Girl Taken: A Detective Kaitlyn Carr Mystery

by Gable, Kate

  I look at the struggle and wonder what it'd be like if we had a kid, not a baby, but a kid, someone going to school, someone with their own opinions, thoughts.

  The concept has been very foreign to me. And even now thinking about it, it sends shivers up my spine.

  "Are you okay?" Luke asks, finishing the last of his orange juice. I give him a casual nod, trying to keep my thoughts to myself.

  "You like living by the school?" he asks. "It doesn't bother you? The noise, the bells?”

  "I don't know. I never really thought about it. I like this place. It's pretty convenient."

  "Good because I like it, too.” He smiles.

  I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out what he's getting at.

  "You can’t have it, you know?"

  "Oh, I know.” He tilts his head forward.

  "No, I don't think you do. I see that you have your eye on it and I'm not taking in any roommates."

  Luke knows that I'm kidding.

  "What if I were to just bring my stuff in and drop it off while you're at work? What would you do?"

  "Throw it out,” I say, without missing a beat. "I wouldn't even put it back in the suitcases. Just toss one piece at a time outside the window."

  "You would not,” he challenges me, smiling all through it.

  "I promise that I would."

  "Well, how about this? How about I bring myself over and we'll see what happens?”

  “I don't know if you want to take that chance,” I continue with the joke, and then pause for a moment, our eyes meeting, smiles dissipating off of both of our faces.

  I'm trying to read him.

  Is he joking? Are we still playing a game? Are we more serious about it?

  When I stand up to clear the plates, I turn around to look at him once, waiting for an explanation but he doesn't offer one.

  I can ask of course, but I don't. The mystery remains and lingers in the air between us, and I kind of like that.

  * * *

  Luke leaves for work with a kiss, placing the bottle with the inflammatory pills on the end table within easy reach.

  "They made me really sleepy when I first took them,” I admit.

  "I know, but if it gets worse, you may need to."

  I nod reluctantly and tell him to have a good day. Returning back to my phone, I write down the name of the notary and do a quick search on the computer for her name in the files. Then I call the computer tech and ask him if she's an actual registered notary with the state of California.

  Michael gets back to me with a yes. The story seems to be falling into place, but I still have to talk to her. I walk around the living room into the kitchen, putting stuff away, judging the quality of my back and whether it can withstand a day of interrogation work. It's definitely nothing strenuous like sitting in a car for hours or apprehending a suspect, but I have to at least be comfortable in order to elicit the right response.

  I get dressed, forego the shower, sprinkle some dry shampoo into my hair, and apply some makeup. All that requires me moving my back and making my way around. The spasm is still there, the numb feeling with a little bit of pain persists, but the acute pain has gone away. I say a little prayer and a thank you, and I grab my purse and walk to the car.

  Chapter 26

  I get the notary's address from Michael and discover that she actually doesn't live too far from here in North Hollywood. I pop by her house, a small two bedroom with a nice yard in a clean middle-class neighborhood. When I ring the doorbell and knock on the door, no one answers, no dog barks.

  But when I get back into the car and try to figure out the next place to go, I see a Honda CR-V pulling in and a woman about my size in her mid-30s getting out. She has jet black hair and is dressed in a long black skirt, not particularly fashionable and rather modest.

  She has a child with her, a little girl who looks to be in second or third grade. And she carries two bags of Trader Joe’s groceries through the front door while ushering her daughter through. It's the middle of the day and all the other kids are in school, but when she answers my knock this time, I see immediately that her daughter is quite sick: runny nose, red bleary eyes. She sits on the couch and doesn't move.

  "Marina Oakhurst?" I ask.

  She nods and tilts her head to one side. Her hair is cut straight along her jawline and is messy, but not in that stylish LA way. She looks tired with big black bags under her eyes.

  "I'm sorry, I really can't buy anything right now. My daughter's sick," she says and starts to close the door.

  When I show her my badge, her face turns white. I wait for her to invite me in, but she doesn't.

  "I'm here to talk to you about some of the paperwork that you signed off on."

  "Uh-huh," Marina says, swallowing hard. I can practically see how parched her mouth is.

  "Is everything okay?” I ask.

  "Yeah, I'm fine," she says, clearing her throat and starting to cough. "Sorry, I think I'm coming down with something."

  I tell her about the missing couple, the Islingtons, and when I mention their name, she immediately nods vigorously and says that she of course remembers them. She doesn't have that many cases with boats.

  The sprinklers come on behind me. I use that as an excuse to ask if I can come in and talk in private. She doesn't want to let me in, but she does. I walk past her daughter who has SpongeBob SquarePants on the television, the volume turned up too loud. Lying with her head on an embroidered pillow, she sniffles. The house is nicely appointed, trendy in a combination of IKEA and West Elm. But it's small. I'd be surprised if it were more than 800 square feet.

  There's a small bookcase in the corner and a big dining room table that looks like it's an heirloom, which is covered in paperwork.

  "Sorry about the mess," she says, pointing. "I'm getting my master's."

  "Oh, yeah, in what?"

  "Child psychology. I want to be a counselor at school. Help kids."

  "Oh, that's great," I say.

  I wait for her to invite me to sit down, but she doesn't. Instead, she just stops walking when we get to the back where the kitchen is located. I take control of the situation. Instead of sitting down in one spot, I ask questions while remaining on my feet, looking around the space, peering at pictures on the walls.

  “So, you are a notary with the state of California?"

  "Yeah."

  "What is it that you do exactly?"

  "If you need someone to sign off that you are who you say you are, that’s where I come in. I mainly do real estate, houses, and condos.”

  "And boats?"

  "This was actually my first one. I've never done a boat before, but it was pretty standard procedure, same sort of thing as a house."

  "So where exactly did you do the paperwork?" I ask.

  "They’d just came back from the sea trial and they called me up and said they wanted to sell the boat."

  "So, you were there when ... Who was there exactly?” I ask.

  "Patricia, Derek and the Islingtons, Ruth and Deacon."

  "Uh-hmm," I say, looking around at the walls, but also looking at her out of the corner of my eye.

  The ceilings in her house are low. This place is what they call a craftsman bungalow; wide beams, full of charm, not so much extra space. It's a nicely preserved house. It has recently been remodeled and it's well loved.

  "How long have you been living here?" I ask.

  "Oh, I bought it two years ago when I was still working as an agent."

  "And you don't do that anymore?"

  "I did for a while. I thought I'd be a lot more successful than I was, but I realized it's not for me. It's just ... you have to have a certain type of personality and I'd rather help kids, but I got a notary license. That makes pretty good money. I'm a mobile notary. I can pretty much go wherever anyone needs me on a moment's notice. You'd be surprised what they'll pay for that kind of work."

  "Great. I'm glad it's working out," I say.

  From the pictures, i
t's obvious that if Marina were married, she is no longer. And the father doesn't seem to be in the picture. I ask her more about her impression about the Islingtons and she just shrugs and replies in short little sentences without much substance. She doesn't seem to be very interested in the fact that they're missing. That catches me by surprise. She doesn't ask too many questions, not like Trish, who was very concerned.

  "So, tell me how the whole process went at the dock."

  "Well, they signed over the deed, all the paperwork, and then I believe they had to file it with the Coast Guard and the DMV. I was just there to see that everyone had signed everything that they were supposed to."

  "What was the feel in the room?" I say, turning to face her. This question takes her by surprise.

  She takes a step back. She looks calm, takes easy breaths. I watch her chest move up and down with each breath. That's the short tell sign to find out about how nervous you are.

  Nothing seems out of the ordinary. Then I look at her knuckles. She's holding onto the top of the chair so tightly that the skin on her knuckles has turned so white that it’s practically translucent.

  "Everyone seemed really excited," Marina says, relaxing her grip.

  And in a moment, her demeanor completely changes and I question whether I actually saw what I think I saw.

  "Ruth and Deacon were very excited to be selling their boat and Trish and Derek were looking forward to living on it. It seemed like the perfect transaction. Everyone was happy."

  I lean closer to Marina, looking deeper into her eyes. She stares at me with a wide-eyed look without blinking once.

  Chapter 27 - Violet

  The only opportunity that I really have to talk to Neil is between fifth and sixth period when I see him in the hallway, and none of his friends are there. He has a class near this part of the school, where my locker is. Somehow I got stuck, shuffled-in in part of the hallway where very few people from my grade have lockers.

  In the first few days that I saw him, I just walked past, saying nothing. Then today, infused with courage from a few green Jolly Ranchers and a little bit too much sugar. I walk by him, my head held high, and wave hello. Much to my surprise he says "hello” back. I thought this part through.

  "You're Natalie's boyfriend, right?"

  It's probably not the best idea to bring up his significant other, but I don't really have any other in, on a conversation with him.

  "Yeah, I am."

  "Cool. We're kind of friends."

  He raises an eyebrow, probably not quite believing me. It's the only moment of awkwardness between us and it feels like it lasts forever. I don't know what else to do or say, so I turn toward my locker.

  But then, instead of walking away, he approaches me.

  "So, what's going on, Violet Carr?” Neil's got the confidence and the bravado of a TV character seven years his junior.

  It’s almost like he has somebody writing his lines for him, he oozes so much cool.

  My cheeks flush when he says that, but luckily the hall is relatively cool and it doesn’t show. If there's one thing that I would ever hope to never forget as I get older is how long these awkward silences last when you're a kid and just how much time you spend analyzing everybody else's actions, reactions, and statements and what exactly they mean or don't mean.

  Do adults do this? Do they obsess over every single statement and what they should have said, or shouldn't have said at that moment? I'm pretty sure that my friends do.

  I know Natalie does no matter how cool she appears to be. Neil, on the other hand, seems too self-absorbed for that.

  "Hey, you're in my math class, right?" he says as if the thought has just occurred to him, even though we have been in the same class the whole year. "Do you have any idea what Mrs. Williamson was talking about? I mean, like what's with the assignments recently?"

  I shrug and nod my head.

  "Do you want to work on something together?” I offer.

  “Yeah. I don't know how to get through any of these problems."

  He pulls out something from his binder. He's holding it down in front of him, not tucked in front of his chest like girls do. The paper is crumbled up with a few attempted questions, a lot more than I have answers for.

  "I'm not sure how much help I’ll be," I say, the words escaping my lips before I can stop myself.

  "Want to meet after school?” he asks.

  "If I don't take the bus back, I'm not going to have a ride."

  "My mom will drive you back. Don't worry about it. Just take the bus to my house?” he asks.

  I hesitate again, but then realize that this is the perfect thing. Natalie did ask me to talk to him, to test him so to speak.

  So, why not? The thing is that secretly I've had a crush on him for a long time. He's one of those popular kids at school. He's effortless. Charm is just second nature to him. Like this moment, just inviting me over to his house. Just like that, erasing all obstacles in front of us with a casual shrug.

  My life is the exact opposite of that. I wish it weren't. So, I say yes. I want to see his house. I want to be with him. I want to try to help him with math even though I'm no better at it than he is. And if Natalie asks, well, I have an excuse, right? She's the one who asked me to do it.

  I take the bus over to Neil’s house. I sit in the back with all the cool kids right next to him, everyone stares and I know there'll be rumors tomorrow so I text Natalie and tell her that I'm working on some math problems with Neil. She sends four thumbs-up sign emojis back. Signs of approval.

  The bus goes a long way. I sit and wait. I sit next to him for about forty minutes before we get to his house, a wealthy development with broad lawns and tall ceilings. Unlike others, which are new construction, this house is located in the older part of town, but it has been remodeled with certain architectural features intact.

  No one is home and Neil heads straight to the fridge to drink orange juice from the carton. He offers me some, but I ask for some water instead. He pulls out a bag of pretzels and a bag of potato chips, tosses them in a bowl, and then offers me a seat around the enormous marble island. I put my backpack on top, realizing just how dirty it actually seems and how I should probably just pull my stuff out instead of placing it on the table.

  "Don't worry about it, we got a housekeeper," Neil says. "She cleans every couple of days. You can't really get it dirty." He puts his much filthier backpack on top and gives me a wink.

  He doesn't offer me a tour and looks genuinely surprised when I ask him where the bathroom is. After I do my business, I look at myself in the mirror, finding it hard to believe that I'm here at all. I put on a little bit of lip gloss and add it to my face to highlight my cheekbones. I regret the fact that I don't have more makeup, but I also don't want to come out looking completely dressed up for the occasion.

  I'm supposed to be nonchalant, remember? Cool as a cucumber even though that's hardly possible.

  We do math for a while. A quadratic equation seems lost on him, but I understand it and help. He's much better at word problems. He doesn't seem to get the math, but he knows it innately, like what to do.

  I, on the other hand, am quite a dunce. Rote problem solving is much easier for me. And so, we help each other and somehow manage to make it through the assignment within an hour.

  "Wow. I’ve never gotten this done so quickly," Neil says. "We should do this more often."

  I nod, finishing my water.

  "Well, I guess I'd better be going."

  I start to put my paper and folders back, but he reaches over and stops me from zipping my backpack.

  "What are you talking about? Let's have some fun. We're done with our work."

  I smile a little bit out of the corner of my lips, trying to hold back the rest of it and then I nod.

  "Sure. Okay. What do you have in mind?"

  Chapter 28 - Violet

  With my binder closed and put away in my backpack. I suddenly become keenly aware of how empty the spo
t in front of me looks. Neil invites me to go downstairs, where they have a big playroom. There's a billiard table. He asks me if I’ve ever played.

  I shake my head no. He grabs the triangle off the wall, stacks all the balls, hands me a pool cue and rubs some chalk on the top.

  “This is so it doesn't slip,” he says.

  When he breaks the balls, they scatter. I bend down to try to imitate what he did, but my stand isn't right. He bends over me.

  "No, you're quite good at this," Neil says, and I give him a little smile.

  We play for a while until his mom comes home and offers us something to eat.

  Mrs. Goss is a lot younger than I thought that she would be. With her hair pulled up into a ponytail, she looks like she's recently come from Pilates or yoga. She has a sing-songy kind of voice, like sitcom mothers on television tend to have.

  When she starts to set up for dinner, I tell him that I have to go.

  "I feel like I've already overstayed my welcome."

  "No, why don't you stay?” he insists.

  We have played two games of pool. I’ve lost both. And, I'm no longer having that much fun. Upstairs, somebody walks with heavy footsteps like they belong to a man.

  He peeks over the railing and yells hello to both Neil and me. It's his dad. I grab my bag and start heading toward the door.

  "You really don't want to stay any longer?" Neil asks, leaning on the pool table.

  “No, I mean, yes, but I really need to get back. You said that your mom, or your dad, could give me a ride."

  "Yeah, I guess I'll have to ask them," he says nonchalantly, "or I have my scooter."

  The snow has melted, and it's a relatively warm day now. Fifty degrees, not exactly great to be on a scooter, but I'll take anything. I look on my phone, and I live twenty minutes from here.

  "Should I ask your parents or do you want to give me a ride?" I ask.