The Women on Retford Drive, page 12
part #1 of Dancing Hills Series
“Why is it on the floor?”
“Just go pick it up, and tell me what you see. Go to text messages.”
“Okay,” she says, leaving me.
About a minute later I hear her say, “Holy shit!” She rushes into the kitchen and slams the cell into my hand.
“It was from him, wasn’t it?” I ask.
Her face flushes, and she nods.
I gather myself and re-read the message.
Thu, 06/15/2017
TIL DEATH DO US PART, JULIA. I’LL NEVER LET YOU GO. KEITH
9:30 PM
Chapter 15
Blythe
I stand over Shelbie’s shoulder, watching her upload photos of my father onto the Facebook page we created—Keith Pritchard Missing. I feel like it’s a waste of time, because like Detective Johnson said, he’s probably dead. But just in case, Julia and I agreed we’re going to put on our big girl panties and try to find him—dead or alive, and if dead, then we’d find his killer. If he’s dead, we want a head start on finding the perp, because we know the police will undoubtedly soon point fingers at us. The pictures of my father conjure bittersweet memories. There’s a photo of him standing in front of his yacht he named Blithe. I remember the day of the christening, how my grandmother Dolores ragged on him because she said he’d misspelled my name. He told her he’d done it on purpose, and that’s how my name should have been spelled. He said when I was born, I was the happiest baby in the nursery. I choke up a little while looking at the photo of my father holding a shovel at the groundbreaking ceremony for his office building, flanked by Richard and my grandparents. All that success and he was still miserable as hell. Shelbie stops midstream, looks up at me and then back at the screen.
“What?” I ask.
“You and your father look like twins.”
“I get that all the time.” Tired of traveling down memory lane, I say, “I think that’s enough.”
“Just two more. You’ll like them both. I promise.”
My eyes fall on the photo of Julia, my father, and me at my tenth birthday party, and the final picture is of my father and Julia at their wedding. Julia doesn’t know it, but I had saved a lot of photos in the cloud.
“You were such a cute kid, Blythe.”
“Thanks.” I lean against the wall, one foot on the chair edge.
She clicks on the globe icon at the top of the page. “We’re already receiving ‘likes.’”
“Tomorrow, we’re supposed to get a number from our contact at the missing persons unit, a hotline people can call. I’ll add it to the page.”
We turn toward the door at the sound of hurried footfalls. “Blythe!”
“What is it?” I ask.
Julia, clutching her phone, rushes into my room, with Sherry close behind.
“What’s wrong?” I approach her, wondering if she just got a call from the detectives. Maybe they’ve found my father’s body.
She thrusts her phone into my hand. “Look at that text.”
Thu, 06/15/2017
TIL DEATH DO US PART, JULIA. I’LL NEVER LET YOU GO. KEITH
9:30 PM
My stomach flips a thousand somersaults, and I toss the phone onto the bed. “WTF, he’s alive!” I grab Julia’s shoulders, shaking her, freaked out. “Where is he? We have to let the police know he’s alive, Julia.”
“She’s right,” Sherry says, pacing.
“What are we waiting for?” Shelbie asks. “The police can track his cell phone now that he’s using it again.” She grabs the phone off the bed and stares at the message, her eyes doubling in size. “Hold up—what’s your father’s cell number?”
“626-555-3191,” I blurt.
“That’s not the number associated with this text message. Julia, do you have Keith as a contact in your phone?”
“Yes.”
Shelbie goes to Julia’s contacts. “That message didn’t come from Keith’s number. This is a hoax.”
Julia snatches the phone from her. “I didn’t even pay attention to who sent it. I just clicked on the message. You’re right,” she says, disappointed. She falls onto my bed and curls into a fetal position.
“Damn, I did the same thing,” Sherry says, lying next to her.
“How the hell did they get my cell number?”
“There are all kind of ways to get numbers now.” Deflated, I sit at the foot of the bed. “They’ll probably be ringing the house next.”
“I’m going to call the number,” Shelbie says, standing over us.
Julia sits up and tosses her the phone. Shelbie puts the phone on speaker and presses the number. The ringing resonates throughout my room. Sherry, now sitting up, leans forward with her hands clasped. I hold my breath, still thinking my father may answer. I wouldn’t put it past him to have purchased one of those prepaid cell phones. After several seconds of no one picking up, Julia says, “Disconnect the call. They’re not going to answer.”
Now able to breathe, I say, “You should forward that message to Stephen.”
“I will. I guess I’m relieved. That message scared the bejesus out of me.”
The atmosphere in the room shifts, and I feel a little lighter. Shelbie points to the wall and I do a double take when I see the posters I forgot to pack. One of Julia, hugged up with the triplets, makes me smile.
Sherry, grunting, maneuvers her hips to the side of the bed. She really has packed on the pounds. She sets in the chair in front of the computer, and it squeaks. Julia, Shelbie, and I share a look.
“How’s the Facebook page?” Sherry runs her finger over the monitor.
“We named it Keith Pritchard Missing,” I say.
Julia hops up and joins her. “Where did you find those old pictures?”
“I have my stash, and people are already ‘liking’ the page.”
“This is a good idea. Maybe someone who knows something will reach out to us,” Julia says.
“You’re going to get a lot of crackpots posting too. I need to leave. I promised Larry I’d be home before 11 p.m.” Sherry, struggling a bit, gets up from the chair.
“How are you two doing?” Julia asks.
“We’re trying to work things out. You know it’s not easy once the trust is broken.”
“I hear you,” Julia says.
Shelbie and I listen to Julia and Sherry’s conversation. After Sherry found her husband in their bed with a woman half her age, they separated. It devastated her. Now they’re back together and trying to rekindle their relationship. Me, I would be done. Thinking of Larry’s affair, I wonder about my father. He and Julia stopped having sex over a year ago. So if he wasn’t getting it from her, who was he getting it from?
I look up, and all eyes are on me.
“Why are you frowning?” Shelbie asks.
“I was thinking about my father.”
“What about him?” Julia asks. She sits next to me.
“Have you ever thought about who he was seeing?”
“What do you mean ‘who he was seeing’?”
“Who was satisfying his sexual needs?”
“Please, I don’t know, I don’t want to know, and I don’t care! And who would want him?” She jumps up and goes to my dresser. She stares in the mirror, looking at her bruise.
Sherry stands next to Julia, peering at her own bloated midsection. Then her gaze shifts to Julia. She studies Julia’s slender frame, then quickly moves toward the door, as though trying to escape the comparison and who she’s become. “I’ll tell you who would want him—some young tramp like the one who wanted Larry. Keith is an asshole and a manipulator. He has a way of putting people under spells. My client, the one he cast in that ad last year, almost fell for him. That is, until I told her he was married.”
“You’re right about his ability to put people under spells,” Julia says.
“What if whoever he was seeing is the ‘she’ in the note?” I say.
“Maybe she is,” Sherry says.
I give Julia a raised brow. “You told Sherry about the note?”
Julia looks sheepish. “I know I shouldn’t have, but …”
“It’s okay. I told Shelbie too.”
Strained laughter resonates throughout the room.
“Are you guys really suggesting the person who killed Keith was someone he was seeing?” Julia says.
“It’s a possibility,” Sherry says.
Julia leaves the mirror and stands next to Sherry near the door. “I never thought of that. All this time we’re thinking this drama is because of Blythe and me, and it might have something to do with someone he was dating.”
“What do you think, Shelbie?” I ask, moving off the bed.
She squints and cups her chin in her hand. “I’m not sure.”
“Well I am,” Sherry says. “If Larry was screwing some tramp half my age, then I could definitely see Keith having an affair.”
“What would be her motive?” Julia asks.
“Maybe she was psycho,” I say. “Maybe she was a fatal attraction.”
We turn toward Shelbie. “I’m still trying to figure out what the bloody shirt is about and the missing knife are about. I think they might be connected.”
“She’s right,” I say. “Who put that shirt there?”
“The killer did,” Sherry says.
“So the killer was in the house,” Julia says. “Maybe they were in such a hurry, they didn’t realize it had fallen down between the washer and the dryer.”
“Let’s revisit the girlfriend theory,” Sherry says.
“The girlfriend could have come here Tuesday night and whacked him,” I say.
“Richard and the team are back Saturday,” Julia says. “We need to meet with them. They might know something.”
“Speaking of meetings, the police want to meet with me tomorrow,” Sherry says.
“Why?” Julia asks. “When did they contact you?”
“This morning. They called my office. Apparently, Kathleen told them I represented that model who was in his ad. They’re talking to anybody and everybody he’s done business with.”
“What time?”
“Ten in the morning. I’d better get going.”
“Good, the press conference is at noon. I’ll text you Stephen’s office address.”
“Okay. You girls get some rest,” Sherry says, leaving the room.
“I’m right behind you. I have to go too,” Shelbie says.
~~~
Standing on the portico, Julia and I wave to them as they drive off. We go inside, and Julia closes the gate. “I love them.”
“There’s nothing like having girlfriends,” I say, clutching my cell phone.
“It’s late. I’m heading to bed. What about you?”
“I’m going to go through a few more pictures for the Facebook page. Shelbie did a good job, but I think it needs a few more.”
“I love you, Blythe. We’re going to get through this. And if you ever need to talk to me about anything, I mean anything, please don’t be afraid to.”
“Of course,” I say, trying to read between the lines.
She kisses my cheek and leaves me standing in the foyer. I go to the living room, stretch out on the sofa, and surf the cloud. Thoughts of my father start bombarding my head. I think about my tenth birthday and how wonderful he was. I reflect on the great vacations and the gifts, and I find myself painting a rosy picture. I repel those thoughts when I see a photo I took at Julia’s 35th birthday party. I stare at it, recalling a time I’m glad is over.
~~~
My dysfunctional family surrounded the dining room table. Who the freak puts thirty-five candles on a cake? My asshole father, that’s who. “Happy birthday, dear Julia,” we sang off-key, sounding like a bunch of wounded wolves.
“Make a wish,” my father said with a forced smile. She shifted in her chair. I could tell she was annoyed. Growing up, I noticed how women he met would dote on me to get close to him. But Julia was different. Unlike the others, when she found out he was loaded, she didn’t glom onto him. And her affection for me was genuine.
She bowed her head and shut her blue eyes. Then she took a deep breath, reared back, and blew out half the candles.
“Give it another go,” my father said, a little too much bass in his voice.
“Why’d you put so many?” my grandfather asked. Pointing at the candles with his crooked finger, he shook his age-spotted head. “One, two, three—”
“Dad, she’s thirty-five. I put thirty-five candles on the cake.”
“You’re gonna burn your damn mansion down. Ten, eleven, twelve—”
“Both of you shut the hell up, and let her blow the candles out!” my grandmother said.
“Yes, mother,” my father said. He quickly retreated to his seat.
My grandfather, ducking his head and averting his green eyes like a child caught misbehaving, blurted, “Of course, Dolores dear.”
Sherry was obviously trying to keep from laughing out loud.
“Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen—”
“Julie, blow them out. Jim, stop counting the damn candles.” Dolores widened her eyes for emphasis and placed her index finger on her pinched nose, waiting for Julia to do as ordered.
“Mother, her name is Julia.”
“I said Julia,” she declared, swiveling her sagging neck toward my father. She jerked her head so hard she dislodged the salt-and-pepper bun from atop her head. With a grunt, she pushed it back in place. “You’ve been married to the woman for eight years now. Why would you think I don’t know her name? I’m surprised you’ve managed to keep this one as long as you have. Miss Mary Weber took off the first chance she got.”
My stomach lurched when I heard my mother’s name.
“She didn’t take off. She was abducted,” my father said, his face reddening.
“It’s okay, Dolores. Call me Julie if you want. I’ll blow out the candles.”
We waited with bated breath for her to extinguish the fire. She blew so hard a wad of spit landed smack-dab in the middle of the chocolate-strawberry whipped cream cake. My grandmother gasped. My father jumped up and doused the remaining candles with water from a glass. In one fell swoop, he snatched the cake and threw it against the wall. “Happy fucking birthday, Julie!” he screamed, storming out of the room.
~~~
Shaking my head, I come back to the present and regain my perspective. My father was a messed-up man. I blame his mother. I look at the day and time on my phone. It’s Thursday, June 15, 10:21 p.m. He’s been missing for forty-two hours and twenty-one minutes—almost two days. I keep surfing for photos and then check out trending stories.
Dancing Hills Millionaire Mogul, Keith Pritchard, Still Missing
Blood Found in Maserati Is Keith Pritchard’s
Co-Founder of Pritchard & Calhoun Says IPO Is Still a Go
Wife and Daughter of Keith Pritchard Questioned
Julia Pritchard, Former TV Star and Keith Pritchard’s Wife, Holding Press Conference Friday
Dolores Pritchard, Keith Pritchard’s Mother, Holding Press Conference Friday
Volunteers to Search for Keith Pritchard Friday
I cannot believe my grandmother’s going to talk to the media. I click the link, but the story contains no time or location. “We need to make sure we have our press conference first,” I say, standing. I set my phone to restricted and counter-attack.
“Hello? Who is this calling at this hour?”
I disguise my voice and say, “Is this Mrs. Pritchard?”
“It’s Mrs. Dolores Pritchard. How did you get my number?”
“I got your number from a press release I saw online. I’m with the Dancing Hills Daily Bulletin, and we want to make sure we’re at your press conference tomorrow. We understand you’re going to be shedding a great deal of light on your son’s disappearance.”
“I’m so glad you’ll be there. We need as much coverage as possible. My son’s assistant and I believe his wife is behind his disappearance. You can quote me. I’ll have more to say tomorrow.”
“What time is it, and where is it going to be held?”
“I had all that information in the press release my son’s assistant sent out.”
“I just want to make sure I have the right information.”
“We’re meeting with the press at my son’s company at 2 p.m.”
“We will definitely be there,” I say.
“And who are you again?”
I promptly hang up. Thank goodness, our meeting is at noon.
My phone rings, and I click over to the incoming call.
“Martha, I’m surprised to hear from you.”
“I’m sorry to call so late, but I want you to know I will be at the house in the morning.”
“Please don’t forget to bring the shirt tomorrow.”
“Miss Blythe, I’m sorry to tell you this, but I can’t find it. I looked all over.”
“You can’t find it?”
“I will keep looking, but so far I don’t see it.”
“I’m worried now, and I haven’t been able to find that knife.”
“When I come tomorrow, I will try to find the knife.”
“Martha, what time did you leave the house Tuesday? You were here when Julia and I left at 5 p.m.”
“Yes, I was there.”
“What time did my father get home?”
“He arrived there before 6 p.m.”
“Were you still here?”
“Yes, I worked late because I didn’t want him to be upset with the boxes everywhere. I organize them. So when he got there everything was good, and I left.”
“So you left around 6 p.m.?”
“Yes. Then I come back because I forget my phone.”
“What time did you return to the house?”
“Around 7:40 p.m., and I get my phone from the small room near the kitchen. I remember the time because Pedro told me to hurry and be home before 8:00 p.m.”
“Was my father here?”
“For a little bit. When I get there, I come through the back door, and I hear him rushing out of the kitchen and down to the garage. And then I see him drive away really fast. I figure he was going to the store to buy something for the trip and that he would come back.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this yesterday?”
“I didn’t think of it. The policía call me today, and I have to meet with them tomorrow.”
“Just go pick it up, and tell me what you see. Go to text messages.”
“Okay,” she says, leaving me.
About a minute later I hear her say, “Holy shit!” She rushes into the kitchen and slams the cell into my hand.
“It was from him, wasn’t it?” I ask.
Her face flushes, and she nods.
I gather myself and re-read the message.
Thu, 06/15/2017
TIL DEATH DO US PART, JULIA. I’LL NEVER LET YOU GO. KEITH
9:30 PM
Chapter 15
Blythe
I stand over Shelbie’s shoulder, watching her upload photos of my father onto the Facebook page we created—Keith Pritchard Missing. I feel like it’s a waste of time, because like Detective Johnson said, he’s probably dead. But just in case, Julia and I agreed we’re going to put on our big girl panties and try to find him—dead or alive, and if dead, then we’d find his killer. If he’s dead, we want a head start on finding the perp, because we know the police will undoubtedly soon point fingers at us. The pictures of my father conjure bittersweet memories. There’s a photo of him standing in front of his yacht he named Blithe. I remember the day of the christening, how my grandmother Dolores ragged on him because she said he’d misspelled my name. He told her he’d done it on purpose, and that’s how my name should have been spelled. He said when I was born, I was the happiest baby in the nursery. I choke up a little while looking at the photo of my father holding a shovel at the groundbreaking ceremony for his office building, flanked by Richard and my grandparents. All that success and he was still miserable as hell. Shelbie stops midstream, looks up at me and then back at the screen.
“What?” I ask.
“You and your father look like twins.”
“I get that all the time.” Tired of traveling down memory lane, I say, “I think that’s enough.”
“Just two more. You’ll like them both. I promise.”
My eyes fall on the photo of Julia, my father, and me at my tenth birthday party, and the final picture is of my father and Julia at their wedding. Julia doesn’t know it, but I had saved a lot of photos in the cloud.
“You were such a cute kid, Blythe.”
“Thanks.” I lean against the wall, one foot on the chair edge.
She clicks on the globe icon at the top of the page. “We’re already receiving ‘likes.’”
“Tomorrow, we’re supposed to get a number from our contact at the missing persons unit, a hotline people can call. I’ll add it to the page.”
We turn toward the door at the sound of hurried footfalls. “Blythe!”
“What is it?” I ask.
Julia, clutching her phone, rushes into my room, with Sherry close behind.
“What’s wrong?” I approach her, wondering if she just got a call from the detectives. Maybe they’ve found my father’s body.
She thrusts her phone into my hand. “Look at that text.”
Thu, 06/15/2017
TIL DEATH DO US PART, JULIA. I’LL NEVER LET YOU GO. KEITH
9:30 PM
My stomach flips a thousand somersaults, and I toss the phone onto the bed. “WTF, he’s alive!” I grab Julia’s shoulders, shaking her, freaked out. “Where is he? We have to let the police know he’s alive, Julia.”
“She’s right,” Sherry says, pacing.
“What are we waiting for?” Shelbie asks. “The police can track his cell phone now that he’s using it again.” She grabs the phone off the bed and stares at the message, her eyes doubling in size. “Hold up—what’s your father’s cell number?”
“626-555-3191,” I blurt.
“That’s not the number associated with this text message. Julia, do you have Keith as a contact in your phone?”
“Yes.”
Shelbie goes to Julia’s contacts. “That message didn’t come from Keith’s number. This is a hoax.”
Julia snatches the phone from her. “I didn’t even pay attention to who sent it. I just clicked on the message. You’re right,” she says, disappointed. She falls onto my bed and curls into a fetal position.
“Damn, I did the same thing,” Sherry says, lying next to her.
“How the hell did they get my cell number?”
“There are all kind of ways to get numbers now.” Deflated, I sit at the foot of the bed. “They’ll probably be ringing the house next.”
“I’m going to call the number,” Shelbie says, standing over us.
Julia sits up and tosses her the phone. Shelbie puts the phone on speaker and presses the number. The ringing resonates throughout my room. Sherry, now sitting up, leans forward with her hands clasped. I hold my breath, still thinking my father may answer. I wouldn’t put it past him to have purchased one of those prepaid cell phones. After several seconds of no one picking up, Julia says, “Disconnect the call. They’re not going to answer.”
Now able to breathe, I say, “You should forward that message to Stephen.”
“I will. I guess I’m relieved. That message scared the bejesus out of me.”
The atmosphere in the room shifts, and I feel a little lighter. Shelbie points to the wall and I do a double take when I see the posters I forgot to pack. One of Julia, hugged up with the triplets, makes me smile.
Sherry, grunting, maneuvers her hips to the side of the bed. She really has packed on the pounds. She sets in the chair in front of the computer, and it squeaks. Julia, Shelbie, and I share a look.
“How’s the Facebook page?” Sherry runs her finger over the monitor.
“We named it Keith Pritchard Missing,” I say.
Julia hops up and joins her. “Where did you find those old pictures?”
“I have my stash, and people are already ‘liking’ the page.”
“This is a good idea. Maybe someone who knows something will reach out to us,” Julia says.
“You’re going to get a lot of crackpots posting too. I need to leave. I promised Larry I’d be home before 11 p.m.” Sherry, struggling a bit, gets up from the chair.
“How are you two doing?” Julia asks.
“We’re trying to work things out. You know it’s not easy once the trust is broken.”
“I hear you,” Julia says.
Shelbie and I listen to Julia and Sherry’s conversation. After Sherry found her husband in their bed with a woman half her age, they separated. It devastated her. Now they’re back together and trying to rekindle their relationship. Me, I would be done. Thinking of Larry’s affair, I wonder about my father. He and Julia stopped having sex over a year ago. So if he wasn’t getting it from her, who was he getting it from?
I look up, and all eyes are on me.
“Why are you frowning?” Shelbie asks.
“I was thinking about my father.”
“What about him?” Julia asks. She sits next to me.
“Have you ever thought about who he was seeing?”
“What do you mean ‘who he was seeing’?”
“Who was satisfying his sexual needs?”
“Please, I don’t know, I don’t want to know, and I don’t care! And who would want him?” She jumps up and goes to my dresser. She stares in the mirror, looking at her bruise.
Sherry stands next to Julia, peering at her own bloated midsection. Then her gaze shifts to Julia. She studies Julia’s slender frame, then quickly moves toward the door, as though trying to escape the comparison and who she’s become. “I’ll tell you who would want him—some young tramp like the one who wanted Larry. Keith is an asshole and a manipulator. He has a way of putting people under spells. My client, the one he cast in that ad last year, almost fell for him. That is, until I told her he was married.”
“You’re right about his ability to put people under spells,” Julia says.
“What if whoever he was seeing is the ‘she’ in the note?” I say.
“Maybe she is,” Sherry says.
I give Julia a raised brow. “You told Sherry about the note?”
Julia looks sheepish. “I know I shouldn’t have, but …”
“It’s okay. I told Shelbie too.”
Strained laughter resonates throughout the room.
“Are you guys really suggesting the person who killed Keith was someone he was seeing?” Julia says.
“It’s a possibility,” Sherry says.
Julia leaves the mirror and stands next to Sherry near the door. “I never thought of that. All this time we’re thinking this drama is because of Blythe and me, and it might have something to do with someone he was dating.”
“What do you think, Shelbie?” I ask, moving off the bed.
She squints and cups her chin in her hand. “I’m not sure.”
“Well I am,” Sherry says. “If Larry was screwing some tramp half my age, then I could definitely see Keith having an affair.”
“What would be her motive?” Julia asks.
“Maybe she was psycho,” I say. “Maybe she was a fatal attraction.”
We turn toward Shelbie. “I’m still trying to figure out what the bloody shirt is about and the missing knife are about. I think they might be connected.”
“She’s right,” I say. “Who put that shirt there?”
“The killer did,” Sherry says.
“So the killer was in the house,” Julia says. “Maybe they were in such a hurry, they didn’t realize it had fallen down between the washer and the dryer.”
“Let’s revisit the girlfriend theory,” Sherry says.
“The girlfriend could have come here Tuesday night and whacked him,” I say.
“Richard and the team are back Saturday,” Julia says. “We need to meet with them. They might know something.”
“Speaking of meetings, the police want to meet with me tomorrow,” Sherry says.
“Why?” Julia asks. “When did they contact you?”
“This morning. They called my office. Apparently, Kathleen told them I represented that model who was in his ad. They’re talking to anybody and everybody he’s done business with.”
“What time?”
“Ten in the morning. I’d better get going.”
“Good, the press conference is at noon. I’ll text you Stephen’s office address.”
“Okay. You girls get some rest,” Sherry says, leaving the room.
“I’m right behind you. I have to go too,” Shelbie says.
~~~
Standing on the portico, Julia and I wave to them as they drive off. We go inside, and Julia closes the gate. “I love them.”
“There’s nothing like having girlfriends,” I say, clutching my cell phone.
“It’s late. I’m heading to bed. What about you?”
“I’m going to go through a few more pictures for the Facebook page. Shelbie did a good job, but I think it needs a few more.”
“I love you, Blythe. We’re going to get through this. And if you ever need to talk to me about anything, I mean anything, please don’t be afraid to.”
“Of course,” I say, trying to read between the lines.
She kisses my cheek and leaves me standing in the foyer. I go to the living room, stretch out on the sofa, and surf the cloud. Thoughts of my father start bombarding my head. I think about my tenth birthday and how wonderful he was. I reflect on the great vacations and the gifts, and I find myself painting a rosy picture. I repel those thoughts when I see a photo I took at Julia’s 35th birthday party. I stare at it, recalling a time I’m glad is over.
~~~
My dysfunctional family surrounded the dining room table. Who the freak puts thirty-five candles on a cake? My asshole father, that’s who. “Happy birthday, dear Julia,” we sang off-key, sounding like a bunch of wounded wolves.
“Make a wish,” my father said with a forced smile. She shifted in her chair. I could tell she was annoyed. Growing up, I noticed how women he met would dote on me to get close to him. But Julia was different. Unlike the others, when she found out he was loaded, she didn’t glom onto him. And her affection for me was genuine.
She bowed her head and shut her blue eyes. Then she took a deep breath, reared back, and blew out half the candles.
“Give it another go,” my father said, a little too much bass in his voice.
“Why’d you put so many?” my grandfather asked. Pointing at the candles with his crooked finger, he shook his age-spotted head. “One, two, three—”
“Dad, she’s thirty-five. I put thirty-five candles on the cake.”
“You’re gonna burn your damn mansion down. Ten, eleven, twelve—”
“Both of you shut the hell up, and let her blow the candles out!” my grandmother said.
“Yes, mother,” my father said. He quickly retreated to his seat.
My grandfather, ducking his head and averting his green eyes like a child caught misbehaving, blurted, “Of course, Dolores dear.”
Sherry was obviously trying to keep from laughing out loud.
“Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen—”
“Julie, blow them out. Jim, stop counting the damn candles.” Dolores widened her eyes for emphasis and placed her index finger on her pinched nose, waiting for Julia to do as ordered.
“Mother, her name is Julia.”
“I said Julia,” she declared, swiveling her sagging neck toward my father. She jerked her head so hard she dislodged the salt-and-pepper bun from atop her head. With a grunt, she pushed it back in place. “You’ve been married to the woman for eight years now. Why would you think I don’t know her name? I’m surprised you’ve managed to keep this one as long as you have. Miss Mary Weber took off the first chance she got.”
My stomach lurched when I heard my mother’s name.
“She didn’t take off. She was abducted,” my father said, his face reddening.
“It’s okay, Dolores. Call me Julie if you want. I’ll blow out the candles.”
We waited with bated breath for her to extinguish the fire. She blew so hard a wad of spit landed smack-dab in the middle of the chocolate-strawberry whipped cream cake. My grandmother gasped. My father jumped up and doused the remaining candles with water from a glass. In one fell swoop, he snatched the cake and threw it against the wall. “Happy fucking birthday, Julie!” he screamed, storming out of the room.
~~~
Shaking my head, I come back to the present and regain my perspective. My father was a messed-up man. I blame his mother. I look at the day and time on my phone. It’s Thursday, June 15, 10:21 p.m. He’s been missing for forty-two hours and twenty-one minutes—almost two days. I keep surfing for photos and then check out trending stories.
Dancing Hills Millionaire Mogul, Keith Pritchard, Still Missing
Blood Found in Maserati Is Keith Pritchard’s
Co-Founder of Pritchard & Calhoun Says IPO Is Still a Go
Wife and Daughter of Keith Pritchard Questioned
Julia Pritchard, Former TV Star and Keith Pritchard’s Wife, Holding Press Conference Friday
Dolores Pritchard, Keith Pritchard’s Mother, Holding Press Conference Friday
Volunteers to Search for Keith Pritchard Friday
I cannot believe my grandmother’s going to talk to the media. I click the link, but the story contains no time or location. “We need to make sure we have our press conference first,” I say, standing. I set my phone to restricted and counter-attack.
“Hello? Who is this calling at this hour?”
I disguise my voice and say, “Is this Mrs. Pritchard?”
“It’s Mrs. Dolores Pritchard. How did you get my number?”
“I got your number from a press release I saw online. I’m with the Dancing Hills Daily Bulletin, and we want to make sure we’re at your press conference tomorrow. We understand you’re going to be shedding a great deal of light on your son’s disappearance.”
“I’m so glad you’ll be there. We need as much coverage as possible. My son’s assistant and I believe his wife is behind his disappearance. You can quote me. I’ll have more to say tomorrow.”
“What time is it, and where is it going to be held?”
“I had all that information in the press release my son’s assistant sent out.”
“I just want to make sure I have the right information.”
“We’re meeting with the press at my son’s company at 2 p.m.”
“We will definitely be there,” I say.
“And who are you again?”
I promptly hang up. Thank goodness, our meeting is at noon.
My phone rings, and I click over to the incoming call.
“Martha, I’m surprised to hear from you.”
“I’m sorry to call so late, but I want you to know I will be at the house in the morning.”
“Please don’t forget to bring the shirt tomorrow.”
“Miss Blythe, I’m sorry to tell you this, but I can’t find it. I looked all over.”
“You can’t find it?”
“I will keep looking, but so far I don’t see it.”
“I’m worried now, and I haven’t been able to find that knife.”
“When I come tomorrow, I will try to find the knife.”
“Martha, what time did you leave the house Tuesday? You were here when Julia and I left at 5 p.m.”
“Yes, I was there.”
“What time did my father get home?”
“He arrived there before 6 p.m.”
“Were you still here?”
“Yes, I worked late because I didn’t want him to be upset with the boxes everywhere. I organize them. So when he got there everything was good, and I left.”
“So you left around 6 p.m.?”
“Yes. Then I come back because I forget my phone.”
“What time did you return to the house?”
“Around 7:40 p.m., and I get my phone from the small room near the kitchen. I remember the time because Pedro told me to hurry and be home before 8:00 p.m.”
“Was my father here?”
“For a little bit. When I get there, I come through the back door, and I hear him rushing out of the kitchen and down to the garage. And then I see him drive away really fast. I figure he was going to the store to buy something for the trip and that he would come back.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this yesterday?”
“I didn’t think of it. The policía call me today, and I have to meet with them tomorrow.”
