Alert: (Michael Bennett 8) Read Free Page A

the folded note.
    MICHAEL it said on the outside in Mary Catherine’s perfect script.
    She must have slipped it in my jeans pocket before she chucked the pants out the window. I quickly unfolded it.
     
Dear Michael
,
     
From the very moment our eyes met in your apartment foyer all those years ago, I felt it in my heart. That you were mine. And I was yours. Which makes no sense. And yet it is the truest thing I know. I saw you and suddenly knew. That I was somehow finally done with all my silly wanderings. I saw you, Michael, and I was suddenly home. This last week with you has been the best week of my life. You will always be my home.
     
MC
     
    “Dear God, woman,” I whispered as I reread the note.
    Dear God, I thought as I turned and looked out at the world rushing by through my tears.

CHAPTER 2
     
    PRETTY MUCH EVERYTHING was gray as we made our final approach to New York City. The city skyline, the raining sky, the depths of my soul. I mean, I guess it was possible that things could have been more depressing as the plane touched down on the puddled tarmac.
    But I doubt it.
    I hadn’t slept a wink, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Mary Catherine still wasn’t with me. What else was there to say? Or think? Or do? Not much. In fact, nothing at all.
    “Jet lag and a broken heart,” I mumbled as the flight attendant spouted some peppy “Welcome to New York” crap over the plane’s intercom. “Winning combination.”
    Half an hour later, finally having escaped from the happy people over at customs, I was at a grim JFK-concourse fast-food joint trying to keep down a lukewarm burrito when I remembered to power my phone back on.
    I yawned as the message bell went off like a slot-machine win. Then I stopped yawning. There were six text messages and five missed calls, all from HOME .
    A dark swirl of panic ripped immediately through my jet lag. Because of the egregious cell-phone charges, I’d left explicit instructions for my family to call only if there was a true emergency. Something was up. I thumbed the Return Call button. Whatever the hell it was, it couldn’t be good.
    “Hello?!” came Juliana’s panicked voice on the first ring.
    “Juliana, it’s Dad. I just got off the plane at JFK. What is it?”
    “Thank God you’re home. It’s Gramps, Dad. He’s missing. He was supposed to come over here last night to babysit around ten, but when we called the rectory at eleven, they said he’d left at nine thirty. He never made it back last night, Dad. Seamus is missing. We don’t know where he is!”
    “Is the rectory housekeeper, Anita, still with you?” I said, grabbing my bag and hustling immediately back onto the concourse.
    “No. I told her to go home last night, Dad. Don’t worry: I’m watching everybody.”
    “I know you are, Juliana. You’re a good girl,” I said as calmly as I could as I tried to read the impossible terminal signs to find the exit. “What am I saying? I mean young woman. Don’t worry about Gramps. I’m sure he’s okay. Probably met an old friend and stayed over with him. I’m going to find him right now. I’ll call you the first I hear from him.”
    “Okay, good. I’m so glad you and Mary Catherine are home,” she said.
    I decided to leave out the fact that Mary Catherine was still stuck in Ireland for the time being. One catastrophe at a time.
    “And don’t worry. Things are under control on this end. I love you so much, Dad,” Juliana said.
    “I love you, too,” I said before I hung up.
    My next call, as I finally spotted an actual exit sign, was to my buddies at the Ombudsman Outreach Squad on 125th Street.
    “Brooklyn, hi. It’s Mike Bennett,” I said when Detective Kale answered. “I need a favor. You ever do a missing persons case?”
    “Sure, plenty of them. Why? What’s up?”
    “I just got off a plane out at Kennedy. My grandfather, Seamus Bennett, has been missing since around ten last night. He’s eighty-one, white male, white