In her whole life the only thing she’d ever stuck with was detective work.
Actually she hadn’t been to a college campus since she’d gone to Cambridge with Parker a couple months ago on a case. She recalled driving through the ancient cobblestone streets of the university while Parker sat behind the right-sided steering wheel, giving her an overview of the famous school’s history.
The image of him came back to her. His low, aristocratic southern voice, the gleam in his gray eyes, his sexy smile. It made her heart stutter.
London. Where they’d promised not to lie to each other. That had worked out well, hadn’t it?
She recalled saving his butt on that case. She’d done that a few times. Yet he couldn’t believe she could take care of herself. They had been so good together. Why did he want to throw it all away?
She shook off the depressing thoughts of Parker as she reached the old red brick apartment building she’d been looking for.
This wasn’t London. This was Georgia. And right now, she was on a campus filled with brainy nerds working her first solo case. She didn’t need memories of Parker messing her up.
Hoping she would blend in enough to look like a resident she started up the steps. She found the number on the employee sheet Yolanda had given her on the third floor.
She knocked on the door. And waited.
She knocked again. And waited some more.
She was wondering if it was too late to check the dean of student’s office when she heard the sound of flip-flops coming up the stairs.
Soon a young woman appeared carrying an overloaded basket of laundry. She had on short-short jeans and a yellow T-shirt with what looked like the school’s logo on the front, though it was hard to see behind the clothes. Her hair was short and black, and a pair of dark tortoise shell glasses was perched on her nose. She was so engrossed in whatever she was reading on her cell phone, she nearly bumped into Miranda.
“Oh, excuse me,” she said blinking as if coming out of a dream. Then she frowned at her, realizing the stranger was standing at her door. “Do I know you?”
“Probably not,” Miranda said. “I’m looking for Hannah Kaye.”
“She isn’t here.” She looked down at her cell again.
Obviously. “But she lives here, right?” Miranda gestured toward the door. “Are you her roommate?”
The young woman tore her gaze from her cell and eyed Miranda up and down as if her photo had been on the news last night. “Why do you want to know that?”
So much for blending in. The truth would be quicker. “I’m a private investigator. My name is Miranda Steele. Hannah’s employer is concerned about her.”
The young woman’s nose wrinkled as if she’d just peeled an onion. “You mean that strip club owner?”
“Does she have another employer?”
Bewildered at the question the young woman shook her head. “No. Did he hire you or something?”
“Something like that. Do you know where Hannah is?”
The woman stared at Miranda a long moment before deciding to answer. “She hasn’t been home since Thursday. I thought she might have crashed at Marty’s place.”
“Marty?”
“Her boyfriend.”
There was a boyfriend? And the roommate hadn’t seen her since Thursday either? This was getting interesting. And this visit was going to take some time.
Miranda nodded toward the door. “Okay if we go inside and talk?”
Again the woman blinked at her, no doubt mentally reviewing the nightly news stories she’d recently heard.
Miranda dug her investigator’s ID out of her pocket and held it up.
The woman studied it, still looking uncertain. But at last she opted for youthful trust. “Yeah, sure. Give me a minute.”
Miranda decided to be neighborly and held the laundry basket while the roommate got out her key and opened the door.
After a bit more fumbling and cell phone juggling, Miranda followed her inside the student living area.
It was what you’d expect of a place where busy college girls lived. A faint smell of stale coffee and trash that needed to be emptied in the air. A cozy light colored kitchen nook with a counter overlooking a living room, a plain gray sofa facing a window overlooking the campus. Décor was sparse. A Tech poster on one wall, another of some frenzied rock star smashing his expensive guitar on the opposite side.
Clothes and books and papers were strewn everywhere. A laptop stood open on the far arm of the couch.
Miranda’s new hostess put the laundry basket down in a corner, grabbed the laptop and began shifting books and clothes. “Find a seat. Sorry it’s so messy.”
Miranda eased herself onto the spot she’d just cleared on the couch. “What’s your name?”
“Bonnie,” she said reaching for an empty fast food cup and a matching bag of trash on the coffee table. “Bonnie Pinksy.”
“And you’re studying…” Miranda tilted her head to read the title of a textbook on the table.
Bonnie picked up the book and closed it. “Discrete Mathematics. I’m in my third year. So far, it’s a bitch.”
“I can imagine.” Miranda smiled, trying to put her hostess at ease. “I don’t know what numbers have to be discreet about. The secrets of the universe maybe?”
Bonnie only frowned.
So much for friendly banter. “What’s your roommate studying?”
“Hannah’s in the COA—the College of Architecture. She’s a junior, too. We’ve roomed together since our first term. We’re a good match. I’m the quiet one, she’s the talky one.”
“Talky?”
“You know. She never met a stranger? She’ll talk to anybody.”
Overly friendly. Not a promising trait in this situation. “How long has she worked at Exótico?”
At the mention of the night club Bonnie wrinkled her nose again. She dropped a stack of books on the floor and plopped into the chair across from the couch, her thin body not taking up half of it. She sat knees together, flip flop clad feet apart as she straightened her T-shirt over her stomach.
“She started this summer. We both signed up for summer session, hoping it would get us into grad school sooner. Hannah’s dream is to build hospitals for the underprivileged. She said she needed extra cash for tuition and the job paid really well.” Bonnie sat forward and pointed to herself. “She wanted me to do it, too, but I said ‘no way.’”
Smart move.
Bonnie rolled her eyes. “I’ve got too much to do with my assignments and labs. I’ve got two classes with the hardest professors on campus and the workload is killing me. I don’t know how Hannah keeps up.”
So the shy Discrete Math major, who seemed pretty talkative to her, was too busy to notice her roommate might be missing? But Bonnie seemed too genuine to be involved.
“Where’s Hannah from?” Miranda asked.
“Her parents are from Gainesville. She thought about living at home her first year but the drive is too far.”
Gainesville was about fifty miles north of here. That would be a heck of trip every day. But maybe the girl had gotten homesick. “Do you think she went home to see her folks?”
Bonnie pushed her glasses up her nose as she considered that idea. “Maybe. The last I saw her was Thursday morning. I was rushing out the door on my way to my Abstract Vector Spaces class. God, I hate that professor. He makes you stand in front of everyone and apologize if you’re late.”
“What a hardass,” Miranda agreed. “What time was that?”
“Uh, let’s see.” She glanced at her cell to prompt her. “That class starts at nine, so probably at least eight forty-five.”
“In the morning?”
“Yeah.”
“And you didn’t see her at all again that day?”
“We usually don’t run into each other until the evening. Sometimes we go to dinner or study together. But not always. And not Thursdays through Saturdays. That’s when Hannah works at the club.”<
br />
And Miranda had already confirmed the dancer/student had been at work that night. “Did Hannah say anything Thursday morning? Mention any plans she had for going away?”
Again Bonnie considered the question, frowning as if she were solving one of her math problems. Finally she blew out a breath that made her dark bangs fly up. “Not that I can recall. Do you think she’s in trouble?”
Miranda kept her features still. “I haven’t determined that.”
She shuddered at how much those words sounded like Parker. But he was the one who’d taught her not to alarm people when you’re questioning them.
What was she thinking of him now for? Maybe because he’d been with her on so many interviews.
She shook off the thought of him and continued. “And you didn’t see Hannah Thursday night when she came home?”
“No. She hasn’t been back here as far as I know.”
“You said Hannah has a boyfriend?”
Bonnie nodded. “Marty Jenkins. He’s a second year student in EE. Electrical Engineering.”
“Second year?”
“Sophomore. He’s a year younger than Hannah. She’s twenty, he’s nineteen.” She did a back-and-forth gesture with her hand.
Twenty and nineteen? Lydia Sutherland, the victim in her last case, was twenty and the young man she was supposed to be in love with was nineteen. She’d been a college student, too. The pair had both been art students. During most of her investigation Miranda had suspected the lover of killing her.
Bonnie popped up from her chair. “Oh, I’ve got a picture of them.” She pranced into the kitchenette and returned a moment later with a photo in her hand. “Hannah kept this on the fridge. It was taken last year. A couple of weeks after I introduced them.”
Miranda took the picture and studied it.
Hannah with her long blond hair, blue eyes, and winning smile cheek-to-cheek with a guy dressed in a white band uniform holding a clarinet. He had a head of thick, curly dark hair half covering a narrow face, a pencil mustache and an overly long nose. The guy was no bodybuilder. Like Bonnie, he was skinny as a rail and his features screamed “nerd.” An odd match for a beauty like Hannah, but maybe she was attracted to his brain.
“What’s with the getup?” Miranda asked.
“Oh, Marty’s in the marching band. He plays at the games. You know?” She pumped a limp fist in the air. “Go Yellow Jackets?”
She’d heard of them. The rivalry between the Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets and the University of Georgia Bulldogs was not something you could miss around Atlanta.
“You said you introduced them?”
Bonnie nodded. “Marty was in some of my classes and he seemed like a nice guy so I hooked him up with Hannah. They went out and hit it off right away.”
“Did Marty ever go to see Hannah perform?”
“At that club? Yeah, I think so. Once or twice. But he’s really busy. He wants to graduate early, too. His dream is to design medical machinery and he can’t wait to get started. His father’s a surgeon in Boston and he’s got some good contacts. I think that’s what attracted Hannah to him. You know? Building hospitals and designing medical machinery?”
A match made in heaven. “Where can I find this guy?”
Behind her glasses Bonnie’s dark eyes grew round. “Marty? I don’t know. I don’t have his schedule.” She rubbed her nose. “Maybe he’s at band practice? I think there’s one tonight.”
“And where would that be?”
“The Burger Bowl.”
“Burger Bowl?”
“It’s right over there.” She pointed out window toward the campus. “Just this side of the CRC—the Recreation Center. You can’t miss it. Just follow the band music. If he’s not there he might be in the library. Or…I don’t know. He lives off campus. Around Atlantic, I think.”
That narrowed it down. “Do you have his cell number?”
“No. Hannah never gave it to me.”
The carelessness of college life. When Mackenzie went off to school, Miranda was going to insist she sent her a list of phone numbers and address for everyone she met. Especially males.
Miranda got to her feet. She had her work cut out for her hunting this guy down on a campus of over twenty thousand students.
She held up the photo. “Mind if I keep this?”
“No. I guess Hannah wouldn’t mind.” Bonnie stood and rubbed her arms. “She’s all right, isn’t she?”
“Let’s hope so.”
But as Miranda let herself out and headed back down the steps, she had a feeling things hadn’t gone so well lately for the explosive Nitro.
Chapter Eight
Bonnie had been right about the band music.
Miranda followed the sound of thumping drums and blaring horns down the stairs to the sidewalk, past two more blocks of red brick buildings to an open meadow.
She made her way under the leafy foliage of maple trees, slipped between two cement planters, and came to halt on a paved spot at the end of the field. Shielding her eyes from late afternoon sun, she took in the sight.
A mass of students dressed not in uniform but in casual clothes marched briskly around the field in time to some rah-rah football fight song they were playing. Trumpets, cymbals, drums, tubas, and piccolos rang out in a staccato rhythm.
Boom, boom, boom, boom. Turn left. Turn right. March this way. March that way.
Instruments held high, they split in two and formed two perfect circles. Miranda bet the band members were calculating the circumference of the circles in their heads. They marched in place for a few bars then some of them started moving backwards, some sideways until they ended up in a formation spelling out “Tech.”
They were really good and it was fascinating to watch them. But how in the heck was she going to pick out Hannah Kaye’s boyfriend in this throng of seventy-six trombones? There must have been a hundred students on the field.
Suddenly the music stopped and everyone raised a fist in the air. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
At the other end of the field someone who must have been the band leader said some congratulatory words Miranda couldn’t hear.
And it was over.
The students morphed back into the general melee and everyone began heading in a different direction.
Miranda glared down at the photo in her hand and scrutinized the students passing her. No one was a match. Damn. If she missed this guy, how the heck was she going to find him?
Suddenly she heard nerdy male laughter behind her.
“Hey, Marty. You going to the pool tonight?”
Marty? She spun around and saw two guys near some wooden bleachers packing up their instruments. The one on the right was a husky blond guy. The one on the left was a tall skinny dude with a pencil mustache and thick dark shoulder length hair. He had a clarinet.
Bingo.
“Me?” the skinny dude said to his buddy. “Naw. I’ve got a big Digital Processing exam tomorrow.”
They picked up their cases and began moving out.
Miranda glanced down at the photo in her hand. Yep. That was the boyfriend, all right. She followed them as they headed toward the sidewalk and out to the street.
The buddy swung his arm over the kid named Marty’s shoulder. “Come on, man. A guy’s got to take a break once in awhile. Besides, you have time now. You got rid of that architect major bitch, didn’t you?”
Marty uttered a nerdy snort. “Oh, yeah. I got rid of her, all right.”
Got rid of her?
Miranda’s ears started to burn. Chills broke out on her arms despite the ninety degree heat. But there was just enough sarcasm in the kid’s tone to make her wonder what he meant.
Marty pulled out from under his friend’s embrace. “C’mon Swanson. I’m a serious student.”
The dude acted stunned. “Hey, me, too. But you know what they say about all work and no play.”
“Forget it. I’ve got to ace this test.”
“Okay.” Swanson hel
d up his cell. “But if you change your mind, text me.”
“Sure, sure.” Half ignoring his friend, Marty turned in the opposite direction and began shuffling across the pavement, head down, glancing up only momentarily to check traffic.
Miranda followed him across the street, down a long set of concrete steps to another sidewalk.
She stayed back, pretended to check her cell once in awhile so she looked like a student to the passels of kids who passed by in both directions. No one stopped her or asked what she was doing there.
But after a few minutes, she spotted Marty unlocking a white Civic. He shoved his backpack and clarinet case into the passenger seat and got inside.
The engine turned over.
Miranda’s mind raced. Her own car was way back behind the apartment buildings, blocks away. She couldn’t get to it in time to follow him. But he’d have to drive slowly on campus with all the students roaming around.
Maybe she could follow him on foot.
He pulled out into traffic, slowed for three female students crossing in front of him, then took off again.
Miranda hustled along the sidewalk. Brushing past laughing young men and women heading home after a long day of classes, she tried to look inconspicuous.
She kept up with the car until Marty reached the corner. He put on his blinker and turned left in front of her. Then he sped up. She started to run. The Civic moved faster. Had to be going about thirty now. This wasn’t going to work. What had she been thinking?
As fast as she could, she stopped short, lifted her cell and zoomed in on the back of the car with her camera. She snapped the photo just before he made a turn onto the highway and cruised away.
She checked the photo. It was blurry, a little hard to read, but she could make out the letters of the license plate. It would have to do for now.
She turned around, saw several students watching her. One of the young men looked like he was about to ask for her ID.
Shoving the phone in her pocket she gave them a what’s-it-to-you? look, got her bearings, and headed back to her car.
It was too early to go back to Exótico, she decided as she pulled out of her parking spot. She’d stop at the office first. She needed her laptop and to figure out what to do with that wad of cash from Santiago. Plus she had to see what she could do with Marty Jenkins’ tag number. It was going to be a long night.
Smoke Screen (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 7) Page 4
