Mean Streak

“That’s correct.”

Dr. Butler’s shocked response was to ask if Jeff had reported Emory’s unexplained absence to the police.

“Yes. I drove up here—the town is called Drakeland—yesterday and started looking for her at the motel where she spent Friday night. She ate an early dinner at the café next door. She called me from her room telling me that she was in for the night. The trail stopped there.”

“She was doing her run on Saturday morning, right?” Dr. Butler said. “Did anyone see her leaving the motel?”

“No, but you know her. She likes to get an early start, so she probably left before daylight. The desk clerk had imprinted her credit card the night before when she checked in, so there was no need for her to stop there before leaving.”

“And she didn’t return to the motel Saturday night?”

“No. She didn’t plan to either. She took all her stuff with her when she left.”

Dr. James said, “That’s even more cause for concern.”

“I agree,” Jeff said. “As soon as I learned that, I notified the sheriff’s office.”

“And? What did they say? What are they doing?”

“Nothing yet. I was told that it was too soon to panic, but, as you said, this is out of character for Emory. I impressed that on the deputy I talked to. Even if she’s angry with me, she wouldn’t stand up her patients.”

“What can we do?”

He could tell by Dr. Butler’s voice that she was deeply concerned but trying not to think the worst. He said, “For the time being, hold down the fort there. Emory would hate having patients inconvenienced. I’ll let you know as soon as I know something. I’m supposed to report back to the sheriff’s office an hour from now.”

“Maybe you should go immediately. Another hour is an hour wasted.”

He hadn’t asked for Dr. James’s advice and resented it being so sanctimoniously dispensed, but he responded in a neutral tone. “I was on my way out when you called.” After promising to keep them informed and exchanging good-byes, he checked his appearance in the dresser mirror. His flannel trousers and silk sweater would stand out here in overalls country, but God forbid that he blend in.

He dreaded this mission but welcomed a reason for leaving the motel room, which left a lot to be desired.

Drakeland was the seat of a large and mostly rural county. The sheriff’s office was busy despite the inclement weather. Actually, because of it. While Jeff waited his turn in the lobby, trying to keep the hem of his long overcoat off the dirty aggregate floor, there was a steady stream of official personnel and civilians going out, coming in, dealing with weather-related problems such as the jack-knifed eighteen wheeler that had brought highway traffic to a standstill in both directions.

One woman was noisily carrying on about the collapsed roof of her barn and the horses trapped inside. The manager of a hardware store was filing a complaint over the shoplifting of a kerosene lantern.

It was a zoo.

Finally the deputy Jeff had spoken with the night before came through a set of doors and motioned Jeff forward. “Hate to see you here, Mr. Surrey.”

“I told you she hadn’t just run off.”

“Come on back.”

Deputy Sam Knight was preceded by his big belly as he walked Jeff through a squad room, where harried-looking personnel were handling the overflow from the lobby. Knight motioned Jeff into the chair facing his cluttered desk as he sank into a swivel chair. The name plate on the desk designated him as Sergeant Detective. Jeff thought Knight was a bit too homespun for the title.

He said, “My wife is a responsible individual. She wouldn’t—”

Knight held up a hand as large and pink as a ham. “Bear with me, Mr. Surrey. We gotta get the basic stuff first.” He slid on a pair of reading glasses and pecked at his computer keyboard until a blank form appeared on the monitor. “What’s Mrs. Surrey’s full name?”

Jeff explained why Emory used her maiden name. “And it’s doctor.”

“How do you spell Char-ban-o?”

Using the hunt-and-peck method of typing, Knight filled in all Emory’s pertinent information—Social Security number, age, height, weight.

“Five feet six. One twenty. So she’s…slim?” the detective asked, peering at Jeff over the smeared lenses of his glasses.

“Yes. She’s in excellent physical condition. She’s a distance runner. Marathons.”