Stranger in Town

by Cheryl Bradshaw

“New?” I said.

  “Did they bring you in because the last two guys didn’t find anything?”

  I shook my head.

  “I’m not a cop.”

  “Then what are you?”

  “A private investigator.”

  His eyes widened as if shocked people like me actually existed. “You shittin’ me? Olivia’s parents don’t got much money, so who hired you?”

  “I can’t say.”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Can’t or won’t?”

  I smiled.

  “It’s the same thing, isn’t it?”

  I’d smarted off, maybe a little too much for Jim’s liking, but his body language had already told me that while the store was open, he was closed.

  “I’d better not talk to you.”

  “All I want to know is what happened the day Olivia was taken,” I said.

  “It was in the paper. Look it up.”

  “I have,” I said. “I’m interested in hearing about your side of things.”

  “It’s no different.”

  “So there’s nothing you didn’t tell police—not one detail you left out?”

  He raised a brow.

  “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “I haven’t called you anything,” I said.

  Yet.

  He stood, hovering over me with his arms spread out over both sides of the desk like he expected it to produce a dramatic and lasting effect. But he wasn’t the first bully I’d gone up against, and he wouldn’t be the last.

  “I want you to leave,” he said. “And don’t bother my daughter on the way out. People in this town are protective of each other. They won’t take kindly to you poking your nose around where it don’t belong. I’d move on if I were you.”

  I left the store like he asked, but when I got in the car and shut the door, it miraculously opened back up again. Jim’s daughter and her teeth stood in the doorway. She glanced around the parking lot and hunched over.

  “My name’s Jenny, by the way.”

  Jim and Jenny. I wondered if all the names in their family started with a “J.”

  “Sloane,” I said.

  “I’m sorry I opened your door without permission. It’s just—I overheard you talking to my dad.”

  “How?” I said. “The office door was shut.”

  “The air vents in my dad’s office are connected to the ones in the next room, and well, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop—”

  “But you did,” I said.

  “There’s someone you should talk to while you’re in town.”

  “Who?”

  “His name is Todd Anderson. The day Olivia was kidnapped, he was here.”

  “Working?”

  She nodded.

  “We were dating at the time. At least, we were trying to, but then my dad found out.”

  “He didn’t approve?” I said.

  She shook her head no.

  “Why not?” I said.

  She poked her head over the roof of my car, looked around, and then ducked down again. “Todd was in a band, only it wasn’t even a band, really. I tried to tell my dad that, but he didn’t care. He fired Todd to keep him from seeing me.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “Why do I need to talk to him?” I said.

  “Because on the day Olivia was kidnapped, he saw something.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Maddie and I sat in a car across the street from Todd’s house the next morning. A group of misfit boys belted out a “pitchy” tune in an open garage with an oversized piece of green and orange shag carpeting on the floor. From where we sat, I couldn’t determine what type of music it was exactly, but it sounded like the yelling kind.

  When I had spoken to Jenny the night before, she admitted she’d tried to get Todd to tell her what he saw the day Olivia was abducted. But every time she brought it up, he acted weird about it, always changing the subject. I asked her why she didn’t say something about it to her father, or the police. Her answer was simple: she said she wouldn’t tell. And since Todd hadn’t elaborated on what he saw that day, Jenny wasn’t sure how much it mattered. I couldn’t understand why she kept something so important to herself, but then again, she was young. Maybe at her age she couldn’t comprehend how a simple piece of information could make such a big difference.

  “So which one do you think he is?” Maddie said.

  I opened the car door. “Let’s find out.”

  By the time we were halfway across the street, the music had stopped, and all eyes were on Maddie who was showing more skin than clothing. She hadn’t bothered to change after her dip in the pool earlier that morning, and had just thrown a cover-up over her bikini, announcing she was “ready to go.” The only problem was, I couldn’t figure out what the cover-up “covered up;” the sheer fabric showed everything. She didn’t seem to care. The boys didn’t either.

  One of the boys set his guitar to the side and walked down the driveway to greet us. “Can I help you, ladies?”

  “Which one of you is Todd?” I said.

  Inside the garage, a boy with brown, shaggy, moppish-looking hair and small silver hoop earrings raised a single finger into the air.

  A boy standing next to Todd socked him in the shoulder. “He’s Todd. And I’m John. Oh, and that’s Paul,” he said pointing at the boy in front of us.

  Maddie laughed. “Where’s Ringo?”

  Unfortunately, Maddie and I were the only ones old enough to get the joke.

  Todd, a.k.a. lead singer of screaming boy band, eyeballed me with curiosity but didn’t say a word.

  “Now that I know who everyone is, I need to talk to Todd for a minute,” I said.

  “What for?” Todd said.

  The boy standing next to Todd gave him a look like he was crazy. “Dude, why does it matter?”

  “You used to work at Maybelle’s, right?” I said.

  Todd shrugged.

  “With Jenny? She’s quite fond of you. She wanted me to say hello.”

  “What are you, like, a relative of hers or something?” Todd said.

  Maddie beamed with pride, blurting out, “She’s a private investigator.”

  She and I exchanged the kind of look only a friend would understand, and although I was confident there would be no further outbursts, it was too late; all three of the boys looked at each other like they’d just been caught skinny dipping in the principal’s pool.

  The boy standing in front of us fidgeted with a pick he held in his hand, flipping it over and over until it got to the point I thought he’d worn down the skin under one of his fingers. “Is this about the other night, ‘cause we already told the cops, it wasn’t our weed. We were just—”

  “Relax,” I said. “Cops don’t send private investigators out over a bag of weed.”

  “Why you here then?” Todd said. “I haven’t seen Jenny since her dad fired me.”

  “I wanted to ask you about Olivia.”

  “Who?” Todd said.

  The boy standing next to Todd socked him—again. “Don’t you remember? The missing chick.”

  I appreciated teenagers who didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut.

  The realization hit Todd like Evander Holyfield the moment he realized Mike Tyson had, in fact, taken a bite out of crime.

  In the midst of all this, Maddie entered the garage, sitting down behind a set of drums. With a drumstick in each hand, she looked at Todd and said, “You,” tap-tap “saw” tap-tap “something.”

  I glanced at Todd, finishing the jingle. “And I’m here to find out what.”

  Todd glanced at the door of the house like he wished he was behind it.

  “I’m not here to get you in trouble,” I said. “I just need some information. Then I’ll leave, and you won’t see me again.”

  Todd looked at his friends and then at the ground. “I—I don’t wanna talk about it.”

  I faced Maddie, g
iving her the I-need-to-get-him-alone look.

  She pointed her drumsticks at John and Paul. “So, boys—which one of you wants to show me how to really play this thing?”

  They stepped up to the plate simultaneously. Todd walked into the house. I followed. Thankfully, no parents were in sight. It appeared to be a bachelor pad.

  It took a moment for Todd to notice I was still in tow, but when he finally glanced back, he muttered something to himself and then shook his head. “You can’t just walk into my house,” he said without turning around.

  I smiled.

  “I just did,” I said.

  “Get out.”

  “No.”

  “Get out or I’ll—”

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Call the police. Then we can all hear about the secret you’ve been keeping.”

  Todd rounded the corner and looked at me. His face had paled, turning a dull, ashen color. He leaned against the living room wall and then slid toward the ground like he was melting. He probably felt like he was. When his butt hit the carpeted floor, he crossed his arms over his knees, burying his head as far as it would go between them.

  I walked over and knelt down in front of him. “Is it really that bad? I’m not here to judge you. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  His silence was a challenge, but not the hardest one I’d ever faced. He just needed a little encouragement.

  “About six months ago, a toddler named Savannah Tate was kidnapped from a daycare in Jackson Hole,” I said. “And do you want to know something? She was only four years old. Olivia was six when she was taken, but you already know that. You were there that day.”

  I waited a full minute, but he didn’t budge, and with his head buried in what he must have wished was sand, I couldn’t tell whether my words had any effect on him. All I could do was to keep talking until I struck a chord.

  “When things like this happen, it’s not only the child who suffers, their parents do too. I’ve met Savannah’s father. He’s heartbroken, and her mother can’t even get out of bed. They’ve been so distraught over losing their daughter, neither one of them cares if they live or die. It’s hard enough for a parent to lose a child, but to take their own life—I can’t imagine what that kind of grief must feel like.”

  His breathing quickened, and for a moment, I worried he’d hyperventilate. Then it slowed again, but he still wasn’t coming around.

  “Do you want to know what I think?” I said. “I think the same kidnapper took both Olivia and Savannah. But in order to prove it, I need you to tell me what you saw. Will you help me?”

  Todd lifted his head just enough to give me the hope I was looking for. “The girl you were just talking about—”

  “Savannah?”

  He nodded.

  “Her parents—they didn’t kill themselves, did they?”

  At last.

  “Savannah’s father had the gun loaded with two bullets in the clip: one for his wife, the other for him.”

  “But he didn’t go through with it, right?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “But if I can’t help him find out what happened to his daughter, I’m afraid they might not make it next time.”

  Todd sighed, looking away for a brief moment. Then he shifted his focus back to the carpet again. “If I tell you what I saw, I’ll get in trouble.”

  “With who—the police?”

  He nodded.

  “I read about it—it’s called withholding evidence.”

  “I’ll do everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen,” I said.

  He paused. I waited.

  “I may have seen Olivia.”

  “You ‘may have’ or you did?” I said.

  “I saw her,” he said.

  “Where? Did you see the person who was with her?”

  His bottom lip trembled. “I saw them both in the parking lot. I watched the man take her. I watched him, and I didn’t do anything about it.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Todd was sobbing, his tears dripping into his hands as he tried to sweep them out of his face. I wanted to give him time to recover before he revealed what he’d kept bottled up for the past two years, but with a couple teenagers outside being watched over by a less-than-competent babysitter, I couldn’t wait long.

  “I know how hard it must be to relive what happened,” I said, “but I need to know what you saw.”

  He glared at me like I was hard of hearing. “I just told you.”

  “You haven’t given me anything I can use.”

  Not yet.

  I went to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and handed it out to him. “Here.”

  He waved it away. “I don’t want it.”

  “You need it,” I said.

  I held it out until he took it from my hand. He gulped it down in a matter of seconds.

  “You said you watched the man take her. Didn’t the police question you or ask where you were when Olivia was taken?”

  He nodded.

  “I told them I didn’t see anything.”

  He’d lied. Great. It seemed like the withholding-information virus was going around lately.

  “Well, now I know that you did,” I said, “and I need all the details.”

  He shrugged.

  “Like what?”

  “Pretend I’m someone who has never heard the story before,” I said. “How would you explain it to me?”

  Todd looked up and to the right, an indicator that he was piecing together the visual images he remembered from the day of Olivia’s abduction.

  “Let’s start with this,” I said. “Tell me what you were doing when you first saw Olivia.”

  He nodded.

  “I’d just finished helping a woman load some grocery bags in her trunk. After she left, I scanned the parking lot for shopping carts, loaded some up, and was getting ready to take them in. A grocery ad fell out of one of the carts. I bent down to pick it up, and that’s when I saw the little girl.”

  “What was she doing?” I said.

  “Walking. A man was holding her hand. At first I thought the guy was her dad because he kept smiling down at her, but she looked scared. She wouldn’t even look at him.”

  “Describe the man to me.”

  Todd shrugged.

  “Tall.”

  “How tall?” I said.

  “Maybe a few inches taller than me.”

  “You’re tall. Are you saying the man was around six foot six?”

  “Guess so.”

  “What else did you notice?”

  “He wore a hat.”

  “What kind?”

  “A ball cap.”

  “Color?”

  “Red.”

  “Did the ball cap have anything on it—was it for a sports team, maybe?”

  “I don’t remember. I don’t think so. He had on a pair of mirrored sunglasses. You know, the kind you can see yourself in.”

  “What about his clothes?” I said.

  “Black T-shirt and jeans.”

  “Shoes?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “What was his hair like?” I said.

  “Average, I guess.”

  I tried again.

  “Was it long or short? How much of it was coming out of the ball cap?”

  “I couldn’t tell.”

  “Did he see you?” I said.

  Todd shook his head.

  “He was too busy talking to some old lady who’d followed him to his car.”

  “What did the car look like?”

  “It was silver.”

  “What about a make and model?” I said.

  “It was a Dodge Charger, I think. It had dark, tinted windows. I couldn’t see inside from where I was squatting.”

  First Mr. Tate refuses to turn over the coloring page and now this. What was wrong with these people? Part of me had an urge to slap Todd across the face. The information he had would have given police a strong lead, one that could have saved a little girl’s l
ife. Todd may have been a teenager, but he was also a coward.

  I needed to keep going; I wasn’t finished with him yet.

  “What happened between the man and the lady who stopped him?” I said.

  “The lady said something to him, but he didn’t even look at her, he just kept walking.”

  “Then what?”

  “The man opened the back door of his car, put the little girl inside, and when he turned around he saw the lady was standing behind him. He said something to her and then the lady fell down. At first I thought it was an accident, but then the man didn’t bend down to help her.”

  “What did you do?” I said.

  “I—”

  His voice was shaky.

  “Tell me. It’s okay.”

  He shook his head.

  “No. It isn’t. I could have done something, but I didn’t. I just stayed there, crouched on the ground while he ran over the old lady’s body. I was confused. It happened so fast. When I went back into the store, I heard Olivia’s mother calling for her, and that’s when I knew what was really going on.”

  I was too upset to say anything, which I was sure Todd gathered when he looked at my face.

  “Don’t you understand? If they found out I was outside, they would have wanted to know why I didn’t do anything to stop the man from taking her. Everyone in town would have known.”

  “You are the only witness, Todd. Don’t you think everyone would have been grateful to you for telling the truth?”

  He shrugged.

  “It’s too late now. They’ll all hate me for it.”

  I placed my hand on his shoulder. “Aren’t you tired of carrying this around? Don’t you want to help Olivia’s parents? What if there’s a chance their daughter is still alive?”

  He looked scared. “What are you saying?”

  “Telling me isn’t the same thing as telling the authorities,” I said. “I’m glad you finally did the right thing, but they need to know everything. You have to tell them.”

  “I can’t do it—I won’t! You know what happened now. Isn’t that enough?”

  “It isn’t,” I said. I walked to the door, turning around slightly before opening it. “You’ve got twenty-four hours to talk to the police. After that, I’ll tell them where to find you. And do everyone a favor, don’t run. Then I’ll have to track you down, and I don’t have time for it right now.”