A Chill Rain in January by LR Wright Read Free Book Online

doesn’t know much about her finances. I’ve gotta go see her lawyer about that. Gillingham gave me a list of people who visit her there in the hospital. She’s got two kids; he told me how to get in touch with them.” He looked up again, his forehead furrowed. “Don’t want to do that just yet, though, Karl. They’re not locals. And she’s not gonna be hard to find. Don’t want to worry her kids just yet.”
    â€œPut her on the computer anyway, in case she’s on her way to them. Where do they live?”
    â€œCache Creek and Regina,” said Isabella. “She wouldn’t go to them. Oh dear, oh dear,” she said, wringing her hands again. “I wish she’d come to me.”
    â€œMaybe she will, Isabella,” said Alberg. “But whether she does or not, we’ll find her.”
    The sergeant nodded. “Before the day’s out. I’d bet on it. Jesus, Isabella, she’s an old lady, got a mind that wanders, no pennies in her jeans—we’ll find her, all right.”
    â€œShe won’t be wearing jeans,” said Isabella. “You can count on that.”
    â€œWell, whatever,” said Sokolowski. “Anyway, you get my drift.”
    â€œOkay, go see her lawyer,” said Alberg. “Find out if she’s got access to any cash. Isabella, are you up to helping out?”
    â€œWell of course I am.”
    â€œPhone around to people she knew and liked, places she went to regularly. Tell them to keep their eyes open for her.”
    â€œYes. That’s a good idea. I will. Right away,” said Isabella, and she left the room.
    â€œAt least it’s not too bad out there,” said Sokolowski, peering through the slats of the venetian blind at the gray, drizzly day. He glanced at his watch. “I better get over to the lawyer. I’ll keep you posted.”
    When he’d left, Alberg sat there thinking about the filmmaker in Quebec who’d had Alzheimer’s disease. He’d disappeared, in winter, too, just like Ramona Orlitzki. And when he’d turned up, he was floating in the river.
    He’d had lots of people who cared about him, Alberg remembered. Just like Ramona Orlitzki.
    He gazed at the photograph of his daughters that hung on the wall next to him, and thought about the graduation presents he’d bought for them. Maybe he should have phoned Maura, asked her advice. After all, he thought gloomily, he didn’t get to see his daughters all that often. What made him think he could choose extra-special presents for them without help?
    A little later, Isabella tapped at his door and immediately opened it, looking harassed. “I’ve made four phone calls so far. Nobody’s seen her yet. The librarian’s here.”
    â€œDon’t worry, Isabella. We’ll find her. Show Cassandra in, will you? In a minute,” he called out, as Isabella retreated into the hall. “Give me a minute, first.”
    He piled the papers that littered his desk into several neat stacks. Hung up his jacket. Hauled the venetian blinds right to the top of the window. He was fervently grateful, for once, for Isabella; there was no dust in his office, no grungy circles on his desk, no cigarette butts in the ashtray on the coffee table.
    He ran his hands over his blond hair, straightened up, and pulled in his stomach. Then, what the hell, he thought, and let it out again.
    There was a knock, and the door opened. “Right in there,” said Isabella, from the hall.
    â€œThank you,” said Cassandra Mitchell, and stepped inside.
    Alberg looked at her for a long time, smiling. She smiled back, and he thought she blushed.
    â€œWell for heaven’s sake,” she said. “Hello.”
    â€œYou look so damn good,” said Alberg. He walked toward her, trying not to think about anything, and put his arms around her.
    Cassandra closed her eyes and let her cheek rest against his chest.