One Got Away by S. A. Lelchuk

Author:S. A. Lelchuk [Lelchuk, S. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK
Published: 2021-04-02T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

I got to Cannery Row at eleven thirty. I was habitually early when it came to client meetings. Not really politeness. More that when dealing with strangers, I liked being able to take a look around. Cannery Row was crowded. Everyone seemed hungry. Families laden with bags of saltwater taffy and fudge, people munching hot dogs and tacos, kids waving ice-cream cones, the restaurant bars lining the pier already filled with patrons starting in on their first draft pints and mimosas. To the right of the pier, I could see the Aquarium jutting over the water, a few colorful kayakers visible farther out.

I bought an iced coffee and newspaper and waited, reading the usual: how the Warriors would do, how bad wildfire season might get, police still investigating the U-Haul deaths, a popular Netflix show had just been renewed for a second season.

At ten to twelve, I got up to look for Susan. Given the urgency in her voice, I didn’t expect her to be late. For all I knew, she’d been waiting all morning. I wondered about the woman I was about to meet. What it must be like—inheriting big money and the family to go with it, and trying so hard to free oneself of both.

My family had been taken from me. I’d spent most of my life trying to come to terms with the fact that I’d never have them back. Hard to imagine that there were people with the reverse problem. Having too much family was something I knew nothing about.

I had liked Susan, the single time we’d met. There had been something earnest about her. Something unfeigned. A quality missing in her three brothers. Maybe she hadn’t forged her own way as much as she believed, but she was trying. That counted.

I checked my watch. Noon, exactly. My coffee was empty. I threw it away and kept walking the pier, scanning for Susan’s face. Maybe she was finishing lunch.

Fifteen minutes passed. Then thirty. No Susan.

I went into a hotel, asked the concierge to use his phone, and dialed my voicemail. Four new messages. None from Susan and all from her brother. My client. Judging by the messages, Martin was becoming increasingly agitated that he couldn’t reach me. No mention of his sister.

While I had the phone, I called Charles again. “Any word?” I asked.

He sounded perplexed. “He needs more time. There’s something funny with the VIN. You’re sure you copied it down right?”

“I’m sure. And it’s urgent, Charles. Really urgent.”

I put the phone down, went outside, and walked the pier again. Up and down, up and down again. No Susan.

I returned to the hotel and asked the concierge to borrow the phone once more. I got the phone plus a dirty look and dialed Susan’s Hayes Valley gallery from the card I’d taken when I was there. “Is Susan in?”

Whoever picked up said, “I’m afraid not. She travels frequently. May I take a message?”

“That’s okay.” I hung up and tried Susan’s cell phone. The call went straight to voicemail.

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