Expecting to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli) - Page 77

“Regan?” a frantic woman’s voice asked. “This is Darlie Cronin. Remember me?” Without waiting for a reply, she ran on, the words tumbling faster and faster, one after the other. “I’m Lindsay’s mother, Lindsay Cronin, a friend of Bianca’s, and I work at the preschool and . . . I don’t know what to do. She’s missing. She was in her room last night when we went to bed, Roy and me, and then, and then, she didn’t get up this morning, which sometimes happens. I mean, I didn’t even check on her until around eleven or eleven-thirty, I think . . . what?”

She turned away from the phone for a second and had another muffled conversation before she said rapidly, “Roy says it was really almost noon and, and . . . I can’t find her. Her car is gone. She’s not answering her phone and I’m . . . I don’t know what to do.” She paused, gathered in a breath, then said a little more slowly. “After calling around, even the hospitals, I went to the station and filled out a missing persons report and the woman officer there was very nice but . . . but I don’t think it’s enough. I’m . . . we, Roy and I . . . oh, God, what if something’s happened to her? To my baby?”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Pescoli said, remembering the woman as being smart and kind, even-tempered, her only fault being that she was a little over-indulgent with her kids, an older boy and Lindsay. Darlie had always turned a blind eye to her daughter’s faults, but then, that wasn’t so unusual. “Why don’t you start over?”

“Okay, okay.”

Alvarez kept driving and Pescoli put the phone on speaker, so they both could hear.

Her voice quivering, Darlie filled in the blanks: Lindsay was missing, had been since last night. Though Lindsay had left in her car, in Darlie’s opinion, her daughter had either been abducted or something horrible had happened to her. “The worrisome thing is she didn’t take any clothes, and her iPad and makeup and everything is all still here. So if she left of her own accord, she planned to come back, but she’s not answering her phone and . . . and the window was open. Someone could have come in, taken her at gun or knifepoint, or . .. oh, my God,” she crumbled then, breaking into sobs.

Pescoli asked briskly, “What’s your address?”

Darlie rattled it off.

“Okay, stay put,” Pescoli said, dread seeping into her heart. “We’re on our way.”

CHAPTER 19

Barclay Sphinx was waiting at a round table in a meeting room off the lobby of the motel. Three window shades were open to a spectacular view of the parking lot, where shafts of sunlight were bouncing off the single row of cars parked next to the fenced-off swimming pool.

Dressed in a black T-shirt and another jacket and jeans, he wasn’t alone. Not only was Michelle seated in one of the chairs but also two men and a woman, Fiona, whom she’d been introduced to at the meeting the night before.

Michelle was beaming, her makeup fresh, her sleeveless white dress hugging her curves, her hair twisted into some kind of braid that reminded Bianca of Elsa in Frozen. How long she’d been there, Bianca didn’t know, but she was seated right next to Sphinx.

“There they are now,” she said as Lucky held the door open for her.

“Bianca!” Sphinx said, getting to his feet and reaching out to grab her hand. His handshake was firm and warm, his smile wide, his little soul patch perfect in his otherwise clean-shaven face. “So glad you could come. Your dad and stepmom tell me that you’re in for the pilot of Big Foot Territory: Montana! Perfect!” He waved her to a chair next to him, and Lucky sat one over. Fiona Carpenter moved to sit across from Bianca. The other two guys filled a couple of the remaining chairs.

Everyone had a small laptop on the table in front of them. And, again, there was a spread of food—three trays filled with a variety of cold meats and cheeses, breads, and sliced fruit and vegetables, with dips and butter-filled bowls scattered nearby. In the center of the display were two pots of coffee—regular and decaf—and some bottles of water.

“Help yourself,” Sphinx said when he caught Bianca eyeing the pineapple spears and strawberries dipped in chocolate. “Fi, get her a plate, would you? And for the dad—Luke, right?” At Lucky’s nod, Sphinx continued, “Get him something, too.” Fiona promptly began filling two small paper plates. “I apologize,” Sphinx said, and glanced at Michelle. “As I already told Michelle here, I have to leave tonight. I’m working on a new series about ghost towns in Oregon, so I’m swinging down to Darby Gulch and won’t be back here for a couple of days. At that time, we’ll begin filming, just as I outlined at the meeting last night. I’d want you to star in the first episode for certain, possibly the second depending upon how long I can string out the story line of the murdered girl.”

Napkins and a variety of the refreshments were set in front of Lucky and Bianca. “Anything to drink?” Fi asked.

Bianca settled on a water, and Lucky poured himself a cup of coffee. Sphinx barely missed a beat as he continued, “The production crew will arrive tomorrow, legal’s working to get everything set up, someone will be a liaison between us and the police department. I was hoping that your ex”—he looked over the tops of his glasses to Luke—“would be that person, but I got a real resistant vibe off her last night.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Luke said, picking up the suggestion. “She’ll probably come along.”

“Excellent. Her insight and the whole cop angle would be great. And the gritty, tough-as-nails pregnant cop angle would really connect with some of our viewers. Yeah, I like it,” he said, rubbing his soul patch as he thought, his eyes narrowing on some inner vision. “I like it a lot.”

“The baby is due soon,” Bianca pointed out.

“Well, we’ll be pushing this fast. As early as the end of this week, or the weekend. The sooner the better.” He was thinking out loud and said to Fi, “Take notes.”

“Always do,” she replied, typing on the laptop in front of her.

“Let’s get the whole town involved in this, yes? Some sort of celebration.” He fluttered his fingers, caught up in his vision. “Something like Big Foot Daze. How fast could we put that together? We’d need a little run time for publicity, but we could get the town involved, have a celebration.”

“That’ll take some time,” Fiona warned him.

“Maybe, maybe not. We’ll talk to the press. There’s a local newspaper guy who wants an interview, Manny Something or Other.”

“Manny Douglas. Got him on file. Just sent his info to your phone,” Fi said.

“We can print our own flyers. Maybe Bianca could do a radio or TV interview or two—?” He glanced at Bianca, who didn’t know what to say.

“We could make that work,” Lucky said, nodding and grinning.

Tags: Lisa Jackson Mystery
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