The Disappeared Girl by Martin J. Smith

Author:Martin J. Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FICTION/Thrillers
Publisher: Diversion Books
Published: 2014-01-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 32

The apartment building had all the charm of Soviet-era Moscow, ten stacked stories of gray concrete whose windows were a patchwork of floral print curtains, miniblinds, and old-fashioned window shades covered in faded contact paper. Christensen checked the address on the unfolded piece of yellow notebook paper, then read aloud the brushed aluminum letters welcoming them to the St. Lawrence Martyr Senior Living Tower.

“So this is it?” Melissa said.

“Has to be.”

Each apartment had a balcony, and some residents had done their best to add life to the structure. About half of the balconies were thickets of potted plants. A few had American flags hung from the railings. Christensen squinted and scanned, but only a couple of residents were outside taking advantage of the summer-morning sunlight that warmed even this soulless architecture.

Visitor parking was along the remotest edge of the property, the assumption being that visitors were more likely to be ambulatory than the residents. Their collection of ancient and mighty Chryslers and Buicks and Olds 98s was arrayed along the parking aisles closest to the building.

“Might have to pull a few strings, Dad, but I think I can get you on the waiting list here,” Melissa said. “Never too soon to think about the future.”

Oh, callous youth. “You should be so lucky, ’Lis. Put it this way: In 30 years, I could be living on my own in a place like this, or I could be living with you, in your spare bedroom, with a prostate problem.”

In the building lobby, they confronted a directory of names and apartment numbers, each with a corresponding button.

“Here it is—914,” Melissa said. She read the name Vargas out loud.

“BeeVee’s a doll.”

Startled, Christensen and his daughter turned at the same time. Neither had noticed the stooped, pinkish man standing in a far corner of the lobby, near the 50-cent-a-pop blood pressure tester. His pants were pulled almost nipple high, and he tipped his houndstooth fedora.

“She don’t get many visitors,” he said.

Christensen extended his hand and walked to the old man, whose handshake was warm even though his skin felt cool. It was also dry and crinkled, like soft parchment. Christensen assumed he was the building’s self-appointed gossip mole, a lobby gnome. “Well, my daughter and I came to see Mrs. Vargas. Do you know if she’s home today?”

The old man waggled his brushy eyebrows. “It’s Miss.”

“Miss Vargas,” Christensen said. “Do you know if she’s home?”

“Ain’t seen her go out,” he replied. “Morning van to the Giant Eagle market left fifteen minutes ago. She wasn’t on that, so probably.”

“She’s expecting us,” Christensen lied. “We’ll just go on up then.”

“BeeVee don’t get many visitors. You’re not family. She ain’t got family, not here anyway.”

“Friends,” Melissa said. “Old friends.”

The gnome studied them, wary. Christensen powered on, retreating to the elevator and jabbing the up button. Luck was with them as the elevator door opened right away. He and Melissa stepped quickly inside. “Thanks for your help,” Christensen called as the door rumbled shut.

“That was kind of creepy,” Melissa said as they rose to nine.

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