“The husband is Martin Lawson or Marty, and the missing wife is Cindy Lawson. She had taken a leave from teaching to get in some bed rest, because she’s due within the next monthor so. Healthy, from my understanding of Cal’s crazy hysterics. But I called Marty Lawson and the grown man sounds hysterical, too. He understands that no one will accept she’s really missing until it’s been twenty-four to forty-eight hours since she’s been—missing, but he swears he knows his wife. And Cal said the same thing. The woman never lies, does what she says she’s going to do—and then you add the eight months pregnant into it!” Jackson told her. “She gave her lecture—on the history of Mother’s Day—spoke to the dean of her department and headed home.”
“Do they live—” Angela began.
“In the woods? No. A regular street for the area, good neighborhood, with some old Victorian houses, newer structures, and a park. It’s not a mini city within the city or the like, but it’s referred to as Bay Lane,” he told her.
“Oh, I do know the area. One of our techs lives right on the edge,” Angela said. “I was asking where to find out if she could have been whisked into the woods, or—”
“No woods. Nice homes with nice yards that lead to the yards of the houses on the other side of the block.”
“Okay, we’ll meet Marty, you can work on possible enemies, problems . . . and I’ll start a canvas in the neighborhood. Oh, well—is her car there? I don’t think she walked to speaking engagement!”
“Her car is there,” Jackson told her. “According to Marty.”
“The police should have taken that into consideration. But . . . well, I know there are very few jurisdictions of any kind who could give concentrated manpower to a situation when someone has just been missing a matter of hours. Okay, let’s see Marty, the home—and I’ll try the neighbors.”
“It’s a plan,” Jackson agreed.
They reached the Lawson house. It was a handsome Victorian on a pleasant lot—it wasn’t ostentatious. Just a nice home in a nice neighborhood.
Marty Lawson came out of the house as they arrived; he had evidently been waiting anxiously for them. He was a tall man, mid to late twenties, still decked in his business suit with just his tie somewhat ravaged. Nicely cropped brown hair, tanned face as if he liked to spend his free time in the sun, and an expression torn with concern.
He didn’t wait for introductions. “Something bad happened! Something bad . . . and I’m praying, praying that we can find her before . . . well, she could have the baby at any time! If she’s been taken, if she tried to fight . . .”
“Mr. Lawson, we understand the situation,” Angela told him quickly, her tone even as she always managed to keep it—assuring. “And we’re going to help you find Cindy. May we come in for a minute? Jackson is going to go over particulars with you, and I’m going to head around the neighborhood and see if any of your friends or even acquaintances around here saw anything. But I’d like to see the house first.”
“Of course, of course, come in. There is an odd smell in the house. I thought maybe she had one of the soothing incense things burning . . . or one of her candles. She loves candles. It’s like a sweet smell, fading now,” Lawson said anxiously. “She left her purse and phone on the table there as she always does. But when I got here, the door was locked like usual. Even here, we lock up all the time!”
“Anyone else have a key?” Jackson asked.
“No. But Cindy’s key is gone. And of course, people would say oh how obvious, she went for a walk somewhere, took off with a friend . . . but she didn’t! She was waiting for me. She was excited about the lecture, but equally excited that we’d just be chilling here for Mother’s Day . . . being parents, feeling ourlittle guy kick in her belly! And she was already in the kitchen—we weren’t drinking, of course, but we had some sparkling juice so that today we can make an occasion and . . . she didn’t just leave!” he finished desperately.
Jackson believed the man. He looked at Angela and after their years together, he could see far behind the blond beauty she naturally maintained to know the look she gave him in return was one that expressed her belief in the man as well.
“Well, I’m off to knock on doors,” Angela said.
“I’ll see you out. And then, Mr. Lawson, you and I need to talk. You think of anything possible at all,” Jackson told the man.
“She doesn’t have any enemies!” Marty said. “Everyone loves her.”
“Maybe someone loves her a little too much,” Angela said beneath her breath, just loud enough for Jackson to hear.
He gave her a nod, and as she left, he closed the door. He turned back, hoping there was something, no matter how minute, that Marty Lawson might be able to give him.
It could be a weird world, he knew so well. But women didn’t disappear into thin air.
*
The Dream … or the Nightmare
Cindy
She felt strangely as if she was floating on a bed of flowers at first.
And then she opened her eyes and blinked and blinked.
And the face of a stranger was staring down at her, smiling. His face was young; he was perhaps in his mid-twenties, as she was. Nice looking, handsome, dark eyes, reddish hair, and that smile, but . . .
She could not quite sit up. At first, she wasn’t sure she could talk. Then when she managed to do so, her words spat out in a massive rush.
