Ready, Aim, Under Fire (Lexi Graves Mysteries, 10)

by Camilla Chafer

  “Yes, sometimes I did waitressing but I tried to work as an English tutor whenever I could. It wasn’t great pay but I managed to get by. I always had plenty of students.”

  “What made you come back?”

  “I just got homesick one day. I was sitting in a cafe, eating lunch, and I just started thinking of home and suddenly realized how long I’d been away. I booked a flight home as soon as I could.”

  “It must have been difficult moving your things each time?”

  “Oh, no, not really. I always pack light. I don’t really need too many things. I’m sorry,” she said, checking her watch. “You were asking me about Fiona and I got sidetracked with my travel story. I don’t think I’ve been very helpful. I wish I could have told you more.” She looked away, her car keys jangling, and I could see she wanted to go. She was right; she really hadn’t been very helpful when it came to Fiona. It was almost as if Fiona were little more than a stranger to her.

  “I appreciate your time,” I told her politely as I produced my card. “Would you call me if you think of anything more? Anything at all, even if it seems insignificant.”

  Debby looked at the card and tucked it into her coat pocket. “Sure will,” she agreed. “Nice to meet you…”

  “Lexi,” I supplied.

  I retreated to my own car as Debby took off for hers, which was parked only two rows over. I debated whether or not to follow her but decided against it. There was no reason to follow her just yet. Plus, she’d given me information I needed to verify back at the agency. I waited a few minutes for her car to clear the lot, then took the exit, my thoughts fixed on her travels abroad.

  The last thing Debby told me was that she got homesick and I had to wonder how a person could travel for ten years, barely staying in contact with her family, and only get homesick a decade later. She either didn’t suffer from it or just resisted the feeling. Had something terrible happened that drove her away from home? Something so awful that it made her determined to put thousands of miles between Montgomery and her? Perhaps a falling out with her family or possibly becoming the victim of a crime? Or did she meet a man that she’d gone to join abroad, a secret relationship that fell apart, making her too embarrassed or ashamed to return? Was it a doomed relationship that would never have been approved of by her family? I pushed aside that romantic notion and thought about it in reverse. Had something terrible happened abroad that caused Debby to hurriedly book a flight and return to safety?

  By the time I walked into the office, dozens of thoughts about human traffickers, jilted lovers, witness protection plans, and international crime crossed my mind. Even I had to admit my imagination was well into overdrive with all the possibilities. One thing I was certain of, Debby reeled off the list of countries she visited in a way that sounded rehearsed, like she knew she would be questioned about it and needed a ready answer. It was so neat. Maybe too tidy. I dropped into my chair, another thought forming in my mind. Had Debby even left America? It would be easy to just say she went somewhere when she could have spent the past decade as nearby as the next town.

  I frowned, trying to remember something Garrett told me. Ah, that was it! She sent postcards as well as emails. A postmark would be much harder to fake than an email. Unfortunately, I didn’t see any postcards on display at the Pattersons’ house, nor had Mrs. Patterson volunteered to show me. I had to ask Garrett if he had any copies. I wasn’t sure how hospitable Mrs. Patterson would be to me again, especially now that she had the trauma of her friend’s death to deal with.

  Like most of my cases at the beginning, I had more questions than answers.

  I waved hello to Delgado as I sat behind my desk. He was currently listening intently on the phone but he nodded in my direction. I extracted a legal pad from my drawer and quickly added my questions before I forgot them. Next, I called Garrett.

  “Any updates?” I asked him.

  “If you mean the Queller case, I’m looking at the initial reports of the crime scene,” he said. “Jury’s still out on the home invasion scenario. The husband said some credit cards were missing so I put a trace on those but nothing yet. Nothing else has been taken and there were a few items in view that could have easily been transported and sold. A digital camera was in the den where we found her, along with a couple of tablets and a laptop in the study.”

  “Were they marked in anyway?”

  “No, the husband said they had an alarm system so they weren’t worried about marking the electronics. It’s a nice neighborhood. Low burglary rates too, until recently. Low crime in general. The alarm wasn’t active because Fiona was home.”

  “Perhaps the thief knew those items would be too hot to fence?” I suggested.

  “If that’s the case, I don’t think the cards will be used.”

  “Fiona could have startled the thief before he had a chance to take them.”

  “I thought about that too, but why not just grab them on the way out?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that. “How much cash was in the house?”

  “The husband says a couple hundred dollars was lifted from the desk in the study. It’s not enough to kill for.”

  “Drugs?” I wondered. “An addict might see it as plenty.”

  “Addicts aren’t concerned with concealing fingerprints or DNA. I’m going to check in with Jord since he’s working burglary and see if any of their cases have similarities to this one but I’m not holding out hope. Plus, the gun doesn’t look like it was used in any previous crime. I ran the ballistics report and there are no matches. Despite trashing the house, I’m leaning towards pre-meditated murder.”

  “Any ideas who Fiona could have made an enemy of?” I asked.

  “Not yet.”

  I switched topics since Garrett didn’t have much to tell me. “I made contact with Debby Patterson this morning after I saw you,” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I told her I was assisting on Fiona’s case. I might have implied I was working with her family.” I winced, waiting for the admonishment but none came.

  “She open up to you?”

  “Some. She had nice things to say about Fiona but nothing substantial. She said Fiona was her mom’s friend, not hers, so she couldn’t tell me much. She also told me a little bit about her travels. It might be nothing, but she reeled off the countries she visited like it was well-rehearsed or practiced.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Her answer was a little too perfect. I thought, what if she didn’t leave the country at all and it’s just some big lie? Then I remembered you said she sent postcards. I’d like to get a look at them.”

  “You want to know if they’re real?” Garrett guessed. “I might have photocopies of a couple. I don’t remember the dates or locations. It was too long ago.”

  “Okay, sounds good.”

  “What did Debby say about the murder?”

  “Usual shock that something like that could have happened but she wasn’t surprised since her mom had already told her. She mentioned burglary as a motive and said it was what she had been told.”

  “I’m going to interview her later. Wanna see if we can rattle her cage?”

  “Sure do.”

  “I’ll call you with the details. Keep looking for dirt on Debby.”

  “On it.”

  I knew Garrett had probably run all the usual searches on Debby when the case was initially filed, but he hadn’t mentioned doing any recently. Of course, technology had changed significantly in the past ten years. Regardless of whether his information was ten years old, recent, or both, it didn’t hurt to review them all again while I built my own file.

  I started with the basics, gathering financial records and sending all the files to the printer. Phone records were difficult since I didn’t have Debby’s current number but I managed to retrieve a decade-old file for the number she used back then. Social media didn’t turn up anything either. No Facebook, Twitter or Instagram.

  Her high s
chool and college didn’t mention her name online but since other students of her graduating years were noted for their achievements, it seemed Debby didn’t do anything remarkable. No sports, music, or academic awards.

  An image search combining her name and the countries she visited or lived in turned up nothing, which I thought was odd. If I were traveling the world, seeing La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona one week and the Colosseum in Rome the next, I would certainly share my photos. Perhaps, I decided as I leaned back in my chair, I was suffering from an overenthusiastic urge to share like so many other people of my generation with access to a smartphone. But no record anywhere? Not even a crappy website that she could direct potential students to for her English lessons? It seemed Debby had successfully lived as far off the grid as possible.

  I gathered the paperwork from the printer and stacked it on my desk, returning my attention to the databases on screen. I added another search, this time, looking for Debby’s current records. While the searches were in progress, I took a cursory scan through the pages and pages of information I did amass.

  Phone records showed that, ten years ago, Debby didn’t make lots of phone calls. There were calls to her parents — with their home and cell numbers present and which were still the same, according to Garrett’s file — her former employer’s office, and several others that I couldn’t identify. I highlighted the numbers and started calling them. Five were disconnected so I crossed through them, adding a question mark next to them. The final number picked up, and a man’s voice answered, “Hello?”

  “Hi, this is Lexi Graves from the Solomon Detective Agency. We’re trying to track down an acquaintance of Debby Patterson.”

  “Debby? Wow. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time! Didn’t she go missing?”

  “That’s right. Is this—” I scrambled for a name, picking one at random “—John?”

  “No. This is Art Litt. Debby used to be one of my employees at Litmus Design.”

  I punched the air, grinning at my good luck. “Art. Yes, I’m so sorry I had the wrong name next to your number. Do you have a moment to talk? I’m looking into Debby’s case as part of a cold case review and I’d like to ask you a few questions about her.”

  “Sure, I guess. What do you want to know?”

  “How long did you employ Debby?”

  “Around eighteen months. We hired her right out of college.”

  “What was your impression of her?”

  “Quiet. Introverted. She kept her head down and worked hard. She was good, didn’t cause much trouble. Not hugely talented but I think she could have improved in time.”

  I fixed on the words much trouble. Surely a good employee would have been no trouble? “Did she ever have any issues at work?”

  “Not that I recall. Like I said, she was pretty quiet. Friendly but wouldn’t say boo to a goose.”

  “Did she socialize much with anyone from work?”

  “No, except a couple of Christmas parties and the very occasional drinks after work.”

  “Would you know if she made any enemies?”

  “Yes, but I’m sure she didn’t. We were a small firm, open plan office. Everyone could hear everything else. If there were any kind of bullying, I would have known about it and so would everyone else.”

  “So she didn’t seem afraid or cautious of anyone?”

  “No. You know, I wasn’t really close with Debby but you could ask Kara. They sat together. She might remember a lot more than I can. Memory like a… what’s the opposite of a fish?”

  “Like an elephant?” I suggested and he laughed.

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Do you know where I might find her?”

  “Sure. I married her! She’s not here now but if you’re in Montgomery, you could come by or call and speak to her when she’s home.”

  “I’m in Montgomery,” I told him, “and that would be great.”

  Chapter Six

  Eating lunch by myself in the car, I kept reminiscing about the old working days and more pleasant ways of spending my lunch hours. Then I remembered my former career in temping, and all the passive-aggressive notes in the office refrigerator. I decided no, eating by myself in the car was just fine.

  I finished the sandwich, wadded up the paper bag and tucked it inside my door pocket, intending to dispose of it later. After checking my teeth for any stray morsels of food, I started up the car and drove around the corner, heading to the address Art Litt gave me an hour before. He said both he and his wife would be home and I hoped between the two of them, they could recall more information about Debby. I knew it was a longshot to find people that remembered any details from so far back. What things would most people remember from ten years ago? For me, only the most significant events and not the minutiae of everyday life, or even former colleagues. However, a person’s disappearance was significant and hopefully, that was enough to fix Debby somewhere in their heads. To some people, she would always be the girl that simply vanished. They might not remember the person who sat opposite her at work but perhaps someone might remember some other little details about her.

  “You’re the PI?” said the man who opened the door. He had short, gray hair, a week-old beard, and a developing paunch, but his smile was warm and welcoming. His t-shirt bore reference to a comedy show I liked and the jeans he had on were well-worn. He was the kind of person most people probably warmed to instantly.

  “That’s me,” I said, producing my license and a business card.

  “I thought you’d be older. More grizzled and seasoned.”

  “I get that a lot.”

  “I bet. Come in. We were both working in our home office. We freelance, you know.”

  “You don’t own the firm anymore?” I asked.

  “No. I started it because I thought I should. Although we made good money, my heart wasn’t in managing a company. It’s always been more about the work. Now my wife and I work together, so we can be more hands on; plus, I get to see the kids more often.” He pointed to the photos of two grinning boys, around six or seven years old, framed on the wall.

  “Twins?” I asked.

  “No. Born a year apart but they’ll like knowing that you asked that question. This is Kara,” he said, guiding me into a room that housed two large workstations and a wall of cubed bookshelves. They were laden with paperwork, books and Transformers. A sofa was parked under the window next to a potted palm that had clearly outgrown its container. I didn’t need to ask about the Transformers; I was sure they belonged to Art and not his sons.

  “Hi,” I said, lifting one hand in a half wave.

  “Hi.” Kara got up from her chair and walked over, reaching me in a couple of strides. She shook my hand, smiling. “We’ve been talking of nothing else except Debby since you called Art and he told me,” she gushed. “Did you find out what happened to her? It was so awful when she disappeared. I hate thinking that her family never got any closure.”

  “Actually, we did. Debby is alive and well; claimed she suddenly got the itch to go traveling. She returned to town just last week.”

  “Really?” Kara looked more appalled than pleased. “I thought for sure someone had killed that poor girl. Take a seat,” she offered, moving a large stack of magazines from the two-seater sofa. I perched uncomfortably on it while they resumed sitting in their padded office chairs, both swiveling around to face me.

  “Fortunately, that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

  “Seem?” asked Art and I realized I picked the wrong word.

  “It’s been a bizarre case,” I told them, ignoring my slip-up. “Debby remained a cold case despite her parents receiving numerous emails and postcards over the years. Since her return, I’ve been hired to finally close the case.”

  “Okay. I’m not sure how I can help, but Kara…?” Art glanced toward his wife, slightly raising his eyebrows.

  “Art said he told you I sat next to Debby while she was at the firm? I did for the whole time s
he was with us, but I’m not sure I can tell you anything about her. It was a long time ago.” Kara glanced between us, suddenly appearing uncertain of what she would say next.

  I gave her a warm smile. “What can you tell me?”

  “Well, let’s see.” Kara leaned forward, her brows knitting together as she thought for a moment. “She was pretty shy and quiet. I got the impression she didn’t have lots of friends but she was cordial enough. Always on time, and never had any problem staying late. She didn’t complain about much either. I thought there might be some family trouble though.”

  “Such as?”

  “It’s probably nothing. I remember it because I thought it was sad and if I ever had kids, I wouldn’t want to be like her parents. She said they weren’t very interested in her. That is, they weren’t interested in what she wanted, only what they wanted. They thought she should have become a doctor like her dad, or maybe a teacher like her mom, but she was more creative and not solely interested in academics. They were never very impressed with her achievements, only the things they could brag to their friends about. She said her parents’ friends had very successful kids in all kinds of professions. I don’t think it was all bad though. They were very generous at birthdays and Christmas but their work schedules kept them from attending her class performances or recitals back in elementary school and it never got much better.”

  “Sounds like you remember more than you thought you did.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I remember that stuff because I thought it wasn’t right. Parents should never pressure their kids to be something they’re not. It’s got to be a balance. In order to be productive, you need to be happy.”

  “Our boys are acing the happy part, but not so much the productive,” added Art and they both laughed.

  “Did Debby ever talk about traveling?”

  “I think she mentioned wanting to go to Europe one day. Her parents took her there when she was younger, in her teens I think, and she wanted to go back one day and see more countries. I think she even mentioned taking a year off and traveling the world when she could afford to do it. Oh, that’s it!” Kara’s eyes widened. “I asked her if she could borrow money from her folks and she said she didn’t want to. She wanted to save her own money for her own adventure. I liked the way she called it an adventure.”