Possessions Page 2

  "He's heard of telephones, hasn't he? Katherine, tell me the truth: you have no idea where he is?"

  "Why would I lie to you? Carl, I'm worried; Craig always calls on business trips, and he promised to be back on Friday. I'm going to call the Toronto police."

  "Well, hold on a minute now, slow down. Craig's a big boy; we don't have to panic just because we're not sure where he is. Something unexpected probably did come up. Chances are he'll walk in any minute and we'd feel pretty silly, wouldn't we, if we had half of Canada out looking for him?"

  "Half of Canada? I only said—"

  "I know, I know, but I think you should wait. You watch, he'll waltz in safe and sound, wondering what the fuss is all about. I think we ought to give him time to finish his business and get home. But have him call me as soon as he gets in, wiU you?"

  Jennifer was beside her. "What did he say?"

  "That we shouldn't worry." Katherine turned on the burner beneath the tea kettle. "And he's right; Daddy can take care of himself. I think we should get to work. What would he say if he came home to a house that looked like it was hit by a cyclone?"

  But all day, and into the evening, as the three of them cleaned the house, all Katherine could think of was Craig lying in the street, victim of a mugging or a hit-and-run driver or a heart attack. But wouldn't someone have found him and called

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  her? Not if a robber had taken his wallet; that happened all the time. So she had to call the police. And if Carl didn't think she should, that was just too bad.

  Still, she waited a little while longer, until Jennifer and Todd went to bed. "Wake us up when Daddy conies home," Jennifer pleaded.

  "We both will," Katherine said. "Don't you think he's anxious to see you too?" But when she dialed the Toronto police, her voice failed. She felt ashamed, as if she were calling Craig a criminal—someone to be searched for, hunted down, his name bandied about by strangers. An anonymous officer at the other end was saying, "Yes? Hello? Yes?" and at last, knowing she had to do it, she forced out the words. "My husband is missing."

  "Yes, ma'am," he said, so matter-of-fact Katherine wondered how many missing husbands he dealt with each week. "When did you last see him?"

  'Tuesday morning when— "

  "He was coming here? Toronto?"

  "Yes, he went there often, on business, and he—"

  "What airline did he fly?"

  "Airline? I don't know; he didn't tell me. Probably Air Canada."

  "And his hotel in Toronto?"

  "He always stays at the Boynton. But I called them and—"

  "Did he have a reservation?"

  "Yes, but he never ... he never got there."

  "Never got there. When did you expect him home?*'

  "Friday. Yesterday afternoon. We were having a party for a friend of mine from San Francisco—"

  "He didn't call or write?"

  "No! If he had, I wouldn't be calling you!"

  "All right, ma'am, I know this is a strain, but if you'll just be calm. We have to ask these questions; it's our job. Give me a description now."

  Katherine pictured Craig, sitting at his desk, organizing neat piles of paper and binding them with rubber bands or string. "Six feet tall," she said. "Light brown hair and beard, brown eyes— "

  "Weight?"

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  She paused. How odd, she thought. "I don't know."

  "About—?"

  "I guess . . . about one seventy? He takes a size forty sweater."

  "Scars or distinguishing features?"

  "A scar next to his right eyebrow, not a big one but you can see it. That's all. He's really—he's not unusual—just nice-looking."

  "Shoe size?"

  "I don't know." He must think I'm a terrible wife not to know these things. "I don't buy his shoes."

  "Right." He went on and on, asking about the people Craig went to see, companies, banks—"I don't know, I don't know," Katherine repeated—and then for their charge card numbers, and she read them to him. "All right, Mrs. Fraser, We'll get back to you as soon as we can."

  "Tonight?"

  "Or tomorrow morning. Sit tight, ma'am; give us time to check everything out."

  That night again, as the hours dragged by, Katherine huddled in a comer of the couch, drinking tea, hstening for the sound of Craig's key in the front door. The house creaked and shifted in the dark and she held herself rigid, afraid to investigate the sounds. At dawn she put her head back to rest her aching neck, and fell asleep—to be awakened two hours later by the furious sibilance of Todd and Jennifer's whispers.

  "He must have called," Todd said. "And Mom's waiting for him here instead of upstairs in bed."

  Jennifer bit her knuckle. "She said she'd wake us up if he called. She's down here because she doesn't like to sleep alone. Parents don't like to be in bed by themselves."

  "I'll bet he called and he's on his way home with my balsa model."

  "Who cares about your balsa model? I just want Daddy!"

  We all want him, Katherine thought, her eyes still closed. And he hasn't called. Sunday morning and Craig hasn't called. She opened her eyes and stood up, aching as if she had not slept at all. "We all want him," she repeated aloud. "And it's hard for us, not knowing where he is. I think when he gets home we should ask him to be more considerate next time he goes away."

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  Todd scowled. "Maybe a truck hit him. Or a train. Or a meteor."

  "Meteors don't hit Toronto," Jennifer scoffed.

  'They do too. They hit everywhere. Even Vancouver. One of them could smash into our house and wipe us all out."

  "Cheerful thought." Katherine smiled. For a brief moment everything seemed normal: Todd and Jennifer, the morning sun slanting into their bright living room, a beautiful ordinary June day. Soon Craig would walk in, just as Carl had predicted, apologizing because he got so busy he forgot to call, explaining his change in hotels, telling her she should know better than to worry; he could take care of himself just as he took care of his family. "I think we would have heard if a meteor had smashed into Toronto," she said. "Now, look: I'm going to take a shower and I think you'd better do the same. Isn't this the day for that picnic on Grouse Mountain? What time are you being picked up?"

  "We're not going," Jennifer declared. "We're going to stay home and wait for Daddy."

  "You are going," said Katherine firmly. "If he gets home before you, we'll come up and find you. Come on, now, let's get moving. Todd? Jennifer? Please."

  But after all it was not an ordinary day and as soon as they were gone, Katherine rushed to the telephone to call the Toronto police again. It rang as she reached it.

  "Yes!" she cried. "Craig?"

  "No, Mrs. Fraser," the Toronto officer said. "I'm sorry. And I'm sorry we took so long getting back to you; we wanted to be sure—"

  "What? Of whatr

  'That there's no trace of your husband. He's not in any hospital in the area; he's not in jail; he's not in the morgue. He didn't register at any hotel other than the Boynton. He didn't charge any meals or rent a car. Mrs. Fraser—" The officer cleared his throat. "He probably wasn't even there. We checked with the airlines. Mr. Fraser didn't fly to Toronto last Tuesday."

  "That's impossible." Katherine's throat was tight.

  "No, they have no record of—"

  "Of course he flew to Toronto." Her voice rose. "I saw him leave for the airport on Tuesday."

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  "Mrs. Fraser, don't you understand? He never used his ticket. Either something happened to him in Vancouver, before he got to the airport, or he never intended to take that flight."

  "How dare you—1 How dare you accuse my husband of lying to me! Who do you think you are—" She put down the telephone, trying to draw a breath. She heard the officer repeatedly calling her name, but his voice in the receiver was so tiny and distant she knew it had nothing to do with her. She hung up on it.

  But in a minute, with frantic urgency, s
he dialed the Vancouver police. Craig never lied to her. Something terrible had happened to him, and if the Toronto people were telling the truth, it had happened in Vancouver. Right here, and all week she had had no idea of it. She'd been happy and busy, planning the party, and the only time she'd thought of Craig was when she felt annoyed with him for not being there to help her. And all that time he was ill, or injured, or dead. I should have known, she thought. When he didn't call.

  "My husband is missing," she said when a policeman answered, squeezing the words once more through her locked throat, and then nervously paced her living room, waiting for someone to arrive.

  Two young officers came, carrying clipboards and printed forms, and they checked off categories and carefully wrote Craig's description as Katherine recited it for the second time that day. They asked for a recent picture and Katherine gave them one and then, synchronized and efficient, they took turns asking questions and writing answers. As she told them what the Toronto police had said about the airlines, Katherine caught a look between them. "What is it?" she asked. "If there is something you haven't told me—^"

  "No, ma'am," one of them said. "We were wondering what you haven't told us/'

  Katherine shook her head. "Nothing." A wave of exhaustion from two sleepless nights engulfed her and she closed her eyes. If she could just sink into bed and turn away, shut out everything . . . But the officers were rustling impatiendy and she forced her eyes open. "Nothing. What else could there be?"

  "Ah . . . your husband's lady friends?" the officer suggested. "Any you know of, that is. Lots of wives don't, so

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  you shouldn't feel ashamed if . . ." His voice trailed away at Katherine's look.

  "What we mean," the other one put in helpfully, "is that people don't just vanish without a reason. Husbands have reasons for disappearing. It wouldn't necessarily be a lady friend. You understand" —he was so earnest, Katherine thought, and so clumsy; why were boys sent to do this job?— "we're not suggesting anything in particular. Maybe the two of you were having problems? Or your husband piled up gambling lOUs? Maybe he's been despondent lately. Have you looked for a suicide note? They have reasons, Mrs. Fraser, that's all; we're certainly not here to criticize you or your husband—that's the way things happen."

  "Not to ''<;." Katherine's lips were stiff and she was too tired even to be indignant, as she had been with the Toronto officer. "My husband and I have been married for ten years and I know he wouldn't stay away if he could help it. You don't know anything about him; you don't know what happened to him."

  "No ma'am; that's true. But did he like the ladies?"

  The telephone rang and Katherine raced to the kitchen, her heart pounding. "My dear," said Sarah Murphy, her voice rippling with curiosity. "Is everything all right? I just glanced out my window and saw the police car."

  Katherine's shoulders slumped. "Sarah, I can't talk now."

  "It's not a heart attack, is it? Craig, I mean? Katherine? Is Craig all right?"

  "Craig isn't home. Sarah, I have to go—^"

  "But he did get back. Didn't he?"

  "Sarah, I'll talk to you later— "

  "Yes, you don't want to keep the police waiting. But Katherine, I'm here, you know, if you need me."

  "Yes—"

  "I'm always here, always available."

  "I know. I'll call you later, Sarah."

  The police officers were at the front door. "We'll send out a bulletin on your husband, Mrs. Fraser, and we'll let you know if we hear anything. But you really ought to look around for clues; that's probably the only way we'll find him."

  Don't they understand that my husband may be dead? Katherine watched them walk past her flower gardens and disappear

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  beyond the hedge. Then, without planning it, she found herself sitting at Craig's desk. Not looking for clues, she thought; that was ridiculous. But perhaps he'd left a schedule of appointments; places she could call. That was all she was looking for.

  She felt like a trespasser. It was Craig's desk; she never used it. Superstitiously, she thought she might be making it more likely that he was dead. "Oh, don't be stupid," she said aloud, and quickly pulled open all the drawers.

  Gradually, she stopped feeling guilty as her puzzlement grew. Going through drawers and pigeonholes, lifting and putting back neat folders and packets of papers, she found Craig's notes on buildings Vancouver Construction had built, sketches for the wood carvings he made in his spare time, copies of expense forms he had submitted for business trips, including frequent trips to Calgary (he'd never told her he had a long-term job in Calgary), past-due membership notices from his private club, a batch of unpaid department store bills, and Uned pads of paper covered with scribbled numbers—added, subtracted, multiplied, crossed out with angry X's, then repeated in different combinations.

  Katherine pondered the numbers. Craig always paid the bills; he'd never even hinted about debts. We'll have to talk about it, she thought, as soon as he gets home . . . Then, behind a box of business cards in the bottom drawer, she found a small picture, torn raggedly from a larger one. Disquieted, she gazed at the lovely girl laughing into the camera; someone she had never met. / didn't know Craig kept a picture of an early love. Something else he never told me.

  "Mom!" Todd cried, throwing open the front door. "Mrs. Murphy says the pohce were here. What happened to Daddy? He isn't dead, is he?"

  Jennifer jabbed him with her elbow. "Don't say it." She looked at Katherine. "What did they want?"

  "I asked them to find out if Daddy's been in an accident." Katherine steadied her voice. 'They can check hospitals faster than we can. That's all they're doing. How was your picnic? Tell me about it while we make dinner."

  They were subdued, but they talked and helped her as they did every evening and once again, for a few peaceful moments, Katherine thought that everything would be fine; how could anything bad happen when her house seemed so normal? And

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  then they heard the front door open and with a yell Todd and Jennifer tore through the dining and Hving rooms with Katherine just behind them. But it was not Craig; it was Carl Doemer.

  "The door was open," he apologized, striding in. "I didn't hear from Craig; did you forget to tell him to call me?*' He stopped in the middle of the hving room, his back to Katherine. When she was silent, he let out a long sigh and turned to face her. "Nothing? Not a word?"

  She shook her head.

  "Damn, damn, damn." His large head, with its mane of gray hair, moved slowly back and forth. "I'm sorry, Katherine. I hoped it wasn't true."

  Uneasy, Katherine turned to Todd and Jennifer. "Would you set the table? I'll be there in a few minutes." Jennifer made a disgusted sound but the two of them left the room. "What does that mean?" Katherine asked Carl.

  "He's skipped. I wish I could spare you this, but—"

  "What are you talking about? Skipped? You mean ran away? He had nothing to run away from. And he wouldn't anyway. You know him, Cari; he's not the kind of man to run away from anything."

  "Katherine, I'm sorry." Restlessly, Doemer moved about the room, shoving furniture out of his way. Katherine thought how out of place he looked in the bright room with its flowered furniture and drapes—like a shaggy bear in a summer garden. "I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice heavy and slow. "But Craig's been stealing company funds for over two years."

  "Stealing! Carl, are you mad?"

  "Nearly seventy-five thousand dollars. The accountant caught it, and Craig and I had it out and he admitted it: he made up fake companies, sold them fake materials, authorized payments to himself—it's complicated, but I can show you how it worked if you want. He asked me to give him a week and—^**

  "It's not true!"

  "He asked for a week to raise some money, and I believed he meant it, so I promised not to go to the police."

  "I don't believe it; there's been a— "

  Doemer pulled a thick envelope from
his pocket and held it out to her. "Statements. From the accountants, the solicitors—" When she did not move, his hand dropped. "God damn

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  it, Katherine, why would I make this up? Craig was more a son to me than a partner; I was going to retire and sell him the company in a couple of years. Now what the hell am I going to do?"

  "Craig stole?" Katherine asked numbly. "He stole from the company?"

  'That's what I said."

  "Well, you're wrong. Why are you so sure it was Craig? Why are you blaming him—?"

  "I'm not blaming him; he admitted it. Said your house set him back more than he expected, and there were other things— he wouldn't say what—but he said he'd pay it back, every damn cent. And I tnisted him! I let him go!"

  "When?"

  "What?"

  "When did you and Craig talk about . . . about the money?"

  "Monday. Last Monday. He said he'd have some of it by Friday and a plan to pay off the rest. He was crying. Damn it, so was I. Now what the hell can I do? I don't want to charge him with embezzling!"

  "Wait, please, just wait a minute." Katherine was dizzy. Doemer had pushed the furniture out of place and the room seemed to be shifting, like the deck of a ship in a storm. Monday. And on Tuesday, even though she asked him to stay home that week, he rushed off to Toronto.

  He kissed me goodbye and said — I'm sorry; I love you.

  She clasped her hands. "What are you going to do?"

  Doemer grunted. "Up to now I've kept my word. But damn it, he betrayed me! Don't you see that I've got to report this? Too many people are involved—the insurance company, our solicitor, the accountant—I have no choice; I have to go to the police!"

  Like a missile, Todd flung himself across the room at Doer-ner. "You can't go to the police about my Dad, you bastard; you're a liar—!"

  'Todd!" Katherine pulled Todd's battering hands away from Doemer and knelt to hold him against her. As he buried his face in her shoulder, crying noisily, she saw Jennifer watching stonily from the doorway.

  "Just a minute," she said to Doemer. Taking Jennifer and Todd by the hand, she led them upstairs. "I promise we'll talk