Why not? Surely people in jail could have visitors. Lucas had gone to see Bobbie. If he had, then why couldn’t she visit Bobbie, too! As her excitement grew, she doubled her efforts to be quiet. Her father was already at work at the nursery, but Grannie was asleep. If she could get out of the house before Grannie woke up, it would make what she wanted to do a lot easier.
The new courthouse building rose over Waco Street and Mestina. Gleaming white, in a modular design, it seemed too elegant to stand face-to-face with Luckie’s Bail Bonds and the cramped old buildings that crowded around it. The interior, built around an atrium lobby with trees, a statue of a soaring seagull, and gleaming escalators, confused Jennifer. There were discreet signs on the grass-cloth walls directing visitors to courtrooms and offices of justices of the peace down brown-and-white-carpeted hallways, but she could find nothing that informed visitors that a jail existed in this shining place.
She became aware that a uniformed guard stood near one hallway, so she asked him for help.
“Sure,” he said. “You don’t just go to the jail. That’s over in the old section of the building facing Waco Street. So’s the sheriff’s office. You go down this hall to get there, and they’ll give you all the information you need to visit somebody and what days and times you can go.”
“I didn’t think about special visiting hours.”
“You’re too early, you know.”
“No. I didn’t know.”
“Well, go ask them the procedure.” He pointed in the direction of the office, and it didn’t take her long to find it.
There were a few people with briefcases in the office. A woman and man were talking to each other. Another man, a very young man with black curly hair, was talking to a woman at a desk.
“I should be with Miss Trax less than half an hour,” he was saying as he clipped a large plastic badge to his right lapel.
“Miss Trax? Bobbie?” Jennifer cried.
Everyone stopped and stared at her. Her face grew hot, and she stammered, “I’m sorry.” She hurried to the side of the man at the desk, glad that the couple had resumed their conversation. “I’m Jennifer Wilcox,” she said. “I’m Bobbie Trax’s best friend. I want to see her, too.”
He studied her a minute, then stuck out his right hand. “I’m Richard Purtry, Miss Trax’s attorney. I’m afraid you’ve come at the wrong time. Visiting hours are from twelve to two thirty today and tomorrow.”
“I’ll come back,” Jennifer said quickly. She realized she had grabbed his arm, and she pulled her hands back, holding them together. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I need to talk to her. I need to see her. Is she all right? How does she feel?”
“She’s all right,” he said. He looked at his watch. “If you’ve got a few minutes, we’ll see if we can find a couple of chairs in an empty room. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Jennifer nodded eagerly. “Sure. Anything.” She followed him down the hallway, through an open door, and sat where he indicated. He sat next to her, took out a note pad and shiny silver pen, adjusted the pad on his lap, fiddled with the tip of the pen, then turned to face her. She was amazed that he didn’t look much older than some of the guys in school. He had round cheeks in a round face and skin as light and smooth as a cosmetics ad.
“Are you really old enough to be a lawyer?” Jennifer blurted out.
He scowled and sighed. “I take after my mother’s side of the family. Nobody looks older than kindergarten. It’s not my fault.”
“Maybe you should grow a mustache.”
“I did. It looked silly.”
“Maybe you should look silly instead of young. Are you right out of law school?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He ruffled the pad of paper and cleared his throat. “Now—a couple of questions.”
“It matters to me,” Jennifer interrupted. “Do you know Lucas Maldonaldo?”
“No.”
“Well, Lucas and I are trying to find out who really killed Mrs. Trax. If we can’t make it, then it’s up to you to save Bobbie.”
“My job is not to save people. My job is to defend their constitutional rights.”
“You’re supposed to get her out. You want to be a good lawyer, don’t you, and win all your cases?”
“Even the best lawyers don’t win all their cases.”
“You wouldn’t have taken this case if you didn’t believe in Bobbie’s innocence, so—”
It was Purtry’s turn to interrupt. “I didn’t take this case because I believed in your friend. I took it because it was assigned to me. I don’t defend criminals. I defend their constitutional rights.”
Jennifer leaned back and stared at him. “You think she’s guilty!”
“I’m trying to find out as much as I can. And your friend Bobbie isn’t being very helpful. She just keeps telling me the same story over and over, about how she quarreled with her mother and ran away to Padre Island.”
“She tells you the same story because it’s the truth!”
He brought the tip of his pen to the paper. “You can verify this?”
“I—uh—it’s just that she told me. I know. I’m the one who found her and told her about her mother, and she hadn’t known! I’m sure of it!”
He wrote a few words on the paper. “We may ask for your testimony,” he said, “but it’s not enough to convince a jury.”
“Or you?”
“Let me ask you a few questions.” He looked at his watch again. “We’ll make it quick. First of all, give me your full name, address, and telephone number.”
A few minutes later he ushered Jennifer out of the room, shook her hand perfunctorily, and hurried down the hallway. Jennifer fought back tears that pushed and hurt behind her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. She had other things to do, and at twelve she’d be back here to see Bobbie.
The sun warmed her shoulders as she waited for the bus on Leopard Street. It wouldn’t take long to get to Bobbie’s neighborhood and Mrs. Aciddo.
But as she left the second bus and walked down the street toward Bobbie’s house, she saw the boy who had talked to her at school. He was standing in his front yard with the woman who had been at the funeral with her husband. She had on a pair of gardening gloves and kept trying with the back of one arm to push away a damp strand of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. His blue T-shirt was dark with sweat, and he held a bamboo rake against one shoulder. Mrs. Aciddo’s green sedan was parked in front of her house, which meant she was still home. Jennifer had wanted to talk to Mrs. Potter. Now seemed like a good time.
The mother and son stopped talking and watched her as she approached. The air was pungent with the musty fragrance of newly turned earth and the dry dustiness of shriveled brown leaves. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Jennifer Wilcox.” She turned to Cody. “I apologize for being such a jerk when you tried to be nice to me. I was so upset I didn’t know what to say or do. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
His shoulders relaxed and he let out a long breath. “Hey, it wasn’t your fault. I knew that.” He turned to his mother. “Mom, Jennifer is Bobbie Trax’s friend.”
Mrs. Potter’s eyes grew as wide and round as small doughnuts. “Oh, my,” she said. “How sad.”
“Mrs. Potter, I don’t believe that Bobbie killed Mrs. Trax,” Jennifer said.
“I hope you’re right,” she said. “Well, if you young people will excuse me, I’m going to try to get this yard in shape before lunch.”
“It’s you I need to talk to,” Jennifer said. “It’s about Mrs. Trax.” She pulled her notebook from the left hip pocket of her jeans.
Mrs. Potter paused, again looking surprised. “I didn’t know her very well, even though we were neighbors and all. I did go to her to get my hair done for a while.”
“At LaSalon.”
“Yes, but it didn’t work out. Often she didn’t come in on the day I had an appointment, and either Alice or Margo had to take me. Alice is all right—not as good as Stella was, but nothing
to really complain about. But that Margo doesn’t know what to do with your hair unless you bring her a picture, and even then she’s not good at copying a hairstyle.”
“Maybe she has trouble because she’s so nervous.”
“Margo? Nervous? Not that I’d noticed. I thought she was kind of dull, if anything.”
“Did Mrs. Trax go in and out of her house a lot?”
Mrs. Potter shook her head. “I work during the week. I’m a bookkeeper at Dillard’s Department Store. And when I’m home I’m so busy I don’t have time to notice what the neighbors are up to. That’s why Stella and I didn’t do much in the way of neighboring.”
“Can you think of anything you’d like to tell me about Mrs. Trax?”
Mrs. Potter thought a moment. Then she said, “Nothing. And I don’t know how anything I told you could help Bobbie Trax.”
“It’s like pieces in a puzzle,” Jennifer told her, aware that she was paraphrasing Lucas. “All the bits of information add up.”
“Well,” Mrs. Potter said, “I hope you’ll come up with the right answers.”
“Thanks,” Jennifer said. She made a few notations in the notebook and shoved it and the pencil back into her pocket. “See you at school, Cody,” she added, and walked back toward the bus stop.
Mrs. Potter and Cody were still working in the front yard. She couldn’t very well spy on Mrs. Aciddo while they could see her. But this bench had a clear view of Mrs. Aciddo’s house, so she’d sit here and wait and try to sort out the new information.
Some of those puzzle pieces were pretty small, but added together they made a pattern. Margo was nervous. Margo wasn’t nervous. So Margo wasn’t normally nervous, but was yesterday when Jennifer was talking about Mrs. Trax. Why?
If there were a ring of credit card thieves, that meant a lot more than Mrs. Trax and Mrs. Aciddo. Margo too? Could be. And who was in charge?
“I need to talk to Lucas,” Jennifer said. There was a quick-stop-and-shop convenience store a block down the street. Jennifer had occasionally used the phone in the open booth in front of the store. She made use of it again, dialing Lucas’s number.
“I tried to get you,” he said as soon as she identified herself. “I thought we could put a tail on Mrs. Aciddo.”
“You did?” Jennifer exclaimed. “But that’s what I’m doing.”
“You’ve got a car?”
“No.”
“So when she drives to a shopping mall, considering that she does, how are you going to follow her?”
“Oh. I didn’t think about following her.”
“Jennifer, sometime it might occur to you that we’re working this case together.” There was a long pause. “I’ll be right over. If we’re lucky she won’t have left yet. See if you can keep an eye on her house.”
“She parks her car in front of her house. I’ve never seen it in the garage. If it’s still there, she’ll be there.”
“Okay. I’ll pick you up at the bus stop at the end of the block. Keep your fingers crossed.”
Jennifer ran all the way back to the bus stop. Good! Mrs. Aciddo’s car was in plain view!
She kept her eyes on it until she was aware that a car had pulled up beside her. “Jennifer,” a voice called. “Get in.”
She slid into the front seat next to Lucas, who drove just around the corner, where they could watch the Aciddo house. He turned off the motor, and the old sedan shuddered to a rattling stop.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Jennifer said. “I was afraid she’d leave before you came.”
“She might not leave at all. Or she might go out late this afternoon.”
“What would we do?”
“Wait.”
“All that time?”
“I keep trying to tell you that private investigation work and police work have their boring moments. You can’t sit here and read a good book or doze off. You have to keep alert, keep your eyes on the house and car, and stay aware of what is going on.”
“I want to see Bobbie when they have visiting hours at noon.”
“Which is the most important?”
Jennifer slid down a little in the seat. “You make life so aggravating.”
“So you’ve said.” He suddenly straightened. “She’s coming out of her house.”
Jennifer straightened. “She’s getting into her car!”
“Jen,” he said, “get down—way down so she can’t see you.”
He pulled a soft, felt-brimmed hat from the backseat and tugged it over his eyes. He held up a map as though he were studying directions.
Jennifer, cramped into a ball, waited.
“All right,” Lucas said, turning the key in the ignition. “You can get up now. She just passed us.”
He did a fast U-turn and was soon on the street behind Mrs. Aciddo’s sedan. “I don’t think she’ll be aware of being followed,” he said, letting a gray sports car come between his car and Mrs. Aciddo’s sedan.
“If we had two cars we could do this a lot easier,” he said. “I’d be in the front car, you’d be in the car in back, and we’d switch off. It makes it easier, because the person being followed doesn’t get suspicious. But since we have only one car to use, we’ll hope for a chance to attach a hidden beeper to her car.”
Jennifer looked at him. “You mean when she parks?”
“Maybe. Or possibly next time we tail her.”
“But that’s what we’re doing now. Will we need to do it again?”
“Do you think she’s going to lead us right to the head of the credit card ring? Think, Jennifer. Don’t keep acting on impulse and emotion. We’re only guessing that she’s in this scam. She might have nothing at all to do with it. We might follow her for a week and come up empty.”
“I get so impatient.” Jennifer leaned back against the seat.
Lucas’s voice was sharp. “Sit up there and keep your eyes open. You can’t afford to forget what you’re doing in order to feel sorry for yourself.”
Jennifer sat upright, gripping the edge of the seat. “You make me so angry!” she snapped.
“I don’t mind,” he said, “if it gets results.”
By the time Mrs. Aciddo had driven into the lot of the mall on Everhart and had parked near the entrance to Dillard’s, Jennifer had forced herself to calm down. She wasn’t going to let Lucas win this put-down game. She was going to show him she could be as professional as he was. However, she couldn’t resist sniping as he turned off the ignition, “You should take better care of your car. It rattles.”
“I’ll stay here,” Lucas told her. “You follow Mrs. Aciddo. Keep your distance, but try to see what she’s doing.” He handed Jennifer a scarf. “Put this over your hair. Wipe off your lipstick.” Jennifer followed his instructions quickly. She had one foot out of the car when he added, “And whatever you do, don’t let her spot you.”
The mall was doing a typical Saturday business. At first, when she entered Dillard’s, Jennifer couldn’t find Mrs. Aciddo, but she soon saw her in the sweater department. Mrs. Aciddo was examining price tags. She seemed to find one that satisfied her, gave a quick look at the sweater she pulled from the rack, and took it to the woman at the nearest cash register.
Jennifer pretended to be looking at a sweater, standing so that she could get a clear view of Mrs. Aciddo. The woman had pulled out a credit card and handed it to the salesgirl. Jennifer put the sweater she had been holding back on the rack and moved closer. There were some scarves on the counter. She walked close behind Mrs. Aciddo, looked over her shoulder, and—keeping her back to her—picked up a scarf.
She had been able to see the card as the salesgirl laid it on the counter. It was in someone else’s name!
Her fingers trembled as she held up the scarf and examined it.
“Can I help you?”
Jennifer looked up, startled, as the salesgirl stood in front of her. “Uh—no, thanks. It’s—uh—the wrong color.”
“Can I help you find the right color? We’ve got
lots of scarves in the drawers.”
“No. I guess I don’t want a scarf after all.”
The salesgirl was studying her with such a suspicious look on her face that Jennifer just wanted to get away from her. She turned quickly, bumping into a woman who was walking behind her.
“Oh-oh! I’m sorry! I—”
It was Mrs. Aciddo.
18
Mrs. Aciddo’s left her house, but that neighbor’s still in her front yard. Too many people around. Too much chance of discovery. I’ll wait until tonight.
Saw the Wilcox kid sitting on the bench at the bus stop, but next time I drove by she’d gone. What was she doing here? Maybe I’d better send her a little something more than a phone call. I don’t need her in my way.
One down, two down, three down. I think she’ll have to be next.
19
Mrs. Aciddo was so busy scrambling to pick up the items that had fallen from her handbag that she didn’t look at Jennifer. “Believe me, I’m really sorry,” Jennifer said. She turned away quickly, so that when Mrs. Aciddo looked up she wouldn’t see her face. She was aware of Mrs. Aciddo grumbling and grunting behind her until she had retrieved the items from her purse and hurried off.
Jennifer’s hands trembled, and she knew her cheeks were growing pink. From fear? From excitement? The salesgirl was openly staring at her, and Jennifer knew it would be only a minute before she’d call security. Shoplifter? Pickpocket? No telling what the girl thought she might be.
“Look,” Jennifer said to the girl, keeping her back to Mrs. Aciddo, “I would like a scarf after all. Have you got a soft pink one? Or maybe a blue one? I’d like to get something pretty for my grandmother.”
It was going to blow most of the small amount of cash Jennifer had in her wallet, but it didn’t matter. Jennifer picked out the scarf, paid for it, and surreptitiously looked around for Mrs. Aciddo. The woman was nowhere in sight.
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