Missing You(51)

He stayed on the winding pathways. He was surprised at how few people he saw. Here he was in the heart of Manhattan, ambling between 73rd and 78th Street (again according to the website—he really had no idea where he was), and he felt virtually alone. He was missing school, but that couldn’t be helped. He had let Jayme Ratner, his lab partner, know that he was currently out of commission. She was okay with it. Her last lab partner had something like a nervous breakdown last semester, so she was just happy he wasn’t down at mental health like, it seemed, half their friends were.

His cell phone rang. The caller ID read Bork Investments. He answered.

“Hello?”

A woman’s voice asked, “Is this Mr. Brandon Phelps?”

“Yes.”

“Please hold for Martin Bork.”

The hold music was an instrumental version of “Blurred Lines.” Then: “Well, hello, Brandon.”

“Hello, Uncle Marty.”

“Nice to hear from you, son. How’s school?”

“It’s fine.”

“Wonderful. Do you have plans for the summer?”

“Not yet.”

“No rush, am I right? Enjoy it, that’s my advice. You’ll be out in the real world soon enough. You hear what I’m saying?”

Martin Bork was nice enough, but all adults, when they start with the life advice, sound like blowhards. “I do, yes.”

“So I got your message, Brandon.” All business now. “What can I do for you?”

The pathway started down toward the lake. Brandon got off it and moved closer to the water’s edge. “It’s about my mother’s account.”

There was silence at the other end of the line. Brandon pressed on.

“I see she made a pretty big withdrawal.”

“How did you see that?” Bork asked.

Brandon didn’t like the change in tone. “Pardon?”

“While I won’t confirm or deny what you just said, how did you see this supposed withdrawal?”

“Online.”

More silence.

“I have her password, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Brandon, do you have any questions about your own account?”

He moved away from the lake and started over the stream. “No.”

“Then I’m afraid that I’m having to go now.”

“There’s nearly a quarter of a million dollars missing from my mother’s account.”

“I assure you that nothing is missing. If you have any questions about your mother’s account, perhaps it is best if you ask her.”

“You talked to her? She approved this transaction?”

“I can’t say any more, Brandon. I hope you understand. But talk to your mother. Good-bye.”

Martin Bork hung up.

In something of a daze, Brandon stumbled over the old stone arch into a more secluded area. The vegetation was denser up here. He finally spotted a bird—a red cardinal. He remembered reading that the Cherokees believed cardinals were daughters of the sun. If the bird flew up toward the sun, it was good luck. If the bird chose to fly downward, well, obviously the opposite would be true.

Brandon stood transfixed and waited for the cardinal to make his move.

That was why he never heard the man lurking behind him until it was too late.

? ? ?

Chaz, her soon-to-be-ex-partner, called Kat’s cell phone. “I got it.”

“Got what?”

Kat had just gotten out of the Lincoln Center subway station, which smelled decidedly like piss, and onto 66th Street, which smelled almost as decidedly like cherry blossoms. Kat New York. A text from Brandon had been waiting for her. She called, but there was no answer, so she left a brief voice mail.

“You were trying to put in a request for a surveillance video,” Chaz said. “It came in.”

“Hold up, how did that happen?”

“You know how that happened, Kat.”

She did, bizarre as it was. Chaz had put in the request for her. The only consistent thing she understood about people was that they are never consistent. “You could get in trouble,” Kat said.

“Trouble is my middle name,” he said. “Actually, my middle name is Hung Stallion. Did you tell your hot friend I’m rich?”

Yep. Consistent. “Chaz.”

“Right, sorry. Do you want me to e-mail you the video?”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

“Were you trying to see what car that lady got in?”

“You watched the tape?”

“That was okay, right? I’m still your partner.”

Fair point, Kat thought.

“Who is she?”

“Her name is Dana Phelps. That was her son who came to see me the other day. He thinks she’s missing. No one believes him.”

“Including you?”

“I’m somewhat more open-minded.”

“Could you tell me why?”

“It’s a long story,” Kat said. “Can it wait?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So did Dana Phelps get in a car?”

“She did,” Chaz said. “More specifically, a black Lincoln Town Car stretch limo.”