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 to all the kind and generous people who reviewed. I appreciate each and every one of you. I also feel compelled to apologize to every person who now has an image of Martin in Ruby Slippers stuck in their head. LOL.
Martin looked around the small kitchen, warming his hands on the cup of tea Mrs. Argello pressed on him. All the way to Brooklyn he tried to find the words to coach the questions in, so that they would convey the urgency and the need for the kind of personal information people are usually reluctant to part with, and, at the same time, would assuage any fears and apprehensions Frank's wife might feel on her husband's behalf.
He failed to find the words during his drive, and was now looking around in hopes of gleaning an inspiration from the warm, yellow walls, apple-green crockery displayed on the top of the fridge, an ornate crucifix by the window, or a shelf-full of "Precious Moments" collectible figurines.
"I don't understand," said Mrs. Argello, sitting down opposite Martin, and, for just a second, reminding him of Camilla Stevens-Newberg. The resemblance ended with the words, though: the tone was completely different, as much as the woman uttering them was different from the Mighty Camilla.
Mrs. Argello was all round softness where Camilla was angles, and her appearance of agelessness came from a completely different source. She was clearly of the Italian descent: her hair, the color of salt and pepper, was at odds with her large, dark, animated eyes. She could have been an early-graying 40-something, or a very youthful late 60s. Martin knew for a fact that she was 54, but he wouldn't have been able to establish that just by looking at her.
Mrs. Argello's tone was conversational and genuinely perplexed: "I don't understand why you are here."
"Ma'am, we didn't mean to alarm you unduly, and, please, don't think that we, at this point, believe that something actually happened to Mr. Argello. We also don't want you to think that, just because the case involves a wealthy and powerful woman, we are any less concerned with your husband's disappearance."
Mrs. Argello smiled at Martin kindly, as if it was he who needed reassurance.
"I know, but I still don't understand. I thought that was all resolved."
"What was resolved?"
"Frank's whereabouts, and Mrs. Stevens-Newberg's."
"No. Why would you think that?"
"Because he called."
"Who called?" Martin was starting to feel like a clue-less player in a game of 20 questions. Somehow they were talking at cross-purposes.
Mrs. Argello indicated the phone on a small table in the corner: "Frank. He called about an hour before you arrived. He said he is fine." She smiled a serene smile.
"Wait, your husband just called? From where?"
"Well, first I thought he said he was at the Hamptons, but then I told him that you guys were looking for him and the old lady everywhere, and that you didn't find them at the Hamptons, and he explained that they didn't actually go there, and that I shouldn't worry. That he'll straighten it all out. . . . Didn't he call you? I gave him the number your other agent gave me when he first called. I thought Frank would have contacted someone."
"No," Martin said slowly, "I don't think he did. I would have been informed by now. . . . Where did he say he was calling from exactly?"
"Eh, he didn't. I took it to mean they were somewhere on the road. It happens sometimes, with his job, you know. People change their plans, he ends up driving them a lot farther than first intended. Stevens-Newbergs tip very well, and the old lady treats him with real respect, so, you see, if she occasionally wants to go driving aimlessly, neither of us is going to complain. It doesn't happen too often and they usually pay double for that. We are saving up." She beamed at Martin. "Once Frank retires, we are moving to California. Our daughter lives in Sacramento."
"Mrs. Argello," Martin said slowly, getting out his note pad, "please tell me exactly what your husband said."
"Uh, OK," she wrinkled her forehead in concentration, "first he said that he was calling as promised. Like I told your other agent, Frank called me last night to tell me he was driving the old lady to the Hamptons, and that he'd call today. Well, that was him calling."
"And he said he was at the Hamptons?"
"Honestly? I don't remember, because I was so relieved to hear from him, what with all the ruckus that got me thinking all sorts of bad things. . . . He said he was checking in, and he was going to be there for a few days - at least through the next weekend - and he'd let me know later when he'll be back. And then I asked where there was, and told him you were looking for him. And he got all sorta quiet, and then said not to worry, and that they weren't at the Hamptons, but that everything was all right, and that he'll get it straightened out. So, I gave him the phone number and that was that."
"He definitely said 'they'?"
"Well, no. . . . Honestly, agent Fitzerald, all I heard was 'he is safe and well' and 'not to worry.' But, surely, the old lady is with him. Where else would she be?"
That was indeed the question, Martin thought with a growing exasperation. The yellow walls were closing in on him, and those sickeningly sweet Precious Moments figurines were mocking him from the shelves.
"That was that, Mrs. Argello? Your husband didn't sound to you at all concerned, or upset, or agitated in any way?"
"Well, sure he got agitated once he heard the FBI was looking, but not before that, no. He was kinda cheerful, actually. He said that he got paid really well for this one, and that we actually may be able to move sooner."
"And you didn't press for any specific details?"
"Like what?"
"Like his exact location, whether Mrs. Stevens-Newberg was all right, why the change of plans. . . ."
"No," the woman smiled at Martin in half-guilty explanation, "Frank doesn't like to talk about his job all that much. And he said everything was OK. He said he'd tell me all about it when he gets home. I trust him. We've been married a long time, Agent Fitzgerald. I suppose, it may seem odd to an outsider, but we've got a way with us, a habit, if you will. I don't pry where I don't need to, and he doesn't bring his work problems home."
Martin walked briskly to his car, dialing Jack's number on his cell and marveling at the gentle selfishness of a human mind that would rather settle into a routine of blissful ignorance than venture anything potentially damaging or even remotely upsetting.
xxxxx
"He called? From where?" Jack gave Sam a sign, pressing his phone tightly to his ear, trying to block the airport noise. They were on their way out to the parking lot, having just parted with Mr. Stevens-Newberg. A much reinvigorated Mr. Stevens-Newberg, after a rather one-sided phone conversation with his wife, not to mention a timely appearance by his lawyer.
Jack snapped the phone shut and turned to Sam: "What do you know? The driver contacted his wife. She, inexplicably, didn't ask where he was calling from, but it's definitely not the Hamptons. We need to get back to the office and trace the call." He started his energetic walk down the corridor, Sam falling into a rapid step beside him.
"He called? Was he alone? Is Mrs. Stevens-Newberg with him?"
"Mrs. Argello failed to ask that, too."
"Wow. How do you not. . . ?"
"Oh, who knows, Sam! People are weird, and I, for one, find life to be a lot easier ever since I've accepted that fact."
Sam laughed and shook her head: "I wish I could accept it with such ease. Instead, I keep searching for some semblance of logic."
"And get frustrated in the process, I noticed." Jack looked at her thoughtfully and she responded to the implication: "What do you mean?"
"Well, you came down a tad too strong on poor Junior."
"Did I?"
"You did"
"So I did. A little. May be I pressed a wee too much, but let me tell you, the guy needed pressing!"
Jack smiled and she rushed to explain:
"It's not my rumored intolerance toward men. It's not! It's this particular man. I can't make out whether he is playing us or he really does have a personality of a wet Q-tip."
"That's funny."
"No, it's sad, actually. I can see why Mrs. Stevens-Newberg felt like a failure. All that effort, all that excellent example, all that education, and it produces this?"
"They say Nature rests on the next generation."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning that often bright, brilliant, strong people have wet Q-tips for children, and no amount of leading by example or education can fix that. Nature likes balance, and, sometimes, when it gives generously in one quarter, it compensates somewhere else. Good news is, the grandkids tend to fair much better. Danny and Viv tell me the youngest granddaughter is a fighter and a delight."
Sam bit her lower lip and shook her head. "It's an interesting theory, Jack, and I sincerely wish someone would have applied it to our current Commander and Chief - to say nothing of his little brother - but depleted genetics is only part of the problem in most cases. And, anyway, shouldn't this theory scare you?"
Jack looked at her with a genuine surprise. "Why?"
"Your girls. Aren't you worried about Nature compensating for you?" Sam said it with a smile that was letting him know she was joking. Jack smiled back:
"First, thank you for the implication of my supposed brilliance. Secondly, no, I have no cause to worry about Hanna or Kate. I am already well aware of the strength of their personalities, not to mention, talents. Especially Hanna's. I've been introduced to some of her writing lately, and, let's just say I am disturbed by its maturity and flow. . . . God, they are growing so fast, and - no doubt about it - leaving me behind."
The sadness in Jack's voice was only partly due to the metaphorical meaning of the statement. Sam knew well how literal that "leaving behind" sentiment was.
"I'm sorry, Jack." She touched his sleeve, slightly above the elbow, a soothing and tentative gesture - half apology, half fortification.
"It's OK. Can't be helped. At least I don't have to worry about the strength of their characters. Hanna, in particular, can give the entire female contingent of the Stevens-Newberg clan the run for their money when it comes to stubbornness or getting her own way. And Kate is getting there, too. And not by throwing tantrums, mind you, but by being smart and persistent." Jack's smile was a happy if sheepish one this time.
"Well, then, you know you can be proud," Sam let go of his sleeve slowly, "they got it from you."
xxxxxx
The group was once again gathered around the conference table. It was dark outside, moonless January night stealing in and threatening to snuff out hope.
But they weren't hopeless: for the first time in this investigation they had a tangible lead. Martin bit into his breakfast burrito. It was a long way 'till breakfast, but, with this job, one never knew exactly when the next meal would be feasible, and for the rest of the agents the sight of Martin eating was a familiar and comforting one. Danny once joked that if there ever came a time when Martin would not be able to eat, then it would mean things were really bad.
"Frank's phone call came from Atlantic City." Martin leaned back into his chair. "That gels, you know: Frank's financials show a history of gambling, some of it fairly recent. I guess all that saving up for the retirement to California isn't going as fast as Mrs. Argello believes. Frank has been putting some of the money into a separate account. A discretionary one, I bet. I also bet that the Mrs. doesn't know anything about it. They have a 'don't ask, don't tell' marital policy. She isn't asking, and he sure isn't telling."
Vivian rolled her eyes. "Yes, that always works out well."
Jack suppressed a smile and asked Martin: "Do we have a specific location of the call?"
"Trump Taj Mahal, lobby pay phone. Which is good, because there are cameras everywhere in the casinos. And if we are lucky, he is staying there, as well."
Sam shook her head. "I'm sorry, am I the only one who's having trouble picturing Mrs. Stevens-Newberg playing dollar slots?"
Danny chimed in: "I was about to say. Now way is she chilling on the Boardwalk, either. She simply isn't the type. According to Allie, she was overwhelmed by the bustle of the wedding prep at the Hamptons. It would defy reason for her to go to Atlantic City, of all the bustling places, to relax and forget. I honestly don't think she is with him."
Jack got up, took a sip of his coffee, and slammed the folder in front of him shut.
"OK, no need for us to speculate further. Right now, we wait. Atlantic City PD can handle the surveillance tapes and the Hotel records, as well as check for any signs of an elderly upper class lady. They'll ship Frank here when, and if, they locate him. If not, then we'll go there tomorrow and look for more leads. In the meantime, you all need to go home and get some sleep. I want you back here bright and early. Sam and I will sit down with that White Collar guy, just in case the AC lead takes us nowhere. Danny, Viv: for the same reason to you will fall the thankless task of re-interviewing Mrs. Stevens-Newberg the Younger. With her lawyer, if she insists, but in the view of what her husband told us, it still looks like whatever precipitated the old lady's disappearance started at that house. Martin, you keep on Frank's financials. Gambling habit doesn't smell right. And you may have to talk to his wife again."
"Sure," Martin nodded, "she may have been over exaggerating that unconcerned cheerfulness of hers. Her fearsome Precious Moments collection not withstanding, nobody is that sweet or that clueless."