JP Beaumont 11 - Failure To Appear (v5.0) by J. A. Jance

with voice mail. Taking a deep breath, I dialed the Livingstons’ home number.
    I hoped Dave would answer, but of course he didn’t. “Hello, Karen,” I said. “it’s Beau.”
    Her guard came up just like that. “What do you want?”
    Karen didn’t used to be that defensive, and I don’t blame her, not anymore. It’s a perfectly understandable device to keep from being hurt again. Since she wasn’t that way back in the old days when we were first married, I have to accept some of the responsibility for how she is now. Being married to an alcoholic isn’t a bed of roses, so I’m willing to shoulder some of the blame. Some, but not all.
    “I’ve found Kelly,” I heard myself blabbing into the phone. “She’s in Ashland, Oregon, and she’s okay…. No, she’s fine, really. Karen, listen to me. No, I’m telling you, she’s all right.”
    Karen was crying into the receiver so hard I wasn’t sure if she heard a word I said. I looked over at Alex for help and encouragement. She nodded, urging me forward, but she didn’t offer any other help. In this deal, I was strictly on my own.
    I forged ahead. “Karen,” I said reasonably, “calm down and listen. This is important. Kelly is getting married on Monday. Tomorrow. I’m calling to see if there’s any way you and Dave and Scott can make it up here on such short notice.”
    The words had the same effect as a bucket of cold water. “Married?” Karen sputtered. “She can’t do that.”
    “Yes, she can.”
    “Who’s she marrying?”
    “A boy named Jeremy Cartwright.”
    “When?”
    “I already told you. The wedding’s set for two-thirty tomorrow afternoon here in Ashland, Oregon.” I paused and took a deep breath before I said the rest. “Kelly’s pregnant, Karen.”
    I held the phone away from my ear during the angry tirade that followed, but sooner than I would have expected, Karen grew oddly silent.
    “Look,” I said. “I know this hurts like hell, but you’ll have to decide whether or not you want to be part of it.”
    Seven hundred and fifty miles away, the telephone receiver clattered noisily onto a tabletop in Rancho Cucamonga. That in itself was a pretty definitive answer. I figured it was a final one, but a moment later Dave Livingston came on the phone.
    “Thanks for saving my ass and not letting her know I called you,” he said. “I’ll handle things on this end. Where can I call you once she comes around?”
    “You think she will?”
    “Yeah,” Dave said. “I’m sure of it.”
    I looked down at the phone in my hand. There really wasn’t any place for him to return a call. Alex and I had play tickets for the Elizabethan. I had no intention of spending the remainder of the afternoon and evening in the car waiting for the telephone to ring.
    “Call my home number in Seattle,” I said. “Leave a message for Ralph Ames.”
    “Who’s he?”
    “My attorney. If you have trouble with airline connections or anything like that, call Ralph and let him go to work on it. He’ll sort it out.”
    “You have an attorney who handles airline arrangements?” Dave asked. “It must be nice.”
    “He’s a friend,” I explained. “Call him if you need help.”
    I hung up and looked at Alex. “Way to go,” she said.
    Then I dialed my home number in Seattle. Ralph still wasn’t there, but he would be soon. He’d pitch in and do whatever needed doing. I left a message. Maybe voice mail isn’t all bad. After that, I put down the phone and turned to Alex. “Okay. I’ve done my duty. Now what?”
    She glanced at her watch. “We’ve just got time to meet Dinky for dinner.”
    “Where?”
    “It’s a surprise.”
    “Great. I love surprises.” I turned the key. “Which way?”
    “Back through town then north past the light. Stop at the phone booth.”
    “Stop at a phone booth? Are you putting me on?”
    “That’s what the directions say,” Alex said. “I’ve got them written down right here. It says there’s no sign