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?"
"Fine. Tired is all. You must be coming down with that bug I had. What say we snuggle up in a real bed, husband?" She grinned impishly, ran her hand down his chest. "See what comes up?"
But nothing came up that night for Bob.
The following day had been normal. So normal that to Bob it had been tinged with an eerie quality. Except for two episodes of "daydreams," Lisa had been merely Lisa.
He'd had every opportunity to talk to her. All day to ask the simple questions that'd have resolved the issue once and for all. He hadn't been able to find the words. He'd asked suitably leading questions about her previous night's work, and received appropriate, detailed, absolutely non-evasive answers that had to be patent lies. But they were delivered with such a complete sincerity and normalcy that he was unable to accuse her, to demand her true whereabouts, to confront her with her deception. And, given her free-spiritedness and the number of discussions they'd had about the immense value of trust, how could he confess to having followed her?
Besides, there had to be an answer to the riddle that explained everything. A logical reason, something valiant to justify Lisa's untruths. He'd ferret it out before she had a chance to reveal it. He'd unravel the Gordian knot in secrecy, then act perfectly surprised when she gifted him with truth. He'd follow her again, and by God, this time he wouldn't lose sight of her.
And he didn't, either. A religious two cars behind her, he'd made it through two close lights, and rolled to a surreptitious stop a row away from her in the vast mall parking lot. It'd taken little effort to maintain sight of her forest green business suit and still stay out of her line of vision thanks to the five o'clock throng around them. But she'd turned right into the main courcourse of the building, not made the left which would take her to Frere Cher. He'd come close to missing her as she turned, like any casual shopper, into a boutique featuring very racy, almost goth-style fashions he'd barely noticed before.
By the time he established a clear and safe vantage point, she was out of sight behind a tall clothes rack. He watched studiously for twenty minutes. Uneasiness grew in him. He didn't see her again. He cast about for another surveillance point, and settled upon the spot on the mezzanine he'd used the evening before.
The boutique wasn't as busy as its neighbors. It's customers seemed to be almost universally teenagers moving on the fringe of society. Young women with spiked orange and blue hair, sporting tattoos and piercings. Young men in leather who looked unclean. Why had Lisa gone in? That certainly wasn't her style. And why hadn't she reappeared? No reasonable answers presented themselves.
The only event of moment was when the blonde made her entrance. Or exit, actually. She emerged from the hair salon next door to the boutique. Bob got a much better look at her this time. She was stunning, in a rawly sexual way. Tonight she wore red - leather, lipstick, and nails. The dress was even tighter than the evening before, emphasizing a minuscule waist and impressive bosom, a taught round derriere leaping provocatively with each scarlet-heeled stride. Again, she marched straight to the flock of teens gathered around the central fountain. Again, she displayed herself while one lit her cigarette. Again, she swayed away down the side-aisle toward the parking lot.
After ten more minutes, Bob made his move. Heart hammering lest he be discovered, he hazarded the interior of the boutique, fending off bizarrely attired and made-up salesgirls. If his wife was still in the store, she was in the back. Doing what? He loitered as long as he dared. The mall was nearly deserted. He decided it'd be smarter to wait in his car, catch her as she came outside.
