Pursuit (7 page)

Lunch arrived complete with salad, cooked vegetables, and rolls. The short ribs, Julie figured, could be covered
with her napkin. Drew ran through the history of the company, explaining the partnership with his father's best friend and how they worked so hard in the early years to create Drew Inc.

“Are they all gone? Early employees, someone in the company who might have known Trudy? Anyone surviving the years?”

Drew turned to a large photograph over the fireplace. “That's my father, William, on the right, along with his partner, Sidney Randall, both long since gone.”

“Mr. Drew, I know you're a busy man, but could a list of employees who were working here at the time of your niece's disappearance be drawn up? Those who are still here?”

She watched him making circles through his potatoes with the tip of his fork. “What would that do? How could that help after all these years?”

“I'm not sure it would, sir, but it might be a way of finding out if anyone recalled anything. Over the years, there may have been a flash of something, maybe unexpressed.”

He put down his fork. “I need to hustle out. My secretary will get that list to you. Terribly sorry. Anything else? Can you find your way?”

After assuring Drew that she indeed knew her way, he left. Mr. William Drew, a heart attack in the making.

C
harles Clegg had
friends in high places. His oldest and dearest happened to be ensconced on the top floor of the Drew office building.

Deedee's closet-sized office was squeezed between the elevator shaft and the men's room. Pushing fifty, and having been with Drew Inc. since the beginning, she had started in the shipping department and worked her way both vertically and horizontally through the corporate maze. Her oversized chest worked for her, guiding her unerringly through a sea of wannabes as if it were a ram on the front of a huge tugboat. She weathered the early startup days, the indecisiveness of Drew Sr., the lean seasons of cutbacks, and the happy days of acquisition. Shuffled and fired, rehired and replaced, Deedee was still there, in all of her bosomy glory.

“Hello. Deidre Watts, how can I help?”

The voice at the other end of the phone came off gruff and sexual. “I'm below you looking through the concrete floor at the bottom of your chair. If you do not obey my every command, I will increase my optic powers and bore through steel and oak to get to your innards.”

“Charles, you nasty boy,” she said with a grin. “What's up?”

“Price of eggs, stock market, and my favorite body part.”

“That's nothing new, is it? Hold on a second while I close the door. So it's one of two things. You're horny for older women, or you want the latest in female office gossip. Or, a third unlikely possibility, you want to borrow money. What is it, handsome?”

“How about after satisfying the first two—which can be done at the same time—we discuss your paying for services rendered, which is not the same as borrowing money. What do you say?”

“I say you're full of crapola, Charles Clegg. I've got a conference call coming up, so I'll have to hightail it. By the way, Wad is pissed at your absenteeism. How do you get away with it?”

“I'm cute, smart, handsome, and have an ironclad agreement, okay?” He started to sing. “There was a new girl in town, she looked like an Elvis-ex, and she was sexy, uh-huh.” He hummed, then, “Hey, been wondering about any new hot numbers I might have missed applying for work, that kind of thing. You know me, sweet stuff.”

“Nah, afraid not, Bigstuff. Ah, wait, a hottie paraded through the cafeteria with Wad's secretary during lunch yesterday, headed for the exec dining room. Five nine, a hundred forty-five pounds, looked like she might have great legs. A no-bullshit type. Pretty in a tough way. Why am I going on like this?”

“No, no. Don't stop. I'm getting all lit up.”

“Got to run, Hornytoad,” Deedee interrupted their nonsense. “Give me a call later, okay? Oh, by the way, that toughie I was telling you about is not your type.”

“Why, is she a lesbo?”

“Maybe, I don't know, but she was carrying a gun. I saw it under her jacket. She had state police biz with Wad. Gotta run. Call me, please.” She lowered her voice. “I'm horny and available.” She hung up.

Charlie laughed. He envisioned a mercy hump in his near future.

“William Drew, please.”

“May I ask who's calling?”

“Charles Clegg.”

“Mr. Clegg, nice to hear from you. Let me check if Mr. Drew is available.” After the usual delays and “So sorrys,” Charles was asked to call back at three o'clock, but it didn't matter, as he had lots of free time, so he decided to take a drive before the appointed call.

The woods were always a comfort to him, the soaring straight pines enveloping him in a cocoon of shade. His complex love of the timberland. The rational part of Charles knew that he was not immortal, but at times he thought that his dark, exciting secrets would live on long after he was gone. He loved his walks, especially at night. The hawks and owls calling to their brethren. The whippoorwills repeating their names endlessly.

He'd always resisted leaving his “event” participants on his sacred land; it seemed sacrilegious. But it would have been comforting to have them closer, to be able to visit as old friends would, to share more often his scarf of treasure.

“William, how are you? How's tricks?”

“I'm passable, Charles, just passable. What's up?”

“Something have to be ‘up' for me to call, my friend? Just thought I would check in.”

“Are you in the building?”

“Just out and about, Willy.”

“Our third-quarter profits are up a point and a half. We just signed a new agreement with Local 39, which will help the bottom line.”

“Did they cave on the medical business?”

“ ‘Caved' is the right word. The recession reaped some benefits for us. These tank-busting hard-line union jokers are just as worried about jobs as everyone else. They're sneaking around trying to make covert backroom deals, mostly looking out for numero uno. What's with the phone call?”

“Just checking on the status of my favorite chief executive officer. Anything exciting going on, anybody pregnant, filing more harassment claims, sick with the flu, herpes, hiccups, anything like that, Billy? Have you got a new squeeze?”

“Please, I'm a married man.”

“Thou doth protest too much, methinks. Doth thou?”

William laughed a bit at Charles's attempt to humor him. “If you must know, I did meet an attractive lady yesterday.”

“Tell me quick, Billy. I'm jiggling my underclothes.”

“Don't get lathered up. It was nothing; a woman from upstate, a government employee. Incidentally, how did we ever get to be so chummy? You are, I must remind you, still an underling. An employee.”

“The party of the first part shall honor said agreement pertaining to—”

“Yeah, yeah, right. Got it, spare me. The poor orphan child with the boo-boo on his hip.”

“Broken hip, to be more accurate. Along with a broken leg and, I might add, the loss of a sweet friend, one Bink Caldwell.”

They waited through an uncomfortable pause.

“Tell me about this attractive member of the opposite sex. Was she trying to pierce the corporate hierarchy? Sexual harassment complaints in the workplace? Some people have all the fun. Were you caught massaging shoulders, pinching behinds?”

“No, nothing quite so interesting. Just an inquiry of ancient times and events.” He stopped talking.

“Are you holding out on your trusted employee and loyal friend, sir?”

“A woman from the state police had a routine inquiry about that past unpleasantness concerning my niece.” The conversation seemed to be wearing out Drew. “You remember that, don't you, Charles?”

He took the appropriate amount of time in answering to fortify his seeming concern. “Sorry if I made light of what must still be a trying part of your life.”
Suck it up, asshole
. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No. It was all routine. They're reopening several cases of disappeared girls stretching back a ways. I'm sure nothing will come of it, just some bureaucratic bullshit busywork for a cop. Must be a slow crime week.”

Charles produced a laugh, trying to cover his interest. “What's her name? I know a couple state-police types up there.”

“Ware or something close. No, Worth. Yeah, Julie. Nice enough girl. Tough but still feminine. Thorough. Listen, pardner—gotta run. Call soon, will you?”

“Yeah, right. I'll do that.” No need for panic. A routine tying-of-loose-ends inquiry. Julie Worth. Maybe out of caution, take a closer look.

H
e stood outside
the house. The moon had not yet risen. Night birds broke the quiet evening hush. At least six hours had passed, his pace along the sparsely populated road slow and deliberate, occasionally broken by contrived jogging when the odd car approached. A billed cap helped fake an image of an avid health nut. He approached the darkened house and once again slowed. Earlier, he had watched from behind an abandoned shed from across the road. An early-model black Jeep Wrangler was parked outside the house with motor running, lights dimmed. Someone—it looked like a teenaged girl, with long blond hair—darted back and forth in front of a lit window. The car's horn sounded an impatient toot. The moon started to rise by the time the girl appeared at the front door. She carried several duffel bags and sprinted toward the awaiting SUV. Exchanging words with the driver from the passenger-side door, she swore as she ran back into the house and disappeared. Then the porch light was doused, and the silhouetted figure once again raced to the car.

He felt they were gone for the night, but he continued to pace what he now considered his nightly rounds. They'd be back; he had to be patient. Perhaps one of them, maybe both, would be introduced to his ring of
C
. The view from Cameltop.