"I'm coming over," Dean said. Randy seemed relieved to be having company.
On the drive to Maid Marian Lane, one thought plagued Dean's spinning mind. Jeffrey Byrne had contacted his wife and like a fool she was going off somewhere to meet the son-of-a-bitch. Never mind that line of logic didn't make a lick of sense. What was she going to do? Hop in a car and drive-where? Kansas? Colorado? And leave Randy to fend for himself? But Dean knew reality seldom replaces the passion of panic thinking.
The concerned look on Randy Byrne's face told Dean that Cynthia's action, while not of itself so unusual, was totally out of character for the boy's mother.
"Did she pack any clothes?" asked the detective after giving assurances that were only partially believed.
Randy hadn't checked but jogged up the stairs two at a time motioning for Dean to follow to his mother's bedroom. The only luggage missing was a small overnight bag. Dean remembered it from their trip to Norfolk two weeks earlier. Two large suitcases remained in place. If any clothing was missing, the amount was small.
Dean felt ill at ease in Cynthia Byrne's bedroom, spying on her world, seeing the small rainbow of dresses hanging in her closet, sharing space with suits and shirts looking as if they were awaiting the return of Jeffrey Byrne. He reluctantly pawed through the clutter on her bureau and the personal items in her bureau drawers, urged by Randy, who hoped the letter might have been left behind. But what made him most uncomfortable was the large four-poster bed Cynthia and Jeffrey Byrne had shared in love.
They searched the entire house, all the obvious places like the trash cans and counter tops, but found neither the letter nor the envelope.
"What did it look like? A business letter? A personal note?" Dean asked as he poked through a downstairs desk.
"It was in a business-size envelope, just one sheet of paper and handwritten. Mom kept rereading it, but she didn't want me to see it-she'd turn away when I came near. Do you think it's about my father?" Dean answered the obvious-he had no idea of the content of the missive.
The morning dragged into lunchtime and Dean remained at Randy's urging, in hopes that Cynthia would telephone. He and Randy shared the remains of nearly a dozen stale doughnuts after knocking off a quart of milk and a cheese sandwich each. They ended up in the living room, watching a baseball game in which neither had a lick of interest. The phone rang twice and Randy tripped as he dashed across the room to answer. The first call was from his girlfriend Jen. Randy cut the call short, telling the young lady his mother hadn't returned and he was awaiting her call.