by Jaden Skye
The person on the other end grew quiet.
“I want to talk to Tracy Wrenn,” he demanded.
“Who?” she asked, fearfully.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know who Tracy Wrenn is.” Tad’s voice got louder.
“I don’t know her personally, sir,” the woman spoke up then. “But I will deliver your message and someone will find her for you.”
Tad breathed heavily. He couldn’t actually believe they would do it, but he felt a little better anyway. At least someone was listening to him. “When will you do it?” he asked.
“Can it wait until the morning?” the woman asked. “There are more people around who can find her then for you.”
“Fine,” Tad said, “I’ll call back first thing in the morning. Make sure someone is expecting my call.”
“I will, sir, I will,” the woman responded. “Would you like to leave your phone number?”
“No need for that, I’ll call back myself,” Tad replied and hung up the phone.
It couldn’t wait for morning though, Tad realized. He wanted to talk to Tracy tonight.
*
After Tracy and Hunter finished dinner, they said a quick good night and before she knew it, Tracy was back in her hotel room. The minute she got in Tracy sat down on the edge of the bed and put in a quick call to Wess. He didn’t answer.
Tracy stretched. Then she went to the bathroom and took a long shower, letting the hot water pound on her, relaxing her taut muscles and nerves. She was surprised by what a lovely time she’d had with Hunter and also by what he’d said about the other guys admiring her. Tracy knew men found her appealing, but most of the time she blocked it out. Although she dated a lot in college, none of it ever came to anything. Wess was actually the first relationship that lasted. She was never really sure why. Up to now things had gone well between them. They enjoyed getting together at the end of the day, having dinner, going over what happened, making plans to enjoy their time off. Up to now Wess had always been supportive of Tracy. Now he was upset and it unnerved her. The last thing she needed in the middle of a case was relationship trouble. It made her more vulnerable, less safe. How come Wess couldn’t understand that?
Tracy got out of the shower, dried off slowly, and began brushing her hair. Her cell phone rang then, and delighted, she leapt to the next room to answer. He was calling back. She was relieved.
“Wess?” Tracy said, excited.
“Tracy Wrenn?” an odd male voice responded, instead.
“Who’s this?” asked Tracy, startled.
“You know who I am,” the voice chortled softly.
“Who?” Tracy was unnerved.
“Stop and think a minute,” the voice replied. “Think it over carefully. If you’re as smart as everyone says, you’ll figure it out in a few minutes.” Then he breathed slowly into the phone.
Tracy wanted to draw him into further conversation and keep him on longer, so the call could be traced. “Who says I’m smart?” she asked, her heart starting to pound.
He stopped breathing a second and laughed. “Playing games with me, Tracy? Don’t bother. I know you’re trying to trace the call.” Then he hung up.
For a second Tracy froze. Who was that? A guy who’s obviously trying to frighten me, she thought. But he can’t. He doesn’t have the qualities of the killer. The killer was sweet to his victims, Tracy was sure. He lured them in gently. This caller was just someone on the fringes who wanted to be part of the action. The news of her being on the case drew him in.
Tracy was about to report the call, but thought better of it. Just a crank, she decided. There was more than enough time to report it tomorrow. She’d asked for this, made her presence public. This was probably the first of many crazy calls that would be coming her way.
Tracy double locked the door of the suite, put the phone on her night table, and went to bed.
*
“Somebody named Tad Warehouse called the tip line and asked to talk to you,” Hunter said to Tracy as she walked into the office first thing in the morning, beautifully groomed in a lemon linen dress with matching jacket and sandals.
“Who is he?” asked Tracy offhandedly.
“No one in particular,” Clay joined in. “He’s just a tipster with nothing specific. Didn’t leave a phone number either, so I wouldn’t take it seriously. He probably just saw your picture in the paper. This case has hit a nerve and we’ve got all kinds of people floating around calling in strange comments.”
“True,” said Tracy, “I got one last night.”
“Last night? From who?” Hunter was startled.
“Nobody in particular,” said Tracy, “just some guy saying how smart I was. Then he hung up. Wasn’t on long enough to trace him.”
“How did he get your cell phone number?” Hunter was perturbed.
“Someone in the tip line might have given it to him by mistake,” said Tracy. “Things like that happen.”
Hunter shook his head. “You should have called that in immediately.”
“It wasn’t necessary,” said Tracy, “believe me.” After all that was the basis of her job, knowing which leads to follow and which to throw away.
“Well, this Tad Warehouse has called a few times,” Hunter continued. “Usually tipsters don’t call and ask to talk to a specific person.”
“True,” said Tracy, “I’ll talk to him later on. Right now I want to go to the nursery school Shannon worked at.”
“Good enough,” said Hunter. “Go see if anything new turns up.”
“How about Tina’s case? Anything going on there?” asked Tracy.
“Nothing,” said Hunter. “We have more investigators spreading out in her neighborhood, but so far they have nothing to add.”
Tracy felt perplexed. When she felt this way the best thing to do was go directly to a place a victim lived or worked at and just talk to people there. She would sniff around and listen to small talk. Sometimes just an offhanded comment opened up a brand new door.
Clay walked in then and joined the conversation. “Good morning and good news,” he started. “More tips are coming in, and they’re coming from wider destinations. We got a call from Maine yesterday and also New Hampshire.”
“Sightings?” asked Tracy.
“One or two sightings that have led nowhere” he added. “But some are worth exploring.”
“Like what?” Tracy was interested.
“When you get back from the nursery school, why not take some calls from the tip line yourself and see,” he suggested.
“Good idea,” said Tracy. “But first I’m going there.”
“Before you go, tell me one thing,” Clay said. “Did you and Hunter have a good dinner last night?”
That was the first time Tracy met Hunter’s eyes directly that morning. Very nice, she was about to answer, but waited for him to respond first.
“We had a really fantastic dinner,” Hunter spoke up immediately. It was great to be back at Café La Mer again. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed that place. It’s definitely one of the best restaurants in town.”
Chapter 23
The nursery school Shannon had worked at was in a lovely, small building at the end of a winding dirt road behind the church. It seemed like an idyllic place for children, with a large playground under hanging willow trees, sprawled outside.
As soon as Tracy walked in, she was greeted by the head of the school, a slender woman named Marilyn. Dressed in well-fitting slacks and a crisp, pink blouse, Marilyn looked like the picture of civility, the perfect headmistress.
“We’re so delighted you’ve come to visit us yourself,” Marilyn said to Tracy immediately. “We can go into Shannon’s room as soon as the children go outdoors for playtime.”
“Certainly,” said Tracy.
“We wouldn’t want anyone in the room, of course, while class is going on.” Marilyn smiled, displaying perfect white teeth. “The last thing we want to do is disturb the children. They’re ups
et enough about losing their teacher, naturally.”
“Do they have any idea what happened to Shannon?” Tracy asked, disturbed by the thought of the children losing someone they’d gotten close to.
“No, of course not,” said Marilyn, “except for one little girl who saw the photo of Shannon on the Swan Boats in the paper her mother was looking at.”
“That’s awful, truly awful,” breathed Tracy.
Marilyn agreed. “The child hasn’t been back to school since. We just told the other children that their teacher was sick and had to go away for a while to get better. They all wrote her beautiful get well notes. And the teacher who took over the class, Beverly, was Shannon’s assistant. Fortunately the children knew her well and it made the transition much smoother.” The smile that seemed permanently planted on Marilyn’s face faded for a swift moment.
“Terrifying what happened to Shannon, isn’t it?” Tracy added, wanting to get beneath Marilyn’s façade of perfection.
“Yes it is.” Marilyn then leaned over and whispered, “Absolutely terrifying. And I can’t tell you how much we miss her. It’s hard to believe she’s gone.”
Tracy looked around the area. Everything was in perfect order, there was no reason not to believe anything Marilyn said.
“Let’s sit down in your office a minute while we’re waiting for the children’s recess,” Tracy said. This was a good opportunity to talk to this woman more deeply, try to shake her up a bit, see what else she could find.
“Yes, please, of course, come in,” Marilyn offered, leading Tracy to a large, well-appointed office with children’s drawings all over the walls.
“Did you know Jeffrey, Shannon’s husband?” Tracy asked, sitting down on the chair in front of the desk. She leaned forward, speaking confidentially to Marilyn, one woman to the next.
“Why do you ask?” Marilyn looked startled, a little muscle under her eye starting to twitch.
“I heard there were problems between them,” Tracy went on. “Marital problems have all kinds of repercussions, don’t they?”
“What kind of problems?” Marilyn began to look more alarmed than before.
“Did Jeffrey come here often?” Tracy bypassed her question.
“He came once in a while,” said Marilyn. “Jeffrey’s a lovely man, successful, attentive. He adored the children.” Marilyn’s face flushed a bit. “He and Shannon always seemed fine together. Absolutely fine,” she added for good measure, biting her lower lip.
“Shannon never said anything about her marriage?” Tracy acted as though she didn’t believe it.
Marilyn stood up quickly and then sat down. “No, Shannon never said one bad thing about Jeffrey or suggested they were having difficulty.”
“Did you hear that Jeffrey Glaze had been having affairs?” Tracy wanted to lay it all out, cull any piece of information she could find.
Marilyn glanced at her office door, checking to see if anyone was listening. “After Shannon disappeared a rumor floated up about that.” Her voice lowered. “If it was true, I doubt that Shannon knew a thing about it. Jeffrey was always discreet about everything. I know he would never want to hurt his wife.”
“How do you know that?” Tracy looked more closely at Marilyn, who showed no further response. Actually, Tracy’s scrutiny seemed to bother her slightly.
“Shannon loved her job, she loved her children, and she had lots of friends.” Marilyn was on the defense, speaking fast. “Her life was happy. That is the way we wish to remember her and no one will spoil that for us.”
As they talked, Tracy looked out the window and suddenly saw a line of nursery school children trailing, one behind the other, to the playground in back.
“Looks like the classroom is free now,” Tracy murmured.
Marilyn turned around, looked at the children, and nodded to Tracy. “Okay, we can go in her room for a little while now, until recess is over.”
*
The classroom Shannon taught in was open, spacious, and surprisingly well ordered. With two huge windows on each side of the room, the light of the day shone in beautifully.
“We’re proud of our classrooms here,” Marilyn said. “We’re proud of our teachers and the wonderful way the little ones grow under our care. Shannon did a beautiful job creating an atmosphere of love and safety. You can still feel it here.”
“She wasn’t safe herself though, was she?” asked Tracy.
“What happened to her had absolutely nothing to do with us,” Marilyn breathed.
“She was last seen alive while leaving work, wasn’t she?” Tracy dug in.
“Yes, that’s right,” said Marilyn. “But there was nothing at all unusual about that day. She went outside after work, got into her car, and drove away. Same as every day. That was it.”
“Nobody saw her actually get into her car, though, did they?” asked Tracy.
“Not to my knowledge,” she said. “We’ve gone over that with the police several times.”
“Yes, I know,” said Tracy. “I just wanted to see the place she worked for myself. Is there anything else at all you can show me that will help me know her better?”
Marilyn paused for a moment, both wanting the interview to be over and to be of help.
“I believe there is,” she said abruptly. Marilyn then walked to the far corner of the room where she picked up a huge album that was sitting on a bookcase on the bottom shelf. “Here, come take a look,” she said. “I know this is something Shannon prized. There are photos of the children in it, pictures they made, notes they sent her, whatever was particularly important to her. She gathered it all together here.”
Tracy took the album, which was heavy, walked over to the desk with it and opened it up. In it was the record of a beautiful life. Photos of young children, drawings, and all kinds of other memorabilia Shannon had loved. Tracy turned the pages slowly, until something out of the ordinary struck her eye. She saw a note written in a scrawly handwriting with a red crayon. Tracy leaned over and tried to read it.
“What’s this?” she asked. The note was hard to decipher, written in what seemed like baby talk.
“Let me see,” said Marilyn, pulling the album toward herself. “Oh dear, what is this?” she murmured. “I never saw it before. I have no idea.” She scrutinized the paper closely.
Tracy put on a glove then and slowly pulled the paper out of the album as she read it out loud.
“Da dum, de do, ha happy na, coming ho ho after se sum you.”
“What on earth?” said Marilyn, breathless.
Chapter 24
“How did she get this note?” Tracy was alerted. “This is more than baby talk. Read carefully. There’s a warning here.”
“A warning? From who?” Marilyn stared at the paper.
“It’s a warning of her death!” Tracy exclaimed. “Forget the baby talk and the note says, coming after you! Someone she knew passed this to her. She held onto it and prized it. Why?”
“She probably had no idea what the note was saying.” Marilyn was having a hard time catching her breath.
Or maybe she did, Tracy wondered swiftly. Maybe she knew exactly who this note came from and what was in store.
“It seems to be written by a child.” Marilyn was now trembling.
“‘Seems to be’ is the heart of the matter,” said Tracy. “Could be the killer used a child to pass the note to her. And then used the same child as a cover when he grabbed Shannon.”
“Oh God, oh God.” Marilyn’s eyes filled with tears.
“No worries,” said Tracy quickly. “I’ll get this note to forensics immediately. There have to be fingerprints on it. This could be the link we’re looking for.”
*
The note was taken to forensics immediately and Wanda called Tracy to thank her.
“Great find,” Wanda started. “This is fantastic. We’re putting the note through with double speed.”
Tracy was relieved and grateful.
“Have time for a bit
e of lunch today?” Wanda asked.
“Would love to,” said Tracy, “but there’s too much going on here. I want to work the tip line myself for a while.”
“Of course,” said Wanda. “If you get a few seconds free, give me a call. Heard you had a great dinner with Hunter last night.”
Tracy was shocked. How had Wanda heard that? “What?” she said.
Wanda laughed. “Whatever goes on in the department, everyone hears about it in half second flat. We’re nuts like that.”
“Hunter and I had a quick bite after work last night,” Tracy said matter-of-factly. “It was a business dinner, nothing out of the ordinary.”
“A business dinner at Café La Mer?” Wanda chortled. “Listen, we’re all happy about it, very happy.”
This was on the edge of being intrusive. “Do you know what we ordered for dinner, too?” Tracy asked, trying to stop her.
Wanda laughed louder. “I don’t mean anything by it, honey,” she said then. “We all love Hunter, he’s a fantastic guy who’s just gone through the mill. His divorce knocked him for a loop. Now he gets here first thing in the morning and stays way later than he should. Believe me, Tracy, we’re all thrilled he had dinner with you.”
Tracy’s body clenched. This was way more than she bargained for. She didn’t like the fact that everyone was talking about their dinner. It was a casual evening, didn’t amount to anything.
“I’m about to become engaged, Wanda,” Tracy quickly announced.
“No way? Engaged?” Wanda sounded startled. “No one told me that. Now we definitely have to meet for lunch. I want to hear all about him. When’s the wedding?”
Tracy fell silent.
“Have you guys set a date yet?” Wanda kept up the chatter.
“Not yet,” Tracy finally answered, suddenly wondering if the wedding would ever take place. From the way things looked now, it was up in the air.
*
The note was a gold mine. The killer was crafty, pretending to be an innocent child while embedding warnings of danger in it. He was trying to drive his victims crazy, and also the rest of the world. Criminals of this kind thrived on confusion, double messages, and deceit. What they feared most was straight talk and plain truth.
