Read Online The Skeleton Crew by Deborah Halber - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Deborah Halber
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boyish grin, and before you knew it, the customer was signing with the Mont Blanc pen.
Todd expected to succeedâin the showroom, on the racetrack, on the golf course. The first time Todd picked up a tennis racket he beat Carol, who for years had played the tournament circuit. She was infuriated. But life with Todd was never boring. Once, even though Carol thought he was low on money, a Corvette showed up in the driveway. Carol pictured herself in the passenger seat, the top down, wind whipping her long hair. âIs that a lawn ornament?â she chided.
You didnât need to goad Todd Martin Smith into an adventure. He folded his six-foot-three frame behind the wheel and they sped off down the New Jersey Turnpike. They stopped only when the car broke down somewhere in Death Valley and Todd suggested they get married in Vegas. âNot here,â Carol laughed. They made it to California, where Todd ogled the Aston Martins and Porsches on Rodeo Drive and Carol flew home to go to work.
When Todd returned to New Jersey, they had a church wedding. In the photos heâs leaning down in his tuxâCarol is more than a foot shorterâto kiss her, his light curls against her smooth dark hair.
Marriage didnât change him. Heâd still take off alone to race motorcycles or skydive or escape the chilly Jersey winters. He brought home new sports cars when Carol couldnât afford maternity clothes. He left for one of his spontaneous trips when she was almost eight months pregnant, and Carol realized then that Todd was probably never going to embrace the responsibilities of fatherhood.
They split amicably soon after Ashley was born. On May 17, 1989, the day Todd saw Carol at work, he was picking up the two-year-old for a visit. They wrestled her car seat into his car, then stood around shooting the breeze, as Carol recalled years later. He peered over her shoulder. âWhat do you have there?â
âIâve got doughnuts. Would you like one?â Carol, then service manager at the Honda dealership, often bought doughnuts for the mechanics. Todd held a coconut-sprinkled one in his teeth while he strapped Ashley in, buckled his own seat belt, waved to Carol, and drove off. Later, Toddâs girlfriend, who kept Ashley for the day with her own kids, dropped off the little girl with Carol. The next day, worried because Todd hadnât come back that night, she phoned Carol, who advised her not to be surprised by the disappearing act. Todd did this. Heâd probably turn up in a few days.
None of them ever saw him again.
Carol and her daughter moved from New Jersey to Pennsylvania. She remarried and got a job as a paralegal. She had a son with her new husband and stayed in touch with her former in-laws.
By 2003, Carol had been poking around the Internet for a few years. She had learned how to probe its little-known corners to uncover the useful esoterica buried there. Finding bits of information on the Web reminded her of scavenger hunts, Nancy Drew mysteries, and trivia contests. As a child, sheâd loved math word problems. The Internet was similarly challenging: you had to sift through the irrelevant dross for clues that led to the solution. Years later, sheâd remember the pulp detective magazines stacked on her grandmotherâs bedside table and wonder if she had inherited a hankering to be a private eye.
Besides, Carol, divorced for a second time, with Ashley approaching college age, thought their daughter deserved to know her fatherâs story. Or at least collect Social Security death benefits. Carol found her way to Missing Persons Cold Case Network, where she saw nothing related to Todd. But she became riveted by photos of another young man, missing for seven years, whoâd lived not far from where she and Todd grew up in New Jersey. There was something about his pronounced jaw that reminded Carol of her beloved, developmentally disabled little sister.
----
In 1975,
Todd expected to succeedâin the showroom, on the racetrack, on the golf course. The first time Todd picked up a tennis racket he beat Carol, who for years had played the tournament circuit. She was infuriated. But life with Todd was never boring. Once, even though Carol thought he was low on money, a Corvette showed up in the driveway. Carol pictured herself in the passenger seat, the top down, wind whipping her long hair. âIs that a lawn ornament?â she chided.
You didnât need to goad Todd Martin Smith into an adventure. He folded his six-foot-three frame behind the wheel and they sped off down the New Jersey Turnpike. They stopped only when the car broke down somewhere in Death Valley and Todd suggested they get married in Vegas. âNot here,â Carol laughed. They made it to California, where Todd ogled the Aston Martins and Porsches on Rodeo Drive and Carol flew home to go to work.
When Todd returned to New Jersey, they had a church wedding. In the photos heâs leaning down in his tuxâCarol is more than a foot shorterâto kiss her, his light curls against her smooth dark hair.
Marriage didnât change him. Heâd still take off alone to race motorcycles or skydive or escape the chilly Jersey winters. He brought home new sports cars when Carol couldnât afford maternity clothes. He left for one of his spontaneous trips when she was almost eight months pregnant, and Carol realized then that Todd was probably never going to embrace the responsibilities of fatherhood.
They split amicably soon after Ashley was born. On May 17, 1989, the day Todd saw Carol at work, he was picking up the two-year-old for a visit. They wrestled her car seat into his car, then stood around shooting the breeze, as Carol recalled years later. He peered over her shoulder. âWhat do you have there?â
âIâve got doughnuts. Would you like one?â Carol, then service manager at the Honda dealership, often bought doughnuts for the mechanics. Todd held a coconut-sprinkled one in his teeth while he strapped Ashley in, buckled his own seat belt, waved to Carol, and drove off. Later, Toddâs girlfriend, who kept Ashley for the day with her own kids, dropped off the little girl with Carol. The next day, worried because Todd hadnât come back that night, she phoned Carol, who advised her not to be surprised by the disappearing act. Todd did this. Heâd probably turn up in a few days.
None of them ever saw him again.
Carol and her daughter moved from New Jersey to Pennsylvania. She remarried and got a job as a paralegal. She had a son with her new husband and stayed in touch with her former in-laws.
By 2003, Carol had been poking around the Internet for a few years. She had learned how to probe its little-known corners to uncover the useful esoterica buried there. Finding bits of information on the Web reminded her of scavenger hunts, Nancy Drew mysteries, and trivia contests. As a child, sheâd loved math word problems. The Internet was similarly challenging: you had to sift through the irrelevant dross for clues that led to the solution. Years later, sheâd remember the pulp detective magazines stacked on her grandmotherâs bedside table and wonder if she had inherited a hankering to be a private eye.
Besides, Carol, divorced for a second time, with Ashley approaching college age, thought their daughter deserved to know her fatherâs story. Or at least collect Social Security death benefits. Carol found her way to Missing Persons Cold Case Network, where she saw nothing related to Todd. But she became riveted by photos of another young man, missing for seven years, whoâd lived not far from where she and Todd grew up in New Jersey. There was something about his pronounced jaw that reminded Carol of her beloved, developmentally disabled little sister.
----
In 1975,
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