“All right. All right. What if she did have help, then? Who would be the most likely accomplice?”
The judge met Mason’s eyes for the first time and nodded. “She had a boyfriend all through high school. She ran off with him once, senior year. But she hasn’t seen him since shortly after that.”
“Name?”
“Jacob Kravitz. Goes by Jake.”
“You know where he is?”
“No. As far as I know she hasn’t seen or heard from him since she graduated. She’s seeing a decent guy now. A law clerk in the D.A.’s office. Mitchell Kirk. He’s a good kid.”
“Anyone else? Friends from college or work?”
“She quit college after the accident. Her friends called and came around for a while, and then they just...stopped.” He shrugged. “My wife’s a wreck.”
“I told Howard I’d put my best detective on this,” Chief Sub said. “And I assured him, Mason, of your absolute discretion.”
“You’ve got it, Chief.”
The judge got up. Mason did, too, and this time the older man extended a hand. Mason shook, then watched Judge Mattheson turn and thread his way around the empty tables and out of the bar.
Mason turned to look at the chief, who was still sitting. “I want to bring Rachel in on this.”
“Sit down. I ordered a pair of burgers, and since Howard left, you might as well eat his.”
Mason sat. As if on cue, the waitress returned with more coffee, and two plates piled high with burgers and fries. She had a much easier look on her face than before. Yeah, it had been tense. It was like a dark cloud left the bar when the judge walked out the door.
“Tell me how you think Rachel can help,” Chief Sub said as he pounded the bottom of the ketchup bottle.
“Well, to start with, she was blind for twenty years. She can give us some perspective on where this girl’s head is at, one we’re not gonna get from anyone else.”
“Mmm.” The chief got the ketchup flowing and made several neat round dots of it along the edge of his plate. “Can she keep this quiet? She is a writer, after all.”
“It’s not like she’s a freakin’ reporter.”
“I know that. The question is, do you trust her?”
“I trust her.” If the chief knew the enormity of the secrets Rachel had kept for him, Mason thought, he wouldn’t ask. “Actually, I can honestly say I trust her more than anyone I know.”
“Is that so?” Chief Sub dipped a fry in ketchup, then ate it whole. “You and she, uh...been seeing a lot of each other, haven’t you.” It wasn’t really a question.
“Some. Not...a lot. Really.”
“Why not?”
Mason looked up, surprised by the question. “She’s only had her eyesight back since last August, Chief. It’s a whole new world for her.”
“For you, too, I imagine, with raising those two boys.”
“Exactly.”
The chief shrugged. “I trust your judgment, Mason. If you think she can help you and you trust her, use her. I want Stephanie Mattheson found. Hell, I’m her godfather. Since this is off-the-books work, de Luca’s an off-the-books consultant. Just don’t let Howard find out you told her. You got that?”
“Yeah.” Mason picked up the gargantuan burger, took a huge bite and knew he would regret it later. After he chewed and swallowed, he said, “If I don’t turn anything up right away, you’re gonna have to convince him to make it official. You know that.”
“You let me worry about Howard.”
“All right, Chief.”
“There’s a party at my house Friday night. My fiftieth wedding anniversary. You’ll be there.”
Once again, it wasn’t really a question.
“I will,” Mason said.
“Good. Get a sitter for those boys of yours and bring de Luca.”
* * *
I had Myrtle on a leash, which was a joke, really. She was short and fat and slow, and about as likely to bolt away from me as I was from a glazed sour cream doughnut. We were doing our midday walk along the four-mile-long dirt track that passed for a road. It ran along the back side of the Whitney Point Reservoir, which really was more like a lake. There were a couple of houses at the other end of the road, near the village, but mine was the only one way out this way, just before the dead end. I loved the privacy. The quiet. And now that I had eyes, I loved the beauty of it, too. Trees and woods, all sporting their newborn pale green leaves now that spring had sprung in the Point, and the way the sun would sometimes shimmer on the water, making every ripple wink like bling on a rapper. Damn, I loved where I lived.
I had my cell phone with me in case Mason called. But he didn’t. He interrupted our walk in person, instead, breaking into our solitude with the too loud motor in his “classic”—aka old—black Monte Carlo. He pulled it over, shut it off, locked it up and got out while we stood there. Myrtle was wiggling her backside in delight, knowing it was him and overjoyed about it. (She’d have wagged her tail, but bulldogs don’t really have tails. So they wag their entire asses, which I think is a much more accurate depiction of extreme enthusiasm. Myrtle agrees.)
Mason approached her first, crouching down low to rub her head on either side of her face, and she closed her sightless eyes and basked in his attention. I do the same thing when he touches me like that.
Then he stood up again, but instead of kissing me hello—which would’ve been hopelessly goofy anyway, so I don’t even know why I was hoping for it—he said, “I need your help.”
I sighed my disappointment away. “Hi, Mason. I’ve been having a great day. Thanks for asking. Yes, I slept just fine after you left. Myrtle is a blanket hog, but not as bad as you are. And yes, as a matter of fact, we are enjoying our walk.”
He lowered his head, raised it again, grabbed my shoulders and pulled me in for a long, slow kiss. I let go of Myrt’s leash and got all mushy inside, sliding my arms around his shoulders and really getting into it.
Then he let me go, and when I straightened my knees tried to go jellyfish on me, but I snapped them straight again.
“I missed you,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, for crying out loud, don’t be so emo.”
But inside I was grinning like a kid.
“So what was the lunch meeting about? Or should I ask what you need my help with first?” I picked up Myrtle’s leash, and we went off the road and down toward the shore. This was one of Myrt’s favorite things. The water was still cold, but she loved to put her paws in, and drink and sniff around.
Mason came and stood beside me. “It’s the same answer to both questions. A judge’s twenty-year-old daughter is missing. He thinks she’s just throwing a tantrum and wants me to find her discreetly. Off the books. I want you to help me.”
I nodded slowly. We’d had this whole “police consultant” conversation before. He thought I should work with the Binghamton PD officially. But I wasn’t about to put “uncanny sense of what other people are thinking and feeling” on the application. And I would rather be drawn and quartered than labeled some kind of psychic. Besides, I already had a career. A nice lucrative one, thank you very much.
“It doesn’t sound like anything you can’t handle on your own.”
“You