RK02.5 - Trouble in Paradise

by Marcia Clark

  “What?” I asked.

  “They keep texting me, asking me about Tammy Susie. ‘Did she find her skirt? Where are you now? Have you given her lunch?’ Damn it!”

  “Who keeps texting you?” Toni asked.

  “The producers! All day long. And now they’re telling me to bring her back to the hotel!”

  “What’ve you told them so far?” I asked.

  “That she was fine, still hasn’t found the skirt she wants. Stuff to buy some time.”

  I considered our depressing lack of progress and looked down the row of stalls. We didn’t have many more to go. “Let’s get through this market and then you can text them that you’re coming back. Better to tell them about Tammy Susie in person.”

  Erica nodded, tight-lipped, more nervous than ever. We resumed our hunt but to no avail, and within ten minutes we’d reached the end of the row. We were waiting for Bailey to wrap up her conversation with the last vendor when I noticed something shiny under the canvas partition of his stall. I nudged it with my toe, and it slid out. It was a cell phone with a Hello Kitty cover.

  “Oh my God!” Erica lunged for it. “That’s Tammy Susie’s phone!”

  I held her back. “It might have prints. Let me do it.” I gingerly picked it up without touching the front or back. Now we knew why she hadn’t called. But the discovery was almost as puzzling as it was alarming. “Why would the kidnapper let her keep the phone this long? Why not take it from her right away?”

  “Maybe the kidnapper was the one who dropped it,” Bailey said. She carefully took it from me and used a pen to scroll through the recent calls. “Nothing in or out since this morning.”

  Toni voiced my thought. “Regardless of who dropped the thing, it’s pretty amateurish.”

  I was about to say that, given the low crime rates, most criminals around here probably were amateurs, but at that moment, I noticed a sign across the street advertising MADAM JUNAIDA, PREMIER FORTUNE-TELLER.

  “Didn’t you say Tammy Susie was about to do a show where the whole family visits a fortune-teller?” I pointed to the sign.

  Erica shook her head. “That’s not the one they were going to use for the show.” But she was more than happy to grasp at any straw, no matter how slim, if it meant delaying our return to the hotel without Tammy Susie.

  And so off we went to see the fortune-teller. Madam Junaida, a tiny, dark woman with a mass of fuzzy black hair piled high on her head and long dangling earrings, answered the door with a flourish. In spite of her small stature, she had a supremely imperial air about her. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

  I’d expected a fortune-teller on a Caribbean island to be more exotic and mysterious than what we had in the States, but Madam Junaida’s setup would’ve been right at home in any suburb in Southern California—or any late-night infomercial. She swept through a glass-beaded curtain, and we followed her into a darkened room. At the center was a table surrounded by several red velvet–covered chairs. The only thing missing was a crystal ball.

  I pulled out my cell and showed her the photo of Tammy Susie. I started to ask if she recognized the picture, but she abruptly held up a hand that clanked loudly with the movement of at least a dozen bangles. “Please! Respect my process. All of you, sit down.”

  I sank into the chair gratefully. Between the mall and the outdoor market, I’d been on my feet for hours. When we were all settled, Madam held out her hand, palm up. “Now, give me the photo.”

  I placed my phone in her hand, and she studied it through narrowed eyes. Then she set it down, picked up a fat cigar, lit it, and drew several hefty puffs. In the confines of that small box of a room, it was enough to make me gag. I felt my stomach lurch and asked myself why I’d been so gung ho to come here. A glance at Toni and Bailey confirmed they were having similar thoughts. Erica had turned a pale green.

  When Madam Junaida had the cigar fully fired up, she took a strong pull and blew out a thick stream of smoke. Then she sat back and watched it curl toward the darkened ceiling. I tried to spot something—some shapes, maybe letters, anything that might be called a “sign.” All I saw was a cloud of foul-smelling tobacco. Not for the first time, I conceded it was a good thing I’d gone to law school.

  Minutes passed while Madam Junaida gazed at the ceiling. Antsy and more than a little nauseated, I was just about to call it quits when she spoke up in a dusky, sonorous voice.

  “You are afraid this girl has been harmed, correct?”

  All those noxious fumes, and this was all she could come up with? Even without lighting up a stogie, I could’ve figured out that much.

  But Erica was completely taken in. “Yes,” she squeaked.

  “She is safe,” Madam pronounced.

  Jeez, brilliant. No proof, no details, just the answer we obviously wanted. What a racket. “That’s really nice to know, but we need to actually find her,” I said. I could see Toni and Bailey smirking. Skepticism comes with the territory in law enforcement, but they tell me I take it to Olympic levels.

  Madam Junaida gave me a sharp, knowing look and again spewed out a toxic cloud. After another smelly minute, she spoke.

  “I see… a house with green shutters. And a dog… a yellow dog. And children.” She straightened up in her chair. “Your girl is there.”

  “Where is there?” Bailey asked. “Where’s that house?”

  Madam Junaida studied the burning end of the cigar. “It is not far.” She looked back up at the ceiling. “Someone close to you knows of this place.”

  “Close to who? To me? Toni?” I asked. “Erica?”

  She shook her head. “That is all I see.”

  I leaned toward Toni and whispered, “I’d like to tell her what I see.”

  Toni gave me a warning look and quickly jumped in. “Thank you, Madam Junaida,” she said.

  Madam Junaida escorted us out. I hung back as the others left. When we walked into the place, I’d only intended to ask if she’d seen Tammy Susie, not engage her services. But, bidden or unbidden, she’d taken the time to do her entire shtick for us, and I could see from her modest digs that business wasn’t exactly booming for her. “What do I owe you?”

  She looked down her nose at me. No small feat, considering the fact that I had a good six inches on her. “You owe me nothing. For law enforcement, my services are free of charge. Go. Find the child.” And with that, Madam Junaida waved me away.

  I went out to the sidewalk, where the others were waiting. Something about all of this rankled me. Something beyond the obvious—and typical—bullshit chicanery factor. Bailey picked up on my mood.

  “What?” she asked.

  I replayed our introductions in my mind. “Did you tell her we were cops?” I asked.

  “No,” Bailey said.

  “Then how’d she know?”

  Bailey frowned, but further discussion was curtailed when Toni, who’d been studying her phone, broke in. “There’s a residential section just a few blocks north of here.”

  Bailey looked unhappy. “I don’t know. This seems like a gigantic turd hunt. We have no idea where that house is, if it even exists, or if Tammy Susie’s really there.”

  I looked at Erica—she seemed crestfallen. Madam Junaida’s pronouncements had given her a real blast of hope. I sighed. “On the other hand, what’s another ten minutes in the grand scheme of things?” I asked. Having found the girl’s cell phone nearby, we at least had reason to believe we were close.

  Erica nodded eagerly. “I agree! We have to try this! If we find Tammy Susie, being late won’t matter. And if we don’t…” She trailed off.

  “Okay,” Toni said. “But let’s make it quick.” She followed the blinking blue circle on her phone, and we followed her. In mere minutes we began to see small houses interspersed with businesses, and pretty soon there were only houses. A surprising number of them had signs in the window that said fortune-tellers could be found within. Apparently Erica was right: Arubans were big on this sort of thing. That wa
s probably good news for the cigar business. Capitalism at work.

  Some intriguing aromas wafted out of the homes we passed. Fish, a predictably popular choice for islanders, seemed to be cooking everywhere, but I also detected the smell of a rich lamb stew and…“Pumpkin?”

  “I read that pumpkin soup is a real fave here,” Bailey said. “Supposed to be fantastic.”

  “You read?” Toni asked. Bailey couldn’t even drum up the interest to read a dinner menu, let alone take the time to look up exotic culinary specialties.

  “Or maybe Drew told me,” Bailey said.

  Toni and I exchanged a knowing smile. That was more like it. Drew was a true gourmet. Before he’d settled on the idea of opening his own bar, he’d toyed with the thought of setting up a haute cuisine restaurant.

  We moved up and down the blocks but saw no green shutters. Or yellow dogs. Plenty of children, though. They flew by us with happy abandon on bikes, on skates, on skateboards, and on foot. A couple of little girls in leotards and sunflower headdresses strutted past us with stately importance. I guessed they were headed for the same parade as the costumed guys we’d seen at McDonald’s.

  Time was running out, and this whole escapade was starting to feel like a wild-goose chase. Or, as Bailey so poetically put it, a “turd hunt.” The fact that we were willing to go in search of a house with green shutters was a serious measure of our desperation. I was beginning to understand how people got snookered into losing their life savings to clowns like Madam Junaida.

  We’d just turned the corner on our fourth block and I was about to suggest that we give up after this street when Erica stopped dead in her tracks and pointed to the street sign. “Malmok Weg! I saw that name on a call sheet a few days ago! Remember, Madam Junaida said the place was known to one of us? Well, it is—to me!”

  Before I could tell her that it was probably just a coincidence, Erica was off and running, her head swiveling as she scanned both sides of the street for a house with green shutters. We had to run to catch up to her and nearly knocked her down when she again came to an abrupt stop and turned to her right. Sure enough, there it was: a house with green shutters.

  “Well, what do you know?” Bailey said.

  “Yeah?” I said. “Then how come our fortune-teller didn’t mention the bird?” I pointed to a rooster strutting through the front yard.

  “Birds move around,” Toni said. “It’s probably just visiting.”

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “There’ve got to be other houses with green shutters.”

  “You see any?” Toni asked. She had me there.

  Bailey strode up the front walk and knocked on the door. There was no response, so she knocked harder. After a few seconds, a woman’s voice yelled from inside, but I couldn’t make out what she said. Not over the noise of a barking dog. Toni nudged me, but I shook my head. So what if Madame Junaida said there’d be a dog? From what I’d seen, everyone around here had dogs. I was about to say as much when I saw Erica staring at the door as though it were the Rosetta stone. No need to squash her hopes. She’d see for herself soon enough that Tammy Susie wasn’t here. I held my tongue.

  Finally, a tall, heavyset woman in a caftan opened the door. Her creased face and disheveled hair said we’d disturbed her afternoon siesta, and she looked plenty annoyed about it. Bailey held up her shield and spoke in her most official Joe Friday voice. “Police. We’re here for Tammy Susie.”

  “What…?” The woman appeared more puzzled than scared. Then she looked past Bailey as though expecting to see someone else.

  I stepped forward and flashed my badge. “Your name, ma’am?”

  She jerked her head toward the front window. “It’s right there on the sign.”

  “Right there on what sign?”

  “Excuse me,” she said as she leaned out the door to look at the window. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. I took it down so I could get some rest. My name’s Babu Maduro, I’m a—”

  “Fortune-teller,” I said.

  “Right.”

  For the record, Babu the fortune-teller had a surprisingly American accent.

  She reluctantly stood aside, and we entered. Erica let out a yelp and grabbed my arm. There, on a table to my left, was a red-and-pink scarf. The next thing I knew, Erica was running past us toward sliding glass doors that opened onto the backyard.

  The backyard. Where a little blonde girl in cutoffs and a blue T-shirt was playing with two kids who bore a strong resemblance to our host, Babu Maduro.

  I pointed. “Tammy Susie, I presume?”

  Babu gave me a “no duh” look.

  “How did she wind up here, Ms. Maduro?” Toni asked, her voice stern.

  Babu was indignant. “Someone brought her here, of course. How else?” With an irritated expression, she said, “Excuse me, will you? I’ve got to make a call.”

  She wasn’t acting like a kidnapper. And, based on the happy abandon with which Tammy Susie was currently jumping rope, the child was not acting like someone who’d been kidnapped. I let Babu make her call and went out to see Erica, who was squeezing the little girl so tightly I thought her head might pop off. But Tammy Susie endured the embrace stoically, the way kids do.

  “Hey, Erica,” I said. “Do you happen to recognize that woman in there?”

  Erica finally pried herself off Tammy Susie. “No. Why would I?”

  Because I had a hunch. “What about the name Babu Maduro?”

  Erica mouthed the name to herself a few times. “It does sound familiar.”

  “Might that be the name of the fortune-teller who was going to be in the next episode?”

  Erica’s features opened with the realization. “Oh, yeah! It might be.” Her brow furrowed, and she looked up at me. “How did Tammy Susie get here?”

  “Why don’t you ask her?”

  Erica did. “Mikey’s friend Sasha brought me here,” Tammy Susie said. “She told me we were playing hide-and-go-seek with you. You found me.” She didn’t look terribly pleased about it.

  “Who’s Mikey?” I asked Erica.

  “Mike Borden. One of the producers,” she explained.

  Uh-huh. “One of the producers who’s been texting you about Tammy Susie all day?”

  “Yeah. Him and Sasha. Sasha’s his new assistant.” Erica stood up, still holding Tammy Susie by the hand.

  I gestured for Bailey to come over and take charge of Tammy Susie and pulled Erica aside.

  “Is there bad blood between you? Any chance he might see you as a threat, want to get you fired?”

  “No way. I’m just a PA. In fact, there’re rumors Mike’s going to get promoted to co–executive producer next season. And Sasha’s sleeping with him, so she’s good.” She paused, looking perplexed. “And I’ve never had any problems with either of them. So…”

  I left Erica with Tammy Susie and went to bring Bailey and Toni up to speed. I’d just finished when Babu came in.

  “Do you mind my asking who you just called?” I said.

  “Yes, I mind,” Babu said. “What is this, Nazi Germany?” She jerked her head toward Erica. “That Erica Garber?”

  I wondered what was with the sudden attitude. “Yes—”

  “They want her to bring Tammy Susie back to the hotel, pronto.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Someone who works on the show. Obviously.” Babu folded her arms across her impressive bosom. “And that’s all I’m going to tell you.”

  There was no point in trying to pry any more answers out of Babu, so we called a cab and headed out. On the ride back to the hotel, new suspicions began to run through my mind. Erica and Tammy were in the front seat with the window rolled down. I leaned forward and spoke into Erica’s ear so Tammy Susie couldn’t hear. “How come Tammy Susie’s parents never called to ask about her?”

  She shrugged and whispered, “Probably busy taping their own segments.”

  I told Bailey what Erica had said, and Bailey shrugged. “I guess they wouldn’t have any reason
to worry if that producer guy, Mike, didn’t say anything to them.”

  “But why didn’t Mike say anything to them? Know what I mean?”

  Bailey looked at me. “Shit.”

  I leaned forward and spoke to the driver. “Could you let us out here, please?”

  He nodded and pulled over. Erica turned back to us. “What are you doing?”

  “Yeah, what are we doing?” Toni said.

  “Just checking something out,” Bailey said. “Erica, we’ll see you back at the hotel.”

  One hour later, with Erica in tow, we marched into the suite of Randall Kraft, executive producer—top dog of Tammy Susie and Company. Toni, Bailey, and I made it a point to start by simultaneously flashing our badges. Kraft’s stricken look was gratifying.

  “This morning, about five minutes into our vacation, your PA, Erica Garber, came to us, panicked by the disappearance of Tammy Susie,” I said.

  “What?” Kraft said. “Tammy Susie was missing?” He turned to look around at the other producers. “Did any of you know about this?”

  They all shook their heads. Nos and no ways filled the room. I knew that at least one of them was lying. I turned to him now. “You want to rethink that answer, Mr. Borden?”

  He reddened and began to clear his throat. I held up my hand. “Whatever you’re about to say, save it. It’s my vacation. I don’t have to listen to lies.” I turned back to Kraft. “If we hadn’t landed in Madam Junaida’s lap, we’d never have figured it out.”

  After finding Tammy Susie, we’d gone back to Madam Junaida. I knew she couldn’t have “divined” as much specific information as she had. It was one thing for her to figure out that we were law enforcement. Anyone could make a lucky guess like that. But “divining” the exact house Tammy Susie was in? No way. After some prodding, Junaida (who turned out to have had a long-standing beef with Babu for stealing one of Junaida’s best—make that richest and most gullible—clients) finally spilled the beans.

  “Figured what out?” Kraft said, now agitated.

  “I lost a whole day of my vacation running around this island because of your ‘missing’ star. You can hang on for another five minutes.” What few shreds of patience I’d had were gone. “It turns out your pal, Babu, has a big mouth. She bragged to her fortune-teller buddies about some producer who was going to make her a star. He set it up to look like Tammy Susie had been kidnapped, and then Babu, using her ‘special powers,’ was going to provide the information that would help authorities find her. Apparently Babu was going to rake in some heavy coin for it all—”