Jessica gives me a long assessing look before she responds, “You know, I think you’re probably right. For the first time in a long time, someone in my life is probably telling me the truth. It’s a little bit weird, honestly.”
“I’m sorry your life experiences have taught you those lessons. Maybe we can build some new memories together,” I suggest.
Jessica smiles as she squeezes my hand, “I’d like that. Now, it’s my turn to keep you safe—”
“What do you mean?” I ask with trepidation.
Jessica grins as she answers, “I’m not the only person who needs to break out of a rut, am I? You’ve been rather beat up by life, too. Here’s to putting the past behind us and stepping into brand-new horizons. Would you like to perform under your own name or do you have a snazzy stage name picked out?”
“Stage name?” I stammer, “Why in the world would I need a stage name?”
“You and I are going to go up there and sing a duet,” she explains. “I’ve chosen a Joe Cocker song, so the expectations won’t be super high. Based on your speaking voice, I suspect that you might have a gravelly singing voice, so Joe Cocker is a perfect fit for you. If it’s not, just mumble — that’s what he did. I’ll play nice. I’ll even do the Jennifer Warnes role tonight.”
My mouth opens and shuts like a trout that’s been hooked. “You want us to sing a romantic movie classic for our first time up there?”
Jessica shrugs as she responds, “Sure, why not, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“Never ever ask a search and rescue worker ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’ Someday, I might get tired and loopy enough to actually tell you and that would be enough to give you nightmares for the rest of your life.”
Jessica shudders as she says, “Thanks for the warning—but for now, we’re going to go face down one of your nightmares. Are you ready?”
“No, not really — something tells me I might be more prepared to face down my kind of nightmare —” I admit honestly.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe—” Jessica offers.
“Oh, I’m counting on you being my battle buddy, there’s no doubt about it. If you weren’t here, I would’ve been out of those doors in a nanosecond.”
AS I’M UNLOCKING MY KIOSK and setting out merchandise, I see Sam Taylor approaching out of the corner of my eye. I take some extra time to rearrange my display because I know it’s going to take a while for Sam to cover the distance from his shop to mine. I once asked him if walking with crutches was painful and he explained that it doesn’t usually hurt unless he has blisters on his hands. Still, I feel awkward just watching him walk, so I make myself busy cleaning my display. When he arrives, I pull out the stool for him because he’s breathing a bit hard. I hand him a bottle of cold water from my mini fridge.
“Hey Sam, what brings you into my neck of the woods?” I ask after he’s taken a big swig of his water.
Sam looks at me with great concern as he states somberly, his speech strained and slightly slurred, “Jessie, you didn’t tell me you were robbed.”
I’m not sure which one of us looks most surprised at his announcement. I quickly go back around the counter and through the little Dutch door to the inside of the kiosk and scan the interior space. Everything appears to be intact, including all of the inventory and the little wall safe that’s built into the under-counter area. I scurry back to the front of my display area and survey all of the displays. Even though I have moved some things, everything seems to be there. I look back up at Sam with abject confusion on my face as I ask, “I don’t understand — I don’t think I was robbed; nothing is gone. Maybe they have the wrong store,” I reply as I study his face for answers.
Sam shakes his head so violently he almost throws himself off balance — although with his cerebral palsy, that’s not all that unusual. He’s not known for his subtle gestures. Encyclopedic knowledge of diamonds and other gemstones — yes; subtle gestures with his body — not so much.
“No, I don’t think so. They asked for Jessica Lynn Walker specifically. When I told them that your kiosk doesn’t open until 10:30, they informed me very briskly that they would be back. They wouldn’t give me any more information than that. The cops wouldn’t even tell me if you were safe. I thought you’d been injured in a car accident or something. They were very infuriating. I thought about trying to pretend to be your fiancé like they do in the movies to try to get your information, but the one police officer looked at me as if someone like me couldn’t possibly have a fiancé and I lost my nerve.”
“I’m sorry they worried you like that. They could’ve at least told you that I wasn’t hurt or anything,” I commiserate. An alarming thought suddenly occurs to me, and I ask, “Did they say anything about my family? I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with my grandparents, they are pretty elderly and they don’t live anywhere near here.”
Sam looks crestfallen as he answers, “G-Gee, Jess, I forgot about that, b-but I don’t think they would have told me butkuss anyway.” I can tell the stress is starting to affect him. It shows in his speech first. He looks at his watch and frowns. “I’ve got to go. My break is about over and management is being especially paranoid because the higher-ups are coming from corporate in a couple of days and no one is sure why. Everyone needs to mind their P’s and Q’s for while.”
I hold Sam’s crutches while he uses the counter to stand up. I straighten out the back of his jacket and refold his handkerchief in his pocket. “Thanks, Sam, I appreciate the head’s up. Go sell a bunch of people in love a bunch of pretty little rocks, okay?”
Sam winks at me as he says, “One day, I know you’re going to be in my store with your perfect Prince Charming. Who knows, he could be right under your nose.”
It’s an old joke between us. We’ve spent many lunch hours lamenting our very dry dating spells. We even went out with each other once, but we quickly decided that there just was no spark between us other than friendship. He needs to find someone who doesn’t get the elements on the periodic table mixed up and who actually knows who the characters are on Star Trek. I don’t meet either of those criteria. Sadly, we were not a good match.
As I watch Sam walk away, I can’t help but remember my last run in with Mitch. I thought I had pretty good chemistry with him, but I guess I misread the whole situation. I don’t know what to make of the last week of absolute silence.
I’m beginning to wonder if Mitch and I are such a great match. It seemed like things were heating up between us nicely and I thought we were getting along great. We never seem to run out of things to talk about and it never feels awkward or strange to hang out with him. For once, I feel like I don’t have to pretend to be someone else. It’s a refreshing change. We’re different, of course, but that makes things intriguing and challenging. I never know what to expect. My birthday party was downright poetic. It was like something out of an 80s epic romance movie; I couldn’t have scripted it any better. Despite his protests to the contrary, Mitch was actually a really good sport about karaoke. He also underestimated his singing talent. Granted he wasn’t the best singer I’ve ever heard, but he definitely wasn’t the worst — a little quiet maybe, but still a solid crooner.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t Marcus that brought him out of his shell as much as Tristan. It turned out that the two of them both speak fluent ‘computer geek,’ so they had plenty to talk about. When you added Isaac to the mix with his law enforcement background and his interest in Mitch’s search and rescue work, Mitch was feeling right at home. I even convinced Mitch to dance with me. I’m a huge fan of The Fray and it made me feel romantic and daring to dance in and out of his arms like candlelight.
I thought that the night ended well. He was much more bashful than I expected him to be. Instead of kissing me goodnight, he just brushed his lips against my cheeks and squeezed my hand. He thanked me for reminding him how much fun it was to laugh again. Then… nothing.
As I watch the minutes on my cel
l phone tick down to ten thirty, I can’t help but notice the little calendar widget staring me in the face reminding me that it’s been eight days since I’ve heard from Mitch. Not a single cell phone call, email or text message. Like Sam and I have said many times, I am the queen of failed relationships. I am not new to the brush off game. Usually, if I think things have gone reasonably well, the guy will at least give the appearance of a good college try, at least for a few days. Even after all the time we spent together, Mitch hasn’t even given me the courtesy of that. I just got the full on brushoff mode. I’m completely confused. Granted, I’m not the best in relationships, and I tend to screw things up but I’m usually not that clueless. I’m mentally kicking myself in the butt, because I had begun to hope that maybe Mitch was a little different from the scumbags I typically involve myself with. I guess I should’ve known better than to be delusional. I knew better than to think that my friends’ luck would rub off on me.
Just as I’m beginning to boot up my computers for the day, a couple of people wearing suits walk up to my kiosk. Actually, I can’t say that they’re regulation suits, really. The woman’s suit is classically tailored and she looks phenomenal with her long black hair artfully styled in a chignon. What wins her all sorts of points with me is her pop art Bugs Bunny tie, complete with a carrot as the tie clip. She hands me a card, but before I can look at it, she sticks her hand out for me to shake. Reflexively, I shake her hand. I’m not the granddaughter of a pastor for nothing. I can shake hands with the best of them.
She smiles widely as she says, “Hello, you must be Ms. Walker. I’m Darya — Detective Darya Virk. I’m from the Hillsborough County Sherriff’s Office. I understand you’re involved in a crime I’m investigating.”
Something about the way she laid that out, makes me bristle and I automatically straighten my spine and glare at her as I reply, trying not to clenched my teeth, “If you are here about Hope — which incidentally is the only ‘crime’ that I’ve been remotely involved with recently — I was not at all ‘involved’ in committing the crime. I merely rescued that poor dog. Did anybody take a really good look at that dog? Had I not been there that day, Hope would be dead! Doesn’t anybody get that? I don’t understand why nobody understands that I stopped to help that dog. Does everybody treat people who help animals this way? If so, I can understand why more people don’t get involved. This is crazy!” I finish with a huff.
Detective Virk looks down at her notes and pinches the bridge of her nose as she looks at me with chagrin. “May I call you Jessica?”
I roll a shoulder as I nod mutely.
“Look, it was an unfortunate choice of words on my part. This is already my third stop this morning. I’ve been crazy busy and I don’t have enough caffeine onboard to make my brain cells fire appropriately. What I meant to say was: ‘I understand you’re helping us out on a case. If it’s possible, I’d like to compare notes with you about some new information that we have on her suspects to see if we can narrow the pool down a little further? I need you to come down to the station and see if you can identify some suspects that we have in custody. Can you do that, please?’ If my brain would engage a little faster, I would’ve said that the first time. I’m sorry if I upset you.”
“Oh, that happens to me all the time, but I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do. I needed to be open about five minutes ago. I’m not supposed to leave the kiosk unattended. Then again, these are kind of extenuating circumstances.”
Darya holds up her hand and replies, “Don’t worry about it. My partner Booker has taken care of it.”
I can’t help myself; I raise by eyebrow in curiosity and ask, “Booker?”
The detective, who quite frankly looks afraid of his own shadow, just nods grimly and answers, “Yes, Booker, as in Booker C. Jones.”
As wildly inappropriate as it is, I cannot contain the giggle that erupts like champagne bubbles as I confirm, “Seriously? Your parents must have a really odd sense of humor.”
The detective nods tightly in my direction as he responds, “You have no idea, Ma’am.” He looks toward the mall entrance and sees Rachel in her uniform. “Oh good, it appears your replacement has arrived. Now you are free to go meet with the third-party consultants.”
For the first time in a week, I feel like dancing. I resist the urge to hug Darya and Booker as I probe excitedly, “Tristan and Isaac are going to be there?”
Booker stares right through me as he replies in a monotone, “I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of this particular case.”
Darya rolls her eyes as she says, “Booker, they sure taught you by the book at that fancy academy you went to, but sometimes you have to use your common sense. Get off your high horse and use your brain. Obviously, Ms. Walker knows the parties involved in this case. She’s also going to recognize who’s in the room when we walk in. I don’t think it would hurt to confirm what she already knows.”
“Ma’am, we’re supposed to keep witnesses separate at all times—” Booker argues.
Darya sighs. “Yes, of course we are, no one is suggesting any differently, I’m not sending them on a Disney cruise for lunch. We’re going to offer Ms. Walker a ride to the station because traffic is awful — which she’s free to turn down since she’s not in custody — and then she’s going to discover that Mr. Macklin and Mr. Roguen are already waiting at the station and have already given statements which may or may not have been helpful in our investigation. None of that is top secret, classified information. We are investigating a dognapping, not the Pentagon papers.”
Booker looks a little demoralized as he responds, “Yes, Ma’am, I understand. I was just trying to follow proper protocol.”
Darya looks at him with sympathy as she responds, “I’m not saying that following protocol isn’t important, you just have to do it in a common-sense way which will allow you to do the rest of your job. So, Jessica, would you like to ride with us?” she asks me.
I nod in relief as I reply, “Yes, it doesn’t matter how many other places I’ve lived. I still drive like a farm girl. Any time that I can get out of driving in the big city, it’s a win for me — even if I have to do it in the back of a cop car.”
My heart starts beating faster as Isaac hands over the enhanced surveillance tape to Booker. Isaac perches on the edge of the table as he addresses me, “Jessica, we have been able to collect and digitally enhance images from surveillance cameras from throughout the area surrounding the shelter from the day in question from vehicles that may match the one that was described. The one we’re looking for may be in this video, or it might not be. So I don’t want you to get worried if it’s not there. The suspects may have driven an entirely different vehicle that day, or they may have come to the shelter on foot. We just don’t know. At best, this is a shot in the dark, but it’s worth taking so, take a deep breath and see if you might recognize something. If you do, just tap the mouse and it will mark the screen,” Isaac instructs.
“What if I get it wrong? What if I’ve gotten everything in this case wrong? I took a class on criminal justice and I learned that eyewitness testimony is the least reliable testimony out there. What if I made one huge mistake about everything and I’m just compounding it right now?” I fret, starting to panic over the responsibility of it all.
Darya lays her hand on my shoulder as she reassures me, “I think you can relax, Ms. Walker. Only very rarely do we ever have to rely exclusively on eyewitness testimony these days. Usually, there is an extensive forensic record tying a defendant to a case. Whether it’s DNA or an electronic footprint, there is nearly always something else concretely tying a suspect to a crime. In this case, you, most assuredly, will not be the only thing tying the perpetrators to the crime. Once we can definitively tie these particular suspects to the dog you named Hope, we will be able to go back and match her hair to hairs found at the place of residence and we’ll be able to do some DNA testing that will definitively identify the dog. If the conditions are as deplora
ble as you say they are, there will be grounds for a cruelty investigation and everything will be documented quite thoroughly.”
I swallow hard as I capitulate, “Let’s do this for Hope.”
Ten or fifteen minutes go by and I see a bunch of gray cars and SUVs. It’s so tense in the room I can hear the sound of my own breathing. Frustratingly, nothing in the videos matches the description of the gray car. I’m just about to give up when the corner of a brightly colored license plate catches my eye “Wait! Stop!” I practically yell.
At this point, every pair of eyes in the room focuses on me as seemingly they all ask in unison, “What?”
I force myself to take a deep breath as I explain, “I’m pretty sure that I recognize that license plate. When Ivy was here, we used to take watercolor classes together and I have a thing for color. I tend to notice random patterns of color everywhere. I can’t tune it out, sometimes it’s obnoxious. I remember noticing it when they talked about the car on the news because it struck me as funny that everything about it was totally monochromatic except for the license plate. They tried to obscure it with mud, but it didn’t work. It was the same way when they were in front of my house. The plate was obscured enough that I couldn’t see the numbers or anything, but I could still see the colors.”
Darya nods in Booker’s direction as she remarks, “I wish all of my witnesses were as observant as you. That’s really helpful information.” She takes some notes down in a file and then closes it. “That’s all I need from you today, Ms. Walker. If I need anything else, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, if you remember anything else, here’s my card. Don’t hesitate to call me.”
To be honest, I feel a little bit deflated. I thought that there was going to be some dramatic development. It doesn’t feel like we’re any closer to finding the monsters who tortured Hope than we were the moment that I found her. I try not to let my disappointment show as I shake Darya and Booker’s hands and exit the interrogation room. Booker offers to drive me back to the mall, but I feel guilty when I see the stack of files on his desk so I politely decline.
Sheltered Hearts (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 2) Page 8
