"This is nice," I told her again as I placed cheese and ham on a slice of bread. I bit into it and felt the last of my hangover ebbing away. "I like family dinners, but it's nice to actually see you without taking a ticket."
"That's what I thought." Mom chewed on some bread, her face thoughtful.
"Spill it," I said. I wasn't a PI now for nothing. I saw the question forming in my mother's head, the ulterior motive overshadowing the food. "I know you want to ask me something."
"Actually, I want to talk to you about Serena." Mom poured juice in my glass, then for herself.
"What's up?"
"She's not herself."
"She just had a baby. She's tired."
"That's not it. She's sad, I can tell."
"What about?"
"She won't tell me."
"And you want me to ask her?"
My mother nodded and her hair bobbed with her. "Yes."
I knew it. I'd seen it coming and I kind of agreed with her. Serena had skipped the last couple of family dinners, and when she did come, she was alone except for her brand new baby, Victoria. Normally, she had a sharp wit, and an even sharper ability to name drop, or at least throw in a sly insult or two. She hadn't been lately. I had two theories and both of them were plausible: it was either work or her husband, Ted, getting her down. I knew Serena's work situation wasn't good. Before she had the baby, she told me that she thought her company was going to get rid of her. They had historically let pregnant employees and new mothers go. As for Ted... he was a dick. He barely made it to the baby's birth, staying only an hour afterwards before heading to a business dinner. I doubted he paid much attention to either of them at home.
"Okay," I said. "I'll catch up with her on Sunday at dinner."
"You can't do it sooner?"
"No can do. I have a bunch of stuff to do tomorrow." Including a date with Maddox which I wouldn't miss; and a date with Scotty Sibowitz at the impound lot, that I shouldn't miss.
"I'll make sure she's there," said Mom, but she didn't look relieved. If anything, she seemed more worried since I agreed with her.
I hung around until Dad got home, helping my mother clean up, and watched a little television with them. Then I motored home to my apartment for an early night. When I got there, the building was quiet, all the lights were off, and Lily's turquoise Mini Cooper was missing, so I figured she must be working.
I let myself into my apartment, kicked off my heels and reached for a wine glass. Then I thought better of it and poured a large glass of orange juice. In the living room, I spread my two files across the coffee table and put the juice glass on the floor, because I just knew I'd soak everything otherwise.
Feeling like a dog with a bone, I started with Marissa's file. I made a list of everything I wanted to know, thinking, so what if it weren’t an agency case? This was my free time and if I wanted to look at it, I could.
My list was fairly simple. One: where was Marissa working when she vanished? And if she wasn't, how did she support herself? Despite living in a cheaper part of town, she still had to eat and pay rent. Two: what did her friends know? Three: was her relationship with Elisabeth as good as Elisabeth believed? Four: had she pissed anyone off? Five: did she have any ties with any other area or people that she might want to go to? Six: why hadn’t she claimed her car?
After I finished my list, I doodled on the notepad, wondering what would have to happen for me to go missing? Or appear to be? I flipped the page and started a new list. One: Accident (possible amnesia or coma?) Two: New job. Three: Vacation. Four: Stress/ depression Five: Murder.
Pondering the first option, I picked up my phone and called my sister-in-law, Alice, catching her right in the middle of bath time. The kids’, not hers. She was a nurse at Montgomery General and a better person to ask about accident victims than either Maddox or my brothers.
“Daniel isn’t home yet,” she told me.
"That’s okay. I wanted to talk to you anyway. Odd question," I said. "Has a woman been brought into the hospital who remains unidentified? Like, maybe she has amnesia?"
"Not that I know of," said Alice, pausing to yell at Ben for splashing bath water all over the floor. "It's pretty rare to get anyone with amnesia. We'd talk about it."
"This would be in the last two weeks," I said.
"Then definitely, no."
"What about a coma? Or a Jane Doe in the morgue?"
"Definitely, no to a coma. Well, we have people in comas, but they're all identified. And no to Jane Doe. That's gossip-worthy too."
I grimaced. Very maudlin. "What do you do if you get someone you can't identify?"
"Is this weird PI stuff?" Alice wanted to know.
"Yeah. I just wanted to know how it works."
"Okay. Well, we'd get their photograph and pass it on to the police; and maybe their fingerprints and DNA. We’d get the police to run that for us too, in case it’s someone in a database, even if it’s a parking ticket. It's really important to get people identified for medical allergies as well as informing their relatives. But it's pretty rare, Lexi. Just about everyone has some kind of ID on them, even if it's just their cell phone or a credit card."
"Okay, thanks."
"No problem. See you Sunday?"
"Yes, you will."
"Are you bringing that cute cop?" Alice sounded hopeful. It wasn't every day I brought a man home. Actually, it wasn't every year either.
"No, I don't want to frighten him."
"Good call."
After I hung up, I added “phone records” to my list and circled it before checking in the file. Elisabeth had added a cell phone number for Marissa, but not a home phone. I could get Lucas to hack her records for me, if I told him it had to do with a case. He might even assume it was Solomon's case, if I failed to give any other information. Sneaky, but effective.
Even if Marissa weren't using her phone, she might have made calls prior to her disappearance. I tapped her cell phone number into my phone and called. It went straight to voicemail, an automated recording inviting me to leave a message. I left my name and phone number and asked her to call me back, just in case she was accessing her messages, but didn’t want to talk to Elisabeth, for whatever reason.
After that, I closed the files, ignoring Solomon's case, locked them in my desk drawer, and put on a movie, ready to settle in for the evening.
Five minutes later, I woke to a bright and clear morning, by falling off the sofa and doing a faceplant onto the rug. I groaned, raised my head and had the fleeting thought that I was so glad I lived alone. There was no one to witness my humiliation. However, if Maddox had been here, I wouldn't have fallen asleep on the sofa. I would have been in bed, and if I were unfortunate enough to be awake at this hour, I would be doing something energetic with Maddox.
It was ideal weather for our park date. As the sun streamed through the window, I lay flat on the floor, gasping for breath at the thought of living with Maddox. It wasn’t exactly a topic that had come up. Did I even want to live with him? Raising myself from the floor, I shook the thought off like a dog shakes after a good roll in a puddle.
I couldn’t think about stuff like that. Stuff like that was too much pressure for a young relationship. First things first, I had a hot date with Scotty Sibowitz at the impound lot, and the only thing energetic I needed was to have a shower, get dressed, and make coffee. I rose to my feet, switched off the TV, and got to it.
An hour later, I pulled up to the gates. The impound lot was nothing more than a crusty-looking parking lot off a back street of Frederickstown, surrounded on all sides by seven-foot-high, chain-link fencing, topped by barbed wire. All kinds of cars, from sleek, new Mercedes to crappy, old Fords were parked in neat rows, waiting to be collected by their careless owners, or, (perish the thought!) go to the crushers. Every car that was impounded in Montgomery came here, from thefts to parking violations and accidents; it was a splendid to sad array of wealth and bad parking choices.
"Hi,
I'm here for Scotty," I told the bearded man who approached the gate.
"I'm Scotty. You Jord's sister?" he asked, wiping his oil-stained hands on his dark blue overalls.
"Lexi Graves," I confirmed, reaching to shake his hand, and simultaneously palming him twenty bucks. Apparently, that was the going rate for snooping because Scotty just nodded as he gave the gate a tug and pulled it wide open.
"Pull the car inside," Scotty told me as he stepped backwards. "Or it'll get impounded."
"That would be ironic." Back in the car, I wiped my hands on a tissue and put the car into drive, pulling through the gates to park just inside and at an angle so nobody would mark it for abandoned. Scotty locked up behind me and I looked around as I stepped out. I needn’t have worried. It appeared he was alone. "So, I'm looking for a car that belongs to Marissa Widmore. It was brought in twelve days ago." I gave Scotty the description and waited while he ducked inside the small office and came out, dangling a set of keys in his hand.
"We don't normally have keys," he told me as I followed him around a car with its front-end crumpled in. "But these were in the ignition."
"Was it stolen?" I asked.
"Dunno. Maybe. Normally, stolen cars look like that." Scotty gestured to a blackened car sitting on its rims, its paint scorched beyond recognition, as we passed by. "Thieves don't like to leave fingerprints when they're done."
"Figures," I said as we came to a halt in front of Marissa's Honda. "Why was this car brought in?"
"It was dumped on Fenway Plaza. Traffic cops noticed it hadn't moved in a couple of days and the keys were still there, so they called us to collect. I didn't pick it up though, so that’s all I can tell you. The owner got notified, but she hasn’t come by yet."
"Can I look inside?"
"Knock yourself out," Scotty said, tossing me the keys. "But I gotta warn you, don't take anything. We inventory the contents of every car when it comes in just so the owners can't say we stole nothin'."
"I won't take anything," I promised.
"Lock up when you're done. I'll be in the booth."
"Thanks." I wouldn't have taken anything, but I figured the inventory was a good idea. I beeped Marissa's car open, pulled on my soft leather gloves and climbed into the driver's seat.
I opened the glove compartment first. Inside were a couple of pens, a small notepad, cheap sunglasses, but no case, a couple of CDs, which I opened and closed, and a pack of mints. I checked the sun-visors, but found nothing. In the driver's door pocket was a local map book and a state one, both of which I flipped through, but there weren't any turned corners, sticky notes or inked messages. So far, everything seemed standard.
I checked the backseat and floor, and both were tidy. I popped the trunk and climbed out to take a look. There was a small medical kit, a wrench and a flashlight. I made a mental note to check what was in my trunk as I shut it, noting that Marissa was more prepared than I for a breakdown or accident. I got back into the driver's seat. I made notes of everything I found and where, scribbling down that there wasn't any obvious damage inside the car or any signs of a struggle. Then I locked up and walked back through the lot to the office. As I passed the rows of cars, I examined the key ring. There was a silver fob with the letter M printed on it—for Marissa, I guessed—and three keys. One belonged to the car. The others looked like door locks. Maybe her apartment.
"Can I check your inventory?" I asked Scotty as I returned the keys.
"Sure," he said, reaching for a clipboard that hung above the desk. The room smelled of fries, cigarettes and sweat, which were not altogether appealing, so I hung out in the doorway while Scotty pulled open the middle drawer of a rusty filing cabinet. He found the form and I checked it against my notes. Everything matched up.
I pulled a business card out of my wallet and passed it to him. "Please, can you give me a call if Marissa turns up? Or if anyone else comes for the car?"
"No problem," he said, tucking the card into his overalls. "What's this about anyway?"
"Nothing interesting," I told him. "Just checking up on the owner of the car."
"She do something bad?"
"Nope," I said. "It's just routine stuff."
Scotty followed me to the car, opening the gates, and waited while I backed out. The further I drove away, the more worried I felt, but I couldn't put a finger on why. Maybe Marissa had just decided to change her life completely. But if so, why would she leave her car on the street? Wouldn't she use it to drive away in or at least sell it? Without her keys, she clearly hadn’t planned on returning home. It was puzzling.
On my way home, I stopped at the grocery store and purchased several microwave meals, a couple frozen pizzas, milk, cereal and fruit. I wasn't sure what to expect from next week, given my undercover status, and I figured it was better to be safe than sorry in the food department. If nothing else, I could have a hot meal within four minutes every evening.
By the time I got back, I had just enough time to take shower number two. I wanted to lose the lingering cigarette smell, blow out my hair and pull on my nice jeans and a light sweater. I buzzed Maddox in just as I unearthed my red Converse sneakers from the bottom of my closet.
As he walked up the stairs, I hopped into the living room, one shoe on, the other not quite on, and transferred my notes to the file, before relocking the drawer. I removed a balled-up sock from my too-tight shoe, with my mind still on Marissa. It wasn't the contents of the car that bothered me—my car was pretty much the same, minus flashlight and wrench—but why did Marissa leave her keys in her car, with no other visible means of transport and just vanish?
Again, I latched onto the inconvenience of leaving town without a vehicle. A car was comfortable, practical and a lot nicer that being crammed onto a bus. If she'd left the car at a train station or airport, I could understand, but not on the street with its keys still in the ignition. Montgomery didn't have an outrageously high car theft rate, but most thieves were opportunistic. Plus, with twelve days between then and now, there was ample opportunity for her to retrieve it.
There were no signs of damage or of a fight in the vehicle, so I had to assume that Marissa had either gone willingly with someone else, who must’ve had a car nearby or, worse, she was snatched from the street. I needed to get a look at some camera footage, if any existed. That would be most useful, but I suspected they wouldn't show it to me without a warrant. After all, Marissa wasn't officially missing and she wasn't on the police radar.
After all that pondering, I was officially worried that Elisabeth Fong was right. Something bad had happened to her best friend.
~
Maddox and I strolled hand-in-hand through the park towards the bandstand, the soft strains of music floating on the breeze towards us, only to blend with the laughter of unseen children. The jazz band had drawn a decent crowd of families, couples, and older folk, all present to enjoy the last days of summer. The heat had ratcheted up a few degrees, but the trees were still green, their leaves thinning slightly and turning shades of brown and gold at the tips. It was just warm enough to get away without a jacket. Even better, I had a huge ice cream cone. Maddox was watching me lick the ice cream while steadily going cross-eyed.
"Where do you want to sit?" Maddox asked, blinking and looking around while I played innocent after running my tongue from cone to peaked tip.
"We could sit with my sister-in-law, Traci, who is pretending not to look at us," I suggested as Maddox looked over his shoulder. "Great going, Detective. Now they know we've seen them," I scolded, swatting his arm while picking my way towards them, with Maddox still holding my hand.
"Fancy seeing you here," I smiled.
"We come for the last concert every year," said Traci, patting the blanket they'd thrown out under a tree. Garrett stretched down one side, his arms folded under his head and his eyes closed. The two younger children, Sam and Chloe, had drawing books open. With stubby crayons in their little hands, they lay on their stomachs, their crossed ankles boun
cing in the air. "Now that you've run into us, I can officially let you off babysitting duty tomorrow night."
"Yay. Where's Patrick?" I asked, looking around for my oldest nephew, nicknamed Patrick the Teenager.
"Over by the lake with his friends. We're too embarrassing to be seen with," explained Garrett, opening one eye. "Take a seat, Maddox. I won't shoot you."
"Nice welcome there," said Traci, punching him lightly on the arm. Garrett grabbed her and pulled her against him as he planted a kiss on her cheek.
"Yuck. PDA," said Sam, crawling over to kiss me on the cheek.
"Yuck. PDA," I agreed, kissing him right back.
"Revolting," agreed Maddox, sitting next to the tree and pulling me against his chest, kissing the top of my head as he leaned us backwards. Sam eyed him suspiciously.
"This is my friend, Maddox," I told him.
"I know. Mom said you're doing the nasty with him." Sam paused and frowned. Traci winced and closed her eyes. "What is that?" he asked.
"I don't know," I said. "I don't do nasty stuff." I waited until Sam shrugged and got back to coloring before pulling a face at Traci. She mouthed “Sorry!” Behind me, I felt Maddox struggling not to laugh, his chest heaving, then he stopped and sighed.
"Don't look now, but I see your boss stalking towards us."
Obviously, I looked.
In his black jeans and shirt, sleeves rolled to mid-forearm as a concession to the pleasant weather, Solomon stood out amongst the families. He looked like he should have “DANGER” written on his shirt as he focused on me. I watched with mild amusement as more than a few female heads—and at least one male—turned his way, following his path, their glances drifting from his handsome face to his lithe physique as he strolled towards us.
He didn't even look surprised to see us. He just ambled over and crouched down next to me, laying his backpack on the ground, as if we'd planned the rendezvous. Maddox didn't adjust his hands from where they lay across my stomach, nor did I make a move to look less casual. This was my day off, and Solomon was date crashing, the epitome of rude.
Who Glares Wins (Lexi Graves Mysteries) Page 6
