All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright Mary Faderan and Colin Firth 2017
The spring buds in the backyard of Jonathan Moore’s
house had just edged upward over the ground the morning
when Mike and Henderson were having breakfast. Jonathan
didn’t notice the spring buds. He was fully awake and having
his own breakfast of steak and eggs, cooked by Marsh. The
dining room was cold, and a northeaster was blowing even
though the buds made their appearance. Jonathan glanced at
the windows and remarked to Marsh, “Seems like it will be
another hellish day in Columbus, Marsh, my man.”
“I’d like to walk in this weather, Jonathan.”
“I figured you would.” Jonathan slapped the morning
paper on the edge of the table and then spread the page out by
his plate. “Your days in the British Navy haven’t changed
your love for dark, fierce winters.”
“I’m a creature of habit, Jonathan.” He looked out the
window with a gleam in his eye. “If you have all you need,
I’m going to take my morning walk.”
“Go to it, my man. Go to it.” Moore looked closely at
the top of the paper and grunted—his habit when he didn’t
care for the headlines.
Marsh looked back as he walked toward the door. “Oh,
you had a call last night from Lauren.”
“Oh?”
“She was worried about Mike. He didn’t show for
dinner.”
Jonathan leaned back and frowned. “Hell. What does
that mean?”
Marsh paused. “Do I still get a walk, or do you need me
to do something?”
“I don’t know yet.” He stood up and picked up the
phone. “Why the blazes didn’t you tell me this last night?”
“I forgot,” Marsh said with a stone expression. “Mind,
Jonathan, I don’t like that Oates man. I think he’s better off
without our Lauren."
“Well, I don’t. He apparently loves my girl. So why
don’t you arrange for me to fly over to Connecticut? No walks
today.”
“Fly in this weather?” Marsh was incredulous.
“I’m sorry, but I will fly. There will be a plane to do it
in. I can imagine all sorts of hell in Connecticut now.”
Marsh bit his lip and then left.
The call from Lauren came within seconds of Moore
leaving her a voice mail. “Dad, I’m glad you called. Did Marsh
tell you?”
“What exactly is happening?”
“I don’t know where Mike has gone to. He told me he
was going to pick me up for lunch. He never came. And I
called his cell, and it was always going to his voice mail. I
want to know what to do. Has he been taken in by the
police?”
“I don’t think so. I would have heard.”
“Well, I’ll try him again this morning.”
“Don’t. I will make some calls, and then I’ll head over
there. I’ll come see you at your hotel in the next few hours.”
“OK.”
“Lauren, do take care, will you?”
Her voice was small, sounding lost. “I will. I’m just not
sure where he went!”
“Possibly he was detained by some emergency case at
the hospital.”
“I would have gotten that message,” she sounded
unconvinced. “No, I think he’s in some trouble. I can feel it.”
“Don’t be alarmed. There is no evidence that he is in
trouble.”
“Dad, I think I would know if he was in trouble.”
Moore sighed. “I’ll be there soon. Just stay put and
have the phone by your side.”
He rang off and headed for the car waiting outside.
Marsh stood by the driver’s-side door, looking half guilty and
half gruff. “Oh, don’t look like that Marsh! It’ll all be OK.”
“What can I do?”
Moore told him, and then they got into the car. The
billowing snow enveloped the car as it disappeared into the
street.
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