Little Girl Lost (Georgiana Germaine Book 1)

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  I handed Harvey what Coldwell’s secretary had sent over. “Here’s a list of all the employees working at the news station. When Silas sends you the thumb print, I need to have it run through AFIS to see if any of these guys are a match. Until then, I’m off to see what else I can dig up.”

  I dropped my impaired cell phone off for emergency surgery and stopped at Jack’s office in San Luis Obispo to do a bit of reconnaissance. Terry Pearson was a fellow surgeon who shared an office building with Jack. If anyone knew about the Navarro case, he did, or Shane Curtis did, the assistant they had both shared.

  Shane’s face was glued to his cell phone when I walked in, and he didn’t notice me, even though I was right in front of his desk.

  “Hello,” I said. “Whatcha doing?”

  Shane glanced up and stared at me through thick, black-rimmed glasses. He flipped the phone around and showed me the distraction.

  “You’re playing video games?” I said. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

  He gestured toward the waiting room as if to prove a point.

  It was empty.

  “Have you ever played Fortnite?” he asked.

  I shook my head and took a seat.

  “You should check it out,” he said. “It’s addicting.”

  “I don’t have time for games.”

  I also found them to be a colossal waste of time.

  But what did I know?

  The confused expression on Shane’s face made me feel like my anti-gaming proclamation had been spoken in a foreign language, one he didn’t understand.

  “You serious?” he asked. “You never play games on your phone? Not one?”

  “Does the New York Times Crossword count?”

  He squinted. “The ... what?”

  “You know what a crossword puzzle is, right?”

  “I mean, yeah. It just sounds ... umm ... like something an old—”

  I flattened my hands on top of the desk and leaned in. “Watch yourself.”

  He sunk into his chair and frowned. Then he clicked his phone off and set it on the desk.

  “You look familiar,” he said. “Have you been here before?”

  “I’m Phoebe Donovan’s sister.”

  The fact we were sisters wasn’t the reason he recognized me.

  He just hadn’t connected the dots yet.

  “How is Phoebe?” he asked. “I tried to call her this morning, but she didn’t answer. I’ve been meaning to get her some flowers, but I’m no good at picking out that stuff.”

  It was possible Shane had never been in a serious relationship before. He was in his early thirties, donned a mouthful of braces, and sported a conservative look that said he’d aspired to his position of Grand Office Pencil Pusher and would be satisfied to remain in the role for the remainder of his life.

  “Flowers would be nice,” I said. “Phoebe needs all the support she can get right now.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened. Doctor Donovan was a great guy to work for, and Lark’s a great kid. Wherever she is, I hope she’s okay.”

  “I stopped by to talk to you about Everly Navarro.”

  He nodded. “Oh. Okay.”

  “What kind of people are Everly’s parents?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you think Everly Navarro’s father is the type of guy who would seek revenge for his daughter’s death?”

  Shane tapped his finger on the desk and gave the question some thought. “I mean, maybe. Why? What makes you—”

  “I’m not just Phoebe’s sister. I’m a detective. I’m working the case.”

  He blinked at me and there it was—recognition. He realized where he’d seen me before. He slumped in his chair and tried to act nonchalant, like the light-bulb moment had changed nothing, but his face said it all.

  He cleared his throat, not once, but twice, and said, “From what Jack told me, Everly Navarro’s father never talked much when they met, before or after the surgery. Everly’s mother did most of the talking. Hard to know what’s going through her father’s mind. They say people like him, the quiet, calculating ones, are capable of anything.”

  “Who says?” I asked.

  “Profilers. You know, guys like The Rostov Ripper.”

  “Andrei Chikatilo?”

  He nodded. “The guy was awkward and shy, and he murdered over fifty people. He killed women and kids, and get this, he had a wife and kids of his own. It didn’t stop him. His family had no idea. No one did. Not for a long time.”

  “Seems you have an interest in serial killers,” I said.

  “I mean, I binge watch Murderous Minds sometimes. You ever seen it?”

  I had.

  Every episode.

  It was to me what gaming was to him.

  “Tell me more about Everly’s mother,” I said.

  “I liked her at first. She was nice. A week before the surgery, she brought in a bunch of frosted, heart-shaped sugar cookies she’d baked to thank Jack for everything he’d done for Everly. After Everly died though, she changed.”

  “Makes sense. The woman lost her daughter.”

  “She was angry. She egged our office building one night and then left a message and admitted she’d done it.”

  “Did Jack do anything about it?”

  Shane shook his head. “Nope. He hired cleaners to clean it up. He felt bad about Everly’s death and said he’d let them all down. He thought her mother had lashed out because she was suffering. He figured she’d get her anger out and then she’d move on.”

  “She didn’t move on, though,” I said. “She sued him.”

  “Yeah, after she slashed his tires and poured honey all over his new Mercedes. I get how mad she was at him, but who does that?”

  Someone who was suffering.

  “Did Phoebe know about any of this?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “She knew he’d been sued, but he didn’t want to worry her, so he didn’t mention the other stuff.”

  The more I delved into Jack and Phoebe’s relationship, the more I realized they’d both kept secrets from each other.

  “What was Jack’s reaction when he found out he’d been sued?” I asked.

  “Part of him wanted to pay them off, not in the amount they wanted, but an offer substantial enough to appease them. The other part of him felt he’d been clear when he explained the risks of the surgery. They knew it might not be a success. They just wouldn’t allow themselves to believe anything other than the outcome they wanted.”

  I nodded. “Thanks for the information, Shane. Anything else I should know?”

  “I didn’t believe Everly’s mother would have let Jack off the hook whether she received a settlement or not.”

  “Why not?”

  Shane opened his laptop, typed in a few things, and then said, “Come look at this.”

  I walked around to his side of the desk and leaned in, surprised to see Jack had received emails from Everly’s mother every day beginning a week after Everly’s death. There was never a message, just an attached photo of Everly. A different one had been sent each day, starting with Everly’s baby pictures and going all the way up to Everly in the casket on the day of her funeral. The email address was a Gmail account in the name of Lenore Navarro, but it didn’t mean Lenore had been the one sending the emails. The emails could have been Everly’s father’s way of dealing with his daughter’s death.

  “What did Jack say about the emails?” I asked.

  “Nothing for the first few weeks, and then he asked me to mark them as spam. Even after I did, I noticed they were opened. Jack looked at them.”

  “Where is Doctor Pearson today?”

  “It’s his day off. I can give you his number, though.”

  I nodded, and Shane scribbled it down on a piece of paper and handed it to me. I reached for it, and he didn’t let go.

  “Is there something else?” I asked.

  “One thing. Jack hired a private investigator.”

  �
��When?”

  “About a month ago. I only know because the PI came in, and they talked in Jack’s office. After the guy left, I went into Jack’s office to give him his phone messages, and the guy’s card was on his desk.”

  “You have a name?”

  “Andy Sanders.”

  “Any idea why Jack hired him?”

  “I’m not sure, but after their meeting, when Jack opened the door, I heard him say he didn’t know what he’d do if it turned out to be true.”

  If what turned out to be true?

  I returned to the repair shop to discover my phone had died. I bought a new one, which ate up precious time in my day, and I gave Terry Pearson a call. I explained who I was and questioned him about Everly Navarro. He told me he was heading to the office to pick up a file he needed and suggested we meet there in thirty minutes. I did a U-turn and headed over.

  Several minutes later, I followed a restored, mint-green pickup truck into the office parking lot. I pulled my car alongside and got out, eyeing the man who’d just exited the truck. He had short, auburn hair and was dressed in a blue-and-white striped polo shirt and dark slacks. With the exception of a thin, silver hoop earring dangling from his ear, his appearance was polished.

  “Terry Pearson?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Nice truck,” I said. “Ford F100, right?”

  “Yeah, good call.”

  “I’m guessing it’s a ‘58 model?”

  “It’s a ‘56.” He smiled. “You know your classics.”

  I tried to refrain from running my hand along the truck’s sheen metal exterior and failed. It was like a magnificent, shiny piece of kryptonite, and I couldn’t resist.

  “I own an older model vehicle myself,” I said.

  Terry raised a brow and inspected my Jeep as if to suggest I considered it to be a model worth talking about.

  “The Jeep’s, uh ... I just use it to pull my Airstream,” I said.

  “Ahh, what else do you drive?”

  “I own a 1937 Jaguar SS 100. It’s white with a blood-red interior.”

  I could have gone a lot more basic and said the interior was dark red, or crin even, but something about the words “blood red” delivered the perfect visual imagery—in my mind, at least.

  He blew a long whistle and said, “If it’s the car I’m thinking it is, I can’t believe you’re not driving it around, showing it off.”

  “I didn’t buy it to show off. It belonged to my grandfather.”

  “Still, you shouldn’t keep a beauty like that locked up when it could be on the road.”

  He was right.

  Before I’d left town, it had been my daily driver.

  Cambria was small, home to a mere six thousand residents, and everyone knew I owned it. It was the kind of attention I’d never cared about in the past but shied away from now.

  His expression soured. “I just stopped at your mother’s place and visited with Phoebe. I’d like to offer my help in any way I can. I offered to take care of Jack’s funeral arrangements or to help with them, at least, but your mother interjected and assured me it had already been handled.”

  I had the feeling it hadn’t been handled yet. Mom just wasn’t about to allow Terry’s lightning to steal her thunder.

  “My mother tends to take over in these kinds of situations,” I said. “Thanks for the offer to help. I appreciate it, and I’m sure Phoebe does too.”

  “You have any leads on the investigation yet?”

  “A few,” I said.

  “How can I help?”

  I appreciated his candor and eagerness to get straight to the point.

  “What can you tell me about Everly Navarro and her parents?” I asked.

  He tucked his hands inside his pockets, leaned against the truck, and pondered the question. “I didn’t have much interaction with them. I saw them a couple of times before Jack performed Everly’s surgery, and that was about it. Shame about what happened. There were risks associated with the surgery Jack performed on their daughter. The Navarros were well aware of those when they elected to go through with it.”

  “What do you know about the emails Jack received?” I asked.

  He raised a brow. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

  His innocent expression seemed genuine.

  Maybe he didn’t know about the emails.

  “After Everly died, daily emails were sent to Jack from an account in the name of Lenore Navarro,” I said.

  “I didn’t know they’d been in touch with him. The only correspondence I was aware of was some of the back-and-forth messages between Jack and his lawyer regarding the lawsuit.”

  “These emails were different. They weren’t messages. They were photos.”

  “Of what?”

  “Everly. Baby photos, toddler photos, birthday photos through the years, and even one of Everly in the casket at her funeral. If her mother was the one who sent them, I assume she wanted Jack to feel guilty about her daughter’s death. Maybe she assumed if he did, he’d settle the case and give them the money they wanted.”

  Terry crossed one leg in front of the other. “How much do you know about Jack? About his personal life?”

  His comment seemed to suggest there were things about Jack I may not have known, and I wondered what he was getting at.

  “I’ve spent time with him here and there at family gatherings over the years,” I said. “He was always polite, and we got along. He seemed like a good husband to my sister, and Lark adored him. I wouldn’t say we had a personal relationship, though. Why do you ask?”

  “Jack always acted like he had the perfect life. He’d chat with me for hours as long as the topics related to general things like which football team I wanted to win the Superbowl or what restaurants I recommended in the city. Whenever I tried to discuss topics Jack considered personal in nature, he sealed up like a vault. He’d say things were great, and that was the end of conversation.”

  Phoebe had always told me she’d had a close, open relationship with Jack. She said they talked about everything, but I’d never been sure how much I believed it. Jack was a pleasant, outgoing man, but I felt the same way Terry did. Jack always avoided exposing the cracks in his exterior. I could tell someone what flavor ice cream he liked or what genre of movie he preferred, but I knew nothing beyond the one-dimensional persona he presented.

  “Did you know Jack hired a private investigator?” I asked.

  He glanced around like he was concerned someone might eavesdrop on our conversation, even though we were the only two people in the vicinity. “I did. A few years ago, I hired a guy to find Victor, my brother. We hadn’t seen each other in a couple of years, and I was worried about him.”

  “Why hadn’t you seen him?”

  “Victor prefers living off the grid. He doesn’t have a job, doesn’t own a cell phone, and he’s always moving around. When I don’t hear from him, I worry. I hired Andy Sanders to find him, and he located Victor within three days. Turned out Victor was a volunteer at a rescue zoo in Peru and had lived there for a couple of years.”

  Victor, it seemed, was living his best life.

  “So, Jack found out about Andy Sanders through you?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Jack came to my office, oh, about six weeks ago, I’d say. He asked me for the name and number of the PI I’d hired.”

  “Did he say why he wanted to hire him?”

  Terry shook his head. “I asked, and he said he was passing Andy’s information on to a friend. I wasn’t sure I believed it.”

  “What makes you think ...”

  A peculiar smell wafted through the air, an earthy aroma like pine needles roasting over a campfire. I swung around and saw ashy plumes of smoke seeping through a small crack in one of the office windows.

  Terry noticed it too and said, “What in the hell?”

  In the distance, a male voice yelled, “Noooooooo!”

  Terry and I sprinted toward the office. I arrived firs
t and jiggled the door handle. It was locked.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “The office is closed now, isn’t it? No one should be inside.”

  Terry pointed at a small, red coupe, the only other vehicle in the lot aside from ours. “That’s Shane’s car.”

  Terry fumbled in his pocket for his keys, and I pounded on the office door. “Shane! Are you in there? Can you hear me?”

  There was no reply, and with every passing second, the smoke grew thicker. I whipped my phone out of my pocket and called 911. Terry slid his key into lock and opened the door.

  I pushed him aside.

  “Stay here,” I said. “I’ll handle this.”

  “No, you won’t. It’s my office. I’m going in.”

  “I don’t have time to argue with you,” I said. “Stay here. I’ve had training. I know what I’m doing. You don’t.”

  It was half true.

  I knew what to do.

  I’d just never done it before.

  I felt the back of the door with my hand. It was warm, but not scorching. I reached beneath my shirt and pulled my bra off. I took a bottle of water out of my handbag, poured it over my bra, and pressed it over my mouth—the best I could do with what I had.

  I headed inside. The building was small, the rooms weighted with smoke. I sprinted down the hall, rounded the corner, and tried to see into the reception area. I couldn’t, and my eyes burned like they’d been soaked in alcohol. But I wasn’t about to back down, not until I knew Shane was safe.

  I dropped onto all fours and crawled toward the reception desk. Several feet in front of me, I saw what appeared to be a shoe, and then I saw a second one. Shane was on the ground beside the desk. He appeared to be unconscious. I reached out, and my fingers slid over something sticky. I bent down lower to get a closer look and noticed the tile floor in front of me looked like I’d finger-painted it in blood.

  I yanked Shane’s limp body in my direction. He was heavier than I thought he’d be, and my breath grew shallower as the moments passed. Little by little, I inched him forward, but we were still several feet from the door.

  A hand reached through the smoke and tugged at Shane’s other leg.

  I coughed a weak, “I ... told ... you ... to ... stay ... outside. I ... I ... got this.”