“Pull in behind her,” she told Wesson.
“Will do.”
As Wesson followed her instructions, Parker pulled in front of King’s hatchback hemming her in, and put the car in park.
Their thoughts in sync, he and Miranda got out of the car at the same time and started toward the blond woman.
Time to have a little chat.
Wesson remained in her car, alert and watching. Miranda saw her inch the window down so she could listen to the pending conversation and give aid if Erica King decided to bolt.
The gas station was a neat-and-tidy red brick structure with nicely done landscaping of hedged and yellow flowers along its border. A comfortable breeze was blowing, though right here it was tinted with gasoline fumes. The traffic noise from the street was gentle, and it couldn’t have been much above seventy. Pre-fall weather.
Perfect for a long, lazy Sunday morning drive—with the kid you gave up eight years ago.
Erica King was dressed in gray sweat pants and a baggy top. She had her blond hair pulled back into a shaggy ponytail, the way she’d worn it last night when she answered the door for the pizza. Absorbed in fueling her car, she didn’t notice Miranda and Parker coming toward her until they were right up on her.
She jolted up in surprise. “What do you want?”
Must think she was getting robbed. “We just want to ask you a few questions, Ms. King,” Miranda said.
The woman’s expression went from shock to anger. “How do you know my name?”
Parker reached into his pocket and handed her a business card. “There’s no need to be alarmed, ma’am. We’re private detectives. We’d like to talk to you about a case we’re working.”
Brushing her hair from her face, Erica took the card and studied it. “Wade Parker. Miranda Steele. I’ve heard of you—on the news a few weeks ago.”
“That would be us,” Miranda said, watching her closely.
Strain showed on her face as her blue eyes darted from the gas nozzle to Wesson’s car, and back to Parker’s Mazda. She realized she was trapped. Her mouth tightened. She was definitely annoyed, but she had the air of someone with nothing to hide.
Parker turned to Miranda, waiting for her to take the lead.
This was going to be tricky. Start slow and easy, she decided.
She cleared her throat. “Ms. King, we’re here on behalf of Senator Perry Ward Hughes. We believe you know him?”
She blinked hard, as if Miranda had snapped her fingers under her nose. “I—worked with him once. It was years ago.”
Slipping her hands into the pockets of her jeans, Miranda gazed across the lot at the moving traffic. “We understand it was a little more than a working relationship.”
Erica said nothing.
“I might add Mr. Parker is an old friend of the senator’s. In fact we visited him yesterday.” She looked at Erica again.
The young woman turned a little pale. Her chest went up and down as if she were struggling for breath. “What did the senator tell you?”
“Everything.”
Erica glanced up at Parker and her cheeks went rosy. “It was over eight years ago.”
“We know that.”
Suddenly the words came tumbling out. “Okay, I made a mistake with him. It happens. He and his wife weren’t getting along. I thought he would leave her for me. I guess I wasn’t the first girl with stars in her eyes to fall for a lie like that.”
A politician who didn’t keep his promises. Imagine that.
“He broke my heart,” Erica said, her voice steady. “I was in a bad way for a long time. But I finally got my head straightened out. I finished my degree online. I have a good job. A life. What does Perry want with me now?”
She sounded so sincere Miranda’s heart went out to her. She understood what it was like to long for your child.
But she had a job to do. “You had a son with him, didn’t you?”
The gas nozzle clicked. Erica lifted it out of her car and put it back in the pump. “I see Perry did tell you everything. Yes, I had a son with him. But he belongs to the senator and his wife now. I haven’t seen him in years.”
Miranda waited a beat. “Then why is he in the passenger seat of your car?”
“What?”
As if on cue, the side door of the hatchback opened and the kid stuck his head out. “What’s going on, Aunt Erica?”
“Get back in the car, Brody.”
Aunt Erica? Brody?
Wesson shot out of her car and headed for the boy to keep him from bolting.
Miranda spun around and marched over to the kid. His head was covered with the ball cap Wesson had mentioned. It hid half his face, but she could see he had the same blond bowl cut as the kid in the photo Rebecca Ward Hughes had given her.
“Your name is Dylan, isn’t it?” she said to him.
He squinted up at her over the top of the door like she was a space alien.
“Don’t you want to go back home to your parents, Dylan?”
He squirmed behind the door’s shelter. “Lady, you’re scary me.”
“Leave him alone,” Erica called out.
“Where are you taking him, Erica?” Miranda demanded, keeping her eyes on the kid.
“I’m taking him to Conyers where my sister lives.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s her son. My sister and her husband wanted some alone time so I took him for the weekend.”
Making sure Wesson was blocking the kid from behind, Miranda made a quick move and snatched off his cap.
“Hey! That’s my hat, lady.” He reached for it but Miranda pulled it away and studied his face.
Cute kid. Dimples. Freckles over the nose. Brown eyes. Dylan Ward Hughes had no freckles. And in the photo his eyes had been a distinct blue.
Damn.
She handed back the cap. “Get in the car, kid.”
He took the hat and gave her a death stare as he got back into the car. Wesson closed the door on him but didn’t say anything.
Miranda moved back to where Erica King was standing with Parker.
“It seems Ms. King has been telling the truth,” he said.
Miranda straightened her shoulders. “I apologize, Ms. King. It seems we were operating under a false assumption.”
Erica didn’t seem concerned about that any longer. “What’s this about? Why did you think I had Dylan? Isn’t he with Perry and his wife?”
Miranda didn’t want to tell her, but she thought she had a right to know. “He’s missing.”
“No. That can’t be.”
“I’m afraid it is.”
She pushed the stray strands of hair blowing in the breeze away from her face. “What can I do to help?”
Not much, Miranda thought.
“Have you noticed any suspicious activity at your home or workplace lately?” Parker was grasping at straws. Or maybe just giving Erica something to do.
“No, not really.”
Miranda pulled her phone out of her pocket and swiped to the photo of Simon Sloan and June May. She showed it to Erica. “Do you recognized either of these people?”
Erica studied them carefully, her pretty brow knitting into a deep crease. But after several seconds, she shook her head. “I’ve never seen either of them.”
Didn’t even know her son’s school teacher. She was innocent. Her theory about Simon Sloan evaporating into smoke, Miranda put her phone back in her pocket.
“If you do see anything suspicious,” Parker said, “if you can think of anything at all, feel free to call the number on the card.”
“Yes. Certainly. I’ll do that.” Erica reached for her door handle.
“We’ll move the car and you can be on your way.” Parker turned toward the Mazda.
Erica reached out to touch Miranda’s arm. “Detective?”
“Yes.”
“When you find Dylan, will you call me and tell me he’s all right?”
Miranda could see the fear and worry a
lready brewing there. She knew those feelings intimately. And she could see the woman was putting her complete faith in her and Parker. It was a heavy responsibility.
She took Erica King’s hand and gave it as comforting a squeeze as she could. “I’ll be happy to.”
And as she slid back into the car beside Parker and watched Erica drive away with her nephew, with all her heart she hoped she could make that call soon.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Miranda told Wesson to go back home, but to be ready to go if something broke. She even remembered to thank her for a good job. Then she and Parker headed back down I-75.
And the sting of having chased a false lead began to sink in.
“It is a good idea to tell your people when they do good work,” Parker said in his understated way.
“Yeah, I guess. But it means a lot more coming from you.” Parker had been in the business over twenty years and was revered by everyone.
“They still need to hear it from you.”
“Message received.”
Come to think of it, Parker was the only boss she’d ever had who complimented her. Everyone else only barked orders at her and yelled when she made a mistake. Years of that type of role model was yet another reason she shouldn’t be in charge of the team.
They rode along in silence for a while, the dead end of Erica King and her nephew making their spirits sink like a heavy rock tossed into the Chattahoochee.
As they crossed that river on their way back, Miranda mentally kicked herself for getting her hopes up. It would have been so easy if her theory about the mysterious Simon Sloan and Erica King had turned out to be true. But she’d known there were too many holes. She should have listened to herself.
To quell the brooding mood in the car Parker changed the subject. “I thought we might go to Parker Towers. Chef Basardi does a particularly delicious Sunday brunch. French toast, Eggs Benedict. Imported coffee. Champagne.”
He was trying to take her mind off Erica King and the missing boy. Especially after the bad dream she’d had last night. But she did love Parker’s imported coffee. Still, she could get that in the penthouse while they worked.
For a long moment she stared out the window and watched the treetops zip by.
“Do you think he’s still alive?”
“The boy?”
“Yes. Dylan.”
The tall buildings of downtown Atlanta with its spiky tops came into view before Parker spoke. “It’s best not to assume the worst at this point.”
She knew that. It was the only way to do this job. Hope for the best and don’t plan for the worst. Just assume the best until you were proven wrong. But Parker’s lack of affirmation told her he thought Dylan Ward Hughes was dead. Or worse.
The thought made her heart sink. She was about to reconsider that brunch offer just for the champagne when her phone buzzed.
Becker. She sat up and pressed the car screen to answer it.
Static.
“Becker? You there?”
There was a high-pitched screech. Then Miranda recognized the voice of Fanuzzi’s daughter, Callie. “Daddy, Tommy hit me.”
“She took my Xbox controls,” her brother countered.
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
A dog began barking. The family golden retriever.
Becker’s voice came over the line. “C’mon, kids. Daddy’s working here. Callie, give Tommy back the controls. Tommy, take Callie to your room and share.”
“But Dad, she—”
“Now. I have to talk to my boss. Go.”
Wow. Miranda didn’t know Becker could be so tough. She could just imagine the pouts and shrugs as the kids shuffled out of the room. But she was thrilled they were calling him Daddy. That hadn’t happened overnight.
Becker came back on the line. “I’m so sorry about that, Steele.”
“Never mind. Sounds like you’ve got it under control.”
“For a few minutes. Anyway I called to tell you we’ve got something,” he said, a note of nerdy victory in his tone.
“What?”
“A hit on the DNA from the fingernail.”
Miranda’s heart nearly stopped. “You found the killer?”
“We think so. There’s too much to tell over the phone. Can you and Mr. Parker get over here?”
“We’re already in the car. We’ll be there in twenty.”
“Have you had breakfast?” Parker interjected.
“Oh. Good morning, sir. No, we haven’t. Joanie’s been in the kitchen since this morning and won’t let us in. Curt just went to try to get us coffee.”
So Holloway had gone to Becker’s as she’d asked. He didn’t check in to tell her, though.
“We’ll bring something.”
“That would be great, sir.”
“Make that thirty minutes then,” Miranda said and clicked off.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A well-fed team is a productive team. At least that seemed to be Parker’s motto.
But when he pulled up in front of Fanuzzi’s single story bungalow in Avondale Estates, they hadn’t stopped at Parker Towers for champagne and French toast takeout.
Miranda eyed the big SUV that had replaced Fanuzzi’s old station wagon. It was littered with even more toys.
“Where’s the food?” she asked, hoping to one up him on the point.
Didn’t happen.
“I’m dropping you off while I go get it,” Parker said. “You need to see the data Dave has right away.”
What a crock. “You expect me to go in there empty-handed?” That should go well.
“Tell them I’ll be only a few minutes.”
“Okey dokey.”
It was no use fighting with the stubborn man, so she got out of the car and managing not to slam the door, trotted up to Fanuzzi’s front porch.
At times, Parker liked throwing her into the deep end of the pool. When it was a case he was tossing her into, she’d always swum like a fish. But this management thing? This time she was paddling with an anchor tied to her leg.
She knocked on the door. Nobody answered. She tried the knob and found it open, so she went inside.
She found Fanuzzi in the kitchen dressed in a white baker’s apron, her dark hair pulled back into a cap. Hands covered in flour she was putting a baking sheet of canapés into the stove. Used pots and bowls were strewn all over the counters, and the air smelled of something delicious.
“You look like the Pillsbury Doughboy,” Miranda laughed.
Fanuzzi’s head shot up, brown eyes wide. “Shh, Murray. We just got the kids settled down and Dave’s working on your project.”
“I know,” Miranda whispered. “That’s why I’m here. Parker will be along in a couple of minutes with some breakfast.”
“Okay. Sorry. Can’t talk now. Dave’s in the back.” She nodded toward the hall, grabbed a bowl of nuts and began to study a recipe.
“Sure. I understand.”
Her friend had to concentrate on her artistry.
Miranda tiptoed past the kitchen and into the far hallway. She hadn’t been in this part of Fanuzzi’s house before, so she listened for voices to guide her to the right room. She hoped Dave wasn’t working in their bedroom. That would be awkward.
Outside the second door down, she heard Holloway’s voice and stopped in her tracks.
“You know I’m right, Dave.”
“C’mon, Curt,” Becker said.
“Don’t you remember the day Steele started at the Agency?”
“Sure I do. We were IITs together. We’ve been friends since ever since.”
“And all this time we both thought Steele was a pro. That she had had years of PI experience before she came to the Parker Agency.”
“So?”
“So she didn’t. Last night Gen told me that Steele was a construction worker before she came to the Agency. She was a drifter who couldn’t hold down a steady job. She’d never done investigative work before.”
Miranda winced.
Guess that confirmed her suspicion about Gen and Holloway. And that Gen still didn’t have the warmest of feelings for her.
That first day at the Parker Agency she hadn’t out and out lied to Becker and Holloway. But somehow the pair had gotten the impression she was years ahead of them as being a PI, and she’d never corrected it. She’d always wondered when that would come back to bite her on the butt.
Becker’s chair squeaked. “I knew that. I think.”
“And you never told me?” Holloway sounded mad at Becker now. This wasn’t good.
“She worked with Joanie. I don’t know. I guess I figured it out.”
“So how come she gets promoted over us? How come she gets to give the orders?”
Her co-worker’s words stung like bee stings. Holloway sounded really angry. And resentful at her and at the situation. In a way, she didn’t blame him.
“Well, she’s a pro now,” Becker said. “She saved my life, Curt.”
He meant Paris.
“Mr. Parker saved your life.”
“They both did.”
Miranda gritted her teeth. Okay, she was a lousy boss. But this was no time to pitch a fit about it. She’d do her job until they found Dylan Ward Hughes. She and Holloway could have it out after that. In the ring, if he wanted.
She sucked in air, straightened her shoulders and flushed the conversation she’d just heard from her mind.
She knocked on the door and stepped into the room. “Becker? You in there?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Both of her two old buddies sat up in their chairs and cleared their throats as she entered the room.
It wasn’t the bedroom. It was a cramped little side room they had turned into an office with a cheap pressboard desk for a large computer screen and a few chairs. Shelves on the walls were filled with toys and comic books, as well as some hard bound novels and cooking magazines.
For a moment Miranda was sorely tempted to tell them what she’d heard have it out with Holloway right then and there, but his opinion of her wasn’t the most important issue right now.
The Boy Page 12
