offering his hand. “You don’t have an easy task, and people like me don’t make it any easier.”
Holman took Terry’s hand and crushed it. “You’re just trying to do your best for your wife. It’s totally understandable.”
“Well, I’ll speak to you Monday.”
Letting himself out, Holman agreed and pushed the screen door to one side. He went to let it go, but stopped.
“And Mr. Sheffield, no more flyers.”
“Okay. Do you want me to take them down?”
The sheriff shook his head. “No need.”
Terry imagined that Holman had sent his deputies out to remove them already. “Why?”
“How many calls have you received because of them?”
“None so far.”
“And you won’t.”
“It’s been less than a day. Give it a chance.”
“Trust me, Mr. Sheffield, flyers like yours rarely have an impact.”
The instant Terry closed the door, the phone rang. Knowing his luck, it was probably someone responding to one of his flyers. Picking up the phone, he watched Holman drive away.
“Hello,” Terry answered.
“Oh, you don’t sound like Sarah,” the caller said, sounding surprised.
“I’m not.”
The caller was male, but he didn’t sound like Terry’s mystery caller. This guy didn’t have the malevolent streak the mystery caller possessed.
“Goddamn it, have I dialed the wrong number again?”
Who is this clown?
Terry thought.
“I’m always dialing wrong numbers. I should use speed dial, but I can never work the damn thing out, and no one ever has the time to do it for me.”
This definitely wasn’t Terry’s mystery caller.
“You wanted to speak to Sarah Sheffield?” Terry asked, interrupting the caller’s speech on his technical ineptitude.
“No, Sarah Morton. I have dialed the wrong number. Dammit. Sorry to have disturbed you. Have a nice day.”
“No, you haven’t,” Terry said before the caller hung up. “Sarah’s my wife.”
“Married? She’s not married.” The caller paused. Somewhere the penny dropped. “Oh, yeah. She eloped some months ago with some English guy.”
“I know. I am some English guy.”
“Of course you are.” He laughed at his foolishness. “Put her on the phone?”
“She’s not here.”
“Tell her I called, then.”
“You don’t understand. She’s missing.”
That stumped him. And it shut him up, which was a blessing in itself. Terry had only been on the phone for a couple of minutes, but the caller already had his head buzzing.
“How long?”
“Don’t know. A week maybe,” Terry said. “Who is this?”
“I’m Marcus Beasley, Sarah’s editor.”
Finally, someone who knew Sarah. He hoped his luck was changing.
“When was the last time you spoke to Sarah, Mr. Beasley?”
“Marcus, please. And it would have been over a week ago. That was why I was calling. She’s got a deadline to meet, and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her. And unlike in the movies, we don’t hold the front page for the star reporter.”
“Marcus, she’s been missing for over a week. Her car’s gone. So are some of her clothes. I don’t think she’s holding out on you.”
“Oh,” Marcus squeaked, suitably silenced.
“I think she’s in trouble. Do you have any idea where she could be?”
“I don’t. Sorry, what’s your name?”
“Terry Sheffield.”
“She still uses Sarah Morton.”
Terry understood from a continuity standpoint that it made sense for Sarah to stick to her maiden name when it came to her work, but he couldn’t help wonder if it was sign of her limited commitment to their marriage. “I know.”
“Not important anyway.”
“Not really.”
“Sorry, Terry, I don’t know where she could be. She never says. She always plays her cards close to her vest, if you know what I mean.”
He didn’t really. Sarah seemed to be so open, but he’d only known the vacation Sarah, not the day-to-day Sarah. It made him wonder what he really knew about her. The more he learned about her, the more he felt he’d fallen
Holman took Terry’s hand and crushed it. “You’re just trying to do your best for your wife. It’s totally understandable.”
“Well, I’ll speak to you Monday.”
Letting himself out, Holman agreed and pushed the screen door to one side. He went to let it go, but stopped.
“And Mr. Sheffield, no more flyers.”
“Okay. Do you want me to take them down?”
The sheriff shook his head. “No need.”
Terry imagined that Holman had sent his deputies out to remove them already. “Why?”
“How many calls have you received because of them?”
“None so far.”
“And you won’t.”
“It’s been less than a day. Give it a chance.”
“Trust me, Mr. Sheffield, flyers like yours rarely have an impact.”
The instant Terry closed the door, the phone rang. Knowing his luck, it was probably someone responding to one of his flyers. Picking up the phone, he watched Holman drive away.
“Hello,” Terry answered.
“Oh, you don’t sound like Sarah,” the caller said, sounding surprised.
“I’m not.”
The caller was male, but he didn’t sound like Terry’s mystery caller. This guy didn’t have the malevolent streak the mystery caller possessed.
“Goddamn it, have I dialed the wrong number again?”
Who is this clown?
Terry thought.
“I’m always dialing wrong numbers. I should use speed dial, but I can never work the damn thing out, and no one ever has the time to do it for me.”
This definitely wasn’t Terry’s mystery caller.
“You wanted to speak to Sarah Sheffield?” Terry asked, interrupting the caller’s speech on his technical ineptitude.
“No, Sarah Morton. I have dialed the wrong number. Dammit. Sorry to have disturbed you. Have a nice day.”
“No, you haven’t,” Terry said before the caller hung up. “Sarah’s my wife.”
“Married? She’s not married.” The caller paused. Somewhere the penny dropped. “Oh, yeah. She eloped some months ago with some English guy.”
“I know. I am some English guy.”
“Of course you are.” He laughed at his foolishness. “Put her on the phone?”
“She’s not here.”
“Tell her I called, then.”
“You don’t understand. She’s missing.”
That stumped him. And it shut him up, which was a blessing in itself. Terry had only been on the phone for a couple of minutes, but the caller already had his head buzzing.
“How long?”
“Don’t know. A week maybe,” Terry said. “Who is this?”
“I’m Marcus Beasley, Sarah’s editor.”
Finally, someone who knew Sarah. He hoped his luck was changing.
“When was the last time you spoke to Sarah, Mr. Beasley?”
“Marcus, please. And it would have been over a week ago. That was why I was calling. She’s got a deadline to meet, and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her. And unlike in the movies, we don’t hold the front page for the star reporter.”
“Marcus, she’s been missing for over a week. Her car’s gone. So are some of her clothes. I don’t think she’s holding out on you.”
“Oh,” Marcus squeaked, suitably silenced.
“I think she’s in trouble. Do you have any idea where she could be?”
“I don’t. Sorry, what’s your name?”
“Terry Sheffield.”
“She still uses Sarah Morton.”
Terry understood from a continuity standpoint that it made sense for Sarah to stick to her maiden name when it came to her work, but he couldn’t help wonder if it was sign of her limited commitment to their marriage. “I know.”
“Not important anyway.”
“Not really.”
“Sorry, Terry, I don’t know where she could be. She never says. She always plays her cards close to her vest, if you know what I mean.”
He didn’t really. Sarah seemed to be so open, but he’d only known the vacation Sarah, not the day-to-day Sarah. It made him wonder what he really knew about her. The more he learned about her, the more he felt he’d fallen
Similar Books
