Barbering had been such an important part of his life that he died a little over a year after retiring. He had no other hobbies or passions. It was the social aspect of his profession that had kept him going. She missed him dearly. Not a day went by in her shop that she didn’t think about him.
They returned to the kitchen table. Karl parked in front of his computer as loud explosions burst forth from the TV. A door opened in the hallway, and before she could get up, she saw her father shuffle into the kitchen. He was dressed neatly in brown trousers and a white button-down shirt, and he smiled brightly upon seeing Karl.
“Well, look who’s here,” he said, walking over and putting a hand on the cop’s shoulder. “You taking my daughter out on the town tonight?”
Karl’s face blushed, and he looked over at her, as if asking for help.
“We’re not going anywhere, Dad,” Isla said, averting her eyes from Karl’s embarrassed gaze.
“Good. Maybe he can stay for supper tonight and we can play Crazy Eights.”
“Dad, why don’t you go sit out on the deck for a little while? The weather’s nice. I’ll bring you out a sandwich.”
“A sandwich sounds great.” He leaned into Karl’s ear and said, “Make sure you bring her home before eleven.”
“Will do, Mr. Lee.”
Embarrassed by her father’s words, Isla guided him out to the deck and waited until he sat down. He could sit there for hours, staring out at the ocean. She wondered what went through his mind. Did he think about his past? His wife and family? Or did random memories pass haphazardly through his diseased brain? Was he happy to live in the moment, his memories coming and going at will? He was a good man, and she missed the easy way he had about him when he was healthy. She kissed his head and headed back inside.
“I’m so sorry about that. It’s the Alzheimer’s making him act that way.”
“Don’t be silly. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“No, I suppose not. It’s just that what he remembers is so random.”
“Maybe he’s remembering some good memories.”
“Maybe,” she said. “You always did bring me home by curfew.”
“That doesn’t mean I wanted to.” He stared down at the table. “I’m just sorry to see your father like that. He was always such a good guy.”
“Thank you.”
Karl picked up his computer and stood. “I think I have all the information I need for now.”
“You look tired. Have you gotten any sleep since you went off shift?”
“No, but then again, I don’t need much to begin with.”
She could tell he’d just lied.
“Don’t worry, Isla. We’re going to find her.”
“I know.” Tears bubbled in her eyes.
“I swear I won’t rest until she’s back home with you.”
She nodded, unable to speak, and watched as he left.
* * *
What to do? A vague feeling of dread came over her as she rinsed out the cups and emptied the coffee filter. She desperately needed to find Katie. She checked on her dad and found him staring blissfully out at the ocean, his calloused hands intertwined over his chest, the sandwich still untouched on his plate. In the living room, the boys had switched to playing video games. Scout looked up at her and yawned, a good sign. Calmness prevailed inside Raisin’s mercurial body.
Once again, she called Ray on her cell phone, and again, the call went directly to message. Had he shut his phone off? Lost it? Goddamned Ray. She wanted to throw her phone against the wall and never see that asshole again. If not for all the medical bills, she would have left him years ago. But the kids still loved him. And she knew that Katie would take it hard if the day ever came when she had to kick him out of the house. The effect it might have on Raisin’s health also concerned her. Best to keep the status quo for the time being.
She paced the kitchen, adrenaline fueling her worry. Something had to be done. If tomorrow came and Katie had still not returned home, she’d form a search group and look for her. The members of her church, Our Lady of Lourdes, would gladly help her look for Katie. She bit her thumbnail and began to strategize, in the event that happened. No time for tears, because she knew she had to stay strong if she was to bring Katie home safe and sound.
The salon. She’d need to go downtown and hang a CLOSED sign on the window. Her clients would understand—she hoped. Many of them came from the wealthy part of town, and her prices reflected the new demographics. Secretly, she gave her grandfather’s old clients a deep discount. But they seemed to be dwindling down lately because of their age and the changing socioeconomic conditions of the downtown area.
Her mind returned to Ray, mainly because she didn’t want to consider the worst-case scenario, like that James kid, who had disappeared over three months ago. She stomped out to where Ray’s art studio sat along the edge of their property. He’d built it himself. His man cave, he called it, as if being away from home all the time wasn’t enough privacy. It was off limits to everyone—unless Ray invited you in, and he rarely, if ever, invited anyone inside. It was where he worked on his schemes, patents, and harebrained ideas. It was also where he brushed his oils and acrylic onto canvas. He created stunning paintings of Shepherd’s Bay, filled with tugboats, lighthouses, and lobster boats cruising through the water. She had to admit that he could make a decent living were he to persevere in his art and take it more seriously. It frustrated her that the man she married had so much talent and let it all go to waste.
He’d put a cheap lock on the door. She tugged at in frustration, having no reason to invade his space. But now she wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt her all these years. Violating his space would help her vent, though she knew that nothing she did now would bring Katie home. Angry, she returned to the basement of the house, found the rusty spare key on the nail, and made her way to his art studio.
She undid the lock and went inside, flicking on the switch. Dust floated through the light. Clutter was piled high everywhere she looked. Gadgets and tools of every shape and size lay in various places. Over in the corner she saw copper tubing and knotted two-by-fours that he’d pilfered from various job sites. At the far end of the studio stood an easel with a half-finished painting on it: a harbor with two sailboats. Below it, stacked up against the wall, she noticed a collection of paintings. After walking over, she began to flip through them. She saw scenes depicting the water, mountains, and open fields. But about halfway through, she saw one canvas that shocked her. She pulled it out. It was a graphic painting of a nude woman lying on her back—a woman she knew.
The painting shocked her. Had Ray slept with the woman in this picture? Of course he’d deny it if asked, claiming artistic license. But she knew of no portrait models in Shepherd’s Bay who would choose to pose in such a lewd fashion.
Ray’s portrait paintings, while skillfully done, veered toward the pedestrian: sports stars, celebrities, actors and actresses. Every once in a while a wealthy banker or lawyer would commission him to paint their portrait. One local judge had even hired him for his services, and the painting now hung in his chambers. She remembered seeing it and feeling slightly put off by the judge’s weird dimensions.