Vanished by Jordan Gray Read Free Book Online Page A

face. “Willie’s not here. I’m looking for my wife.”
    â€œAh,” said Fotherby, puffing himself up. “Churchay la femme, is it?”
    Wincing at Fotherby’s French, Michael stood up, as well. Fotherby turned on him. “Graham, don’t you know better than to interfere with the scene of a crime? Looks to be a burglary in progress.”
    â€œWhat makes you think this is a crime scene, Constable? Did Willie complain to you again?”
    â€œI’ve not heard from Willie,” Fotherby said.
    Molly, too, rose to her full height, such as it was, and demanded, “So on what basis are you accusing us of a crime? Can you tell if anything is missing?”
    â€œYou just said, Stewart, that your wife was missing. Gone away with Willie, has she? Thought you’d turn the place over, like she was hiding under the bed?” Fotherby’s eyes grew so large they reflected the glitter of the coins in Michael’s hands. “Well, well, well. She’s not the only thing walking off, hmm? Good job one of the neighbors reported your break-in.”
    â€œWe didn’t break in,” said Dylan. “The door was open.”
    â€œHand over those coins,” Fotherby ordered.
    With a sigh of frustration, Michael did as he asked. “Here you are. Evidence. Of something.”
    â€œThere’s a bit of cloth caught in the desk lamp, too,” Molly told him.
    Fotherby held the coins against his navy blue uniformcoat, not sparing one glance for the desk. “Off you go, the lot of you. I’m securing the crime scene.”
    â€œIt’s not a crime scene,” insisted Dylan, even more anxiety creeping into his voice. “I’m looking for Naomi is all. Just ’cause I don’t know where she is doesn’t mean there’s been a crime!”
    â€œOh, so Willie invited you here? Push off!”
    Michael steered Dylan toward the hallway. Beside him, Molly’s lips twitched—she was no doubt trying to come up with a crushing retort.
    Outside, on the balcony, an older woman in a pinafore apron and pincurls backed hastily away from the open door. Dylan pounced. “Daisy Coffey, isn’t it?”
    â€œThat’s me, yes.”
    She was another member of the Coffey clan, then. Margaret and Randall Coffey ran the grocer, Alice Coffey ran the Historical Society and Daisy ran the rumor mill. Her distended nostrils reminded Michael of Alice.
    â€œHave you seen a girl in black clothes, black spiky hair, red lipstick?” Dylan asked.
    â€œThe scraggy vampire lass? She was here this morning, right enough—had a row with Willie that set my crockery to rattling. Screeching like a gull, she was. So was the round blond one last night.”
    Willie had more than one girlfriend? Michael wasn’t sure whether Dylan’s wince registered that fact or if his reaction was to “scraggy vampire.”
    â€œAlthough,” Daisy added, her pale eyes above her plump cheeks narrowing in reminiscence, “the women’s voices were never so loud as the man’s. ‘You’ve got no choice,’ he was shouting, and there’s Willie saying, ‘Hush, the walls have ears.’ The walls don’t need ears, not with that sort of to-do.”
    â€œA man?” asked Dylan. “When was this?”
    Daisy shrugged. “This afternoon. I’d just come in from the shop—I help Margaret at the grocer’s, don’t I, when there’s a crowd in town—and I’d had me a look at that posh yacht of Trevor Hopewell’s. Could be a film star with that face, though not one of those going about with the dirty hair and whiskers…”
    â€œDid you see who was arguing with Willie this afternoon?” Molly asked.
    â€œNo. I heard the door slam and steps going down the stairs, is all.”
    Michael and Molly exchanged glances. Had someone confronted Willie, then come back after he left?
    Dylan