The rest of the meeting passed without any further mention of Jonelle’s case. After it was over she rushed to the supply room where the copier and fax machines stood in the center. While she waited, she tapped out a pencil on stapler rendition of Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” until the papers from Langford slid through.
Gathering the items as soon as they left the machine, she skimmed each one. The top sheet contained a witness list, complete not only with names but also contact numbers and addresses. She pursed her lips to keep from shouting “whoo-hoo!” out loud. The majority of the people lived in Tamora’s building which meant she didn’t have to chase them down.
She entered Marvin’s office without knocking, placed the papers on his desk, and sat. “The district attorney’s office has given their approval to hiring the agency. The first few pages outline what they want me to do, and on page three is the price. The amount is a little low, but we’ve done work for less.”
He waved her away. “Don’t get comfortable. I want to look at these by myself, okay? I want my own thoughts on this. I’ll call you when I’m done.”
Back in her office she powered up her computer and searched for “pet supplies” for her new kitten. Several dollars poorer, and with no word from her uncle, she read through each summons and decided it was better to at least try and do something productive.
She was about to track down a failure to appear when Marvin’s head peeked through her doorway.
“You going someplace?” he asked.
“Not anymore. What do you think?”
“What I want you to tell me is how much time you plan to devote to this case.” He entered and dropped the documents on her desk. She glanced through them and smiled when she saw Marvin’s signature on the bottom line.
“I got four summonses to deliver, and I’ll serve them all.” She leaned forward for emphasis. “I’ll simply work longer, harder . . . whatever. I’ve gone over and over the possibilities of this case in my head.”
The corners of his mouth turned up. He waved a hand for her to continue.
“Since the mother left the apartment that night, how did the kidnapper know the child was alone? For that matter, how did he, or she, get in?”
Marvin frowned. “Apartment, huh? What floor?”
“I guess that’s somewhere in these documents. Does it matter?”
“Yes. Because if the mother lives higher than, say, the second floor, whoever did this took one helluva risk.”
Jonelle filed that away in the back of her mind. “Good point. And why didn’t she tell the police the whole truth? If she’s protecting someone, I’ll find out.”
“What’ll you do if you discover she had something to do with the child’s disappearance?”
“I’ll advise her attorney, and he’ll take it from there.”
“You promise me that’s all you’ll do?”
She laughed. He worried about her as if she were twelve instead of thirty-four. “I’m not going off the deep end if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He studied her for a few moments. “Before you fax Langford our response, make sure Rainey opens a case file.” He pointed at her. “And I want an update in every staff meeting from now on.” With that he turned on his heel and left.
Advising the secretary was the second thing she did. She called Langford first and told him the signed contract was on the way. She also informed him she was going to Tamora’s apartment building to talk to the residents.
CHAPTER 5
Still on a high from Langford’s okay and Marvin’s agreement to take the case, Jonelle drove to Tamora’s building around nine on Monday morning and with the car radio tuned to an all news station, her ears straining for any news about a body found. So far, nothing. She pulled her Jeep into one of several empty spots in the front parking lot. Glancing to her right she noticed the maintenance man from the manager’s office picking up trash with a long pole grabber. They locked eyes for a moment before he turned, ducked his head and hurried away.
“Excuse me,” she called out.
He kept going in the opposite direction.
She rushed after him. “Hey!” He stopped and turned around. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“You that lady from before. Who’re you anyway?”
“I’m a private investigator.” Jonelle showed him her ID.
He barely looked at it. “What if I say I do mind?”
She smiled. “I’ll ask anyway.”
He shrugged. “Don’t know nothin’.”
“Don’t be so sure. I haven’t asked anything yet.”
“I got work to do.” He moved away from her.
“How long you been working here?” she asked, matching his stride.
With eyes focused on the ground, he gripped candy wrappers, paper, and cigarette packs. “Few years.”
“That means you know Tamora and her little girl. Right?”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, come on. Listen. I’m trying to help. Her lawyer hired me to investigate her case, so I need to find out about what happened.”
He stopped poking at the ground and looked up at her. “She didn’t do nothin’ to that child.”
“Did you see her the day it happened?”
“Yeah. She left same time as usual that morning to take little Lark to her sister’s daycare.”
“Was it always the same? No deviations?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And did she come home at about the same time on a regular basis?”
He gave her a peculiar look. “Sure.”
So he knew her habits. “Go on.”
He shrugged. “Nothin’ else to say. When I was on my way outta here around five that afternoon, she was comin’ in from her day job. Little Lark looked happy enough to me. I suppose she took the child to Miss Maxine. As usual. Miss Maxine looks after the little girl and a few others what parents have another job to go to.”
“How’d she seem to you?”
“Who you mean? Tamora?”
Originally she meant the child but decided to hear what he had to say.
“Both.”
He stared at a place in the distance. “Same as usual. Tamora said hi . . . and that’s about it. Lark kept her thumb in her mouth. Sometimes she acts shy around people no matter how long she’s known ’em.”
“How well do you know Tamora?”
He glanced at her and just as quickly looked away. “What you implyin’?”
“Not a thing. But in your capacity as, uh, maintenance engineer, you must know the residents here pretty well.”
His mouth dropped open. His long, narrow face broke into a wide grin. “Maintenance engineer. Ha! Been called lotsa things but engineer ain’t one of ’em.”
She tried a different approach. “I got the impression Tamora was quite attractive. Were you ever interested in her on a more personal level?”
Deep brown, almost black eyes, squinted at her. With a flick of the wrist the pole flipped upward, the end pointed near Jonelle’s face. She stepped back quickly.
He opened his mouth to speak but instead stared at something behind her. He thrust the pole back at the ground, snatched up more trash, turned, and left her standing there.
“Hold on a minute. Where’re you going? What’s your name?”
He hustled to the far edge of the building where two green trash containers stood. He stopped, glanced back once, and disappeared behind the corner.
She turned to find out what caused the abrupt change in his demeanor, but saw no one. “Next time we meet, mister, you’re gonna answer some real questions,” she murmured to herself as she headed for the entrance. “Even if I have to follow you all around this place.”
Although she’d kept her voice low to avoid anyone else hearing, a sideways glance from one of the tenants leaving told her otherwise. “Good morning,” she managed.
“Mornin’,” the woman replied.
Jonelle went directly to the manager’s office and f
ound Mrs. Watkins behind her desk, phone attached to her ear. The manager hung up and frowned. “You back here again, Miss, uh . . .”
“Jonelle Sweet. And I’ve been assigned to investigate Lark’s abduction.”
“Assigned, huh? By who?” she asked, a smirk on her round, cosmetic-laden face.
Jonelle’s back stiffened at the amusement shining in the woman’s eyes.
“Her attorney, Paul Langford.”
The humor faded. The manager reached down and pulled up a canvas bag that looked like it could hold enough items for a weekend trip. “Don’t have time for you now. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment.” She stood.
Jonelle didn’t move.
Mrs. Watkins came from around the desk.
“Thought I’d let you know I’m here to ask the residents a few questions.”
Mrs. Watkins stood outside her office, left hand on the doorknob. “I got to lock this.”
Jonelle took her time leaving. “What if one of the tenants has a problem? Who watches this place when you’re not here?”
“There’s an emergency number they can call.” Mrs. Watkins pulled the door closed and, after the click, fiddled with the knob as if to assure herself the lock had engaged.
Without another word the woman left as swiftly as her bulk would allow, leaving Jonelle standing in the lobby.
“Excuse me? Miss?”
Jonelle turned and faced three youngsters staring at her.
“Are you the one asking about Miss Tammy?” The question came from a pretty African American girl, standing tall and straight and a little separate from the other two.
“Miss Tammy? Is that what you call Tamora?”
All three nodded.
Did she need parental permission to question kids? How far could she push for information? “How old are you guys?”
“Twelve,” all three said in unison.
Jonelle pulled out three business cards and gave one to each.
“Cool,” said the young man in the group, a light-skinned African American.
The third youngster’s white face displayed an array of freckles under hair so red that it could grace a “Visit Ireland” travel poster.
“Now that you guys know who I am, what are your names?”
“I’m Piper Enruth,” said the young lady who’d spoken first. “And this is Grayson Watts and, uh, Fredricka Jace.”
“Hey!” the redhead shouted.
“This lady here is on official business, so I had to give her your official name,” Piper said, addressing her friend. She turned to Jonelle. “We call her Fred or Red Fred. She hates Fredricka.”
Jonelle suppressed a smile. “Would you prefer I call you Fred? Red Fred?”
“Either. Just so long as it’s not that other one.”
Jonelle glanced at her watch. “Shouldn’t you guys be in school?”
Eye rolls all around. “’Course not,” Piper said. “Summer vacation started two weeks ago.” She patted a small, lime-green clutch with cross straps laced around her chest. The gesture loosened a soft, flowery scent. “We got paid so we’re gonna go take the bus to the IHOP and have us some pancakes.”
“Paid? You guys have jobs?”
Grayson spoke up. “We got a pet-sitting service. Mostly we walk dogs ’cause some of the people have to go straight from one job to another. We also feed fish, hamsters . . . little critters like that. And clean up cat mess,” he wrinkled his nose. “We make sure everybody’s got fresh food and water.”
Jonelle took in Grayson’s loosely curled hair of such volume that he could probably hide a small kitten in there if he wanted. “Do you have a name for your business?”
“Yeah. We call ourselves ‘Fidos, Felines and Friends’,” Fred said, making a face. “It was Piper’s idea. Not crazy about it, but I couldn’t think of anything better.”
The need to drill these kids made her body tingle. Jonelle knew children, or in this case, tweens, often saw and heard things adults didn’t pay close attention to. She also knew as an adult she couldn’t invite herself to join them for breakfast. Especially not after what happened.
“You guys might see me around here a lot as I try to help Tamora—Miss Tammy—prove her innocence.”
“How d’you know she’s innocent?” Grayson asked. “If you ask me—stop it!”
A swift elbow to the ribs from Piper prevented him from saying anything else.
She waited for the scene to play itself out.
All three kept their mouths shut, confirming Jonelle’s original thought that Piper was the leader. The openness each had displayed earlier vanished, replaced by wariness in each of their eyes.
“Tell you what. When you see me around, if you remember anything that might be interesting, let me know. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s important or not. The great thing about being a detective is that we absorb information like a sponge. The more we hear, the better we like it. Enjoy your breakfast.”
She strode over to the elevators. Langford’s information stated Tamora and Lark lived on the seventh floor. Aware of three pairs of eyes on her back, she stepped inside the elevator and faced front. None of the group had moved. She waved before the doors closed.
A few seconds later Jonelle stood on the edge of a long hallway lit by weak overhead lights. A well-worn rug of indeterminate color ran down the length. She headed for apartment 707, stood outside, and pressed her ear against the door. Silence. Jonelle knocked and waited. When no one came to the door, she knocked again, harder this time.
“She ain’t home.”
Jonelle jumped at the sound. Across the hall an elderly woman regarded her suspiciously, one hand grasped around the collar of a faded blue cotton shift, white hair sticking out from her head like a halo.
“Yes. Well, I’d heard Tamora’s staying with her sister, but I decided to take the chance she might’ve come back.”
“Like I said, she ain’t home.”
Jonelle reached into her bag. The woman stepped back, her face tense with alarm. Jonelle froze, hand still inside and curled around a small black leather case.
“Sorry. Don’t mean to scare you. I’m reaching for my private detective’s identification. Okay to show it to you?”
Eyes still wide, the woman nodded once.
Jonelle removed the ID from her bag as slowly as if she were pulling a wad of gum from the bottom of her shoe. She inched toward the woman.
“Stay right there.”
With her arm outstretched, Jonelle flipped open the case. On one side, the gold shield glowed dully. The other side included her picture and name.
The woman squinted at the ID and Jonelle wondered if she could actually see all the information.
“Hmm. What’s your name then? Assuming that thing is real.”
“Jonelle Sweet,” she said, resisting the urge to point out it was written on the license. “I also have a business card if you’d like to see it. But that means I’ll have to take it out of my bag. Is that okay?”
The woman nodded, this time with less reluctance.
After swiping the card from Jonelle’s hand, she said, “Wait right there. I gotta go get my glasses.” She turned and disappeared inside, leaving the door open.
Jonelle sighed and considered the woman probably should’ve put on the glasses before opening the door. With a smile firmly in place, she waited.
She didn’t have to wait long.
“Fine,” the woman said, large round glasses with dark green frames perched on the bridge of her nose. “You seem legit. What d’you want, anyway?”
She ignored the question. “What’s your name?”
“Maxine.”
The woman’s attitude telegraphed no need for last names. “I’m working for Tamora’s lawyer. You’ll probably hear or see me around the building, asking questions about Tamora and the night Lark was taken. Can you spare a few minutes?”
Jonelle braced for the door to slam in her face. Instead, after a slight hesitation, Maxine moved asi
de and ushered her into the apartment.
Gold curtains were pulled back allowing bright sunlight to shine throughout. A slight antiseptic smell engulfed the room.
“I ain’t got much to say about that night if that’s what you want,” Maxine said, sitting on a red-and-tan tweed sofa. A rectangular wooden coffee table held a tray with a mug and a half-eaten pastry.
“I’d still like to ask you a few questions. Mind if I sit down?”
Maxine nodded toward the matching chair, re-arranged her slight frame on the sofa, picked up the mug, and made a face. “Cold. I don’t like my coffee cold.”
“I can wait until you heat it up.” Although she wouldn’t mind a cup, the woman hadn’t offered her any.
“No. Go on and ask your questions. I didn’t see nothin’ but go ahead. Don’t want to seem rude.”
Too late for that, Jonelle thought. “Um. Could you turn that down a bit?” She tilted her head at a flat screen TV.
Maxine grabbed the remote and turned down the sound.
“Thanks. What do you remember about that night?”
Maxine took a deep breath and said, as if by rote, “Tamora come in from her day job, same as always. That sometime boyfriend of hers stopped by . . . same as always. A bit later she brought little Lark to stay with me. I told the cops this, by the way. You guys should be coordinatin’ all this stuff. Though I guess you’re on opposite sides. Right?”
“You watched the child that night?” This must be the Miss Maxine she’d heard about.
“Of course. I watch some of the children in this building when their parents go on to their second jobs.” She looked Jonelle up and down. “Most of ’em have to do that to make ends meet.”
“How’d she get to work? Did the boyfriend take her?”
A shrug of the bony shoulders.
“What were the mother and daughter like?”
“Tamora is a good mama to that child. Lark’s always clean and well-dressed; has enough food to eat. Tamora went across the street to buy milk. Did you know that?”
“I knew she went to the convenience store. Didn’t know why.”
Maxine huffed. “Now you do.”
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