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Iran from the main house to the guesthouse. It was empty. Wherever Ciaran had disappeared to, he was already gone.
His room was in a state of moderate dishevelment. He didn’t have many belongings to make a mess of things, but drawers were left open and his closet had been disturbed. Hangers were on the floor from where he grabbed articles of clothing.
I noticed a torn piece of paper on the floor. Crouching down to retrieve it, I realized it was an acceptance letter from UCLA’s Creative Writing Program. This didn’t seem like the kind of document Ciaran would rip up.
Something wasn’t right here, but I didn’t know what.
Folding it, I placed the letter in my inner suit pocket and continued my inspection of Ciaran’s room.
He’d left behind his laptop. That alone provided some relief, as it meant he wasn’t running away for good. Something must have happened, but the evidence left behind didn’t reveal the secret for Ciaran’s disappearance.
Retrieving my phone, I checked to make sure I didn’t have missed calls or texts from Ciaran. I’d put my phone on silent mode during the dinner with Zoey. There was nothing from Ciaran, though I had a voicemail from Joan that had come in twenty minutes ago.
I listened to her voicemail as I flipped through Ciaran’s materials related to his high school’s virtual network, including his assignment schedule. The number of AP classes was impressive. Ciaran was really smart.
“Matty, bad news,” Joan’s hurried voice said in the message. “The fertility statue ended up being a fake. Filipe thinks someone’s on our tail. They got ahold of it before we did and made the replica before putting it back into circulation at LAX. Sounds like the kind of bullshit Andy would pull on us. Filipe’s convinced his Customs Agent contact is playing double agent and getting twice the cash. The goddamn fucker,” she muttered. “I respect it, of course, provided you don’t get caught.” Joan paused there to take another breath. Her voice wobbled when she added, “The embassy is not happy. You remember the men with guns? Yeah, those guys. I’ll try to stall them but they want to meet ASAP, my friend. I know you’re having dinner with the blackmailer’s spawn, but call me as soon as you get this.”
“Fuck,” I seethed in Ciaran’s empty room. Where was he? He was a balm for my soul. Ciaran could easily yank me off any ledge.
A thought dawned. Maybe Ciaran was with Joan. I called her and she picked up right away.
“Babe, I take it you got my voicemail?” Joan rushed out.
“I did,” I answered as I rifled through Ciaran’s drawers and flipped through more paperwork. One piece of paper caught my eye. “Is Ciaran with you guys?”
I read the name of the counselor at the bottom of the letter from Ciaran’s high school and my pulse jumped sky high.
Andrew Jones.
Calm down, Matty. It’s a common enough of a name.
It could be a coincidence.
“Ciaran?” Joan repeated. “Nope, he’s not with me. Check the pool. I think he said something about getting laps in.” I’d think she was correct if it wasn’t for the missing clothes. “Listen,” Joan continued, “I just got off the phone with the embassy. Again. They’ve given us a bit of a reprieve.” She forced out a laugh. “Instead of killing us tonight, they’ll give us twenty-four hours to get our affairs in order.”
“This is not the time for jokes, Joan. Ciaran is missing and you’re insinuating that armed men plan to snuff our lives over a fake statue they didn’t even know was missing.”
Downstairs, the intercom in the kitchen started buzzing. This was how Franky spoke with the staff from the big house without having to walk back and forth.
“Ciaran’s missing?” Joan yelled over the phone. “Why didn’t you lead with that, you idiot? Jesus, we’ll help you look for him. Do you think he went back out into the ocean?”
I sprinted down the stairs and skidded to a halt in the kitchen.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Hold on. I’m getting buzzed by the main house.” I pressed the button. “Yes?”
“Matty, this is Davies. I’m in the garage with Ciaran.” Instant relief washed through me. “Do you think you can meet us down here? The young man insists on driving to Las Vegas tonight.”
For some reason, that didn’t surprise me. I was putting pieces of the puzzle together.
I pressed the button to reply. “Thanks Davies, I’ll be right there. Don’t let him leave.” To Joan, I said over the phone, “I found Ciaran. He’s in the garage with Davies.”
“Thank God Ciaran’s okay,” Joan said. Her voice was on the edge of hysteria blended with the hardened tone of a hotshot military officer just about to bark out orders. She sounded like she was two seconds away from organizing a search party. If anyone could round up five hundred people in under ten minutes, it would be Joan. Her contact list was that extensive. “What’s this about him driving to Vegas?”
“I’ll find out in a few minutes when I see him, Joan. Something must have happened to one of his friends.” Or something happened with Drew, who I knew as Andy. “About the fake statue, do you think Andy’s the one behind it?”
“I’d be willing to bet my left tit he’s behind it. The easiest way to find out is to text him and ask. He always liked fucking with you. He’s the only person I know who can get under your skin like that.”
Ouch, I thought, but Joan wasn’t lying.
