Bob loved a mystery. He'd been teethed on Sherlock Holmes and Nero Wolfe and Miss Marple. He'd weaned on Sam Spade and Phillip Marlowe. He'd played all the childhood games, mastering "Clue" while in grade school.. He'd become a Junior Detective. He'd secretly sleuthed around the neighborhood as a kid, solving imaginary crimes. Yes, Bob - even at twenty-two - still loved a good mystery more than anything else in the world. Well, except Lisa, of course. So, when this very new and very real mystery revolved around his beloved new bride, it became utterly irresistible.
She'd become, well, not exactly moody, but prone to long moments of distraction involving a seriousness not normally part of her playful persona. Lisa was consistently bright and buoyant, almost giddy. She often joked that she should have been born blonde, not brunette. Not that she was in any way dumb. She'd made the dean's list all the way through her degree in hotel management. But for her to spend a half hour staring vacantly into space nearly every afternoon before she left for work, her lovely triangular features slack and nearly frowning, as if she were re-living some dark memory - or struggling to remember one - was totally out of character.
It worried Bob slightly, especially since she protested that he was utterly imagining the whole thing. Denial was also at odds with her normal nearly confrontational approach to life. He supposed it could all be attributed to having been promoted to evening manager of the upscale French restaurant where she worked. It could have been, but the shamus buried deep in his bones thought not. A hunch, he thought, with no little glee. So, more than he was worried about Lisa's welfare, he was puzzled. He nearly rubbed his hands in anticipation as five o'clock neared and she busied herself getting ready for work.
He'd practiced following people since junior high school, and he was confident he could tail his lovely wife without discovery. Still, he laid back a little further than he should, perhaps, and was separated from his quarry by a misjudged stoplight. As it turned out, no harm, no foul. Her car was parked in the mall lot, near the side entrance of Frere Cher, where it always was. Bob leisurely took up his position on a bench in the mall proper, shielded from his wife's workplace by the plethora of indoor greenery flanking his seat, but with a clear view through the lush fronds.
After thirty uneventful minutes, he ambled to his second vantage point, another bench, this time on the mezzanine walkway. Much further removed from the entry to Frere Cher, but adequate. Sitting idly in one place for too long would attract attention, something anyone on stakeout had to avoid. From this height, he had an unobstructed view of the trendy shops flanking the restaurant's arched entry. Lisa's office door remained firmly closed, and Bob's attention drifted as boredom set in. The after-work rush of hurried shoppers was thinning, leaving a higher percentage of aimless teenagers hanging around. He began playing people-watching games, ascribing histories to people based on their appearance and actions.
The kids were easy. The boy with the unkempt dark hair and clownishly baggy pants had problems at home and was delaying his return as long as possible. The red headed girl was obviously trying her best to fit in with the flock of girls she was cruising with, and having a miserable time.
At first he thought the spectacular blonde, her curled silvery mane depending nearly to her waist and bouncing with every stride, was another teen, despite her tailored black vinyl dress and towering stiletto heels. As she approached the throng of kids, several leered at her familiarly, and there was an exchange of words, apparently banter. But she seemed interested only in a light for her cigarette, bending from the waist to accept it in what must have been a magnificent display of cleavage. Bob was too far away to appreciate it. All he saw as she turned was a red slash of lips and large, dark eyes. With total disregard of the frequent no smoking signs, she tapped her sinuous way down a side aisle and vanished from sight.
With a start, Bob realized it was time to move back to position A. For the next half hour, with Lisa's door still solidly closed, he daydreamed about being a private detective, and having the mysterious, sexy platinum blonde as his first client.
When the door of the manager's office suddenly opened, Bob's attention instantly snapped back to reality. It wasn't Lisa stepping through it though, sheaf of papers in hand. It was Todd Williams, the disheveled, paunched middle-aged man she'd replaced two weeks before. What's he doing there, Bob's mind demanded. Lisa said he'd been promoted to the main downtown location.
With sudden suspicion, Bob grabbed his cell phone and punched in the restaurant's number. It was disorienting, watching Williams grab the phone off the wall and speak into it, hearing the slightly exasperated voice so clearly in his ear.
"Lisa," he croaked. "Lisa Evans -"
"She's out sick. Has been all week, maybe next week, too. Tests or something. Anybody else help you?"
Bob couldn't remember what he said before clicking the phone off. He sat there, staring stupidly at it, for too long. Then, with an alacrity totally undetective-like, he bolted for the parking lot.
Lisa's car, of course, wasn't there.
He'd driven aimlessly for an unknown period of time, blindly, without method, looking for the five year old Toyota his wife drove. He'd dialed their home phone repeatedly, hanging up on the sound of his own melodious voice on the answering machine. Finally, he'd made the voyage back to their newly bought and remodeled craftsman bungalow a mere five miles from the mall. He paced. He fidgeted. He tried to consider the puzzle logically. He failed miserably, degenerated into uncontrolled, fearful fantasy.
He'd fallen asleep on the sofa, where Lisa found him at two that morning. She smiled lovingly down at his nearly childlike appearance, curled into himself, innocent, vulnerable, and peaceful as the angel he was. Her intent was to awaken him with a gentle kiss.
He awoke with a shout that was nearly a scream, and pushed violently against whatever dream monster was trying to suffocate him. Bolt upright, eyes huge with fright, he saw Lisa sprawled akimbo on the carpet, staring at him in astonishment.
"My God, honey! I'm so sorry," he exclaimed, hurrying to help her onto the sofa. "Jesus, are you okay?"
"Fine. Just a little stunned." She ran a gentle hand over his flushed face. "How about you? What was that all about?"
"Nothing. Bad dream I guess." It was then that he remembered what had happened before the dream, inspired it, in all likelihood. He studied her critically. "You're sure you're alright? You feel okay?"
