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“Maybe I can drive down. Or when are you leaving?” The young professor looks to me like I’m a lifeline. “Can I ride with you?”
CHAPTER2
18 Hours Missing
Alex
The framed photograph sitting on my dresser slows my packing efforts. A slight layer of dust lines the curved wooden top. Sophia must have been ten. Our heads are bent together, and we’re lying on the bright white comforter at the Savoy. Cassandra snapped the photo just before room service delivered hot chocolate and cookies as a bedtime snack. I’d expected to watch a Disney princess movie, but Sophia’s tastes had changed. She’d been into the magical world of superheroes, and she pleaded to watchDeadpool. Cassandra laughed at her and said no way. Mother and daughter settled onThor. The big, muscular, beefy hero worked for me. I remember questioning the violence level for a ten-year-old, but it’s not like I would have ever said anything.
I give up on packing, lift the photo, and use the corner of my comforter to clear the dust. Sophia’s loose blonde curls shine bright in the photo, perfectly off-setting her gorgeous dark blue eyes, exact replicas of her mother’s. One year later, she got braces. A year after that, Cassandra died. When she got those braces off, no traces of the giggly girl in my photo remained. She’d grown up, in too many ways.
Oh, Sophia, where are you?
Trace, my elderly cockapoo, lies on his back, tail wagging, in a position that begs for his belly to be rubbed. Sunlight streams in through my bedroom windows, and he’s basking on the carpet, clueless the suitcase means his mum is about to depart.
“What am I going to do with you?”
He watches with old man eyes as I wrangle clothes into my smallest suitcase. Every day, more white hairs sprout along his nose. At fourteen years of age, he’s healthy, but he can suffer from separation anxiety. My little buddy likes his pack near. I crouch on the floor beside him. His eyelids close in appreciation as I rub his soft underside, and his little tail wags back and forth.
My next-door neighbor mentioned Santa Barbara has a great doggie daycare. More than one person has recommended Dioji, and I’ve seen their ads. But I worry about my old fella. The idea of dropping him off at a strange place doesn’t sit well. And he hasn’t yet attended the required orientation to see how well he plays with others, so it’s not even an option.Shat.
My next-door neighbor’s daughter always asks to pet Trace. The young girl reminds me of the Sophia in my photograph. Sweet, initially shy, but quick to warm to a person. A few minutes of conversation, and the shyness melts.
“You like her, don’t you, buddy?” He licks the back of my hand. “Our neighbor and Sophia. You like anyone who gives you love.” My old man is an egalitarian lover. “Maybe our neighbor would like to make a little extra money?”Doesn’t hurt to ask.
All the houses on Haley Street are packed together like sardines, and as such, it takes me a nanosecond to cross into my neighbor’s yard. As my knuckle raps the door, it occurs to me she might think me quite mad. We’ve never popped over to one another’s home. We’ve only crossed paths on the sidewalk.
The door cracks open, and I paste on my friendliest smile, hoping she’ll open the door further. The wide, friendly smile works. The door swings wide. She’s wearing a headset, her hair is up in a ponytail, and she’s got her phone in one hand, but her expression and posture are welcoming.
“Hi. I’m so sorry to bother you. I live next door. I have the stout cockapoo. Trace?”
“Oh, right. I recognize you. I’m Jenny.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Alex. Look, I know this might be forward, but I’ve been called out of town. Is there any chance Jocelyn might be interested in making some extra money? I need someone to walk Trace and feed him, and she always likes to love on him. I’m short on options, otherwise I’d never bang on your door.”
“Of course. No problem. She’ll be happy to do it. She’ll probably beg to let him sleep here, if you’re okay with that.”
“Oh my god. Of course. If she wants to. Anything. I owe you guys so big.”
After giving Jenny my spare key and promising to text instructions for care, I turn my attention to the other matter in my life. My job as an associate professor at UCSB in the psychology and brain sciences department. The one thing worse than being a part of a department termed brain science had been my father’s derision.
“You are taking a position at a location without a criminal justice division? Have you gone mad?”
No, Daddy dearest. Not mad. Desperate. The two are different.
I dial my TA. As a first-year associate professor, I teach my classes. This request for my TA to fill in won’t reflect well on me, especially if any of the students complain in the end-of-year satisfaction surveys. But this is Sophia. Cassandra’s daughter. And really, even if it wasn’t a personal matter, if I want to build out my CV as a police consultant, I need to be flexible.
“Timothy?” I check the screen to confirm the call is connected. “Timothy, are you there? Timothy?”
“Alex? Hello?”
“Timothy?”
“Yeah. Hey. Damn earbuds didn’t connect.”
“Hey. I have a huge favor to ask. Can you cover my three o’clock psych class today and my nine a.m. criminal minds class tomorrow?”
“Are you serious?”
