Master of the Game by Sidney Sheldon

He said tactfully, “Is it possible he was detained on business somewhere?”

“He—he usually calls.”

“Well, you know how it is, Mrs. Mellis. Sometimes you get in a situation where you can’t call. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from him.”

Now she did feel like a fool. Of course there was nothing the police could do. She had read somewhere that a person had to be missing for twenty-four hours before the police would even start looking for him, and George was not missing, for heaven’s sake. He was just late.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Alexandra said into the telephone. “I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Mellis. I’ll bet he’ll be on the seven o’clock ferry first thing in the morning.”

 

 

He was not on the seven o’clock ferry, or the one after that. Alexandra telephoned the Manhattan house again. George was not there.

A feeling of disaster began to grip Alexandra. George had been in an accident; he was in a hospital somewhere, ill or dead. If only there had not been the mix-up with Eve at the airport. Perhaps George had arrived at the house, and when he found she was not there, he had gone. But that left too many things unexplained. He would have left a note. He could have surprised burglars and been attacked or kidnapped. Alexandra went through the house, room by room, looking for any possible clue. Everything was intact. She went down to the dock. The Corsair was there, safely moored.

She telephoned the Waldo County Sheriff’s Department again. Lieutenant Philip Ingram, a twenty-year veteran of the force, was on morning duty. He was already aware that George Mellis had not been home all night. It had been the chief topic of conversation around the station all morning, most of it ribald.

Now he said to Alexandra, “There’s no trace of him at all, Mrs. Mellis? All right. I’ll come out there myself.” He knew it would be a waste of time. Her old man was probably tomcatting around in some alley. But when the Blackwells call, the peasants come running, he thought wryly. Anyway, this was a nice lady. He had met her a few times over the years.

“Back in an hour or so,” he told the desk sergeant.

 

 

Lieutenant Ingram listened to Alexandra’s story, checked the house and the dock and reached the conclusion that Alexandra Mellis had a problem on her hands. George Mellis was to have met his wife the evening before at Dark Harbor, but he had not shown up. While it was not Lieutenant Ingram’s problem, he knew it would do him no harm to be helpful to a member of the Blackwell family. Ingram telephoned the island airport and the ferry terminal at Lincolnville. George Mellis had used neither facility within the past twenty-four hours. “He didn’t come to Dark Harbor,” the lieutenant told Alexandra. And where the hell did that leave things? Why would the man have dropped out of sight? In the lieutenant’s considered opinion, no man in his right mind would voluntarily leave a woman like Alexandra.

“We’ll check the hospitals and mor—” He caught himself. “And other places, and I’ll put out an APB on him.”

Alexandra was trying to control her emotions, but he could see what an effort it was. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I don’t have to tell you how much I’ll appreciate anything you can do.”

“That’s my job,” Lieutenant Ingram replied.

 

 

When Lieutenant Ingram returned to the station, he began calling hospitals and morgues. The responses were negative. There was no accident report on George Mellis. Lieutenant Ingram’s next move was to call a reporter friend on the Maine Courier. After that, the lieutenant sent out a missing person all-points-bulletin.

The afternoon newspapers carried the story in headlines: HUSBAND OF BLACKWELL HEIRESS MISSING.

 

 

Peter Templeton first heard the news from Detective Nick Pappas.

“Peter, remember askin’ me a while ago to do some checkin’ on George Mellis?”

“Yes…”

“He’s done a vanishing act.”

“He’s what?”

“Disappeared, vamoosed, gone.” He waited while Peter digested the news.

“Did he take anything with him? Money, clothes, passport?”

“Nope. According to the report we got from Maine, Mr. Mellis just melted into thin air. You’re his shrink. I thought you might have some idea why our boy would do a thing like that.”