Evidence of Life - By Barbara Taylor Sissel Page 0,33
went through the paperwork on Nick’s desk because the sheriff Joe spoke to asked if Nick might have left some record here of where he was going. Since you don’t seem to know.”
Abby’s jaw tightened. How good and righteous Nina was, how superior. If Nina had children, she would never let them go anywhere without knowing their precise location; Nina would never take her eyes off her children. Hooray for Nina.
She said, “I told Joe that if Nick made a reservation at a campground, it would be on his laptop. That’s where he kept everything.”
“He took it with him.” Abby pulled out the top right-hand desk drawer expecting Nina to stop her, half expecting to find it empty. But there were the memo pads with Nick’s name embossed on them and underneath, a jumble of what looked like advertising brochures. A few business cards, a half-used book of checks with no cover, toothpicks cased in cellophane from various restaurants. An assortment of pens, paper clips, loose staples. A tiny scrap of paper from a fortune cookie read: Protective measures will prevent costly disasters. What did it mean, costly disasters? It seemed almost prescient in hindsight. Why would Nick have kept it?
Nina looked on solemn-faced. Maybe when Joe left for court earlier he’d called her and warned her Abby was loose in the building, and Nina should keep an eye out. Maybe Nina had been told that should Abby enter Nick’s office she should be watched and prevented from removing anything that was of a confidential nature. Lawyers were a notoriously paranoid bunch.
Abby closed the first drawer and opened the one below it.
Nina said, “If I’d found a single thing that would help locate your family, hon, I surely would have told that sheriff. And you, too, of course.”
Abby smiled sweetly. “Of course.” She closed the second drawer and opened a third, thinking: the hell with you. Thinking: I have as much right as any of you do to search my husband’s desk. She dipped her glance, saw what looked to be a short stack of legal journals and rifled it. A book of matches wedged between them and the side of the drawer caught her eye. The cover was dark green with silver lettering that read Riverbend Lodge.
In Bandera. Abby recalled seeing it. Edging the highway on the outskirts of town. Pure roadside ambience, low-ceilinged cowboy decor, damp, moldy-smelling air pouring from the A/C unit. Café-type restaurant that featured grits and eggs for breakfast and chicken-fried steak anytime. She and Nick and the kids had spent one awful night there three summers ago. They’d been on their way to Kate’s when Lindsey had spiked a sudden fever so high, she had vomited in the backseat of the car, all over Jake. Nick had pulled in at the lodge; they’d gotten a room and he’d carried Lindsey inside. When she wasn’t better within a few hours, they’d driven to San Antonio, to an emergency room, where she’d been treated for a severe case of strep throat.
Abby took the matches out of the drawer and closed it. She waited for Nina to ask what she had in her hand, but Nina didn’t. She approached the front of the desk and perched on one corner. The ease of her movement suggested habit, suggested Nick’s desk ought to be worn on that corner, Nina had perched there so many times.
“Hon,” she said, and Abby winced, “I know you’ve been under a terrible strain, and we are all so sorry. Of all people, you didn’t deserve this. But don’t you think—?”
Abby toyed with the matchbook, opening the cover, glancing at it. There was a name inside, Sondra, and a phone number, jotted in Nick’s handwriting. Her stomach dropped, setting off a small explosion of apprehension. She didn’t recognize the number. She didn’t know anyone named Sondra.
Nina cleared her throat.
Abby opened her purse, tucked the book of matches inside. “I’m sorry?” She looked at Nina. “You were suggesting something about what I should think?”
“Well, I’m wondering whether you might be having a bit of trouble accepting what’s happened, if you aren’t holding on to false hope. Joe says you seem to think there might have been—I hesitate to use the term—foul play.”
Joe had called Nina. Abby had been right to think it was possible. He’d probably dialed her number before the elevator door had closed. They were treating Abby as if she were an unreasonable child, a mental case. It made her want to scream, and