Free The Disappearance of Grace by Vincent Zandri

overcoat. But does that mean you won’t search for her?”
    â€œYes, we will search for her, Captain Angel. But first, allow me to ask you a few more questions.”
    I nod.
    â€œHow well did you and your fiancée, Grace Blunt, get along?”
    â€œVery well.”
    â€œVery well,” he repeats. He’s questioning my answer.
    â€œOkay, to be honest, the past year has been difficult with my having been at war. There were the normal stresses and strains.” But what I’m not telling him is how Grace and her ex-husband, Andrew, conducted a brief affair while I was away at the war. How it lasted only a single night. How Grace called me the day after in a fit of tears and remorse. How for weeks after that, I wouldn’t talk with her. Wouldn’t talk on the phone. Wouldn’t Skype. Wouldn’t text or email. About how I thought very much of leaving her and never returning to the US after the war.
    â€œAnd now you are suffering from a…malady.”
    â€œYes, a malady , as you call it. But it’s going to go away one day soon. And I will be good as new and Grace and I will be married.”
    â€œI understand,” he says. “But first she must come back to you.”
    I feel my insides drop. I want to call the detective of a son of a bitch and walk out the door. But I am at his mercy and he knows it.
    â€œYes,” I say. “Grace must come back or be found by you good people.”
    He picks up a piece of paper. Probably the paper the female officer brought in for him.
    He says, “We have witnesses who say they saw you both in a café yesterday not far from here. And that you were arguing.”
    I recall the engagement ring dropping to the cobbles. I recall purposely spilling my drink. I recall our heated words and in my mind picturing Grace and Andrew together in bed and all the people who were staring at us. People who couldn’t help but watch us argue, but who went blind to Grace’s being kidnapped from her table in the café this afternoon.
    â€œYes, we argued,” I explain. “I assume you argue on occasion with your wife?”
    The detective issues a subtle laugh. Like he’s thinking and grinning about something humorous that happened years ago.
    â€œYes, we did argue. Which is why we happily divorced.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say. “I’ve been married before too.”
    â€œYou are some years older than Grace,” he observes. “At least ten years older. She could be married to someone younger. Someone not affected by the war. Someone more stable. Someone she was married to before perhaps?”
    â€œYes,” I swallow. “Grace was married once before. What’s your point, detective?”
    â€œMy point, Captain Angel, is that Grace may very well have simply walked away from something she no longer wanted in her life. Something she was afraid of. It’s possible she is frightened of committing herself to only one man for the rest of her life. This is an entirely human response to the prospect of marriage.”
    He must sense the expression of stone cold anger that paints my face.
    â€œWalked off,” I say. “Walked off without a change of clothes. Without luggage? With the clothes on her back and no warning? What about the overcoat man?”
    â€œWith all due respect, Captain,” he goes on, “do you have any idea how many men walk away from their wives while vacationing in Venice? How many wives walk away from their husbands never to return? Honeymooners, Captain Angel. Couples who are supposed to be in love.”
    He’s right, of course. I’m not oblivious to spoiled love or love gone suddenly wrong. I’m not completely out of touch with a man or a woman experiencing a sea change of emotion. I’ve lived it. Grace has lived it. Sometimes walking away from something just seems the easier alternative than attempting to climb an impossibly steep and