The
Brandt Dodson File:
Seventy Times Seven by Brandt
Dodson
Lester Cheek had everything a man could want. A beautiful
home, thriving business and money to burn. But he was alone – very
alone. Until he met Claudia. The attractive and effervescent Claudia was
everything that Lester could hope for. But then, she mysteriously disappears
and Colton Parker is hired to find her.
CHAPTER ONE
His name was Lester Cheek. By any measure, it was the type of name that
should have held him back. In fact, it was his name that ultimately propelled
him forward.
In school, his build was slight, his posture stooped, and his teeth protruded. He carried a slide rule, wore pants that were far too short, snorted when he laughed, and kept black-and-white glossies of Albert Einstein and Jonas Salk taped to the inside of his locker. In short, Lester was his own worst enemy. But it was the name Cheek the Geek that had cut him most deeply and kept him from his goals and from the kids he sought as friends. Those same kids who became his perpetual tormenters.
He was the butt of jokes and the target of schoolyard bullies. He couldn’t find a friendly face—not among the boys, not among the girls, and not even among the other less socially gifted students of Tremont High. The other rejected kids who were on their own quest for acceptance found it in their united rejection of Lester Cheek.
But as time moved on and the kids grew into adulthood, the cliques of high school soon gave way to the stark realities of life. Most of the kids in Lester’s class went on to average lives with average problems. Others did less well and found themselves on the wrong side of the tracks—or the wrong side of the law. But none of them had had to endure and persevere the way Lester had. None of them had to overcome the obstacle of a name like Lester Cheek. None of them had grown in the way that Lester had, and none of them had done as well.
At twenty-five Lester opened the Pottery Shack and sold everything pottery, from cups and bowls to lamps and wall hangings. At first it was a small operation, just Lester and a couple of part-time employees. But eventually one store grew to three, then ten, then thirty. And by the time he was fifty, Lester owned more than forty Pottery Shacks in malls and strip centers throughout the midwest. But he was still Cheek the Geek, and he was alone.
That is, until he met Claudia. She was older than Lester by five years and considerably more worldly. But that was okay with the pottery merchant. After all, Lester was in love, and he wasn’t alone anymore.
The couple married and developed a circle of friends. The latter was due mostly to Claudia’s effervescent personality because Lester still chafed from years of relentless scorn. But with Claudia at his side, the pain from years of abuse had begun to recede, and life was finally good for Lester Cheek.
And then suddenly Claudia disappeared without giving a reason or offering an apology. And Lester was alone again. And he hired me to find his wife.
I met him at his north side estate on the hottest day in Indianapolis history. The air did not stir. It was as thick and lifeless as solidified blood…and still the thermometer continued its relentless climb. Even the birds had ceased their singing. The only sounds on the Cheek estate came from the inground sprinkler system.
As I climbed out of my car, I was greeted at the door by a tall, thin Hispanic-looking woman who ushered me into the living room, where I found Lester sitting on an expensive Italian leather sofa.
He stood and smiled pleasantly as he extended his hand. I shook it, and after the brief salutation, he asked Consuelo to leave us alone. As soon as she did, the light went out of Lester’s eyes as he collapsed onto the sofa again.
“How long has she been gone?” I asked as I took a seat opposite him.
He sat with his head bowed and shoulders slumped, a man trapped in the maze of life with no way out. “Bout a week now,” he said, his voice breaking. “But I keep thinking she’s coming back. She’s got to come back.”
Thirty-six years had passed since high school, but Lester was still a geek. Still small and still stooped. But I heard no snort when he laughed, for there was no laughter now. Lester had proved to the world that he had worth and that he belonged. Yet somehow he was still alone, abandoned by the only one who had ever seemed to care.
“Were there any problems?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I didn’t think so. I thought everything was going well. We were doing great, the stores were doing great.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Five years last month.”
“And no problems?” I asked again.
He shook his head. “No sir.”
“There are always problems,” I said.
“If there were, I didn’t see them.”
“It’s possible,” I said. “It happens.”
“I know. I just hope it didn’t happen this time. I don’t think I could live with myself if something was wrong and I didn’t see it.”
I looked around the room. From what I could see, the house was elaborate. The living room was done in a Southwestern decor with some very expensive, original artwork on the walls.
“Georgia O’Keeffe?” I asked, nodding at one of the paintings on the wall.
“Yes. Know her?”
“I know of her,” I said. “She’s been gone for some time.”
“Claudia picked that out. She always had a taste for art.”
“Me too,” I said. “Can’t afford much of it, though. Still, I suppose it doesn’t hurt to look.”
“You like Georgia O’Keeffe?”
“Sure,” I said. “Among others.”
“Do you have a favorite?” he asked.
“Several. I would rank Norman Rockwell near the top. I even like the guy who did Dogs Playing Poker.” The humor was lost on Lester. “But if I had to pick a single artist, it would be Kinkade.”
Lester nodded. “The Painter of Light,” he said. “Claudia likes him too. We have some of his originals in the house.”
I noticed an elk’s head mounted over the fireplace.
“Hunt?” I asked, standing and moving to the trophy.
He shook his head. “No, I bought it. Thought it might look nice in the room.”
“It does,” I said.
He remained sitting on the edge of the sofa, rubbing his hands together between his knees. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes were focused on the floor.
“Did she leave a note?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Has she phoned?”
Again, he shook his head.
“E-mail?”
“No. Nothing.”
“Have you called the police? Filed a missing persons report?”
He nodded. “Yes. I called them. But they said that she left on her own accord and there was nothing they can do. Her luggage and clothes and makeup are gone.”
“Were you home when she left?”
He shook his head again. “No. When I come home from work, she usually comes to the door. This time she didn’t. I looked all over for her—” his voice broke again. “But she wasn’t here.” He paused to gain control of himself. “I didn’t know what to do, so I called my attorney. He said it would be wise to prepare for a divorce. But if I was committed to finding Claudia and working things out, I should hire a private detective. He gave me your name.”
“And that’s how I got involved.”
He nodded as he fought to subdue his emotions.
I made a mental note to find out more about the attorney and thank him for the referral. “Does Claudia have any friends?” I asked
He breathed slowly before answering. “Yes. Most of our friends are her friends.”
“Does she have any particularly close friends? Someone she might be staying with or who might know where she is?”
He shrugged. “There’s Melanie Green. She and Claudia are quite close. They usually play tennis a couple of times a week. Have lunch. Work on the board of some charity for a while.”
“Which charity?”
He paused, working his hands. “Let’s see...” he said, glancing upward the way people do when trying to recall something. “It was Mothers Advocating for Children—MAC.”
“When did Melanie see Claudia last?”
He rubbed his hands together again, keeping his gaze toward the ceiling, “That would have been last week, just before Claudia disappeared. Claudia had a television interview about the charity. After the interview, she and Melanie came back here, had lunch, played some tennis in the back, and...” He looked up at me. “I want her back, Mr. Parker.”
“I know.”
“I need her back.” The pain in his eyes was familiar to me. I saw it every morning in the mirror. But in my case, my wife had not left by choice.
I moved back to the chair I had been sitting in. “I can’t make her come back.”
He looked at the floor again as he nodded. “I know,” he said softly.
“I’ll find her. But what happens after that is not in my control.”
He nodded again.
“Has she been acting differently lately? Anything unusual?”
“No.”
He paused the rubbing of his hands as he thought. “No. Except that a lot of money has been withdrawn from our accounts recently. More than usual.”
“How much?”
“About twenty-five thousand over the past month or so.”
“Twenty-five thousand?” I asked, trying to mask my incredulity. It was more money than I had been able to accumulate in a lifetime of struggle. “Didn’t that alarm you?”
He looked at me again. “No, not really. I’ve done quite well over the years, Mr. Parker, and Claudia enjoyed nice things. I was happy to indulge her.”
“Sure,” I said, “but twenty grand is a lot of indulgence.”
He nodded. “Like I said, it was more than usual.”
“When did you discover the withdrawals?”
“Just the other day. I take care of the business and have always given Claudia enough to run the house, along with a personal account. But since she left, I had to assume control of the checkbook again. That was when I discovered the withdrawals.”
“More than one?”
“Maybe. I didn’t go back any further. That was when I called you.”
“I’ll need amounts and dates,” I said.
He nodded as he began to work his hands again. “I’ll have a copy of the check register sent to you today.”
“I’ll need phone records, credit card receipts, an address book, and a picture. A recent one.”
“I’ll have them delivered today.”
“One more thing,” I said. “Did she have any enemies?”
He shook his head. “No, not Claudia.”
“Do you?”
“Of course. You can’t be in business, and be as successful as I have been, and not have made enemies along the way.
“Are any of these enemies angry enough to cause harm to you or Claudia?”
He nodded. “Some of them.”
“I’ll need a list,” I said.
He began to work his hands faster than before. “It’ll take some time, Mr. Parker. It is quite a long one.”
Taken from: Seventy
Times Seven. Copyright © 2006 by Brandt Dodson.
Published by Harvest House Publishers, Eugene, OR. Used by permission.
