*****
Munching on a sandwich, Casey reviewed her notes, desperate to spot a clue that she’d missed the first four times she’d read them over. She’d visited Aaron Street’s former residence three days ago, but no call. She could call the woman, but she didn’t want to be a pest, or be accused of harassment. So, what next? Call Detective Walker? Casey dreaded begging her to help.
Gran stared down at her empty plate. “I think I’ll have some ice cream. Do you want some?”
Casey shook her head.
“No ice cream? What’s the matter?” Gran shouted.
“I’m not in the mood. And will you please turn on your hearing aids?” Casey asked, motioning next to her ear. “For me? Please.” When Gran dutifully complied, Casey blew out an exasperated sigh. “Sorry, I know I’m being pissy, but I don’t want to blow my first case. I need to know I can do this.” Her eyes welled with tears. She looked down at her notebook again. “Why did it have to be a missing comatose woman? How many freaking comatose people go missing? I don’t even have other cases I can consult. I did a search on the Net. Nothing. Comatose people are usually accounted for, you know?”
Gran tutted and pulled a tub of ice cream from the freezer. “You must have gathered some clues.”
“Yes, I have, and they’ve all been dead ends. Every time I look into something, bam! Brick wall.” She grabbed her head. “She has to be somewhere.”
“You’ll figure it out. Pretend you’re one of those detectives on TV.”
“That won’t help. It’s TV! They lift fingerprints from freaking water on TV.” She jabbed a finger onto her notebook. “This is real life.”
Gran frowned. “I’m talking about the reality cop shows,” she said as she sat down with her bowl of ice cream.
“Have you noticed that it’s tipsters and surveillance camera footage that usually give them the breaks, not a trail of obvious clues leading right to the culprit’s front door?” Casey’s phone rang. She snatched it up from the table. “Hello.”
“Casey?”
Her heart leapt into her mouth. “Yes.”
“This is Tina. You came to my place a few days ago about Aaron.”
She held her breath.
“Who is it?” Gran asked. Casey brought a finger to her lips and shook her head.
“I’ve got his address and phone number,” Tina said. “You want it?”
“Yes!” Casey suppressed a whoop and wrote down the details in her notebook. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”
“Sorry it took so long. Hubby had to pry it out of his brother-in-law.” Tina paused. “Now, listen. When I told hubby what Aaron had done to you, he hit the damn roof. Turns out he hated the prick, too. Hubby boxed in high school and has a brown belt in karate. He’s going to head over there and beat the shit out of the twerp. You want to watch?”
“What? No! Don’t do that.”
“Casey. Honey. Grow a damn backbone. You can’t let the prick get away with what he did. If someone doesn’t teach him a lesson, he’ll knock up some other poor girl.”
Shit! “Tina…he may be a prick, but…he’s the father of my baby.”
Gran’s eyes bulged. The ice cream on the way to her mouth dropped onto her shirt. “Holy shit, when did that happen?” she bellowed. “I thought you were a lesbian!”
“What?” Tina said.
Casey glared at Gran and pushed back her chair. “Nothing,” she said as she left the kitchen. “You heard the TV. Some soap opera.” Called my life. “Tina, I appreciate what your husband wants to do, but I’d like Aaron to be coherent when I talk to him.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. How else will I get money out of him?”
“Good point. Okay, Casey, but if you change your mind, call me back, okay?”
“Thanks, Tina. Oh, one more question. Do you know Trudy Michaels?”
“Never heard of her. Is she another one of Aaron’s conquests? Bastard.”
“Uh, no. Thanks anyway. Bye.” Casey hung up, shoved her phone into her pocket, and turned around.
Gran stood in the kitchen archway, dabbing at her shirt with a napkin. She sighed and looked up. “Look at this mess.”
“I’m not pregnant.” Casey tossed her notebook onto the nearby end table and threw her hands into the air. “How could you believe I’m pregnant?”
“It sounded like you’re pregnant to me,” Gran said indignantly.
“I was undercover. I had to pretend some guy was my ex-boyfriend, so his ex-landlord would tell me where I could find him.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Christ, I only just got used to you being a lesbian. Though I suppose that doesn’t mean you’ll never get pregnant.” Gran pointed at the TV. “I saw a show about a lesbian couple that had a baby. One of their friends donated the sperm. He did his thing and then brought the goods to their house in a bottle. Stuck it up her whatsit using a turkey baster, if you can believe that.” Her eyes widened. “A delivery guy was here not too long ago.”
Casey rolled her eyes. “Books, Gran. Books. Do you really think I’d have sperm delivered through UPS?”
“You never know.”
“Plus, that was only a week ago. I wouldn’t know if I’m pregnant yet.” What a bizarre conversation. Seriously. “Do you really think I’d want to get pregnant now, when I’m single and just starting a new career? And don’t you think I’d discuss it with you first? After all, you’d be the kid’s other mom.” She batted her eyelashes at Gran and grinned.
“Bah.” Gran waved a dismissive hand. “You’re too young to have a baby anyway. You’re still a baby yourself.”
“I’m twenty-three.”
“Twenty-three today is the equivalent of fourteen in my day,” Gran said with a wag of her finger. “When I was twenty-three, I was married with two kids. These days, kids are still at home when they’re thirty. You can’t get rid of them.”
Casey’s hands went to her hips. “Do you want me to move out?”
“No! You don’t live with your mom and dad. You live with your gran.”
“To some people, that’s the same thing.”
“Not in this case. We help each other out, right? Right?”
“I suppose so,” Casey mumbled.
Gran held out her arms. “Come here.”
Casey shook her head and went to her, then gasped for air when Gran held her tight. A moment later, she drew back, mollified. “At least I have a lead now,” she said, picking up the notebook. “But with the way things are going, it’ll probably be a dead end.”
“Don’t think like that. You just got your big break.” Gran touched the side of her nose. “I can feel it.”
“I hope you’re right.” Casey pulled out her phone to call Street, but went into her bedroom and closed the door before she dialed the number.
Chapter Six
Casey rode up to the bike rack outside the coffee shop and peered through the front window as she secured her bike. The shop was packed, but she immediately spotted Street. Not many in the noonday crowd had purple hair.
She walked over to his table. “Hey.”
Street looked up from his cup. “Oh, hey. You Casey?”
She nodded.
“Want a coffee?”
“No, that’s okay, thanks.” She sat down across from him. “Thanks for agreeing to meet.”
“Hey, no problem. When Tina called and said I’d better talk to you, I told her, no problem. Anything for Tina. Miss those guys, man. Miss them. We were like family.” He stared morosely down at his cup again, then lifted his head. “She mentioned something about a baby?”
“A baby?” Casey forced a surprised expression. “She must have heard me wrong. No, no baby.”
“That’s good, because I think I’d remember a night with you.” He raised an appraising eyebrow. “You seeing anyone?”
Ugh. “I’m a single mother. Three kids. Had my first one when I was fifteen. Wouldn’t mind another one.”
His face fell. She sti
fled a grin. “Listen, one of my friends won a spa weekend, and we’re trying to get in touch with the contest promoters because there’s a problem with the bill. It was supposed to be all-inclusive, but the spa is hitting her up for her drinks.” Which would probably bankrupt Ellen, if it were true.
Street’s eyes grew wary. “Hey, I don’t know anything about no bill.”
Casey tutted. “Your former phone number is on it, and I assume it’s your credit card number, too. If you don’t help me out, we’ll sue you for misrepresenting the terms of the weekend.”
“Hey!”
“What company do you work for?” One of the items beach boy had crossed out could be a company name, but Street didn’t know that. “The name was conveniently left off the bill, probably because you knew you were going to stiff the winner.”
Street held up his hands. “I had nothing to do with that. I don’t work for no contest promoter. I answered an ad, okay?”
“An ad?”
“Yeah, on one of those classifieds sites on the Net. It sounded like easy money, and it was. All I had to do was put something on my credit card in exchange for the cash. I didn’t know the guy was planning to stiff the lady, okay? I thought it was his wife.”
Casey sighed and pulled out her notebook. “Start at the beginning. Tell me the truth, and I’ll make sure my friend doesn’t include your name in the court case.”
Street drained his cup and plunked it on the table. “Like I said, I answered an ad. All I had to do was call the spa and book a weekend package on my credit card. He said it was a surprise for his wife. He didn’t want it on his card because she reviews his statements like a hawk.”
“Did he tell you to pretend it was for a contest winner?”
“Yeah. Gave me the name of some company. It’s not my fault it’s not on the bill.”
“What was the name?”
“I don’t know.”
Casey gave him what she hoped was an intimidating glare. “You don’t know.”
“Hey, why would I remember the name? I did what he wanted, got my dough, and left. I didn’t have to take a fucking test.”
“What about the wife’s name?”
“I don’t remember it.”
“Do you remember your own name?”
His face tightened. “I think her last name was different to his. I remember thinking she must be one of those feminist bi—uh, ladies.”
“It didn’t cross your mind that she might not be his wife?” Casey would have assumed they were having an affair. “How far in advance did you book the weekend?”
Street rubbed his chin. “About two weeks beforehand. But his wife could see his transactions online, you know.”
If there was a wife who cared about his transactions, Casey would be flabbergasted. “Okay, so you met the guy, where?”
“In a parking lot, about eleven p.m.”
Street was an idiot. “You made the call, he handed you the cash, and your business was done.”
Street nodded.
“How much cash?”
“A few thousand,” Street mumbled.
“A few thousand?” The spa wasn’t that fancy. “In cash?”
“Yeah.”
The man Street had met was an idiot, too, unless he was someone who could take care of himself. “So he gave you a little extra.”
“Hey, I was doing the guy a favour. He promised me I’d only be on the hook for the reservation.” Street pointed at himself. “I’m the one who was stiffed, here. He didn’t mention booze. He also said I’d be in trouble if I cancelled the weekend. The guy was shifty. I wasn’t about to cross him. I got good instincts.”
Casey resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. “If you had good instincts, maybe you would have thought twice about meeting some dude alone at night, and asking more questions might have helped, too. Does the guy have a name?”
“Yeah, but I don’t remember it.”
Of course he didn’t. “What did he look like?”
Street screwed up his face. “It was dark.”
“Not dark enough that you couldn’t read your credit card details. Come on.”
“Hey, I wasn’t interested in the guy, you know.”
“Hair colour. Height. Build. Anything!” Casey said with a sigh. Then she scribbled down the meagre details Street provided. Unfortunately she’d have to run them by Walker. “You said you contacted him online. How?”
“Email.”
“Do you still have the emails?”
“Probably.”
“I want them. They’re the only proof you have that this guy actually exists.”
Street folded his arms. “Give me a fucking break. Why would I make up a story? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Uh, my friend is on the hook for her drinks and extras.”
“Hey, I’m the victim here.”
“You won’t mind helping me find the guy, then. I want those emails.”
Street scowled and pulled out his smartphone. “What’s your email address?”
Casey printed it and turned her notebook around. Street squinted at it as he tapped away at his phone. “John Smith.”
“John Smith?”
“Yeah, that was the guy’s name.”
Sure it was. Jesus, if the mystery man had said his name was John Doe, Street wouldn’t have blinked.
“You know, the guy might have been a cop,” Street said.
“You said he was shifty.”
“He might have been shifty because he knew he was doing something wrong. I don’t know, it was the look, the posture, the suit.”
“You knew you were doing something wrong.”
Street jerked his head up. “I thought it was strange, but it was easy money. The guy didn’t ask to see my credit card, nothing. So I figured it was risk free. I didn’t do anything illegal.”
“Wrong isn’t always illegal.”
Street grunted and slipped his phone back into his jacket pocket. “Done.”
Casey checked her email to make sure Street hadn’t sent her a bunch of spam. “Thank you.”
“That’s all you’re getting. I didn’t stiff your friend. If she wants to sue me, tell her to go ahead. I don’t have any money.”
“Burned through the few grand already, eh?”
“Fuck you.”
Casey flipped her notebook shut and slid it into her pocket, along with her pen. “See you around.”
Street squinted up at her. “Hey, that spa weekend cost almost a grand. That room was like four fucking hundred dollars a night. It probably cost twenty fucking bucks for a glass of wine.”
“That’s why my friend is pissed. And while we’re on the subject, do you know Trudy Michaels?”
“Is that your friend’s name? I’ve never heard of her, I swear. It wasn’t anything personal.”
“You sure you don’t know her?”
“Scout’s honour.”
Casey snorted. “Thanks for your help.” She quickly left. God, she hoped she’d never run into Tina. To think that Tina thought she’d dated the moron—and was pregnant with his baby. Cripes.
As she unlocked her bike, she pondered what to do next. She could read the emails on her phone, but it was already late afternoon. She might as well read them at home.
Half an hour later, she sat at the computer in her bedroom and read through the handful of forwarded emails. They confirmed Street’s story, but didn’t offer any other clues. Maybe “John Smith’s” email address could lead her to him, but how? She didn’t know anyone who—coffee shop! Emily. She’d said she was doing a PhD in computer science. She’d also said she worked the early shift. Casey would have to drag herself out of bed and try to catch Emily before her shift was over.
Okay, she had a plan to deal with the emails. Next…she glanced down at her open notebook, then found Detective Walker’s card and dialed her number.
“Casey who?” Walker said when Casey said her name.
“Casey Cook. You had lunch with me.
I’m looking into Jacqueline Rose’s disappearance.”
“Oh, the kid detective.” Walker snickered. “I’m only joking. I knew who you were.”
Hilarious. “Do you have the description of Steve Rose handy?”
“Why?”
“I think the spa weekend Ellen Myers went on was bogus.”
“The spa weekend?”
Did Walker even remember the freaking case? “She was there when Mrs. Rose went missing.”
“Right. Why do you think it’s bogus? The spa’s legit. We called it.”
“She said she won the weekend through a contest. I think she was set up. There was no contest.”
“Oh, so the contest was bogus.” Walker tutted. “You have to be precise in this business. Why do you think the contest was bogus?”
“Because some low-life booked the stay for someone he met through an online ad site.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, and I want to see if his description of the guy he met matches Steve Rose’s description.”
“Describe him.”
Casey hesitated.
“Hello? What did he look like?”
Sure. She’d tell Walker, who’d then grunt and hang up. But what choice did she have? “About six foot one, Caucasian, dark hair, crew cut, muscular build.”
“Yeah, that could be the same guy. But it could be thousands of other guys in the city, too.”
“But it could be him,” Casey said, her gut telling her that mystery man and Steve Rose were one and the same. “Thanks.”
“Whoa! Don’t hang up. How did you find out about the ad?”
“I got a receipt from the spa and tracked down the guy who owned the credit card.”
“Not bad, not bad,” Walker said, her tone conveying approval—and surprise. “Drop everything you have off at Station 22, okay? I want it here by tomorrow noon.”
“Do you have an email address? I can scan and email everything.”
“Casey, it’s on my business card.”
The Missing Comatose Woman Page 7
