by K. H. Pope
He steps back and looks at me from head to toe. “Alice, it is so good to see you! You look great! How have you been?”
I ignore his question and look into his room. The bed is made. He’s alone.
“Where did you come from?” I ask.
“From Hosston,” he answers smartly.
“Why are you here?”
“For you,” he says. “Are you hungry?”
“I don’t eat.”
“Come and eat with me. I haven’t seen you in a long time, and I want to spend some sit down time with you. I won’t keep you long.”
His winning smile is still very gorgeous. I missed him. I can’t help but to agree to breakfast. He grabs his jacket before we set off.
CHAPTER 7
Rockabilly Diner is a little restaurant just outside of Cactus. It is a fifties style spot that boasts a genuine jukebox with actual vinyl records, food that should be forbidden for human consumption, and free gossip from Cactus natives. It’s almost near capacity, but John and I find a booth that’s big enough to fit four people.
He orders a cup of coffee and a full fledge breakfast of eggs, waffles, bacon, and grits. I rather have a cigarette, but there’s a sign forbidding the inside use.
Once the waitress leaves, John ask, “How long has it really been since I’ve seen you, Alice? Eight months?”
“Six. I left Plain Dealing in July.”
“That’s right,” he says.
I can’t help but to stare at him. John hasn’t changed one bit. His russet colored hair is still messy. Those big brown eyes are playful and bright, and that smile, those dimples, still tugs at me. He’s wearing a gray suit and tie. Very sharp, indeed. He knows how to impress. I can’t keep looking at him. He does something to my heart that I’ve never felt before.
“What have you been doing all this time?” he asks.
“Wandering,” I answer.
“Where have you been?”
“I’ve been to Volgograd, Rio de Janeiro, Copenhagen, Kurunegala, and Paris.”
He looks at me strangely and asks, “What is it that you do at those places?”
“Sightsee. I look at statues.”
“Maybe, I’ll go with you one day,” he says.
The hint doesn’t get by me, but I have no comment. The waitress returns with his coffee and places it on the table. She goes to the next table to take an order.
“So, how did you find me?” I inquire.
“Ammon told me you were here.”
“And how did Ammon know where I was?”
“He said that you used your transfer chamber last night.”
“How did you know I was at that hotel? I could have been anywhere.”
“It’s the only hotel in Cactus,” he answers.
I back down. Okay, so now I know how Ammon finds me…I think.
“What about you?” John asks.
“What about me?”
“How did you find me? You didn’t know I was in town, and you didn’t know I was in that hotel. And I asked Ammon not to call you.”
“I felt you,” I answer with embarrassment.
“Really,” he says, smiling. He must feel real special.
“It’s no big deal.”
“If you say so,” he says. “So, Ammon tells me you have a dimension trap. Is that true?”
“Yes. Did he also tell you he refused to help me?”
“He feels bad about that, Alice. I guess that’s why he called me. He figured I could help instead.”
“I do need help,” I comment. “I have no idea what to do about this. I’m going to speak to her parents, but I don’t know what I’m going to say. I have no real background in investigating stuff like this. What if there’s no way to get her out?”
“That’s all you can do is try. You have the dimension trap with you, or is it back at the hotel?”
I hand it over with the flyer. John looks at the portrait first. He turns it over to see if anything is written on the back. I notice that Vanessa has her hands over her face. Why is she posing like that?
John places the photograph on the table, and he reads the flyer.
He asks, “This girl was driving a 1963 Porsche?”
“Yeah, I saw that. Is that important?”
“A 19 year old drives an expensive, classic car like that? They’re not for teenagers. Where did she get it?”
That’s a valid question. I answer, “Her parents. Maybe, they can afford it.”
“We’ll ask them. Are you sure you want me around?”
“I’d be a fool to push you away.” That sounds like relationship words. Wish I could have said it differently.
“When we speak to them, we have to approach them carefully. We’re not the law, and they probably won’t trust us.”
“How do you propose we gain their trust?”
“Don’t have a clue. We have to wing it when we get there.”
Now, I’m not so keen on talking to them. I don’t want them to get upset or to think the worse of me and John. The only thing that’s keeping me in my seat right now, instead of heading to the closest door to transfer out of this town, is the fact that the regular police can’t help Vanessa.
“I sure hope we can get her out of the trap, John. I hate to think that she’ll be stuck in there.”
“We’ll find a way.”
My certainty doesn’t measure up to his. Actually, it’s nonexistent, but I’m not willing to give up yet. I guess that’s all that counts.
CHAPTER 8
The Brenlich’s home is among a collection of identical one level houses on a side road off of U.S. 287. The front facade is brick with subdued, faded yellow shutters that matches the front door. The lawn is literally dead. John and I peer at it like a secret will reveal itself at any moment. Nothing really strange or ornate sticks out about it. The curtains are drawn. Only one car is parked in the driveway. I can’t tell if anyone is home.
“I don’t think they bought her the Porsche,” John states. “Do you think we should tell the family about the picture?”
“We’ll see how the conversation goes.”
We get out of the truck, and John meets me on the sidewalk. The neighborhood is eerily quiet. No birds flying. No kids playing. No loud teenagers causing havoc. We move on to the front door. John knocks softly.
From out of nowhere, he turns to me and says, “I’m glad to see you again, Alice.”
Before I can respond, the door swings open. A woman wearing a navy blue low cut blouse and tight blue jeans is holding the door open with an uninterested expression. She’s about my height, five-feet-five-inches. She’s curvy and has shoulder length black hair.
I pleasantly ask, “Is Mrs. Brenlich home?”
She folds her arms and answers, “I’m Mrs. Brenlich.”
This can’t be right. I look at John, and then back at her. Vanessa is Caucasian, and the woman standing in front of me is African American. I didn’t get the impression that Vanessa was mixed.
“Are you Vanessa Brenlich’s mother?”
“Stepmother,” she corrects me. “Who are you?”
With that cleared up, I move on. “My name is Alice, and this is John. We’re here to speak to you about Vanessa.”
Mrs. Brenlich takes a quick glance beyond us. John and I turn to see what she’s looking at. The road is still quiet, no passing cars.
“Who sent you?” she asks. “Are you guys reporters? We’re not giving anymore statements.”
“We’re not with the police,” John answers, “and we’re not reporters. We are independent investigators. It was brought to our attention that Vanessa is missing, and we’re here to help.”
She considers his statement. She doesn’t trust us.
“She’s been found,” Olivia states. “We won’t need your services. I do appreciate the-”
“She’s been found?” John says with a confused look on his face. “That’s impos-”
“Mrs. Brenlich,” I say before he gives too much away.
“Vanessa is not in the Hamptons, and she’s not here at home. Please, allow us to help you.”
Olivia’s solid demeanor is breaking down. She grips her necklace and glances out past us again. I turn around again. I only see John’s red truck.
“What are your names again?” she says.
With a flick of John’s fingers, a business card appears in his hands. Oliva didn’t notice the magic at all. He hands the ivory card to her, and she reads the information. Convinced by whatever credentials John has conjured, she opens the door to let us in.
She leads us into the living room. The space looks very much lived in. Pillows are crooked on the sofa. Water bottles on the coffee table. A flat screen television is running the news, but the volume is on mute. An oriental area rug covers the hardwood floors, and the bookshelves are full of knickknacks, family photographs, and other dust collectors.
“How do you know she’s not in the Hamptons?” she fearfully asks.
“Let’s just say we know,” John answers. Glad he didn’t reveal the picture. “Who’s threatening you, Mrs. Brenlich?”
She sighs nervously and says, “I’m not certain of his name. I haven’t seen him. I’ve only talked to him on the phone.”
I ask, “Did you get the number?”
“It was blocked.”
“What was the threat?” John asks.
“We were told to contact the press and the police again and say she’s with her mom. If we didn’t, then they would kill Amanda.”
“Who is Amanda?” I ask.
“My 3 year old daughter. We had no choice.” Mrs. Brenlich flops down on the loveseat. “How do I know you’re not one of the kidnappers?”
“If we were, you wouldn’t be seeing us,” John states. “Mrs. Brenlich, I promise you, we are not here to hurt you or your family. We are here because we can help bring Vanessa back home to you safe and sound.”
“What if I don’t trust you, and I tell you to leave right now?”
“Then we will leave,” I remark, “but we will continue our search.”
Olivia places the card on the small round table beside her chair. “No one must know you’re helping us. If they do-”
“We won’t say a word,” I remark.
John asks, “Mrs. Brenlich, where is your husband?”
“Call me Olivia, please. Peter is looking for a job. He was let go from the cable company.”
I ask, “Can you give us any details about the last day you saw Vanessa?”
John takes out a notepad and a pen. Immediately, I feel unprepared.
“It was on Thursday, December 12th,” Olivia answered. “We all had breakfast together. After that, we all went to work.”
“Where do you work?” John asks.
“I’m the principal at the elementary school here in town.”
I ask, “Did Vanessa seem okay to you that morning?”
“She was fine. Actually, she was very excited.”
“About what?”
“She’s on the planning committee for Texas Founder’s Day Celebration, and she’d been working on a few ideas. She was going to speak to the committee head that day.”
“Where does Vanessa work?” I ask.
“In the mayor’s office in Cactus. She’s an assistant to Mia Mews, the mayor’s secretary.”
“How did Vanessa get that job?”
“Mayor Freland posted it to graduating high school students back in 2018. She applied and got it.”
“She works close with the mayor every day?”
“Probably so, but I’m not sure. Vanessa doesn’t say a lot about him.”
“What else she does with her time?” I ask.
“She’s a part-time student at the community college in Dumas, and she teaches pointe at a studio on the weekends.”
I look to John to see if he has any questions, but he’s still furiously taking notes.
“Keep going, Alice,” he says without looking up. “You’re doing fine.”
“Olivia, did you speak to her after she went to work that last day?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Did she call you at any point that day?”
“No.”
“Do you remember the conversation when all of you were eating breakfast that morning?”
Olivia looks up at the ceiling. Eventually, she shakes her head with disappointment.
“Before her disappearance, did she speak to you about any problems at work, at school, or at the dance studio?”
“Everything seemed okay. Nothing unusual from what I can tell.”
“How’s your relationship with Vanessa?”
Knowing exactly where my questioning is going, Olivia smiles and says, “It was rough at first, but not because of what you think. Vanessa’s mother left her and her dad six years ago, and I came into Peter’s life close to four years ago. She wasn’t very accepting of me because she was expecting her mom to come back and reunite with her dad.”
“Does her mother really live in the Hamptons?”
“Yes, she does.”
The car comes to mind. I ask, “The Porsche, did her mother buy it?”
“Her mother wouldn’t buy her a pair of shoes much less a car.”
The answer is a bit of a surprise, but then again humans are complicated like that. When it comes to money, it’s first and foremost in many of their lives. Nothing and nobody else matters.
Olivia continues, “Vanessa said that her boyfriend bought it for her, but she was lying. I don’t know who gave it to her.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask.
“Her boyfriend drives a twenty year old Nissan, and he’s broke.”
“Do you think he’s responsible for Vanessa’s disappearance?” Not in the sense she thinks, but I need to know her opinions of him.
“No, I think this is bigger than him. He’s just a kid, and I believe he really likes her.”
“Has he been around since her disappearance?”
“No, and he hasn’t called.”
“What is his name?” I ask.
“Timber,” she says. “I don’t know his real name.”
“We need his address.”
“I don’t know it.”
“Okay,” I remark. Now, John and I have to find Timber’s real name and his address.
“Do you mind if we search her room?” I ask.
“The police have already searched it,” she remarks.
“Did they find or take anything out of there?”
“Olivia,” a man says from the front door.
It’s Peter Brenlich. He’s not too happy to see us. We all stand.
Olivia says, “Peter, this is John and Alice. They’re here to give me an estimate on cleaning the rug.”
He looks at us suspiciously and asks, “What’s the name of this rug cleaning company? I don’t see a company van outside.”
John and I are unable to answer.
Peter turns to his wife and says, “Who are these people, Olivia?”
“Well, I’m...uh-”
“Are you trying to get Amanda killed?” He turns to us and yells, “Get the hell out of here!”
I touch John, and he leads the way towards the front door.
“Wait a minute,” Olivia remarks as she follows us. “Will you continue to look for her?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Can we have your phone number just in case we have more questions?”
“Olivia, they can’t be involved,” Mr. Brenlich responds.
She ignores him and gives us her number. John and I put it into our cell phones. The whole time, Mr. Brenlich is yelling for us to leave. Once we’re done, we quickly exit the house.
CHAPTER 9
“You did very well,” John says. “You asked very good questions.”
“But were they the right questions?” I point out.
“We got a couple of good leads out of it. Mia Mews and the mayor.”
“Only if they talk to us,” I remark.
“Then there’s
the boyfriend.”
“No real name and no address.”
“We can get that information if we can find someone who can access the Texas DMV and local police station files. Any one of those people might have a police record, and we also need to do background checks on Vanessa’s parents.”
“You know, there is one person who can get all that information for us.”
“Who?”
“Tip,” I answer.
“The very same guy that turned against you and tried to kill you six months ago?”
“Yep, the very same guy. When was the last time you saw Tip? Is he still in Plain Dealing?”
“He is,” John answers. “That kid isn’t going anywhere. But we have to find a place to enter a transfer chamber.”
“I entered Cactus at an empty store not too far from the hotel. We can go back there.”
“That’ll work. I can’t wait to see Tip’s face. That kid might pee his pants when he sees you.”
“Let’s hope not,” I remark.
CHAPTER 10
We enter directly into Tip’s bedroom. It looks like a bomb went off, and the smell. It’s eye watering horrible. I don’t think he’s cleaned any part of that room, ever. We quickly walk out into the living room, and we see Tip sitting on the sofa while watching a laptop. Just as he starts laughing, he looks up. The jovial expression on his face turns to sheer terror, and he tries to make a break for the front door. I use my powers to literally pick him up off his feet and push him back to the sofa.
“Why are you in such a hurry, Tip?” I ask calmly.
He smiles nervously and says, “I was about to go for a jog.”
“A jog,” I repeat with a chuckle.
“Yeah, you know, got to get my daily exercise in.” He tries to shift. Not happening.
“I see your trailer hasn’t changed. Didn’t you tell me it burned down?”
