Ghost on the Case (Bailey Ruth #8)(21)

In the lead, burly Sam Cobb’s somber face made the moment momentous. He was there with the force of law, and the law would not be denied. Hal Price, blue eyes intent, neither friendly nor hostile, watched Susan, seeking a sense of her character from her demeanor. Two uniformed officers waited a pace behind, a short middle-aged balding man with a fringe of wispy brown hair and a greyhound-lean fortyish woman with an impassive face. Their nameplates read respectively Ofc. B. Riordan and Ofc. L. Malone.

Sam turned to the officers. “You have your instructions?”

“Yes, sir.” The lean woman pulled out a pair of plastic gloves. Her partner did the same.

Sylvie planted her hands on her hips. “This looks like a TV show. Big man frowning, lean sidekick, two stone-faced cops. You people need to learn how to smile.”

Susan hurried to speak. “Something awful—”

Sam interrupted. “First, let’s hear about last night.” He moved heavily across the room, looked down. “Miss Sylvia Gilbert?”

Officers Riordan and Malone checked a bookcase, methodically pulled books out to look for any objects hidden behind.

Sylvie’s hands dropped. She looked small and very young. “I’m Sylvie. Who are you?”

“Police Chief Sam Cobb.”

“Police chief? Look, Susan has it all wrong. Nobody kidnapped me. You people can go away.”

Sam gestured at the sofa. “Please sit down.”

Sylvie looked at Susan, her blue eyes uncertain.

Susan said quietly, “Explain what happened, why you left your phone here and where you went.”

The bookshelves done, the two officers moved about the room, lifting furniture.

Sylvie frowned. “What are they doing?”

Susan looked weary, resentful, grim. “They said they’d get a search warrant so I told them they can look wherever they want. I don’t have anything to hide.”

“What are they looking for?” Sylvie demanded.

Susan shrugged. “I don’t know. But it’s all right.”

Sylvie fingered the neck of her pink sweatshirt. “You said there was trouble at work. Has something bad happened?”

Sam was smooth. “We’ll get to that in a minute. Tell us about yesterday.”

Sylvie plopped down on the sofa. Suddenly her face lightened, was eager and excited. “It was the funniest thing.” She pulled off her headband, brushed her fingers through springy curls. “I went to my car after class yesterday morning and there was a bright yellow sheet tucked under the windshield wiper. I picked it up. I thought maybe it was a flyer and I’d get a discount off of something.” She gave a quick grin. “I like discounts. But this was even better. I have the greatest psych prof. She comes up with fun challenges and we find out a lot about ourselves.” She sounded young and earnest. “One time she had each one of us go to the animal shelter and make up a story about an animal. I picked out this huge charcoal gray cat who was missing part of one ear and—”

Sam intervened. “You found the flyer. What did it say?”

Sylvie’s gaze clearly relegated Sam to the realm of old and no fun. “At the top of the sheet printed in big black letters it said: A PSYCH TEST. Below that in red letters it said: Go without a cell phone or speaking to anyone for 24 hours and win two tickets to the next Blake Shelton concert.” She paused. “Wow.”

“Where is the flyer?”

“I didn’t keep it. I tossed it in a trash can at McDonald’s. See”—and she leaned forward—“I followed the directions. It said to put my cell phone in my bedroom. So I came home and put it on the dresser. I left Susan a note”—her glance at her sister was reproachful—“so you wouldn’t worry. I told you I’d be back this morning. Anyway, I put my cell there. That was part of the instructions, everyone was to put—”

Sam held up a broad hand. “Wait a minute. Everyone?”

Officer Malone headed for the hallway and bedrooms, Officer Riordan stepped into the kitchen. There were muffled sounds from both locations as the search continued.

Sylvie was patient. “It would be our whole class. There are nine of us. The sheet said each person’s phone had a GPS tracker. I don’t know how she did that. Oh.” Sylvie looked uncertain. “You won’t put her in jail for that, will you? I know people aren’t supposed to sneak trackers on people’s phones, but this was for a class so that should make it all right. Academic freedom. Anyway, I got a kick out of thinking everyone in our class was busy putting their cell phones in their bedrooms. The rest of it was pretty simple. Lay low for twenty-four hours. No contact with anyone. Leave car parked where it was. The sheet said: Transport provided. Follow map. I did and walked ten paces west, eight paces east. There was a cute drawing of a ribbon and the instructions said Ribbon Marks the Spot. I followed the steps and there was a bike parked in a stand with a red, white, and blue ribbon tied to the handlebar, and it didn’t have a lock so I knew I was supposed to use it. I don’t know what the others did. I thought about checking in at a motel, but I didn’t want to spend any money. Instead I took a sketch pad and biked to the lake.”

One of the prettiest spots on campus was a small lake nestled between the fine arts building and the athletic fields.

“I sketched a heron. About five I rode the bike over to McDonald’s and had supper, got a Big Mac and fries and chocolate malt. Then I rode the bike to the library and found a carrel. At closing time, I hid in a restroom, then I sacked out on a sofa in the lounge. This morning I got up and rode the bike to the cafeteria and ate breakfast. I didn’t speak to anyone, so I kept my part of the bargain, and then the twenty-four hours were up. I rode the bike back to the stand across from the dorm and got in my car and came home. I decided to call Susan to tell her all about the test—”