The Father's Disappearance (A Disappearance Mystery Thriller Book 1) Page 2

  "Barely!" Melody slams her cup of coffee, now half empty, onto the countertop. "So he thinks he can hold me prisoner!?"

  "No, but two or three weeks in the beautiful Scottish wilderness is a small price to pay to embark on your career as an archaeologist."

  Melody sighs. "Two weeks? And that's it?"

  "Two or three weeks, depending on how things proceed," says George. " But not much more than that. You find your father, you get your life back."

  "And if I don't?"

  "Your uncle will decide that. All the details are in this envelope. Good day, and..."

  "Yes!?" Melody snaps.

  "Bon voyage." George's thin lips sneer into a grin. He then walks out of the kitchen and then leaves Melody's apartment, no doubt heading straight off to the nearest landing strip in order to get back to his vacation in France.

  Melody is left with the scent of cheap coffee, nicotine, and a brown envelope that might as well have the famous words of a Scottish poet written upon it: "The best laid plans of mice and men, often go awry."

  She needs time to think. She needs time to get rid of this hangover. Scotland? Really? She has always wanted to visit that ancient land filled with castles, standing stones, and secret burial chambers, but not like this. Not with her hand forced.

  "Genuine affection for me," Melody says under her breath. "That'll be right."

  Moving over to the envelope, she picks it up and carefully looks inside.

  Chapter 2

  Melody sits in a coffee place called Miller's that she often frequents. She dislikes the generic franchise chains with their inoffensive brews and manufactured coziness. No, Millers, with its local artwork hanging on the walls and bookcases where anyone is free to pick up a volume and sip away an idle lunch hour, is the type of place Melody loves. It has been a sanctuary for her all these years, studying. Now, this will be the last time she sits there for a while. Perhaps ever.

  The sun streams in through the window next to her from the quiet Bostonian street as she nurses a large hot chocolate. She feels on edge as it is, her hangover is better, but still there. Another coffee will only send her into a spiral of anxiety and frustration. The sun should help with its gentle caress, but Melody does not feel in a sunny mood.

  She stares down at her phone, knowing that if she presses the button, she is accepting that her life is going off the grid, off the beaten path, to an uncertain place surrounded by sea, clear air, and mountains; the landscape harboring the secret behind her father's disappearance.

  "Just do it," she murmurs under her breath.

  Melody clicks "send" on the mass email she's been wording for the last 30 minutes on her phone. There's just no easy way to break the news to friends, colleagues, and other loved ones. Certainly, no easy way to tell that last category. Now, the people who were going on the dig with her will know the truth. The dig is postponed for a few weeks, if not longer. It sticks in Melody's throat that her father and her uncle have waded into her life and torn down something so important to her. She feels like she has let down the rest of the team she has assembled, all because she was born to a man who thrives on turning historical items into dollar signs. Yes, he always told Melody to embrace the mystery, but the sickening glimmer of gold was always simmering away beneath his smile. A desire that is as much a curse as any to humankind: greed.

  "Now that's a glum look," a voice says, hovering over the table.

  Melody looks up. She feels relieved. It's not another of her uncle's hired goons. It's someone she trusts more than any other. It's Brad, her best friend. Tall yet bookish with glasses, he does not look out of place surrounded by coffee drinkers, readers, and writers. He wears a thin scarf around his neck that Melody always gently jokes about. There's no need for it in the summer sun, but, like many who enjoy research and writing, Brad has embraced the idea of what such a person should look like, just as much as doing the actual work. He is, in every sense, a writer.

  Melody rises and kisses Brad on the cheek. They have always been affectionate with each other, but never romantically involved. Though Brad has his charms with his side-she sandy hair and bright eyes filled with curiosity, Melody has always felt more of a familial connection to him. In many ways, Brad and a few others she has met during her time at Boston University, are more like family to Melody than her actual blood. And yet, it is now her bloodline which looms heavily on her.

  Brad pulls up a chair and joins her, taking his scarf off and placing it on an empty wooden seat next to them. "What was so important you had to drag me away from my Saturday paintball game?"

  "I need advice, Brad."

  Brad's demeanor instantly changes when he sees the distress clearly etched on Melody's face. He reaches over and touches her hand momentarily in affection. It is the reassuring touch of a true friend.

  "What's wrong, Melody?" he asks, his usually happy expression more serious than usual.

  "My dad has disappeared and my uncle wants me to go looking for him."

  "I'm sorry to hear that..." Brad is hesitant. He knows that Melody's father has been a distant one, and that his periodic absence throughout Melody's life has caused her great pain. "But, don't you hate your dad?"

  Melody sips her hot chocolate, wiping the brown luxurious liquid from the corners of her mouth with a napkin. "I... I thought I did. But now he's missing, I feel I have to go looking for him. I mean, he's still my dad. I only have one."

  "Can't the police handle it? I don't think he's worth your time, Melody."

  "I think he's in Scotland."

  "Wow," Brad leans back in his chair, trying to appear more confident than he actually is. "That's a bit of a trip. What happened?"

  "Probably nothing... Look... I'll be straight with you. I'm sorry I've kept this from you but, my dad isn't exactly a normal kind of guy."

  "You should see my family," Brad says, smiling. "My cousin Reg is into stuffing animals."

  "No, I'm serious. I never told you or anyone else in our class that he... Tends to find historical relics and then sells them on the black market to the highest bidder."

  Brad does not say anything, but he is clearly concerned. Though he is now hoping to be a writer of historical fiction after graduating rather than an archaeologist, he detests those who rob and cheat the academic system out of handling priceless artifacts correctly with respect to their cultures of origin.

  "I'm worried he's gotten in over his head and something bad has happened..." Melody continues.

  "Like what?" Brad leans forward in his chair and takes a quizzical stance, his elbows resting on the table, his hand cradling his chin in thought.

  "The people on the black market, when millions of dollars are at stake, they'll kill for that kind of money."

  "My word, do you think he's dead?"

  Melody rubs her forehead, the last wisps of her hangover still clinging on for dear life. "I don't know. Let me ask you... Do you think I should go to Scotland?"

  "No," comes Brad's blunt response. "It sounds dangerous. Let the authorities deal with it. Even if you want to find your dad, you could be putting yourself in harm's way, not to mention messing with evidence or witnesses that could put any real police investigation in jeopardy. You should stay here or go to Greece, Melody. I have a bad feeling about this. I knew it as soon as I saw your face today."

  "My uncle thinks I should go. He thinks that Dad might be in hiding and that I'll flush him out. Or, that he has a better chance of talking to me than anyone else. Who knows why, he rarely gets in touch. But I get it, I'm his daughter."

  "Listen, Melody," Brad's tone is now grim. "I'm not sure you should go messing around with this sort of thing. Put the danger aside, if you get caught with people trading stolen artifacts from museums or digs, your archaeology career will be over before it's even started. You know that. Everything you've worked for will be in tatters. Don't throw it away on a wild goose chase."

  "I know..." Melody looks out of the window to the street outside. It is quiet. The su
nshine bathes all in a peaceful glow. A child with red hair laughs at her friend as they play with a ball on a small patch of grass. Melody thinks of herself as a child, waiting with anticipation for her father coming home and then getting a phone call saying he's on a plane, bound for some destination she has never heard of before. That happened many times, eventually she just stopped believing in him.

  "Go on your dig project in the Mediterranean, let the police handle what might not even be a missing person case." Brad looks at his friend. Melody's face is one he's read many times, and Melody knows this. She can see that he is reading her, and he doesn't quite believe that she's told him everything. Melody can't complain about the mild distrust. He's right.

  Brad sighs and shakes his head, then he looks Melody in the eyes. "You're going, aren't you? You've already decided?" he asks rhetorically.

  Melody nods somberly. "I know you don't agree, Brad. But I need your help."

  "Short of going myself," Brad says. "I'll give you a hand. What do you need?"

  "I need someone to know where I'm going and what's happening so that, should anything bad happen, people will know where to look. Will you stay in touch with me while I'm there?"

  "Of course, but I still think you should reconsider. What about your dig?"

  "It's been... Postponed anyway. I have a couple of weeks to spare before it starts up again. Also... I..." She says, hesitating.

  "What do you need?" Brad has always been the more forthright of the two, ever since their first year at university when he would challenge his tutors and professors on several academic points. Melody used to blush at that. She used to think it strange how much he wanted to rile them up. Perhaps that explained his lower grades. "There's something on your mind. Out with it."

  "You're right about this potentially hurting my career. It's why I've only told you, Brad. Even the rest of our friends don't know. I don't want anyone else knowing where I'm going and why. Like you say," Melody says. "I need to keep this as quiet as possible so people don't start thinking I'm some sort of black market dealer or grave robber."

  Melody hands over a piece of paper to Brad.

  "What's this?"

  "It's some information about the place I'm going to; if things get really bad... If I need you, will you come?"

  "To Scotland?!"

  Melody nods and hopes that her friend will be there for her. "It'll be good research for all those unfinished historical novels you keep putting off."

  Brad laughs. "Sure, why not, what else have I got going on around here?" He shrugs and then orders a cup of coffee. "But let's just hope it doesn't come to that and you find your dad quickly."

  Melody senses that Brad is not taking the invitation too seriously. It's like he does not believe he will be needed. She hopes he is right.

  Chapter 3

  Melody cannot breathe. Something is around her neck like a snake. It tightens, and as it does, Melody lashes out with her hands. Someone is on top of her. She opens her eyes and sees the outline of a man kneeling down on her chest. She cannot make out his features, but she can sense his intent. His breath carries with it the bitter scent of whiskey, and he labors hard as he pulls the belt around Melody's neck so tight that her eyes begin to bulge.

  As the life begins to leave her body, she hears the man whisper a name. It is hers, and carried with it is murderous intent. Melody tries to gasp, but her windpipe is slowly being crushed. This is the end for her. She reaches up with her hand one last time...

  "Excuse me, Miss? Miss?" a polite woman says.

  Opening her eyes and letting out a loud gasp, Melody is shocked by the sudden change in circumstance. A dim light overhead makes itself known, and in front of it is the outline of a figure. Melody looks around and sees several pairs of watchful eyes peering over seats and up from their in-flight magazines. Some are annoyed, some concerned, some just curious. Perhaps the drama is even entertainment for others, taking their minds off of the bumpy flight as the plane is buffeted by the Atlantic winds.

  "I... I'm sorry," Melody answers groggily. "I think I was dreaming."

  "No problem, Miss," the flight attendant offers. "Can I get you anything before we land?"

  "No... I'm fine. Thank you."

  The attendant walks back up the central aisle of the plane and then whispers something to the co-pilot. It is a small aircraft, and so everything can be seen and heard. The co-pilot, in turn, mentions something to the pilot who then looks over his shoulder momentarily at Melody. He smiles, wide-jawed and pleasant, his rustled blond hair messy but attractive.

  Melody sinks down into her chair, mortified at the people around her giving accusatory glances, but more so at the strangely over-familiar look the pilot has just given her.

  Looking out one of the plane's windows, Melody sees a blanket of white clouds, periodically parting to reveal a shimmering ocean beneath. It is both beautiful and frightening, the sheer depth of it. The unknown fathoms beneath. And the wind rumbles across the wings of the plane, shuddering the small aircraft occasionally. A few of the passengers give each other nervous smiles and glances each time it happens.

  It has been a grueling journey. An eight-hour flight to London first, then a five-hour train across the border into Scotland where she was met by one of her uncle's associates in the capital city, Edinburgh.

  He was courteous enough, if not direct. Though he was at least not as foreboding as George back in Boston.

  Sitting in her seat on the plane to the island, Melody thinks about the city of Edinburgh. It is a shame she could not stay there for a day or two. Edinburgh has always fascinated her, a city steeped in a thousand years of history. A castle built on an extinct volcano, and much of the cobbled streets and ancient buildings still standing. One day... she thinks to herself.

  She looks down at the papers in her hands. Her uncle has decided that it would be dangerous for her to travel to Scotland under her real name. So, while in Edinburgh, she was given a fake ID and told to travel onto Talon's Point, where she would be given new instructions. Now, she holds that ID in her hand. Melody Winter is her new name. Why she has kept her first name, she does not know.

  The plane bumps slightly through some more turbulence. It is a small aircraft, seating about twenty people. Talon's point is not exactly a tourist destination. Most of the people on the flight go back and forward from the mainland. It is a short flight, but a nervous one. Melody herself is worried because these people have made the journey many times before, but now they appear scared by the weather and the way the aircraft is moving unsteadily.

  Another bump and Melody's heart begins to race. Worse still, she can hear the pilot upfront talking in a hushed but rushed tone with his co-pilot. They are clearly discussing something urgent. Then Melody sees the face of the only attendant. The woman is anxious. You know when the flight crew are scared, it's time to start praying. One thing Melody has kept through her scientific training is her awe at the universe and her belief that there is something bigger running the show – to her, this something is more like a Someone whom she knows as God. She reaches her right hand to her chest and feels the cross necklace under her sweater. It's the only thing of her mother's that she owns. But she holds onto it and says a prayer.

  A sound pings.

  The pilot, whom Melody can see at the other end of the aisle in the cockpit, announces that everyone should be prepared to land. He ends this with "things might get a little bumpy". This does not fill Melody with confidence. She pulls her seatbelt on tightly and watches out of the window. The plane judders slightly as it descends, the propellers on the wing swirling through the cloud cover. Melody looks around and sees some nervous faces. Even if they are used to this journey from the mainland, this seems to be a little bumpier than they care for. Anxiety is palpable.

  Melody tells herself everything will be okay. The plane drops suddenly and the calming effect of those empty words quickly evaporates. She grabs hold of the seat rest in front of her as she feels her stomach rise
up and then settle as the plane stops dropping at an accelerated rate. It feels like the entire plane is flying through a sea of rocks and invisible hurdles.

  Now, the plane comes through the clouds, and looking out of the window, Melody sees Deacon island in all its glory far below. Large enough to contain several mountains, pockets of woodland populate the otherwise rich grassy plains and fields below. The occasional glimmer of sunshine dancing off of a freshwater loch belies the true danger Melody and the other passengers now find themselves in.

  Again, the plane sinks down into turbulence. The fuselage vibrates violently and an overhead luggage compartment flicks open, dropping a rucksack on top of a startled man’s head. Others hold onto each other, while the sound of “this can’t be happening” is repeated again and again by someone further up front. The pilot yells for everyone to remain calm, but that only fuels the uncertainty of the situation, his plea seemingly affirming that there is indeed something to worry about.