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.
Thank you, everyone, who responded with reviews. As always, I appreciate them more thank I can say!
Anmodo: regarding Audrey: first and foremost, I am not giving her up. LOL. As Larry Gelbart would have said, "she moved into my head, and has been happily redecorating ever since." I will absolutely revisit the character and Danny/Audrey relationship in my next story. But I have deliberately set this one in January, a whole month before their meeting. For the purposes of this fic, I wanted to keep Danny's outlook toward marriage and relationships in general somewhat jaded and skeptical.
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"Ma'am, would please just answer my question?" Jack Malone felt his voice crack a little - a definite sign that his patience, lately so short under the best of conditions, was about to desert him altogether. He, better than most people, realized the need for diplomacy here, but any such virtuous thought went out the window the moment this impossible woman led him and Vivian into the stately room.
"This is utterly ridiculous! I am telephoning George right now! I am under tremendous stress here: my daughter's nuptials are only six days away! I cannot possibly waste any more time on this insanity!"
It was amazing how shrill such a well-modulated voice could get. In fact, everything about Camilla Stevens-Newberg seemed shrill this morning. Her bobbed hair - well-groomed to a degree almost impossible to maintain anywhere outside of an immediate vicinity of a salon - was feathering around her face in tiny, pin-like spikes. Her nail polish, though translucent and colorless, had a shiny, blinding quality. Her sweater was high-octane red. The complete effect was that of someone who uses impeccable as a weapon.
For some reason it annoyed Jack more than the woman's voice and her stubborn refusal to cooperate or even understand the nature of their mission.
"Ma'am, I get that you don't believe your mother-in-law is missing or in any particular danger. I also get that the time is of the essence in your preparations for your daughter's upcoming nuptials," Jack deliberately used the woman's own language, half mocking/half humoring her, "but, please, understand, that we have a job to do as well, and that the sooner you answer our very few questions, the sooner we will be out of your hair, so to speak."
"But I already told you: I don't know anything," she addressed Jack in that subtle tone a kindergarten teacher would use with a particularly slow and unmanageable child.
Jack rubbed his tired eyes, mentally cursing the woman, her missing mother-in-law, the esteemed Governor, the entire New York City Upper Register, and - while at it - the very day it possessed him to join the Bureau.
"Mrs. Stevens-Newberg. . . ."
"Oh, please, call me Coco," she finally gave in, waving her hand in general direction of a couch, letting Jack and Vivian know that the audience was granted, if only for a short time.
"I shudder when people call me Mrs. Stevens-Newberg in social situations." The lady of the house took her place on an ottoman next to the couch: legs crossed, unsupported back perfectly straight, and the shoulders relaxed. "That's what they address Harriett as. She is the reigning Mrs. Stevens-Newberg. The family and close friends call her Hattie, of course. She insists on that, though I never could use that silly moniker. Really, the woman is 70, and she is practically a New York institution, and yet, she is being called Hattie! That is such an undignified, ridiculous nickname, don't you think? . . . Anyway, call me Coco."
"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not." Jack bit his lower lip. The exhaustion, spilling over from the previous case wrapped up only yesterday, and the sleepless night that followed, were catching up with him. He found it harder and harder to control himself.
"Mrs. Stevens-Newberg," Vivian chimed in, coming to his rescue. "I am Special Agent Johnson," she answered the lady's questioning glance - the first direct acknowledgment of Vivian's presence by Camilla. "What my colleague and I would like you to do is to walk us through yesterday evening. From the moment your mother-in-law came over to the moment she left the house."
"What do you mean?"
"She means," sighed Jack, "when did your mother-in-law arrive, was that a scheduled visit, what did you talk about, when did she leave, how did she leave, and where did she say she was going exactly?"
Camilla looked from one to the other with undisguised annoyance.
"For goodness sake, is that really necessary? . . . She stopped by. She does every now and then. We talked about the wedding. Blake was there, she can tell you more. I don't remember the exact conversation. I am a bit preoccupied right now. You have no idea what it takes to pull off a decent wedding these days! I don't remember it being this difficult when I was getting married. And my friend Muffle says that it was an absolute breeze when she was getting ready for Tinsley's nuptials last Fall. Then again, Muffle, between you and I, can not be trusted in such matters. Tinsley's wedding was a perfect testament to that! Can you believe it: they had gondolas on the East River! How gauche can one get? And wouldn't you know it? It was raining all the time. But what would you expect? Muffle is positively clueless. I can never allow myself to be this lax and blasé about it all! I am overseeing everything! I find that old adage to be true: if one wants a thing done right, one should do it oneself. Don't you agree?"
"Actually, I think if one wants a thing done right, one should hire a professional. But that's besides the point. Mrs. Stevens-Newberg, what happened after you and your daughter had this conversation with your mother-in-law?"
"What do you mean?" That look was back again. The same pained, semi-perplexed look that seemed to imply that Jack and Vivian were idiot children who wouldn't go to bed when ordered to.
Jack felt the headache - the one that started this morning right after Olczyk informed him of the phone call from the Governor - mushroom into a full-blown, visceral pain.
"I mean, did she leave right away? Did she inform you of her intentions to go to the Hamptons herself, or did you just assume that that's where she was headed?"
"Oh, who remembers such things! I think she said she was going, but I could be mistaken. In fact, I think it was Boston she intended to go to all along! Yes, that's right, I positively think it was Boston. Or was it Aspen?"
I could have done something meaningful with my life. I could have been a psychologist. I could have stayed in the Army. A job as an accountant for the IRS looks pretty good right now. Jack knew that such thoughts were fleeting and induced by the need to suppress his very real desire to hit the woman in front of him with something blunt and hefty.
Vivian, fielding the waves of tension coming off of Jack, interceded again - her calm undisturbed and her voice only hinting at sarcasm: "So, what you are saying is that after a lengthy discussion about the family wedding that is to take place next weekend, your mother-in-law had announced that she was leaving the State? For how long?"
The lady shrugged. "I don't know. I don't particularly recall her announcing anything. I believe she said something about going to pack."
Jack looked around the room furtively. He wandered where the nearest bathroom was and how fast he could get there so he can have some water to chase an industrial-sized pain killer.
Camilla, oblivious to the agents' frustration, glanced pointedly at her watch: "Look, agent Jackson. . . ."
"It's Johnson."
"Of course it is. Agent Johnson, agent McComb, I am very, very busy right now, and, as you can see, not very good with insignificant details. Why don't you talk to Blake? She was there, she has a much better memory, and she would be able to spare you a few minutes before she has to leave for her fitting."
Camilla got up, effectively ending the conversation. Jack and Viv also rose, as Jack, breathing a sigh of relief, asked: "That seems like a good idea, Mrs. Stevens-Newberg. Now, where can we find your daughter?"
"She is in the Blue Hall, I believe, going over the seating charts. I will show you."
The insufferable woman left the room without a backward glance, assuming that the agents would naturally follow her like the little children she treated them as.
Jack turned to Vivian with a mischievous smile: "Coming, agent Jackson?"
"After you, agent McComb," Vivian chuckled back without missing a beat.
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Blake Stevens-Newberg was a superficially pretty girl of 22, as impeccably groomed as her mother, but in a far less militant way.
"Is this going to take long?" She cleared the space on a satin sofa for the agents to sit. The Blue Hall was littered with swatches, sample books, seating charts, and other paraphernalia of a complicated wedding planning. Vivian briefly pondered the very close resemblance of all this to the battle plans of a great military conflict.
"No, it shouldn't take much time. Provided you can give us direct answers." Jack sat on the edge of the sofa.
"But of course. I mean, I know you're just doing your job. Mother sometimes is too much. I'll be happy to answer all your questions. Just keep in mind that I have a fitting at 2:00, and then I have to supervise the boys."
"The boys?" Jack asked, immediately regretting the question, as Blake's eyes lit up with animosity.
"Yes! We are going to have eight little boys - all relatives, of course - dressed as grooms in riding breeches and jackets!"
"I'm sorry, I still don't. . . ."
"They are going to carry my train after the ceremony! Isn't it adorable? Tinsley had six little boys dressed like gondoliers. That's where mother got the idea. I thought six would have been enough - I mean, six costumes to make and fit is nightmare enough - but mother pointed out that, since Tinsley had six, we should have eight. Don't you think the whole riding theme is the best? First we thought: Winter Wonderland. I was to be drawn in a sled with white horses. And everything was to be decorated with white lights. But, wouldn't you know it: very little snow this year. So mother came up with this riding theme instead. Brilliant!"
Jack felt like crying, but he had to ask:
"Weddings have to have themes now? I thought the theme was, you know, wedding!"
Blake looked at him as if he asked her what year it was: "Of course there are themes! How would you tell them apart otherwise?"
"May be, by different brides and grooms?" Mumbled Vivian under her breath, but so quietly only Jack heard her.
"I truly believe mine is the most original," Blake continued enthusiastically. "Tinsley's was a Venetian Carnival, but, I mean, the East River? P-a-a-l-e-a-s-e! It smelled! And then one of her little boys fell in, and someone had to dive after him, because he was five and couldn't swim!"
"Who's Tinsley?" Jack felt the conversation getting away from him entirely, but he saw that there was no way of getting it on track until the girl had spilled her excitement.
"Tinsley Livingston. Muffle and Jerome Livingston't daughter. Mr. Livingston is dad's business partner. You know, the brokerage firm? Coldwell Stevens-Newberg Livingston Prime. Except Coldwells are out, the last one died ages ago. . . . Anyway, she is Tinsley Colton now. And don't you believe a word in that 'Vows Story' in The New York Times Society Page! That was a total snow job. 'The bride and groom met at a charity auction?' Sure they did! Greg was engaged to Millie, and Tinsley simply pinched him during Millie's birthday party two years ago. But, of course, they won't put that in The New York Times. Can you imagine?"
"Vividly," said Jack, his voice cracking, pain throbbing in his temples now.
"Anyway, I have eight little grooms and I am going to be riding down the isle on a horse! Dad will be leading it. You should see my dress! It's modeled after a riding habit, and I will have a white satin top hat with the veil attached!"
Jack felt that he had enough. That was it, that was as much as he could humanly take.
"Miss Stevens-Newberg. . . ."
"Please, Blake! I am so glad to shed Stevens-Newberg, you have no idea! Double names are so passé. I am going to be Lindval. Blake Lindval. Mrs. James Lindval. Sounds good, doesn't it?"
"Enchanting. Now, Blake, would you be so kind as to answer our questions, so you don't - God forbid - miss your fitting!"