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.
It has been pointed out to me by my excellent beta that I better advance the plot, and soon. LOL. In my usual dialog-writing induced haste, I seem to have forgotten that:) I promise to speed things up in the upcoming chapters.
Thank you, again, all of you wonderful people who responded.
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The woman really was infuriating. And infuriated. Danny observed her with detached curiosity from his position by the door, slightly away from the drama.
Martin - the most used of them all to the displays of an indignant power in action - played a willing recipient of all that wrath. He seated himself on a sofa, his posture correct but not tense. The body language was designed to convey to the lady of the house that the agents were apologetic, but firm; regretful of the inconvenience, but intent on doing their jobs nonetheless.
"I don't understand!" Mrs. Stevens-Newberg made a great show of not understanding. She paced the room, clutching and un-clutching her hands, a cross between Iphigenia and Lady Macbeth - someone who is being sacrificed to the cruel and inexplicable ends and someone about to kill for the greater good.
"I don't understand! I told all I could remember to your agent McLure. . . ."
"Malone."
"Pardon?"
"His name is agent Malone."
"Oh, what possible difference does it make! This is persecution, and I have a good mind calling your superiors right this minute!"
"Mrs. Stevens-Newberg," Martin employed the tone of voice he sometimes used with his father, when that great man went on one of his authority binges. "You absolutely should call our superiors if you feel you are being treated unfairly. However, you cannot do it right this minute. Your mother-in-law - who, by all accounts is a dependable, reliable woman - is missing. Whether you actually believe her to be in danger or not, you have to realize that finding her and asserting that very absence of danger is somewhat of a priority."
"Fine," Mrs. Stevens-Newberg stopped pacing and set down on the sofa, her eyes firmly fixed on the ornamental carpet, as if looking directly at one of the agents would be granting them too much of a favor. "And don't think I won't call. This is insupportable. . . . And I still don't know what you are talking about. I most certainly did not have a fight with Harriett."
Samantha chimed in, armed with the additional information passed on to them by Jack:
"Mrs. Stevens-Newberg, both of your daughters claim that you and your mother-in-law had a volatile altercation early last evening."
The lady looked at Sam with undisguised disfavor.
"Nonsense. My daughters would claim no such thing. They misunderstood, that is all. I know Blake was too preoccupied with her wedding to pay proper attention to her grandmother or myself. And Allie . . . well . . . girls her age are universally ignorant, and Allie is somewhat slow in her development. Don't get me wrong, she is a very promising girl, but just now that promise is far from being fulfilled. . . . She is a typical teenager: self-involved, unmanageable, and altogether impossible."
"Her grandmother seems to be managing her just fine." Danny's comment came from the door, quiet, observational but meaningful, making the woman turn in surprise and annoyance.
"I don't believe I got your name, young man."
"You did, you just didn't remember. However, I have no objections to repeating it: Special Agent Taylor." Danny smiled one of his more provoking, lazy smiles, infuriating the woman even further, if such a thing was possible.
"Agent Taylor, you seem to be insinuating something, and I do not appreciate the implication. I will have you know that my mother-in-law's so-called managing of Allie amounted to unpardonable spoiling of the girl. We can all manage teenagers well enough if we are willing to forgo discipline and resort to bribery! I, however, refuse to raise my children in such a way. They need to learn responsibility. . . ."
"No doubt, Ma'am," Martin cut into her indignant speech. "No one here is questioning your parenting skills. . . ."
"He does," the woman waved her well-manicured hand toward Danny.
"He didn't mean it that way at all. . . ."
"The hell I didn't," muttered Danny, but audibly enough for everyone to hear.
"Mrs. Stevens-Newberg," Martin cut short any indignant reply the woman would have made, "whether your daughters misunderstood the content and the meaning of your discourse with your mother-in-law last evening, it is still undisputable that she was here, had a conversation with you, and here is the last place she was officially seen."
"Oh, as to that, I am sure someone saw her elsewhere after she had left. Frank drove her home, no doubt. Or to some other place. You should ask Frank." She was about to get up, as if, as far as she was concerned, the conversation was over.
"We will absolutely ask Frank, as soon as we locate him. He seems to be missing as well at the moment." Sam supplied that bit of information in a breezy, unconcerned tone, as if it was unimportant.
Camilla caught at it, however, with speed and acuity they did not expect from her.
"There you have it, then! Why torture us? If both Harriett and Frank are missing, they have obviously disappeared together, and therefore, whatever discussion I may have had with her last night is completely irrelevant!"
"Mrs. Stevens-Newberg, at this stage of the investigation, it is impossible to tell what is or isn't relevant. Any bit of information may turn out to be probative later on."
"And if it doesn't? Will the FBI be issuing any apologies? Because I do not appreciate being treated like a suspect, I can tell you that!"
"Then stop behaving like one," Danny's voice cut in again, distinctly if quietly.
"What my colleague means," Martin interceded again, "is that your refusal to answer our questions can be construed as the desire to hide something."
"I have absolutely nothing to hide! And my refusal to answer your questions is due to their utter ridiculousness. . . . Yes, Harriett and I may have had some words, but our very slight disagreement was in no way likely to result in any kind of harm. She may have left angry - I am sure I don't know why - but she certainly left. Where, I cannot tell you, as I have already stated to those other agents."
Danny seized the conversation, slight smile on his lips: "your daughter Blake has told those other agents that your mother-in-law was angry at you for not inviting some of her friends to the wedding."
Camilla huffed dismissively: "Oh, that! That was nothing. Yes, I was forced to streamline our guest list, and I am sure some of Harriett's people fell casualties to the process. What of it? Do you have any idea how important the right selection of guests is to an event such as this?"
"Enlighten us," Danny suggested with that maddeningly bright smile of his.
Camilla turned away from him pointedly and addressed herself exclusively to Martin and Sam.
"A guest list can make or brake not just the wedding itself, but the very future of the family. I have to set priorities, you know! There are clients, business partners, and future possible contacts to accommodate. And then, of course, the social set has to be present. This is the most important time for a young lady to be ushered into society, second only to her Debutante Ball. Plus, do you have any idea how many relatives the Stevens-Newbergs have? Half of Europe is flying in! And, surely, no one can be expecting me to exclude my own family and friends? So what if some of Harriett's cronies were not invited? I don't even know who they are! Some woman she went to school with? What of it that she was Harriett's made of honor? She isn't even from any particular family. And there was someone else I cannot possibly recall right now. . . . In short, agents, she may have been somewhat displeased, and she may have decided to punish me by leaving and foregoing the wedding entirely, but you can hardly blame me for her petulant behavior."
"Wanna bet?" came from Danny's corner.
Camilla veered around, unable to ignore him any longer: "Young man, what is your name? I am making a formal complaint against you!"
"Go right ahead, but you need to do it fast: you have already forgotten my name twice, and there's no telling how long you'd be able to retain it in your memory a third time around."
"This is absolutely. . . ."
"Mrs. Steven's-Newberg," Martin was there in his firm peacemaker role once again, "your complaint is duly noted. Let's move on, so we can all go about our business as soon as possible."
Camilla considered it, her angry, icy gaze still on Danny, who returned it with a smile of utter innocence. "Fine, but only because I am so completely busy."
Samantha moved in with the next question: "Mrs. Stevens-Newberg, can you tell us what time your mother-in-law left your house?"
"I am not certain, but I should say around 7 o'clock. It was already dark outside, I believe."
"Did you see her get into the car?"
"Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. I saw her to the door, and I watched Frank hand her into the limo and drive off."
"Can Blake, or anybody else, corroborate that?"
"You are doubting my word?"
Sam extended her hand in a calming gesture: "Not at all. But it helps if there are other people who can verify the events and the time-line."
"Well, Blake, I'm sure can verify the time, at least. She didn't go to the door with us, but she said good-bye to her grandmother as she was leaving. . . . Would that be all?"
"For now," came Danny's comment from the peanut gallery.
Camilla got up with the finality that left the agents no choice but to follow.
"I have been subjected to this long enough. Now, if you excuse me, I have real work to do. I would ask that in the future, if you have any more questions for me or my family, you contact our attorney, Leonard Morgan, of Peabody Morgan's. I am sure you are familiar with them."
"I am sure we will be, by the time this is over," Danny's was the last word in this round.
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"So, I hear 'good cop/bad cop' went well." Jack took a bite of his Spring Roll and loosened his tie with relief.
They were assembled around the conference table, assorted Chinese mingled with notes and other paper records on the top of it. The meal was late and haphazard but much needed for most of them, since lunchtime was a distant memory and the trip to the High Society physically draining.
Sam laughed: "It was more like 'good cop/stern cop/snarky cop' in there. I tried to be good, but the Madam would have probably made Mother Teresa turn homicidal."
Jack nodded with a smile: "I've had the pleasure of meeting her. I can well understand. I hear she wanted Danny hung and quartered?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Danny's mischievous smile belied the injured innocence in his voice: "Mrs. Stevens-Newberg and I are fast friends! She even wanted me to attend the wedding, if only there was time enough to fit me for the breeches and a riding jacket!"
"Now that I would have payed to see," said Vivian. "Then again, you can always borrow the theme for your own wedding. We can have horses commandeered from the local PD. I can pull some of my old strings."
Everybody laughed at the image, as Danny shook his head vehemently: "Nope. Not going there."
"What, no themed wedding?"
"No wedding, full stop."
Sam challenged him: "Oh, you say that, but you never know. You are bound to meet someone you'd want to take the trip down the isle with some day."
"I would have to be bound and gagged in order to take that trip, Sam. . . . Now, Marty here, he is the marrying kind, I'm sure."
"Why would you be sure?" asked Martin, his attention still on his plate.
"Because, you give off this whole 'Everybody's All American' vibe. I bet you can have a themed wedding and get away with it."
"Thanks, but no thank you. I don't have enough imagination for a truly original theme, and I wouldn't really want to commit a social faux pas of replicating someone else's."
"We can find a theme for you," suggested Vivian with a teasing smile. "Something classic, wholesome, reassuring, and heartwarming. Like The Wizard of Oz."
"Great idea!" Exclaimed Danny. "Eight little boys dressed as winged monkeys, Marty in ruby slippers. . . ."
"Sounds like a very gay wedding," noted Jack in mock thoughtfulness. "I think Martin will have hard enough time fitting half of D.C. into a church, let alone explaining to his father where the theme came from."
"Can we stop making fun of my hypothetical wedding now?" Martin feigned indignation. "I missed lunch, I am very hungry and tired, and I am in no mood to be disabusing you lot of any wrong ideas you may have formed about my mode of living. And, by the way, Jack, D.C. is a relatively small town. Everybody who's anybody will have no problem fitting into one church. Especially considering that I am not inviting any of you!"
"Hey, Viv, did your wedding have a theme?" Sam asked when a bout of companionable laughter had subsided.
"Sure it had a theme. It was called 'Let's Do It Quickly Before My Stomach Starts Showing' theme. I was three months along with Reggie. What can I say: Marcus and I were young and invincible in our optimism."
"Well," Jack observed, "it didn't turn out so badly, after all."
"No, it didn't. Believe me, I am not complaining. . . ." Vivian wanted to ask Jack about his wedding, but, considering the rawness of the recent events, decided against it. Instead she turned to Sam: "What was yours like?"
Martin stopped eating and looked at Sam intently, but it was Danny who voiced the surprise: "You were married?"
Samantha shrugged: "For about a minute and a half. Years ago. Words 'young' and 'stupid' come to mind. The wedding was kind of like that, too: spontaneous, volatile, and over quickly." She looked at Martin as she said it, telegraphing something to him.
Vivian felt that she might have said more than she should have. "Sam, sorry, I didn't think it was a secret."
"Oh, it isn't. Honestly, it was so insignificant and over so long ago, I forget it happened or that some people don't know."
Jack came to her rescue: "Hey, it's OK. Most weddings are best forgotten. And some marriages, too."
A suddenly somber silence descended on the small group around the table.