The Greeks of Beaubien Street Read Online Free Page B

sign posted on it. Beyond the water company was Detroit. They found the house easily. There, in the driveway, was Mike’s black Ford Explorer. It was a nice house, mid-century, well maintained in a lovely neighborhood of two story homes. Jacob left the car running and swung the door open, yelling to Marianne to stay put. He dashed up the wide steps to the porch and began banging on the front door of Mike Ahmed’s house. Within seconds, Mike himself came to the door, disheveled and confused. Jacob forced open the screen door and grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt, screaming, “Where’s Gretchen, you son of a bitch!” Marianne opened the car door and struggled out, yelling to her husband to stop. Neighbors were already coming out to see what the ruckus was about.
    “You want us to call the police?” the man next door yelled at Jacob. “You need our help?” he called to Mike. Jacob, undeterred, got within an inch of Mike’s nose.
    “My daughter did not come home last night. Where the hell is she?”
    “I don’t know! I swear to you! We met at Fairlane Center and went to a movie. I took her to her car at ten-thirty. I watched her get in and drive off! I swear to you!” He repeated it over and over. Marianne was pulling on Jacob’s arm, shouting “Let’s go! Let’s go!” But Jacob didn’t want to leave Mike’s house. For reasons he couldn’t explain or understand, he felt like he was with Gretchen while in the presence of this young man. Whether it was a sign of something or not, he wasn’t ready to leave. Mike Ahmed was blubbering and cowering. Jacob let go of his shirt. The neighbors were on the steps now, ferocious looking men, one with a baseball bat.
    “I’m sorry,” Jacob said to Mike. He looked at the men and held up his hand in a sign of peace. “Everything is okay here. I just need to speak with Mike.” Someone asked Mike if he would be okay and he shook his head yes. He was still scared to death. This big, ugly, redheaded man looked like he was capable of killing someone. Yet there they both stood, obviously shaken. He had to offer Gretchen’s parents something.
    “Did you try her cell phone?” He asked, realizing how idiotic that sounded as the words were leaving his mouth.
    “It went right to voice mail,” Mrs. Parker said. Suddenly, Jacob started crying in huge, ugly sobs; he made no attempt to hide this from Mike. The men of the neighborhood were appalled and turned to walk away. Mike was going to offer to try to get in touch with her, but then thought the less he engaged these crazy people, the better. She would show up before long, he was certain. “Maybe she’s gone to her friend Leah’s,” he said. “She lives near Fairlane. If Gretchen was feeling tired, she may have stopped there for coffee and lost track of the time. Do you have Leah’s number? I bet that’s where she is.” They didn’t know it by heart; they would run home again and call her.
    Marianne took Jacob by the arm. He was inconsolable. She led him down to the car and opened the passenger side, pushing him to sit down. Mike didn’t offer his help, but watched from a safe distance up on his porch. He went into the house and quietly locked the screen door. Marianne helped Jacob with his seatbelt and then shut the door. She walked around to the driver’s side and got in, worried at having watched her aggressive husband turn into a marshmallow.
    They would switch leadership roles back and forth all weekend, but Marianne would ultimately take charge. They went back home and called Leah who hadn’t seen or spoken to Gretchen since Wednesday. Jacob went into Blazos, accompanied by his friend Pete from the Dearborn Police Department, and asked if anyone had noticed what happened to the owner of the red Malibu. The car was impounded; taken to the station and checked for evidence. There was nothing suspicious, so the car was released to Jacob.
    On Monday morning, an officer from Detroit called and said that