Part 11 (1/2)
I moved to Pet.i.tes and selected a few pairs of pants. I slipped into the dressing room to try them on. The floor overhead creaked. A few minutes later something thumped onto the floor. I finished my try-on quickly and started in the direction of the stairs.
Celeste came down, holding a mannequin's arm in one hand and the leg in the other. ”That woman's a menace.”
I cringed at her hiss. ”She needs you, Celeste.”
”She needs to lose weight. She needs veneers. She needs a new dye job and extensions.” Celeste dropped the mannequin's parts on the counter behind the register. ”And she needs a bath. I might have to fumigate.”
She looked at the three pairs of pants in my hands. ”How did those work out for you?”
”I'll take them.”
”You'll need sweaters to mix and match. I've got the winter styles in the bas.e.m.e.nt.”
I didn't really need or want the sweaters, but Celeste liked to manage a top-selling store. And Leslie needed her goodwill. I could always return the items on Celeste's day off.
An additional six sweaters and a hip-length quilted jacket later, I left the store laden with packages and Celeste's promise that Leslie would be a new woman when she came into my shop tomorrow to continue our discussion about the Caterham.
I sat in the Lexus and dialed Ray for a second time today. He didn't answer his cell phone. The department operator said he was out of the building. With any luck, he was hot on the trail of Danny's mother and potential aunt. If anyone could sniff them out, it would be the hound dog named Ray.
I started the car and headed back to Mr. Murphy's house in the hopes he'd returned home and could answer my questions about Erica.
His car was in the driveway when I pulled in next door. I dashed across his soggy lawn, my heels sticking in the gra.s.s, and raced up his front steps.
He pulled open the door before I had the chance to ring the bell. ”You're here about your sister, aren't cha?”
Thin and sprightly as ever, Mr. Murphy now had tufts of hair growing not only above his ears but out of them. Coupled with his enormous earlobes, it made it difficult to focus my gaze on his wizened face. I did my best.
”She's packed her bags. I can't find her. Did you see her leave?”
”Sure did.”
”Was she with someone?”
Mr. Murphy's hair tufts wafted up and down as he nodded. ”Tall boy, with dark hair.”
”Do you know his name?”
”Never seen the boy before. Never seen any of those wild boys visit her more than once.”
”What kind of a car was he driving?”
”White one. One of those foreign four-doors. They're everywhere.”
”Can you be more specific? A Honda Civic? A Hyundai Sonata? A Toyota Camry?”
Mr. Murphy waved his hands. ”I don't know names. Not the boy's name. Not the car's. No names.”
I tried to keep the smile on my face. ”Can you tell me what time she left?”
”Morning. After the first two hours of the Today show. You know, when Regis comes on.”
As I struggled to think of something else that might be helpful, Mr. Murphy started to close his door. My time was up.
I held my hand against the door, halting its progress. ”Can you think of anything else, Mr. Murphy? Anything at all? Erica hasn't been taking her medication. I'm worried about her.”
He rolled his lips and looked toward the porch roof. ”Boy had on a Syracuse Orangemen sweats.h.i.+rt. That's all I know.”
That was enough. I let go of the door.
He slammed it shut.
The ”boy” was Maury Boor.
____.
I checked my watch. I didn't have time to look for Maury and Erica now. The day had slipped away from me. It was now quarter to three. School dismissed at five minutes after three. Danny would be waiting for me in the turnaround.
As I drove toward the school, I recalled Maury's fascination with the Syracuse University basketball team. For a short guy, he'd been obsessed with the mighty tall ones. Maybe because he'd never had a chance of making the team himself. Maury must have asked Erica at least twenty times over the course of high school to attend a game with him. His parents had been season ticket holders. Maybe they still were. Maybe Ray could get the campus police to provide an address to go with those tickets.
I drove into Danny's school's turnaround and pulled up to the curb behind a woman in a minivan. She had a b.u.mper sticker that read ”Soccer Mom.” Would that be me someday, too? I'd never drive a minivan, but I could do soccer. Maybe. Depending on the weather.
Ray didn't answer his cell. I didn't bother calling the department. He'd be home for dinner soon enough.
Danny came out of school with his backpack over his shoulder, dragging his new coat through the wet gra.s.s and puddles. I cringed.
He climbed into the back seat.
I turned to look at him. ”How was your first day?”
”Okay.”
”Was Mr. Mathews nice?”
”He's okay.”
”How were the other kids? Did they talk to you?”
”Yeah. They're okay.”
”Okay” was the word of the day. I started the car and eased my way out of the parking lot, trying to avoid the other more hurried moms and the kids jaywalking across the street.
When we got home, Danny plunked in front of the television. I headed into the office and fired up my computer, searching for Maurice Boor in the on-line white pages. The only listing I found was for an elderly man in another state. I dialed the number, hoping to find Maury's dad.
He wasn't a relative.
Faced with another dead end, I turned off the computer and headed into the kitchen to pull out all the remaining Thanksgiving leftovers. If I really was a super soccer mom, I'd be able to mix them all into a delicious ca.s.serole. I gave that thought all of a minute then shoved them as is into the oven to reheat.
Ray came through the door just after five, as he did most days. ”Where's Danny?”
”In the living room, watching TV.”