remember our talking about that when we were going through my Dad's stuff. He was on a bunch of meds and we were saying how expensive they were and how glad we were we didn't have to worry about that yet."

"OK, scratch that idea," Sam said. "What else would you take if you were going on a trip?"

"But where would she go?" Bud asked. "And why? Why wouldn't she tell someone? I mean, maybe not me, but wouldn't she ask Dick to watch the house, take in the mail, that sort of thing?"

"How about a passport?" Al suggested. "Maybe she ran off to Europe with some tall, dark, and handsome stranger she just met."

"Yeah, did she have a passport?" Sam echoed Al's question, though he ignored the colorful insinuation.

"She told me she'd never been out of the continental United States," Bud replied. "So I don't know why she'd have one."

Sam headed to the bedroom door, calling over his shoulder, "Where does she keep her paperwork, bills and that sort of thing?"

Bud followed him into the living room, looked around a moment, then pointed to an antique secretary in one corner. "Maybe there."

Sam hurried over and pulled down the front panel which opened into a writing surface. This revealed several pigeonholes full of papers, which he sorted through. "Car insurance, paid bills, bank statements, checkbook…nothing unusual," he said.

"She didn't leave town, Joe," Bud said truculently. "You know the radio said there were still a lot of people missing. She's gone to be with someone who's still waiting to hear, or…well, that has to be it. It just has to be. We should go, now."

"You might as well leave," Al said. "There's nothing more here. I'll go back and have Ziggy run some more checks on anyone Sarah might know, but I'm not sure it'll do any good." He disappeared into the bright white IC doorway.

"OK," Sam said. He understood that Bud was trying to keep up a positive attitude, and had to admit to himself that they hadn't found any meaningful clues anyway. They might as well go home. "We'll give the key back to Dick and go get something to eat."

Bud turned around to head for the front door and didn't see Sam slip Sarah's checkbook into his pocket.