Chapter Two: Part Three

      “I want you to call Riley,” he said.  “Ask her to stay in the hotel room in case Megan shows up.  Be sure to have her call us if and when her sister gets there.”

My heart sank.  ‘If she gets there’ meant that he wasn’t really as certain about Megan being alive as he wanted me to believe. 

I dialed the phone.  It rang a few times before Riley answered.  “Hello?” she said softly.

“Riley, are you alright?” I asked.

“Sort of,” she replied.  “This is just so hard.  What happened to her?  I don’t know whether to be worried or really, really mad.”

“I know, Sweetie,” I answered.  “Parents go through this all the time with their teenagers.  You’re just finding out early how terrifying it can sometimes be to be a parent.  Megan’s going to show up and have a ‘Megan-type’ explanation for all of this,” I said with more reassurance than I felt.

 “Mom,” she confessed, “this new guy she’s been going out with has been giving her all kinds of trouble.  Megan says she’s not taking drugs anymore, but I don’t think I believe her.  I’m afraid that she’s . . .”

“What new guy?” I interrupted. 

“Nick Benson,” she said, choking on his name.  “He’s a good-looking, smooth talking drug dealer.  He works in the Portland music scene, and has his own recording studio in Oregon City.  People thinks he’s a great guy.  He has a lot of them, especially women, snowed.  I think Megan likes him because it makes her feel important to be “his” girl.  All the bouncers know her.  A lot of women envy Megan because of her relationship with Nick.  She got sucked into his world almost instantly and is too naïve to understand what a sociopath he is.”

“How did I not know this?” I asked.  “How is it that I’ve never even heard of this man?”

“Mom,” Riley countered, “if you ever bothered to spend time with us, I wouldn’t need to be telling you any of this.  You’d already know.  Do you know that I brought her down to Seaside for a few days just to get her away from the creep?”

“How would I have known that?” I demanded.  “I’m not afforded permission to even ask you two about your sisters’ vacations.”

“That’s because we used to take these vacations to get away from you when you were drinking,” muttered Riley, intentionally piercing the core of my being with an invisible knife.

I lurched forward, my heart sinking to the bottoms of my feet.  She was right.  It was my fault.  If I’d been a good mother and had raised them right, they wouldn’t have been here in this predicament.  Megan wouldn’t be a drug addict and Riley wouldn’t be feeling responsible for her sister’s well-being.  My despair was clearly visible as I slouched against the table.

Detective Quinn took the phone.  “Miss Edwards, this is Detective Quinn from the Seaside Police.”  I noticed that he left out the word “retired”.  It wasn’t important now.  “Young lady, thank you for taking the stay-at-home role tonight.  I know it’s hard, and that you’re probably ready to lash out at anyone you can right now.  Unfortunately, your mother is in approximately the same state of mind, and you two need to be a support for each other instead of trying to break each other down.  We need you to be on top of your game and present all night tonight while we try to find your sister.  Can you do that without driving yourself crazy and striking out at your mother?  We’ll call you whenever we can to let you know the status, but we need you to be there - body and brain!!! Tell me now if you don’t think you’ll be able to handle this.” 

I could hear a meek “Yes, Sir.  I can handle it,” from Riley over the phone. 

“Thank you.  We’ll get back to you as soon as possible.  Now, you hold down the fort while we try to find your sister.” 

He hung up the phone.  Oh, how I wished that Riley and Megan could have had a father who talked with them that way.  It likely would have made a world of difference in all of our lives.

The detective wasted no time.  “So now there’s a questionable man in the equation.  If it’s alright with you, I’ll check her phone to see if I can figure out who the man is.” 

“Please.  Do whatever you have to do,” I said.

He started checking through the recent phone calls.  “This one,” he said.  “This is from somewhere near here.  It came in just before the girls would have gone to the restaurant.  Maybe the caller made plans to pick her up after dinner.”

Pushing one of the buttons on the cell phone, Detective Quinn waited for the call to be picked up.  A few seconds later, he said “Hello.  May I ask who this is?  Excuse me?  Let me repeat:  Who am I speaking with?  No, I’m not with your girlfriend.  I’m looking for your girlfriend.  Where are you?”  The detective hesitated for a moment.  “Florence?  I thought you were from Portland.”  Another hesitation.  “You’re deejaying in a club down the coast in Florence, Oregon?  Have you been in Seaside today?”  Hesitation.  “No?  That’s interesting.  I’m with the Seaside Police, and we show an earlier call from you to Megan Edwards that pinged off one of the towers here in Seaside.”  Click.

“Well, that was interesting!  I think we’re getting closer to the truth about what happened to Megan, if, indeed, anything happened.  It sounds like we may have a misunderstanding and possibly some bad judgment rather than a crime,” said Detective Quinn.

“Thank you for the summary.” said a voice from behind me.  I turned around and saw

a woman with long auburn hair, dressed in a period gown from the late 1800’s or early1900’s.  The gown was green velvet with long sleeves, and she wore a striking gold chain and locket.

      “What,” I thought, “is a lady like that doing in a bar like this?”

      “Madam,” said Detective Quinn, “may I introduce you to Mrs. Edwards?”

      “Miss,” I corrected, as I stood to face her.

      “Miss Edwards,” he continued, “This is Madam.”

I looked back and forth from one to the other.  I felt as though this was Halloween, and I was the only one who didn’t know there was going to be a costume party. The Detective looked at the striking woman as though they were friends, and didn’t question her garb.  She, in turn, looked at him as though he was a co-worker whom she saw every day.

I extended my hand to shake hers in as polite a manner as I could muster. 

She hastily replied “Let’s not waste our time on formalities.  We’ve got work to do.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling uncertain about myself at that moment, “but I didn’t catch your name.”

“Madam,” she stated.  “You may call me Madam.  Now let’s get down to business.  I live in the upstairs apartment.  We can meet up there.  Charles, will you escort us up, please?  I’m going to need your help on this one.”

It hadn’t occurred to me until then that I didn’t even know the detective’s name.  He just seemed like, well, like a detective.  Charles was such an old-fashioned name.  I was surprised that she didn’t call him Charlie or Chuck.  The thought was so fleeting that it didn’t feel like my own.  Then again, nothing was making much sense that night so I wasn’t about to spend an ounce of my dwindling energy trying to figure the name thing out.