The Lady Vanishes

A case, in which Jack is missing sleep, Sam is missing simpler times, Martin is missing lunch, Vivian is missing her family, Danny is missing a vacation, and a Society matron is plain missing.

Disclaimer: Mine, all mine! Oh, well, a girl can dream.

"Come again?" Danny Taylor pressed the cell phone to his ear, hoping he has heard his boss wrong.

"Harriett Stevens-Newberg," Jack Malone's voice came as a shout into Danny's ear. "Otherwise known as Hatty the Great."

Danny sighed the sigh of the weary. He was at the airport. Actually at the airport. No, they weren't boarding his flight yet, but surely, once in the waiting area, one could be considered as officially on vacation. And Danny needed - no, deserved - this vacation!

He has been planning this for months. He actually had dreams about the sea, the sandy beaches, a little hut under a palm tree, and a girl with dark eyes and mocha-colored skin serving him fruity, non-alcoholic drinks with colorful umbrellas in them!

And yet, here was Jack on the phone, pulling him back into the gray New York January, just when Danny settled comfortably in the waiting area, with his eyes closed in order to ignore the airport hassle and the unpleasant idea of flying, and his mind skipping ahead to the much happier prospect of landing at the Nassau.

And why, one might ask? Because some society matron with a ridiculous name had gone and managed to disappear overnight?

"Jack," Danny tried, hoping against hope, "why is that us? For all we know the old biddy just changed her plans and went to stay at some other one of her numerous properties." According to what Jack already mentioned, Mrs. Stevens-Newberg supposedly left the Upper East Side brownstone early last evening, and never arrived at the East Hamptons estate where she intended to go.

"It's us because she is elderly. It's us because, according to the people I spoke to so far, she never changes her plans once she announces them. And, mainly, it's us because she is an FOG. It's all hands on deck, Danny. I'm sorry."

Danny felt resignation settle in. FOG, as any agent with experience would tell you, stood for Friend of Governor. Which meant automatic priority. Which meant Danny should forget about the sandy beaches and the be-umbrella-ed drinks for at least a while.

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The house was impressive, as those Upper East Side semidetached mentions inevitably are. It screamed old money. That is, it was deliberately and painstakingly understated. The entrance was unadorned, and one had to look closely to see that the steps were marble of the highest quality, and the door knob - a real antique polished brass - at least several centuries old. In this day and age of nuevo rich buying off chunks of Manhattan, the old guard stood firmly on the "quietly filthy rich" ground, brandishing plainness as a weapon of taste.

Danny pressed the door bell, half expecting a butler in white gloves to open it and demand a visiting card of some sort. It was opened instead by a typical teenager. She was about 14, of a nondescript appearance common to girls that age, when they only begin to form into women they will some day become. She had on a pair of jeans and a long, loose sweater. Her sandy hair was pulled back and held with a clip, and her face wore an expression of tremendous excitement mingled with worry.

"Hi. You're FBI? Cool! There are more of you in the Breakfast room." She was rocking on her heels, looking Danny up and down with an undisguised intent of appraisal. "Interesting," was the result of her observation. "Do they pick you guys by looks? 'Cause the other two in the Breakfast room are also pretty."

Danny, taken aback, was rather lost for words, but, thankfully, the girl didn't really expect an answer. She grabbed Danny's sleeve and led him down a semi-darkened hall, talking nonstop all the while.

"What's your name? I'm Allie. That is, the real name is Allegra. Allegra Stevens-Newberg. Can you believe it? Our people are nuts! I mean, like, all of them! They give children names that they wouldn't give a house pet, and then they wonder why the kids grow up all weird! I don't even tell people I'm Allegra! Well, I told you, but that doesn't count: you are FBI, you're bound to find out all the same. But I'd die if someone actually called me that! . . . My sister's Blake. That's even worse. It's a non-gender name. Not even a real name at all: it was mom's maiden name. She was a Blake. Camilla Blake of the Connecticut Blakes. Ever heard of them? No? Good for you! Hearing my mother talk, you'd think they were world-famous or something! . . . Breakfast room! We call it Breakfast room, but, really, no one ever has breakfast in it. Or any other meals. When grammy lived here, it was just a room. But now it's Breakfast room! With a capital B. It's just mom being pretentious. Because Muffle has a breakfast room, mom has to have one, also. That's Muffle Livingston. She is dad's business partner's wife, and she and mom compete, like, in everything. . . . Here's a name for you! Muffle! Although, I think it's not her real name. It's something dreadful, like Agness or Pamela! I forget which. But everyone calls her Muffle. Don't ask me why."

"I won't," said Danny, and walked into the room ahead of the girl, thus preventing her from continuing the nonstop verbal stream. She took a hint, but didn't leave the room. Instead she settled in an armchair, with her legs crossed and her hands firmly gripping the armrests - a position that clearly indicated that wild horses wouldn't be able to drag her away from all the action.

Martin Fitzgerald and Samantha Spade, the two agents mentioned by Allie, were holding a quiet conference by the large window overlooking the inner garden.

"Danny," Martin turned to him. "Sorry you got dragged back in. I hear you almost made it."

"Yep. How pissed am I!" He took a careful look around the room. It had the same quietly imposing quality to it as the outside of the house and the entrance hall. "I thought it was 'all hands on deck'? Where are Jack and Viv?"

Sam smiled: "Talking to the lady of the house. And we are extremely grateful for that! She descended on us like a Fury when we showed up. Apparently, we are imposing. Or interrupting. Or was it intruding? It was something bad that started with an 'i'."

"That's mom for you," observed Allie from her chair. "If you are not the family or the help, you were put on this Earth to hinder her in one way or another."

Danny chuckled and for the first time looked at the girl with interest.

"If your mother doesn't want us here, who called this in?"

"Oh, I did," Allie informed them with pride. Apparently the statement was a surprise for Martin and Sam, as well. All three agents turned to the girl now.

"I called Uncle George. He is the governor, you know. He is not really my uncle, but we know him. That is, dad plays golf with him and he was here several times. And he knew grandpa."

"That explains it," murmured Danny under his breath.

"Sure does," Sam took a seat in an armchair next to the girl's. "Allie, why did you call? Why didn't any of the adults call?"

"Because, mom said that grammy was just being difficult and that she'd gone to Boston or something. Grammy's done that before, you know. Left for a while without telling where. Like years ago. Maybe five or six years. But I don't think she did this time. Mom says she did. That Frank drove her home to pack."

"But you don't think so?" Danny asked with interest.

"I don't. For starters, Blake's wedding's like next weekend! Why would grammy go to Boston so close to that? And this total bull that she was going to the Hamptons first! The Hamptons are crazy right now. All that wedding prep has grammy wigging out. I heard her say herself that she hated it there these days, because 'it was all shrouded in tulle and smothered with tulips!' Grammy has a gift for the funny."

"Wait a minute, Allie," Samantha looked at the girl intently, "your sister is getting married next weekend, and the wedding is at the Hamptons? At the house where your grandmother said she was going to?"

"Yep. Can you believe it? They are building a gigantic tent. Heated one! Grammy would never! She hates the hassle. She thinks mother's bonkers. I mean, even more than usual. All this commotion. . . . Grammy was a no-nonsense bride! She told me all about it once. Her Society wedding was just forty people at a registry office and a nice wedding breakfast at the Plaza. Forty relatives and friends, and about half a dozen photographers, but only from the most respectable publications."

Allie raised an index finger to emphasize the point. The gesture and the tone rang incongruous from a child. All 3 agents bit their lips trying not to smile.

Sam conquered her amusement first: "Allie, I still don't understand. Why did you make the call and not, say, your father?"

"Dad's in Paris. Business, he says. Too much wedding prep here, I say. He's flying back now, though. Uncle George talked to him. He was supposed to come back Thursday, anyway, but now he'd be here sooner. . . ."

Martin cut in: "Wait, so, you didn't think your mother was concerned enough, and your father was away, and, therefore, you decided to head straight for the Governor?"

Allie huffed at the incredulity in Martin's voice: "Of course not! I called Grammy's first. She wasn't answering. She has a place on Park Avenue. I asked mom to check, but she told me that Grammy can take care of herself. Like I don't know that! . . . It was just that she and mom really got into it earlier yesterday. I mean, I could hear them shout all the way from my room! And then the doors were slamming for, like, forever. But I didn't bother them until this morning. And then mom told me Grammy went to Hamptons. And I thought: this is bad, she hates it there, she must have been so upset with mom that she went to the Hamptons anyway. So, I called her there, right? And they tell me she hasn't shown. So, I'm thinking: she thought better of it and stayed home. I call her and no one is picking up! And Frank is nowhere to be found, either. I even paged him, and nothing! And I don't know where he lives. I ask mom again, and she says: may be grammy drove herself and gave Frank a day off. Which I know is bull, because her eyes are bad, but she won't admit it. That's why we have Frank. He is technically dad's chaufer, but dad uses company car, and Frank just drives grammy."

Danny came up to Allie's chair and put a calming hand on her shoulder: "Slow down a bit. Let's see if we got the sequence of events correctly: your mother and grandmother had a fight yesterday evening, after which your grandmother announced to your mother that she was leaving for the Hamptons."

"Right. And then Frank was supposed to drive grammy to her place to pack. I didn't see any of it. That's just what mom told me."

"OK," Sam picked up the thread. "So, this morning you called your grandmother at both the Hamptons and the city numbers, and didn't get a response. Is that unusual?"

"You bet. Grammy always answers my calls. Actually, she answers everybody's calls. She says it's impolite to refuse to talk to people, even if they are being pests. She is really well brought up." Allie wrapped her arms around her small frame, suddenly looking lost and younger than her 14 years.

"It's all right, Allie," Sam smiled at the girl reassuringly. "So, next you called your father?"

"No. I went to grammy's place on Park Avenue. The doorman knows me, he let me in. I mean, grammy could have been, like, really sick or something, and couldn't call for help! We went upstairs and we looked, and she wasn't there. And you know what else? She didn't even pack! So much for going to the Hamptons. And Truman was sleeping on his pillow."

"I'm sorry, Truman?"

"Grammy's Yorkie. She goes nowhere without that dog! What was I supposed to do? Mom and Blake wave me off like I'm some hysterical baby. I called dad and he talked to mom, and, of course, she got around him like she always does. And then he called me back and talked in that patronizing voice he reserves especially for me and Hank. . . . It's been like that all morning. So, by lunch, when I didn't hear from grammy, I called uncle George. . . . I didn't know what else to do."

Martin, Sam, and Danny exchanged looks, marvelling at the line of thinking that went straight from mom and dad to the Governor of the State. "And what did uncle George say?"

"He promised to check it out. He talked to me like I was a real person, not some crazy kid. But he didn't call back for, like, hours. And I didn't want to disturb him, either, 'cause he's got things to do. But he didn't forget, because the next thing I know, here you guys are!"

"Yes, here we are," Danny smiled at the girl with a polite but restrained smile. "Allie, would you excuse us for a moment?"

The girl looked from one agent to the other, realizing she was being dismissed from the room. She shrugged and got up from her chair. She turned around as she approached the door:

"Spoil sport," was her parting shot at Danny.

Danny sunk into the chair that Allie vacated a moment ago: "So, guys, let me get this straight: mommy and grammy have a spat, grammy leaves in a huff, no one is apparently alarmed except for a hyper kid, and . . . what are we doing here exactly?"

Martin smiled: "Well, to be fair, we don't know where the old lady is. She didn't show up at her Hamptons estate, for starters."

"Yeah, the estate," Danny put as much scorn as he could into that word. "Not for nothing - and not just because I am mourning my vacation - but did they look in all 1,500 bedrooms of that place?"

Sam chuckled: "It's only 8 bedrooms, actually, and yes, they did. Including the two-storey guest house. Apparently the Governor called the local PD after Allie contacted him, more to appease the child than anything. The locals found all manner of activity in full swing - must be those contentious wedding preparations. The carpenters, the architects, the landscapers, the who-knows-whos, but no grandma. That's when the Governor got worried and called us."

"I see," Danny sighed. "I guess I should apologize to the kid."

"Yes you should!" They turned around swiftly to find Allie standing framed by the door, her hands on her hips in a warrior-like position. "And I am not hyper!"

"Allie, didn't anyone tell you that you shouldn't listen at the door?"

"Don't patronize me, I get enough of that from mom, dad, and Blake!" She marched right back into the room and planted herself firmly right in front of the chair currently occupied by Danny.

"Fair enough," he straightened out in the armchair, his tone now serious and not unkind, "but you have to allow for the possibility that your grandmother simply doesn't want to talk to or see anyone, and has just gone to be by herself for a while in some safe place or other."

Allie thought it over. "You know what? I'd be glad to consider this possibility. I'd be happy to be wrong here. I just couldn't allow for the other possibility: that she is hurt, or sick, or in danger somewhere, and none of us did a thing."