Read Online Waiting by Frank M. Robinson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Frank M. Robinson
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put back in the fridge, then paused with the refrigerator door open. “Hey, Artie, take a look.”
On one of the shelves inside, several jars of jam were lying on their sides, leaking their sticky contents onto the shelf below.
Mitch frowned. “Cathy’s too neat—somebody looking for something?”
Artie shrugged. “Probably the kids.” He started down a hallway. “The bedrooms are down here.”
The boys’ bedrooms were first, one on either side of the hall. They were typical rooms for ten- or twelve-year-old kids: bookcases cluttered with games and a few comic books, Star Trek posters on the walls, school T-shirts hanging on the inside knobs of the doors. In Andy’s room—he was the oldest—a small Mac sat on a desk with a stack of video games to one side. Andy was a computer nut, junior grade, and a Little Leaguer, major.
Artie opened the closet door. Shirts, pants, jackets, and gym sweats hung haphazardly on hangers; Roller-blades and several pairs of scuffed Reeboks lay on the floor along with two piles of wadded-up underwear. There was a small suitcase in the corner. Artie hefted it. Empty.
Mitch called from James’s room. “They didn’t pack.”
“Yeah, I know,” Artie muttered. They had walked out without taking a damn thing with them.
The far end of the hall was the master bedroom. It was neat, the bed made up, the rug freshly vacuumed. A brief portrait of Cathy surfaced in Artie’s mind. Trim, obsessively neat, compulsively friendly. Adored her kids, was probably more proud of Larry than in love with him. At parties he’d caught her glancing at Larry with a faraway look in her eyes and had wondered who she was thinking of. Not Larry, that was for sure. But she was a dutiful wife and he didn’t want to look behind the curtain to see who might be hiding there. Cathy was Susan’s best friend, and Larry had been one of his and he’d never wanted to know too much.
Artie glanced in the closet. He’d already guessed that Cathy hadn’t packed anything either.
They hesitated a moment outside the closed bathroom door, then Artie turned the knob and abruptly pushed it open. Empty. One of the towels, the one featuring Batman, was bunched up on its rack. Andy’s. Superman, next to it, was neatly hung, the edges carefully lined up. James took after his mother when it came to neatness. He was a skinny kid with thick glasses and his nose constantly in a book, so quiet you seldom knew he was around. When he reached his teens, he’d be another patient for Mitch.
The towels were soiled but dry; nobody had used them recently.
“So what now, Mitch?”
“His office—we probably should have searched it first.”
“Mitch, what the hell are we looking for?”
Levin seemed completely dispassionate now, pure intelligence captain. “Anything and everything, Artie. Try and find out who saw him last.”
The office was off to one side of the kitchen. It was small, no bigger than one of the boys’ bedrooms, with bookcases overflowing with medical books, two four-drawer filing cabinets, a copier and a portable phone, plus an IBM clone and HP printer. And on the edge of the desk, a Rolodex, a leather-bound Daily Reminder, and half a dozen copies of Science, one of them opened to the contents page. Chandler was right—Larry had probably been working on an article.
Artie picked up the Daily Reminder and thumbed through it. Larry had stopped making entries in March. Most likely he kept an appointment calendar in the computer.
Mitch was ahead of him. He was sitting in front of the computer and had already opened the appointment file. He glanced at the screen a moment, then shrugged. “Nothing, didn’t use it. Probably kept everything down at work.”
Artie was watching over his shoulder. “See if he had any research files.”
Mitch clicked the mouse on “Program Manager” and read down the directories, stopping at “Research/December.” He double-clicked on the entry but no filenames appeared
On one of the shelves inside, several jars of jam were lying on their sides, leaking their sticky contents onto the shelf below.
Mitch frowned. “Cathy’s too neat—somebody looking for something?”
Artie shrugged. “Probably the kids.” He started down a hallway. “The bedrooms are down here.”
The boys’ bedrooms were first, one on either side of the hall. They were typical rooms for ten- or twelve-year-old kids: bookcases cluttered with games and a few comic books, Star Trek posters on the walls, school T-shirts hanging on the inside knobs of the doors. In Andy’s room—he was the oldest—a small Mac sat on a desk with a stack of video games to one side. Andy was a computer nut, junior grade, and a Little Leaguer, major.
Artie opened the closet door. Shirts, pants, jackets, and gym sweats hung haphazardly on hangers; Roller-blades and several pairs of scuffed Reeboks lay on the floor along with two piles of wadded-up underwear. There was a small suitcase in the corner. Artie hefted it. Empty.
Mitch called from James’s room. “They didn’t pack.”
“Yeah, I know,” Artie muttered. They had walked out without taking a damn thing with them.
The far end of the hall was the master bedroom. It was neat, the bed made up, the rug freshly vacuumed. A brief portrait of Cathy surfaced in Artie’s mind. Trim, obsessively neat, compulsively friendly. Adored her kids, was probably more proud of Larry than in love with him. At parties he’d caught her glancing at Larry with a faraway look in her eyes and had wondered who she was thinking of. Not Larry, that was for sure. But she was a dutiful wife and he didn’t want to look behind the curtain to see who might be hiding there. Cathy was Susan’s best friend, and Larry had been one of his and he’d never wanted to know too much.
Artie glanced in the closet. He’d already guessed that Cathy hadn’t packed anything either.
They hesitated a moment outside the closed bathroom door, then Artie turned the knob and abruptly pushed it open. Empty. One of the towels, the one featuring Batman, was bunched up on its rack. Andy’s. Superman, next to it, was neatly hung, the edges carefully lined up. James took after his mother when it came to neatness. He was a skinny kid with thick glasses and his nose constantly in a book, so quiet you seldom knew he was around. When he reached his teens, he’d be another patient for Mitch.
The towels were soiled but dry; nobody had used them recently.
“So what now, Mitch?”
“His office—we probably should have searched it first.”
“Mitch, what the hell are we looking for?”
Levin seemed completely dispassionate now, pure intelligence captain. “Anything and everything, Artie. Try and find out who saw him last.”
The office was off to one side of the kitchen. It was small, no bigger than one of the boys’ bedrooms, with bookcases overflowing with medical books, two four-drawer filing cabinets, a copier and a portable phone, plus an IBM clone and HP printer. And on the edge of the desk, a Rolodex, a leather-bound Daily Reminder, and half a dozen copies of Science, one of them opened to the contents page. Chandler was right—Larry had probably been working on an article.
Artie picked up the Daily Reminder and thumbed through it. Larry had stopped making entries in March. Most likely he kept an appointment calendar in the computer.
Mitch was ahead of him. He was sitting in front of the computer and had already opened the appointment file. He glanced at the screen a moment, then shrugged. “Nothing, didn’t use it. Probably kept everything down at work.”
Artie was watching over his shoulder. “See if he had any research files.”
Mitch clicked the mouse on “Program Manager” and read down the directories, stopping at “Research/December.” He double-clicked on the entry but no filenames appeared
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