by Diane Capri
“I, ahh, guess you should get this to him while it’s still hot,” I said.
He took the bag. “See you tomorrow.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
My phone rang to a number I didn’t recognize.
“Miss Monroe?”
“Who’s this?” I said.
“Jenny. Do you remember me?”
“From Maybelle’s Market?” I said.
“Yes. I thought I should tell you, Todd went in and talked to the police.”
I knew that already, but I appreciated the call anyway.
“How did it go?” I said.
“They had him sit down with one of those people who draw things.”
“A sketch artist?”
“Yes. He did the best he could. They released the sketch; it’s all over town. But the guy would be long gone by now, so I don’t really know what they think is going to happen.”
“Jenny, could you email me a copy of it?” I said.
“Sure.”
“How’s Todd doing?”
“All right. No one knows it was him. They just know someone came forward.”
I was glad to hear it, but with the feds coming, all that was all about to change. I only hoped Todd wouldn’t suffer too much for it. I ended the call with Jenny and answered another one from Giovanni.
“Have you found your sister yet?” I said.
“Last night.”
He sounded relieved. I was too.
“How is she?” I said.
“In shock, but she’s alive.”
“Did anything happen to her?”
“From what we understand, she was treated quite well.” He paused. “When are you coming back? I want to see you.”
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “Did you find the men who took her?”
He was quiet for a moment before responding.
“Giovanni, are you there?” I said.
“We took care of everything. I’ll be home tomorrow.”
It was just like usual. I asked questions, but only received vague answers. Our relationship had always been one-sided. I recognized that, but I thought in time, it could change, that he’d open up to me, like I had tried to do with him. Funny thing about trying to change a person—it never worked.
“I’d like to know more about what happened,” I said.
“And you will, but let’s talk about it later. Right now, I just want you here with me. Tell me about the case you’re working on.”
Ahh, the switch. Giovanni had mastered changing the subject whenever it suited him, which was every time I asked him something he considered too intimate to reveal. If I pushed him, I would still get nothing, and I knew it.
I told Giovanni about the two missing girls, but left most of the details out. He’d been through a grueling ordeal with his sister, and I wanted him to focus on her for the time being.
“Tell me what I can do to help you,” he said when I’d finished.
“I appreciate it, but I’m fine.”
“If you need anything, just call.”
“I will.”
I ended the call and checked my email for the flyer Jenny sent. It was just like I expected. The mind is a great thing, but in time, even the most vivid memories fade. Two years is long enough for important details to be forgotten. The sketch revealed little in the way of a unique face. There was nothing in the sketch that made the man stand out in any way. He had a square-shaped head, a defined jawline, stubble that hadn’t been shaved in a day or two, and oval-shaped sunglasses. He looked like a cop with a five o’clock shadow. Another dead end.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Cade told me I could find Mrs. Johnson at home after three o’clock, so I arrived just after, hoping she was already there. A green Toyota of some kind was parked out front, making me optimistic.
I knocked on the door a few times and moments later it opened.
“Can I help you?”
Sierra’s mother had a petite frame and couldn’t have been much taller than about five foot two. She had a milky white face and long, straight blond hair that was so light, it was almost white in color. She didn’t look like a woman who was highly stressed, although as a single mom, she undoubtedly was on occasion.
“My name is Sloane,” I said. “I’m a friend of the Tate’s. I wondered if I could talk to you for a few minutes.
“What about?”
“Mr. Tate has hired me to investigate Savannah’s disappearance, and I was hoping I could get your permission to spend a few minutes with Sierra.”
“You’re very straightforward, Ms. Monroe.”
“In my experience, I’ve found it’s best to be honest from the get-go,” I said.
“I decided a few months ago that it was too hard on Sierra to speak to the police. She gets very scared when they question her, no matter how nice they are. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
“Mrs. Tate is dead,” I said.
She placed a hand over her chest.
“What—when?”
“It happened a couple nights ago.”
She frowned.
“I’m very sorry. I had no idea. Please tell Noah to let me know if he needs anything.”
I nodded, and she took a step back, preparing to close the door.
“Some new information has surfaced over the past week,” I said.
“I’m glad. I hope you find Savannah. I really do. She was Sierra’s best friend. They played together almost every day, even when they weren’t at school.”
No matter how pleasant she appeared, her patience was wearing thin.
“I know you want to spare Sierra from thinking about what happened that day,” I said quickly, “but it’s just going to get worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“The FBI is getting involved for reasons I can’t really go into right now, but once they get here, you won’t have a choice. Your daughter will have to speak to them, no matter how you feel. I’m not saying this to be rude. I just thought you should know.”
“I don’t understand. She’s already met with Detective McCoy and his son a few times. There isn’t any reason to put her through it all again.”
“The FBI will be conducting its own investigation,” I said. “Whatever has happened in the past will be thrown out. From what I’ve been told, they plan on building their own case.”
She pulled the door back a few inches and contemplated what to do next. “I don’t want her to go through it all again. Can you stop it from happening?”
It would have been easy to lie to her and make a deal so I could get what I needed, but I wouldn’t have felt right about deceiving her.
“I honestly don’t know. I can promise you this—whatever I find out today I will share with Cade McCoy, and he will do everything he can to help you. But if you want my honest opinion, they’ll come anyway.”
“What should I do?”
“Is there somewhere you could take Sierra for a few days or send her?” I said. “They’ll have plenty to do when they first get here, so that might take the attention off Sierra and put it somewhere else.”
“I don’t know. I suppose.”
“I’m not telling you to avoid the FBI or not to work with them. I would never do that. But maybe if you spoke to them first, without Sierra here, you could appeal to them as a mother. It wouldn’t hurt to explain your feelings. Maybe they’ll take it under consideration.”
“I appreciate your help,” she said.
I didn’t want to push by asking her to speak with her daughter one last time, so I didn’t. In a situation like this, it all came down to respect.
I turned.
“Enjoy the rest of your day.”
Hold on a minute,” she said. “I’ll let you speak to Sierra, but just for a few minutes, and only if she is receptive to you. If she isn’t, please don’t force her.”
“I will be as sensitive and as quick as I can,” I said.
She flattened her hand. “Wait here.”
>
Mrs. Johnson returned a few minutes later and invited me in. “I’d like to sit in while you talk with her.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I said.
Sierra sat nervously on the living room sofa, looping her fingers around the edge of a piece of fabric from the outfit she was wearing.
“I like your dress,” I said when I walked into the room. “It’s very pretty.”
She looked at her mother but not at me. When talking to children Sierra’s age in the past, I found their attention span was minimal. I needed to keep the conversation brief. It was best to ask specific questions, making it easy for her to answer. She needed simplicity so she didn’t become confused.
I sat down on a chair next to the sofa, giving Sierra the space she needed.
“I’m trying to find your friend, Savannah,” I said.
Sierra looked over at me. “Do you know where she is?”
“Not yet,” I said. “I was hoping you could help me.”
She looked at her mom again and frowned.
“But I don’t know where she is.”
“I saw Lily the other day. We made macaroni and cheese together. She seems pretty lonely without her sister to play with.”
Sierra’s face changed. I knew she was listening to me, but she still wasn’t ready to talk. Her mother looked at me and nodded, letting me know it was okay to continue.
“Someone told me a man came to the daycare, and that when he left, he took her with him. I want to find the man so I can ask him to give her back, but I don’t know what he looks like. Can you help me?”
Sierra’s mother put her arm around her daughter. “It’s okay, honey. This nice lady is my friend.”
Sierra nodded and crossed her legs under her dress.
“Did you see the man who took Savannah?” I said.
She bobbed her shoulders up and down.
“I don’t know.”
Ms. Johnson said, “She never looked at his face.”
I imagined since he was a stranger, Sierra had been too frightened. Maybe that’s why she’d noticed other things, like the watch and the color of the car.
“If I show you a few pictures, do you think you could tell me if it’s the car you saw the man driving?”
She thought about it.
“Okay.”
I pulled some photos out of my purse that I had printed earlier that morning. The first was a Ford Mustang. “Is this one it?”
She shook her head.
Next I tried a Chevrolet Camaro. She scooted to the edge of the sofa and looked harder at it. Again, she shook her head.
Now that I had her attention, I held the picture of the Dodge Charger in front of her. “What about this one?”
As soon as she saw it, she jerked back. I folded the picture and put it away. “Was that the car you saw?”
She nodded.
The watch would be harder for her to identify, and I questioned its significance. I hadn’t brought any photos, but I wore one to see if it triggered anything.
“Do you have a watch?” I said.
She didn’t budge.
“Lily has one,” I said. “She was wearing it the last time I saw her. It’s pink and has a princess head on it. She pushes a button and it flips open. Mine’s not fun like Lily’s. But it’s special. My grandpa gave it to me.”
Sierra hopped off the sofa and dashed down the hall. I looked at her mother. “Is she okay? I hope I haven’t said anything to upset her.”
Ms. Johnson said, “I don’t know. Let me go see if I can—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Sierra returned, holding her balled hand out in front of me. She unrolled her fingers and revealed a red and pink watch. It had hearts all over it. In the center of the dial it said ‘Sierra.’
“My grandpa gave me one, too,” Sierra said. “He said it has lots of hearts ‘cuz that’s how much he loves me.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “Your grandpa must love you very much.”
She smiled. “He does. He tells me every day.” She looked at the watch I was wearing. “Why do you wear your watch right there?”
“I’m not sure what you mean. How should I wear it?”
Sierra put her hand on my upper arm. “Grownups are supposed to wear them ‘right here.’”
I wondered if she was tired of talking and was playing some kind of game with me. I played along to see. “Who would wear a watch way up there?”
“The bad man,” she said.
Ms. Johnson looked at me, confused. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what she’s talking about. I think she’s done for today.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “I don’t think she’s joking. Sierra, what did it look like?”
She made a face like she was trying to remember. “He didn’t know what time it was.”
“Why?”
“It was broken, silly.”
It clicked, and I finally understood what she was trying to say. “Was it a tattoo?”
Sierra looked at her mother. “What’s a tact-too?”
“Did it look like my watch or did it look like a picture?” I said.
“He needed to color it.”
“Ms. Johnson, do you have a piece of paper and a pen?” I said.
Although startled, she got the items for me.
“I’m not very good at drawing,” I said, “but you tell me if this is what you saw?”
I drew a watch that had numbers but no hands pointing to the time. “Did it look like this?”
She nodded and jumped up and down. “Yay! Will you find Savannah now?”
I looked down at her hopeful face, trying to remember what it felt like to be an innocent child, free from the harsh realities of life.
I patted her on the shoulder. “I will do my best.”
Sierra looked at her mother. “Mommy, can I go play now?”
Ms. Johnson looked at me, hoping I was finished. I nodded.
Once Sierra was out of earshot, her mother said, “What Sierra told you, is it a big deal?”
“It could be. I’m not sure yet.”
We walked to the door and I thanked her again. I was just about to get in my car when Sierra came running up behind me yelling, “Wait, give her this!”
She thrust a stuffed teddy bear into my hands. “This is Mr. Fluffy. He’ll keep her safe.”
“You are a good friend, Sierra,” I said. “I’m sure Savannah misses you very much.”
I waved goodbye and drove away. Without even knowing it, a five-year-old girl had just changed everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I tried Cade on his cell phone, but he didn’t answer. Since I knew he was staying with his father until he made other living arrangements, I tried Detective McCoy’s house first. A teenage girl answered the door with a greeting of, “Yeah?”
“Is Cade here?” I said.
“Who are you?”
“Someone he works with.”
“Name?”
“Sloane,” I said.
She clenched each side of the door jamb with her hands, blocking the entrance to the house. The oversized t-shirt she was wearing barely covered her bottom. She didn’t seem to care. And with a body like hers, I could see why.
“What do you want?” she snapped.
“I’m here to see Cade,” I said, again. “Is he here?”
She shrugged.
“Maybe.”
“Let’s try this another way,” I said. “Are you his daughter?”
She laughed.
“Let’s not try this at all. We’re not ‘friends,’” she said, doing air quotes with her fingers. “What do you want with my dad?”
“We’re working on a case together,” I said.
She rolled her eyes.
“I heard.”
In many ways, teenagers were scarier to me than the criminals I pursued for a living. I understood criminals, what made them tick, why they did the things they did. But hormone-driven, pimply-faced kids? I di
dn’t have a clue. The disrespectful ones grated on my nerves. Standing in front of Cade’s daughter, I could see she had been enabled in her life, a bit too much from the looks of it. Others may have put up with her less-than-civil attitude, but she wouldn’t get away with it—not with me.
“I don’t know what I’ve done to piss you off,” I said, “but I’m not going to stand here and go the rounds with you. Is your dad here, or isn’t he?”
She scoffed.
“My dad is not available.”
“To what—talk to me?” I said.
“To date you.”
“We work together. What part of that don’t you understand?”
“Puh-lease,” she said. “I’m not some little kid you can stand here and lie to, so don’t, okay?”
“Where did you get the idea that we were more than friends?” I said.
“He talks about you all the time. To my grandpa, to my grandma—it’s disgusting.”
“Shelby!”
Cade raced down the stairs. Upon seeing her father, Shelby suddenly learned how to smile while sucking up at the same time.
“What dad? We were just talking,” she said. “Weren’t we, Sloane?”
“Your daughter has a wild imagination,” I said.
He pointed toward some rooms down the hall and said, “Move it, now.”
She hung her head and slumped down the hall.
“I hope Shelby—”
“She didn’t,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”
He waved his hand for me to follow him downstairs. I did.
The lower part of Detective McCoy’s house was decorated in what I could only assume was typical Wyoming man-cave style, though I hadn’t seen enough houses in the state to assess it properly. Taxidermy was everywhere. A grizzly bear stood in the corner of the room with his mouth wide open. His razor-sharp claws angled toward me, ready to attack. On a cut-out shelf in the wall, a wolf held his head high. I waited for the howling sound effects to start, but none did. I looked around. The rest of the room contained various mounted heads, some from animals I never knew existed.
“Are you okay being down here?” Cade said.
“It’s a little different. I think I can manage.”
“No hunters in your family?”
