The Night She Disappeared Read online

  There were more photos of them on Courtney’s Facebook fan page and on her Instagram page, all recent. There was even one of them at the Humanities Washington dinner.

  After five days, Russ showed up at the TV station. Anna was furious when, an hour before she was going on the air to introduce her latest segment, the receptionist buzzed her and said that a Dr. Knoll was waiting in the lobby for her.

  “Could you please tell him to wait, Roseann?” Anna said. “I’ll be right there.”

  Marching into the lobby, she barely broke stride and wouldn’t even look at him. “Come outside with me, will you?” she said, heading toward the exit.

  Once they were outside, Russ started pleading for her forgiveness. Anna kept walking a step ahead of him—toward the sidewalk. The roar of rush hour traffic on Westlake Avenue almost drowned him out. Russ apologized for bothering her at work. “But you wouldn’t see me at your place,” he said. “And you won’t return my calls or texts. I’m sorry, Anna, but you left me no choice. You have to hear me out—”

  Anna swiveled around. “I don’t have to do anything!” she said, cutting him off. “I haven’t answered your messages because I don’t want anything more to do with you. Is that clear enough? Or do I have to bone up on my sign language and explain it to your wife?”

  Russ stared back at her, looking wounded.

  Anna swallowed hard and marched back inside the building.

  From behind her desk in the lobby, the sixty-year-old receptionist, Roseann, gave her a smile. “Honey, whatever that fine-looking doctor’s selling, I’ll buy it!” she chirped.

  Anna couldn’t look the receptionist in the eye; she focused on the desktop instead. “If he ever comes back, I’m not in,” she said under her breath. Heading back into the newsroom, she went straight through to the women’s lavatory, where she ducked into a stall and cried.

  Russ didn’t try to contact her again.

  Of course, she wanted him to. She wanted him to call and tell her that his beautiful, deaf, author wife had left him, and if Anna could just forgive him, he’d spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to her.

  Looking back, Anna remembered how she’d been with him for only three weeks. Yet, she’d been miserable for months after they split. Was it love or was she just a masochist? She couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  She often wondered, if she hadn’t gotten back together with Russ, would she have eventually forgotten him? Or would she have compared every man she dated from then on to him?

  Her phone rang.

  Anna gasped. For a moment, she couldn’t move. Finally, she grabbed the remote and muted The Golden Girls. Then she snatched up the phone and checked the caller ID: Russell Knoll, MD. She tapped the phone screen. “You’re still awake,” she said, getting to her feet. “Have you heard anything?”

  “No, nothing,” he answered. “I can’t sleep. I took a chance you hadn’t gone to bed yet. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  Anna switched off the lamp by the sofa and then the other light in the corner of the room. “No, I couldn’t sleep, either,” she said. Opening the curtain to the north-facing window, she gazed out at the lake—in the general direction of his floating home. She did that sometimes when she talked with Russ on the phone. It was silly, because she couldn’t actually see his place from there. But somehow looking across the silvery rippled dark water toward his house made her feel more connected to him.

  Anna had turned off the lights because she was still worried that the anonymous caller might be looking in on her. The only light in the living room was the flickering, muted TV.

  “I got a weird phone call a little over an hour ago,” she admitted.

  “What did they say?”

  “It was just a bunch of moaning, and then they said in this bizarre cartoonish voice, ‘You’re . . . not . . . fooling . . . anyone.’ Just like that, like a chant. I wouldn’t be so creeped out if I hadn’t realized from the background noise over the phone that they were calling from somewhere close by.”

  “My God, do you want me to come over and check around? I can be there in five minutes—”

  “No, I’m okay,” Anna said. She felt better just hearing the concern in his voice—and being reminded that he was so close. She stared out at the water and at the headlights from the traffic on the Aurora Bridge. “Like I said, it was over an hour ago. I think they would have called back or done something else by now if it was really worth worrying about.”

  “You don’t think it’s that creep from last fall, do you?”

  “I hope not. I thought about that, too. But it doesn’t fit the MO. That one never said a word to me on the phone.”

  “Listen, I’d feel better if I came over and took a look around.”

  “No, really, I’m fine. But I may take you up on that later if I get really scared.”

  “Well, I’m here. Keep the phone beside you.”

  Anna’s eyes had adjusted to the shadowy living room, and she glanced down at her bare feet. “Before I forget, I’m missing a pair of sneakers and some jeans—my comfort clothes. Did I change into them after you took me home last night?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. After you got sick, I helped you out of your dress and hung it in your bedroom closet. Then I gave you a Tylenol, put a T-shirt on you, and got you into bed.”

  “And you didn’t touch the jeans that were on a hook in the closet—or the canvas sneakers on the floor?”

  “No. You still don’t remember anything from last night, do you?”

  “I vaguely recall leaving the restaurant, and the next thing I knew I was waking up with the hangover from hell in my mom’s old bedroom.” Anna sighed. “I wish I knew what I did with my jeans and my sneakers. Was I asleep when you left here last night?”

  “You were in bed, and you said good night to me. But you were definitely down for the count.” He paused. “Anna, we have to figure out what we’re going to do. I searched around here earlier. The night cream Courtney uses, the book she was reading, her prescriptions—they’re all still here. It’s clear she took a suitcase and packed some clothes, jewelry, makeup, and things. But she wouldn’t have left behind this other stuff, not even for just one night.”

  “Well, you said she was drunk,” Anna pointed out. “Maybe she just forgot.”

  “She would have come back for them today. I can’t help thinking something happened to her after she left here. Courtney likes to think of herself as independent, but her being deaf puts her at risk . . .”

  “What do you want to do? Do you think you should call the police?”

  “Courtney has that book signing at noon tomorrow—or today, rather—on Bainbridge Island. I’m going there. If she doesn’t show up, then I’ll call the police and report her missing. I’m not sure what they’ll do—if they’ll just file a missing person report or investigate the hell out of it. But should the police want to talk to you, you can’t tell them you don’t remember anything.”

  “But that’s the truth, Russ.”

  “Yeah, but it’ll seem like you’re hiding something.”

  “Well, yeah, I’ll be hiding the fact that you and I have been having an affair for the past year.”

  Anna wondered if this was what Courtney’s disappearance was all about. Was it part of a plan to expose and humiliate the two of them? Sure, Courtney would have to endure some humiliation, too. But once she reappeared, she’d emerge as the victim in this scenario. Meanwhile, her cheating husband and his TV news reporter mistress would look like pond scum. It was a win-win for Courtney: payback for her wandering spouse, and she’d also generate a ton of publicity that would translate to book sales.

  Anna hated being so cynical. After all, what if Courtney really was hurt—or dead?

  “You know, if Courtney stays missing,” she said, “once this gets out, it won’t take long for people to connect the dots. They’ll know about us.”

  “I thought of that,” h
e said glumly. “The whole thing looks suspicious as hell: The three of us at a restaurant, where people have seen her picking fights with you and me. Then we leave, and within hours, she vanishes without a trace. Not another soul has seen her in that time. And you’re going to tell the police that you don’t remember anything?”

  Still standing at the window, Anna could see her worried expression in the darkened glass. “Well, what do you expect me to tell them?”

  “I just think it’ll help if you and I gave them the same story.”

  “You mean, Let’s get our alibis straight? That’s how you make it sound—like we’re covering up a crime.”

  She heard him sigh on the other end of the line. “For all we know, the police might not even want to talk to you. But, Anna, if they do, I’d like you to back me up on what I tell them.”

  “You’re basically asking me to lie.”

  “No, I’m not. I plan on telling the police the truth. I’m not volunteering any information about you and me. But I’ll be honest about what happened last night. I’m merely asking you to back me up, that’s all.”

  “But, Russ, what if they ask me for details I can’t provide? I have no idea what was discussed at your place before you took me home. What if they ask when you drove me home and how long you stayed? I won’t be able to answer honestly. I’m just not comfortable with this tactic, Russ. It feels like some kind of cover-up. I know it isn’t, but still . . .”

  “Okay, okay, listen, do me a favor.” He sounded exasperated. “Try to remember what happened last night. If you can’t recall, well, maybe it’s no big deal. Maybe Courtney will show up at the signing tomorrow, and all our worries will be over. If I report her missing, maybe the police won’t feel the need to talk with you. I’m probably overthinking this whole thing. Right now, we’re both exhausted. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’m not upset,” Anna said, staring out at the dark water. “I’m just baffled by this strategy you’re proposing.”

  “Well, let’s just skip it for now, okay?” he said. “Can you forget I even brought it up?”

  “Fine,” she replied. But she knew it would bother her all night.

  “Maybe things will look better in the morning. Are you going to be okay tonight? You sure you don’t want me to come over and check around?”

  “Positive,” she murmured.

  “Well, I’ll call you in the morning before I head out for Bainbridge. I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” Anna replied.

  She listened to the click on the other end of the line. Then she pressed the hang-up icon on her phone. After a moment, the screen went dark.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Saturday, July 11—2:11 A.M.

  Sometimes, when she couldn’t sleep, Anna would climb out of bed, go down to the kitchen, and have a few spoonfuls of ice cream. It didn’t make her sleepy as much as it pacified and relaxed her.

  She sat in the breakfast booth of her darkened kitchen, eating from the Breyers Vanilla Caramel Swirl Gelato container. She’d raised the blinds and cracked open the window. To hell with her weirdo anonymous caller; if he was still around trying to get a peek at her, he could look all he wanted.

  She stared out at the water and the city lights in the distance. She was wearing one of her oversized KIXI-TV News T-shirts.

  For the last ninety minutes, she’d been lying in bed, trying to recall some details from Thursday night—specifically, after they’d left the restaurant. Anna remembered sitting in the backseat of Russ’s BMW—with Russ driving and Courtney in the passenger seat. Courtney was talking. Anna couldn’t quite hear her because the window was open, but she sounded angry. Russ didn’t talk at all. Anna wondered if it was because he had nothing to say—or if he couldn’t speak because that meant taking his eyes off the road and turning to face Courtney so she could read his lips.

  Anna couldn’t recall anything else. In addition to having been dead drunk, Anna figured she must have also had some kind of mental block about what had happened. Maybe on some subconscious level, she didn’t want to remember.

  Had she seen or done something horrible?

  Maybe she’d watched too many melodramas in which someone had amnesia after a traumatic event. Still, it was alarming to lose a big chunk of time like that.

  Something else bothered her tonight. It was Russ, asking her to lie to the police. She understood his intentions. Telling the police she didn’t remember anything from Thursday night would make it seem like she was hiding something. It would help if they had their stories lined up. And everything he’d told her about Thursday night made sense. She was sure it had all happened just as he’d said. But Russ was asking her to blindly trust him, stick her neck out with the police, and give them whatever story he fed her.

  She wanted to believe him, but he’d lied to her before.

  After finding out that he was married, it had taken her three months to forgive him, three awful months. Anna remembered torturing herself by frequently checking Courtney’s Facebook fan page, her Instagrams, and her interviews online. Every few days, Anna found a new photo of Courtney and Russ together at one high-society function or another. They looked so right together. It was hard to believe they were as unhappy as Russ made them out to be. In the articles about Courtney, she came across as remarkable, someone Anna couldn’t help admiring.

  “I grew up in a poor section of Saint Petersburg, Florida,” Courtney told the interviewer for Fantastic Fiction Magazine. “My mom was a waitress. How she managed to keep us clothed and fed is beyond me. My dad ran out on us when I was four. He died in a motorcycle accident later on. I barely remember him. I learned most of what I knew about him from my sister, Cassie, four years older than me. What I didn’t know about my father, I invented. I guess that’s how I started to develop my love for storytelling.”

  Then came Courtney’s bout with the measles when she was eight: “There were complications. I ended up completely deaf in one ear, and lost over ninety-five percent of my hearing in the other ear. I was luckier than kids who are born deaf, because I could already talk. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to learn to speak when you’ve never heard people talk. I’m told that I’ve held on to my Southern accent, but I wouldn’t know. I learned sign language and how to read lips. But I was incredibly lonely because I didn’t know any other deaf kids. Neither my mother nor my sister ever learned how to sign very well. I spent so much time alone, reading and making up my own stories. I decided early on that I wanted to be a writer. In fact, I was just a teenager when I first got the idea for The Defective Squad.”

  The older sister died from a drug overdose when Courtney was in high school. Then Courtney got into the University of Washington on a scholarship.

  The more Anna read about Courtney, the more certain she was that she’d done the right thing breaking it off with Russ. She couldn’t have lived with herself if she’d knowingly ruined this woman’s marriage.

  Last September, Anna spotted a copy of the recently released Blind Fury at University Bookstore. Picking up the book, she opened it to the title page, which had been autographed by Courtney.

  “She signed that like, five minutes ago,” the petite young clerk with long, corkscrew brown hair told Anna. “You just missed her. She’s super nice. She has two books out. That one’s a sequel. They both take place in Seattle. I hear they’re really good.”

  Anna noticed, several feet away, another employee of the store—a tall, gray-haired, bearded man. He was watching them and smiling.

  Putting Courtney’s book back on the shelf, Anna nodded at the young clerk. “Thanks, I’ll think about it.” She backed away and wandered around the corner to another section. She caught a glimpse of the gray-haired man heading toward his coworker.

  “Did you recognize who you were talking to?” she heard the man whisper. “That was Anna Malone. She’s a TV reporter—on KIXI. Now, she’s nice. But believe me, Courtney Knoll isn’t.”

  “What do you m
ean?” the girl asked. “Courtney seemed really sweet when I talked to her.”

  “Well, wait until you have to work with her on an event. Why do you think I was hiding the entire time she was here? Did she say where she was going?”

  “You mean Courtney?” the salesgirl asked. “She went downstairs to talk to Beth. I really can’t believe she’s so bad.”

  “She’s a total diva. I know you want to cut her some slack because she’s deaf and she’s got that deaf-speak thing going on. But wait until you’ve been bitched at in deaf-speak. You’re not going to like it. Did you meet the husband?”

  “No.”

  “They came in together. He was here just a couple of minutes ago. Anyway, the husband’s nice enough. I feel sorry for the poor guy.”

  Anna stepped out from behind the other corner of the bookshelf to look around for Russ. She spotted him near some stairs, by the Pacific Northwest section. He was alone, paging through a picture book. She felt a sweet, sad ache in her stomach just seeing him again.

  It was another minute before he looked up and his eyes met hers.

  Neither one of them moved. Anna sighed, and she started to smile.

  But he quickly looked away, turned, and walked into another section of the store. Anna lost sight of him. She was crestfallen.

  “Anna Malone?” she heard a woman ask in a strange voice.

  She glanced over to her right and saw Courtney. Anna’s first reaction was to back away. But she just nodded.

  Courtney signed as she spoke. “My husband and I are big fans of yours,” she said. “My name’s Courtney Knoll. I’m an author.”

  “Hi, nice to meet you,” Anna said, smiling and trying to keep her cool.

  “Maybe you’ve heard of me. I write a popular young adult series, The Defective Squad.”

  Anna just nodded again.

  “You know, I think we could help each other out, Anna. I’ve heard from so many people that my books and the work I do with disabled kids would make a perfect news story for you. We should meet for coffee sometime.”