Too late to stop by the apartment manager’s office, Adrienne drove Jonelle home through a blinding rainstorm. “So I guess that means you’re done for the night, right?”
Instead of answering her friend directly, Jonelle said, “Pull up next to my Jeep. I’ve gotta check something out.”
“Why do I get the feeling Gracie’s not gonna see her mama yet. Where else do you need to go at this time of night? In this weather?”
“Curious about something and too antsy to rest now.”
“What? Do you need backup?”
Backup, indeed. “I’m not even getting out of the car. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.” She hopped out and into her own vehicle.
Jonelle reviewed everything she’d heard that evening. The warmth of her condo called to her, but instead of succumbing, she pulled out of her parking space, bothered by the fact that Tamora wasn’t home. In her glove compartment on a list of interviewees and their addresses was Tamora’s sister, Evelyn Clifton, the owner of “Evie’s Little Tykes” daycare. She plugged in the address on her GPS.
• • •
Less than forty-five minutes later, Jonelle turned onto a street illuminated by sodium street lights and lined with cars on both sides. As ordered by the digitalized voice, she pulled up in front of a fenced-in bungalow. Unable to see the actual address, the street lights reflected off of several plastic toys scattered about behind the chain link. A small multi-colored sign announced Evie’s Lil Tykes daycare.
All the windows were dark. Jonelle found a place to park and pulled her Jeep into a spot two houses down and across the street and cut off the engine. She stared at the darkened structure, unsure of what to do next. If she knocked on the door at this hour, everyone inside would think it was some sort of emergency, and since Jonelle didn’t have a ready excuse for stopping by, all she’d end up with is very pissed-off people.
The rain slowed to a slight drizzle. She peered out at the other houses, all similar in style and all tidy from what she could tell in the semi-darkness. Loud voices, followed by laughter, came from somewhere down the block.
Under a large umbrella a couple walked down the street, arm in arm, leaning into each other. The taller one laughed, and the other joined in. As they strolled by, a slight pang inside reminded her here she was, sitting in a dark car, dampness all around. Alone. As usual. She shook off the feeling and suppressed a yawn. The hell with this, she thought. I’ll come back later. She leaned forward, hand on the ignition key.
One more glance at the house and . . . the porch light flared. She sat up. The light went out again.
Puzzled, she peered into the darkness around the house, her eyes straining to catch movement.
The light went on and off again.
The sound of a motor forced her attention away from the house. A small car, headlights off, crept up the street. As she turned to get a better look, her arm hit the steering wheel, setting off the car horn.
The blare sounded as loud as a foghorn from a lighthouse. The car stopped. The porch light stayed off. A moment later the vehicle flew down the street, tires squealing as it took the corner too fast.
“Damn!”
With her cover blown, instead of following the speeding vehicle, she pulled out of the parking spot and stopped in front of the house. She caught a faint movement of curtains from the one large window. Fine. It wouldn’t hurt for Tamora to get the message she took finding out the truth very seriously.
She racked her brain to come up with a reason someone in that house should signal another car, but her tired mind wouldn’t cooperate. Yawning once more, she placed her car in gear. Not only did she wonder who the person was in that car, but what, if anything, did their presence have to do with the missing child?
CHAPTER 15
Got that detective lady’s business card with two phone numbers, address, and email. With her throwin’ these things around all over the place, I wonder how many crank calls and emails she gets. The contact keeps tellin’ me not to pay no attention to her. That she’s not learnin’ anything that the police haven’t already found out. Still.
I nearly peed my pants when some old bitty caught me stuffin’ kid’s clothes in the washer. Since she only had on pajamas, I had to dress her in some of the stuff out of this big box they gimme. A couple cotton tops and shorts fit. But she’s a messy eater and keeps spillin’ stuff and wipin’ her hands all over her clothes.
Some nosey pants wanted to know if I had relatives staying with me. Told her I was doin’ a favor for a friend of mine whose washing machine broke. Not sure if she believed me, but I need to keep my eye on that one. At the bottom of the box was a cute little handbag—pink, of course—shaped like a butterfly. Butterflies are her favorite. Boy was she happy. Her little face had the biggest smile.
Later on I told ’em I was drawing attention to myself by washing children’s clothes. They said don’t do that no more. They also changed the rules.
I was supposed to take my turn until they were ready to move her someplace else, and that was it. Now, on top of all that, they want me to check out that detective lady. That Jonelle Sweet.
Reminded ’em with more responsibilities come more money.
Me and the little one are gonna sneak out and go for a ride. She’s gettin’ real good at our own special game of hide-and-seek. When I yell “hide!” she ducks down and stays there until I say, “gotcha!” Then she pops up and giggles, like when I tickle her over and over.
The game never varies. One thing I’m learnin’ about kids is you can do the same thing a million times and still get the same result.
• • •
We got a visitor today. About time too. The kid perked up a little. Gettin’ the new toys helped.
After the visit, she got a little upset, but calmed down after I told her that everybody would get together real soon. I made mac and cheese with cut up hot dogs, and chocolate milk, and that made her happy.
Pretty soon we should make the transfer and then I can get back to leadin’ my own life. I’m never doin’ this again, even though the money’s great. At least not with kids this young. Older might work better; somebody around eight, nine, ten can be kept quiet without botherin’ too much about how fragile they are.
Of course, older kids give you different kinda problems.
I look over at her, snorin’ a little after eatin’ everythin’ on her plate. Such a sweet little face. My butterfly princess. I’m trying to ignore the tiny pangs of guilt formin’ in my gut. They warned me not to get too attached.
Gotta think of somethin’ else. That PI. That Jonelle Sweet. Maybe I’ll do a little investigatin’ on my own.
• • •
Had to wait until the coast was clear for the little one and me to leave. Have to admit she’s a smart one. Catches on quick to any new “game” I teach her. Today it was “now you see me, now you don’t.” Keep your head down, walk fast, and no one will see you. She loved it. All I had to do was tell her not to keep giggling.
Made it to the car with no problems. At this time of day, I don’t think of the few people around that anybody noticed us, which is why we picked this area. Nearly everybody had a job to go to. Whatever fool claimed that all poor black people liked to do was sit around watching television never met anybody around here.
Once she was buckled in, I handed her the white-framed sunglasses and floppy straw hat. Bought both at the store. They sell everything in that place. Told her that’ll help her stay invisible.
Think I’ll pass by where that detective lady works. I’m gettin’ goosebumps thinkin’ ’bout it.
CHAPTER 16
Unable to sleep, Jonelle woke at six thirty, made coffee, poured herself a bowl of Cheerios, and added sliced banana and milk. She cleaned and refilled all of Gracie’s food and water dishes—the kitten had a bowl for dry food and separate bowls for wet food and water. After a few minutes of playing bat the ball the kitten yawned and headed for her nest. Feeling a little better, Jonelle poured coff
ee in a travel mug and headed to the office.
“And to what do I owe this pre-dawn pleasure?” Rainey asked.
“Oh come on. I’m not that early.”
Rainey bit into her brownie and sipped from her can of Coke. “Yes. Yes, you are. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. By the way, I left two messages on your desk. I didn’t call you because he said it could wait.”
“Messages so soon this morning?”
Mouth full of chocolate, the receptionist nodded.
The memos sat in the middle of the desk. Written on both, in Rainey’s flowery hand, was the name Vaughn Hanson, Lark’s father. Both stated he’d like her to call him and were time-stamped thirty minutes apart. She called the number listed, and he answered on the second ring.
He cut her off when she attempted to explain her role in Lark’s abduction.
“I know who you are and what you’re doing. We need to talk, and I don’t want to do this over the phone.”
Somewhat put off by the abrupt tone of his voice, she suggested they meet that morning. “You choose the place and time. I’m flexible,” she said.
“Your office,” Hanson replied. “It’s only three blocks from where I work. Ten works for me. You?”
“Sounds good.” Jonelle told him to press the button to the outside security system and they’d buzz him in. After he’d agreed and disconnected, she pulled up Tamora’s file and read the information about him. Everything consisted of one page and contained little more than his name, age, and place of work. No indication that he and Tamora were ever married but . . . Jonelle read the line again—Hanson wanted full custody of Lark. Further on, Langford’s notes stated Hanson called the police to report his daughter missing and had an alibi for the entire night Lark was abducted.
Jonelle studied the picture of Lark and her mother. Taken at a department store studio, both had large smiles, although Jonelle could see a slight sadness around the child’s wide, round eyes. She scribbled some questions she wanted to make sure to ask and waited.
Right at ten, not a minute earlier or later, Rainey buzzed her to say she had a visitor. Jonelle instructed the secretary to send him back.
As soon as he entered she knew he was the child’s father. Of the two parents, Lark favored him. The same milk chocolate skin color and large soulful eyes. He had what could best be described as a kind face—not handsome, but certainly not unpleasant. His dark gray suit wasn’t tailored, but he wore it well. Standing to greet him, she had to look up to meet his eyes.
He sat across from her, arms draped loosely over the chair’s arms.
“Thanks for meeting me so soon,” he said.
“I was going to call you anyway, so this works fine.”
“What have you found out?”
“Let’s not beat around the bush,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.
He didn’t smile back.
“Okay, then. I’ve talked to a few people, including Tamora, but they were initial interviews. The first time I like to get a feel for the person and, depending on what they say, build on that in subsequent interviews.”
“I don’t care about all that. Where’s my daughter?”
She sighed inwardly. “I don’t work like the police. Paul Langford is my client, and my job is to find out as much as I can from everyone who had any contact whatsoever with either the child or Tamora that night, so he can use that in her defense.”
Hanson’s jaw tightened.
She waited for him to say more and, when he didn’t, continued. “I know you told the police you stopped by unannounced and discovered Lark missing. Where were you the rest of the night?”
The muscles in his jaw looked as if they were waging some kind of war. For a moment Jonelle wondered if the man had anger issues.
As if reading her thoughts, he responded in a calm, measured way. “I’d gone from my job straight to my attorney’s office. I’m sure you already know I’m petitioning for sole custody. Anyway, I left her office around seven that night. I knew Lark was at Miss Maxine’s so—”
“How’d you know that?”
“Because that’s where she stayed when Tamora went to her night job.”
“That was the routine, yes. But did you call to check?”
He frowned. “No. If there was a problem, Maxine would’ve called. She has my number.”
Jonelle motioned for him to continue.
“After the lawyer’s, I stopped by and picked up Chinese for the two of us.”
“The two of you?”
“Me and Cheryl. My fiancée. Once I get custody, I’m . . .” He stopped. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, Jonelle could see the pain written there.
“How long were you with Cheryl?”
“All night. Until I stopped by the apartment.”
She leaned forward, arms folded on the desk. “Why stop by that particular evening?”
A crooked smile formed on his thin lips. “Not only women have hunches. Can’t explain it any other way. All of a sudden I got an urge to check on my daughter in person.”
Hanson went on to recount everything in the copy of the police report.
“After they arrived that night to take your initial statement, did they follow-up?” She needed to know how seriously the cops were taking the report.
“Yeah. Around eight thirty the next morning. At work. Wish they hadn’t done that. Imagine the look on my supervisor’s face when the detectives strolled in wanting to talk to me.”
“Wonder what Tamora was doing all this time?” Jonelle murmured.
“What?”
“Oh, sorry. Thinking out loud. What did you think when you realized Lark was missing?”
“That Tamora, considering only herself, let it happen . . . somehow. To get even with me or something. Maybe got one of her boyfriends to help.”
Jonelle knew of two men who’d dated Tamora recently. Maxine hadn’t mentioned anyone else, and no one she’d talked to in the apartment building shed light on any other men.
“Do you know who those boyfriends are?”
He shrugged. “Only know that maintenance guy. And some dude she met at that minimart across the street. Somebody from her day job. Those are the ones offhand.”
“What’s the name of the guy at her job?” Jonelle flipped through Tamora’s file. She couldn’t find a reference to him.
“I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know she went out with him?”
“’Cause every time she complained about me and Cheryl, she’d throw up the fact that she could get anyone she wanted and that the ‘guy at work’,”—he used air quotes—“took her out and bought her nice things.” He turned and looked toward the windows. “My lawyer wants names, too. I’m working on it.”
And so would she. “So tell me. What do you really think happened to Lark that night?”
He gripped the chair’s arms and leaned forward, eyes blazing. “I think she’s hidden Lark somewhere to screw with me.”
Jonelle leaned back in her chair and considered what he said. On the surface, based on what little she knew of Tamora, it kind of made sense. Except the woman’s selfishness didn’t jibe with getting herself in trouble. “You know she was arrested, right?”
He nodded.
“You know Tamora. Do you really think she’d risk jail to screw you?”
Henson leaned forward, elbows on her desk. He put his head in his hands. “I don’t know.” He raised his head. “Please do whatever you can to find my child.”
“I’ll do my best, Mr. Hanson. Promise.”
He stood to leave.
“Hold on a sec. How’d you get inside? Do you have a key?”
“That’s the other thing. She refused to give me my own key. Claimed the manager wouldn’t let her for security reasons. Yeah, right. What really pisses me off is the door was already open when I got there.”
Jonelle escorted Vaughn Hanson out of her office with the words, “I’d like to stop by your pla
ce this evening, if that’s all right.”
“Why?”
They stopped at the receptionists’ desk.
“To meet your fiancée and maybe ask her a few questions. That’s not a problem, is it?”
Hanson fiddled with his gray and white-striped tie. “Well . . . I need to clear it with Cheryl first. I’ll call and let you know.”
“I promise not to stay long. Less than an hour.”
“As I said, I’ll let you know.” He nodded at Rainey as he left the agency.
“Interesting man,” Rainey said. “I got a feeling you’re gonna stop by, not waitin’ for permission. Am I right?”
“You know me too well. I mean, so what if he slams the door in my face? That’ll tell me a lot.”
CHAPTER 17
Jonelle paced around the reception area, too full of energy to go back to her office and sit behind her desk. After the fourth circuit, Rainey cleared her throat. “You’re makin’ me nervous movin’ around like that. Go back to your office or get outta here.”
“Hmm. Think I’ll head over to Tamora’s job. See if I can talk to a few of her co-workers.”
“Is she back at work?”
“Don’t think so. She’s not in her apartment, or at least she wasn’t last night. I figure she’s at her sister’s place, so after checking out where she works, I’ll stop by there.” Jonelle swallowed the word “again.”
Several surface streets and one interstate exit later, Jonelle pulled up in a parking lot surrounding a large red brick medical arts building. She studied the directory and headed to the office on the main floor. She entered the large reception area and stood in front of the nearest of several smiling young women located behind a long, low counter.
“Hello. Which doctor are you seeing today?”
In answer, Jonelle pulled out her PI license. “I’d like to speak to Tamora Phelps’ supervisor if they’re available.”
The smile faded. “Take a seat while I call to the back.”
“Thanks, but I’ll stand.”
A mixture of young and old and representative of about every racial and ethnic group she could identify occupied nearly all of the brown fabric-covered chairs. Bright-colored posters advertised “Hematology and Oncology” as the specialties. When called, each person stood without comment and obediently followed a technician, both disappearing behind a wooden door.
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