“Yeah. She wouldn’t let me miss that. It’s important, she thinks. You know she was captain of her cheerleading squad when she was in high school.”
And that was about two years ago, Pescoli wanted to say but bit her tongue, even though the fact that Luke’s current wife was still in her twenties bugged the hell out of her. “Okay, then let’s have dinner tomorrow. Seven. Good?”
“Good.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and Jeremy will deign to join us.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious.”
“What’re the chances of you and Jer both being home for dinner? Or me, either. Jeremy and I do have lives, y’-know. And face it, Mom, you’re always working.”
That stung as it was the same accusation she’d heard from Santana on more than one occasion.
“Point taken. But let’s try. Tomorrow. Get our Christmas plans straight.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Sounding put-upon, Bianca hung up quickly and was off to do whatever was so important with Michelle, the pseudo-bimbo who seemed to be in the running for Stepmom of the Year. “Great,” Pescoli said to the dog, then decided to get over it. She rustled up leftover spaghetti, a spinach salad that had seen better days and half a glass of merlot.
“Cheers,” she told herself as she pulled out a bar stool, sat down and, while reading what she’d missed in the paper this morning, dug in. She thought of Santana again and realized he was right: She couldn’t live the rest of her life for her kids. Not that they would ever think so. And maybe she did work long hours, but her work mattered, damn it, and was for the good of the community. Besides, she loved it. Pronging a meatball as if her life depended on it, she turned her attention to the paper, then decided that soon, come hell or high water, her family was going to trim the tree. Together. Even if it killed them.
She spent the next few hours dragging the Christmas decorations out of the attic, sorting through them, checking to see that strands of lights that worked last year still glowed brightly when they were plugged in. Once she’d separated the yuletide wheat from the chaff, she left the good ornaments and lights near the tree, threw away everything broken, and filled half a garbage bag with items to donate. She thought about baking cookies, decided it was too much work, then decided to either skim off some of Joelle’s goodies the next day at work or stop at the grocery store on her way home from work, where she could grab Chinese food from the deli and cookies and candy from the bakery, if Joelle’s stash failed her.
Both kids would be home and they’d have a bit of “normal” home life, if there was such a thing.
Satisfied that she was making a step in the right direction, she started into the bedroom when her cell phone rang. Finally. Jeremy decided to check in. But she was wrong. The number that appeared on her screen was unfamiliar.
“Pescoli,” she answered automatically.
“Oh, Detective. Hi. It’s Sandi. Down at the restaurant.” Sandi Aldridge was the owner and manager of Wild Will’s, an establishment that had been a landmark in Grizzly Falls for years. Tall and lanky, Sandi was a shrewd woman who wore enough makeup to make a runway model wince and always kept one of those over-shadowed eyes firmly focused on the restaurant’s receipts for the day. “I didn’t want to bother you, but I really don’t know what else to do.” That didn’t sound like Sandi, an opinionated woman who knew her own mind and didn’t mind telling you just how to run your life and anyone else’s as well.
“It’s fine.” Glancing at the clock on the microwave, Pescoli noted it was after ten. “What’s up?” She was getting a bad feeling, her cop senses heightened since never before had Sandi called her.
“It’s one of my waitresses. You know Brenda Sutherland, right?”
“Tall, blond, quick smile.” In her mind’s eye, Pescoli saw the woman, a friendly sort. Pretty. Always handy with a refill of coffee. Pescoli thought Brenda Sutherland had a kid around Bianca’s age. “Sure.”
“Well, she didn’t come in today. Was scheduled for the lunch shift and to work through dinner. Never showed. Never called. I phoned her cell and her house and got no answer.”
“This is unusual?”
“Completely out of character. Brenda has never called in sick since she started with me. Never missed a day of work, unless one of her kids was down with the flu or something, and then she always called in and made sure her shift was covered. Most responsible waitress I’ve ever hired and I’ve had myself a few.”
That she had. Sandi had been managing the restaurant for years, long before she split with her husband. She’d ended up with Wild Will’s in the divorce and had turned a mediocre restaurant into one of the most popular establishments in town.
“I don’t think anyone’s filled out a missing persons report,” Sandi was saying. “Her boys are with their dad tonight; something to do with their custody arrangement and the holidays, I believe. I remember her saying that, so she would be alone. But I drove up to her house—it’s a cabin near September Creek on Elkridge Drive—and it was dark. No one there. Worse yet, I drove by her car parked on the side of the road just past the turnoff from the county road. It looks abandoned, a couple of inches of snow on it; I thought about calling nine-one-one but decided it might be smarter to phone you first, being as you know Brenda and all.”
Pescoli’s heart sank. The abandoned car didn’t sound good. “Was her car disabled? Flat tire?”
“Don’t know. Didn’t really look. I just went up to her house and knocked on the door, called her and heard the phone ringing inside. No answer. As I said, it’s just not like Brenda.” Sandi sounded worried and Pescoli didn’t blame her.
“I’ll take a run up there,” she said, “and I’ll get back to you. In the meantime, if you could find her ex-husband’s name and phone number, maybe hi
s address and any friends or relatives who might know where she is, that could help. Could be she broke down and had someone come get her. What direction was the car going when it was left?”
“North. Toward her house.”
That, too, wasn’t good. It sounded as if she had been heading home.