Just a slight hesitation.
“No,” he said, but there was something in his tone that didn’t convince Pierce. And he’d just admitted that he and his wife were going through a tough time. Then again, why would Jamison call Pierce out here, if he wasn’t going to be completely honest, if he didn’t want his help?
Jamison knew as well as Pierce that spouses were always “persons of interest,” if not actual suspects, until they were cleared.
As if reading Pierce’s mind, Jamison said, “I know how this looks. That’s why I contacted you. As a friend, yeah, but as an investigator. If something’s happened to her … if she’s avictim… they’ll look at me.”
Fair enough. “Just don’t hold back on me.”
“I won’t,” Jamison assured him.
“Has Naomi contacted Roxanne, or the girls, since she dropped them off?”
“Texted them all good night, around ten, I think. You know, they all have phones, so I think she texted each of them, individually. As I told you, that’s what Roxie said when I called her around midnight, that Naomi had dropped the kids off about six or maybe six-fifteen, hung out for a bit, then she took off. She told Roxie she was meeting me later.
“I texted Roxie again this morning, and she called me right back. Said she hadn’t heard a word, so now she’s worried sick. That’s when I called you.” He ran tense fingers around the back of his neck.
“Have you called the hospitals between here and Charleston?”
“Yeah. Around three this morning. Before I called you.” He exhaled heavily. “No one matching her description came into any of the ERs.”
“What about her friends?”
Checking his watch, he said, “I haven’t called them yet. It’s still early. But I will, and if anyone’s heard anything, I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll want their names and numbers. She drives a white Mercedes?”
“E-Class 350. Hybrid.”
“I’ll need the plate number.”
“I should know it, but I don’t,” he said. “I’ve got it in some paperwork in my office.” He left the room for a few minutes, leaving Pierce in the huge room alone. He stood and walked to the one wall near the bar where pictures were hung. Mostly they were glimpses of Jamison’s life as a football quarterback in high school. Wearing a cap and gown when he’d graduated, his father at his side. With his father and brothers on a hunting trip, a dead buck in the foreground. Holding hands with Naomi and laughing, newlyweds running down the steps of the local church where they’d gotten married. She in a lacy white gown, he in a tux, as they were showered with rice and birdseed as they fled through a gauntlet of friends and family. The people surrounding them were blurred, but Pierce remembered the day and knew he had been standing at the top of the steps. The day had been filled with sunshine and promise.
They had moved here soon after the wedding, taken over the house from his parents, who had moved to Florida. Then, somehow, when his father had passed years later, Jamison had inherited the place.
He stared at the picture of the joyous couple.
They’d had such big plans, and their future had seemed bright.
And now Naomi was missing … Had she disappeared of her own accord, or had something happened to her?
He heard Jamison’s footsteps and turned as his friend walked down the steps into the room. “Here you go.” He handed Pierce a sheet of paper with the car information on it and the names and phone numbers of Naomi’s closest friends. “For now, keep it on the down-low. I don’t want this to get out of hand in case she shows up with some plausible excuse. Like maybe the car broke down and herphone was out of juice or she had too much to drink and stayed with a friend …” His voice trailed off, and they both knew he was likely grasping at straws, hoping against hope.
“I’ll try and call again,” he said as he yanked his phone from his pocket and punched a speed-dial number. A few seconds passed and from across the room, Pierce heard a soft female voice answer. Naomi. But a recording.
Jamison’s gaze met Pierce’s as he said at the beep, “Hi, hon. It’s me again. Gettin’ worried. Give me a call.” He clicked off, and he stuffed the phone back into his pocket.
“I’ll work on it,” Pierce said. “Make some inquiries. Put out a BOLO on her car.”
Jamison nodded. “Right. But keep it as quiet as you can. It’s still … there’s still time.” He grimaced. “There’s a chance she might still show up.” But he didn’t look like he believed it. His expression was taut, and though he was keeping his cool, he was tense. Worried.
“I’ll double-check with the hospitals. See if there’s anything, but you should probably call her friends before I do.”
Jamison nodded absently, again looked through the windows. A slight mist was rising over the fields, where cattle and horses grazed. “I will … Yeah. This morning.”
“So do you know anything about someone who might want to harm her?”
“Of course not.” His head whipped around. “You know Naomi. Everybody loves her.”