Finding Sky (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 1) (13 page)

I followed him out the door and waited while he retrieved cigarettes for the pretty, husky-voiced young customer.

After she left, I thanked him again. “Any chance I could see Beth’s work application?” I added.

“Nope. That’s too personal. But I’ll pass it on to the police.”

“Please do. I appreciate that. And I’d love to look at more footage of her. Could I get a copy of what you have?”

“I don’t know how to do that yet,” he said. “But tell you what. If I get bored tonight, I’ll look back through the past couple weeks instead of playing solitaire. If I find Beth, I’ll look through the instructions and see if I can email you a video clip. Sound fair?”

“Joe, you’re my hero. Thank you so much. Maybe you could send me a clip of the chocolate-milk guy too.”

Joe grinned a gray-toothed smile that thirty minutes earlier might have freaked me out. Talking with Dean would be a nice change of pace.

Eleven

“Dean?”

“Hey, Nicki. How’s it going?”

I was sitting in my van in the parking lot with the doors locked.

“I guess I’m making progress.” I explained what I’d been doing and said I’d call the local Crime Solvers number about Joe. I couldn’t trust that he’d report what he knew. “So what did you have to tell me?”

“I put in a call to a friend in law enforcement. He was kind enough to save you a little legwork. Soon after Beth was reported missing, they checked the local shelters and hospitals, and she wasn’t there.”

I felt like the dumbest person on Earth. “I should have already done that.”

“I assumed it was already done, and it was. Don’t worry. You’ve done a lot. And there’s more to do.”

He was right. I had to put my energy toward success, not regrets. “Got any ideas for me?”

“Let’s be thorough and run a background check on Beth’s parents and Mr. Shaw,” he suggested. I could see Joe through the glass windows, doing something at the cash register.

“Great,” I said. “Should I do that?” I didn’t know if I should use what I’d learned in class or depend on Dean for help. I could do a local check free of charge, but I’d need a database—and some advice—to do anything else.

“I’ll do you a favor on this one,” he offered. “But I expect you to be in class Saturday for surveillance practice.” He was in mock drill sergeant mode. “In all seriousness, I think you’ll be glad to have those skills down.”

“Me too.” I was tempted to request a good surveillance partner. There were several people in class I didn’t want to ride around with all day. But I kept quiet and trusted his judgment.

“I’ll call if I get anything on Mr. Shaw. In the meantime I have a couple other suggestions.”

“Okay.” I couldn’t wait.

“Let’s start with the social networking sites you mentioned.”

“Right,” I said.

“Have you been checking those every day?”

“Absolutely. They haven’t been updated.”

“Have you posted anything on them?”

“Definitely not. Do you think I should?”

“I don’t know. Let me think about it. Who else did you find pages for?”

“April and other kids from their school. That’s how I heard about that party I went to. But I didn’t see a page for Marcus.”

“Those sites are gold mines. We have to keep an eye on them.”

I liked how he said
we
.

“I’m worried about something you said though,” I told him. “Even if the police checked the hospitals and shelters right after Beth disappeared, what if she showed up now? Would they recognize her as missing?”

“Hopefully the local hospitals are still on alert. Even if they’re not, her situation would probably raise red flags, considering her age and that she might arrive alone.”

“But what’s considered local? I mean, what if she went to West Virginia, Maryland, or D.C.? Or what about southern Virginia, like Richmond?” I was feeling more overwhelmed and less capable by the second. Living in the “DMV” (D.C., Maryland, and Virginia) was like having three home states—four if you counted West Virginia. The area felt like one big place, even as far away as Baltimore.

“Why would she go that far?” Dean asked. “West Virginia, okay, for family. But Maryland or D.C.? For what reason?”

“Yeah.” I couldn’t imagine her doing that.

“If it makes you feel better to check out West Virginia, do it, especially since her grandparents are there. You should. And keep in touch with April and Marcus. See if they lead you anywhere. Have you made any progress with the adoption agency?”

“Umm, no.” I was too nervous to have any contact with First Steps for fear of jeopardizing Kenna and Andy’s relationship with them. I told Dean as much.

“I understand. Why don’t you have Kenna or Andy work on it? There’s always the chance the agency has heard from Beth by now.”

“Okay.” I was embarrassed to ask my next question. “You mentioned checking out West Virginia. What exactly do you mean?”

“You’ll need her grandparents’ names. Then you can find out where they live and check it out. Drive by, see what they’re up to, just to make sure there’s no sign of Beth or the baby.”

“I’m sorry to sound so stupid, Dean, but how can I get their names?”

He was quiet for a moment. I hoped he wasn’t thinking,
What an idiot. Has she learned anything in class?!

“What are her parents’ full names again?”

“Sonja and Bob Myers,” I said.

“And whose parents are these in West Virginia?”

“Beth’s mom’s. Should I check their marriage license for her maiden name or something?”

“I can almost guarantee her maiden name is online. I’ll text you with it.”

So maybe it wasn’t a dumb question.
Phew.
“Okay. Thank you so much,” I said. “I’m going to head home. I’ll have my cell phone with me.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’m going to have to start paying you for all this work,” I said.

“No way,” he said. “This is an opportunity to help with something unusual. Most of my cases—and don’t try to deny it—are pretty boring. I’m glad to help.”

Dean had a heart. Mine melted.

“Well, I enjoy your classes,” I said honestly. He didn’t have to know why. “And thanks again. It means a lot to me and my friend. I’ll look for your text and see you Saturday.”

We hung up while nervous butterflies danced in my stomach. I wasn’t sure if they were from hearing Dean’s ideas or hearing his voice. I had a lot to do, and after unloading the treadmill, visiting West Virginia was next.

That’s what I told Andy as we (mostly he) lugged the treadmill up to my bedroom and set it in viewing range of my TV. I hid the safety strap under my mattress so the kids couldn’t go for a run unattended. Attended, however, was a different story. Was it a no-no to let kids use treadmills supervised? Sophie (and I) could use an outlet for her energy.

“So you’re going to West Virginia?” Andy said incredulously. I’d been reluctant to tell him much, since I preferred to talk to Kenna first, but he insisted on a heart-to-heart while we huffed and puffed.

“I hope,” I said. “But what would you think about calling the adoption agency again? Just to see if there’s anything new about Beth, or anything old that’s relevant?”

“I guess I could. But they said they’d call us if there was any news.”

“Hmmm.” I mustered the strength to contradict him. “I wouldn’t count on them for that. My guess is that their commitment is to Beth first. Plus, even if they’re not willing to tell you anything, maybe you’ll get a sense of whether they’re holding back or not.”

“Yeah,” he conceded.

“So you’ll call first thing tomorrow.” We laughed at my pushiness.

“Whatever, Nicki, if it’ll make you happy.” I got the sense he meant if it’ll make
Kenna
happy and make
you
back off. But his motive didn’t really matter.

He gestured toward the treadmill. “Now that I dragged that thing up here, you better use it.”

“I will. I think.” I wasn’t making any promises either.

The kids were thrilled to see me when I picked them up from their playdate. So thrilled they completely ignored me until I demanded we leave. Then they acknowledged me with protests.

It was straight-to-bed time, but first I asked about their evening and accidentally let Sophie see the treadmill, which meant she wanted to climb all over it and press every button. We got it out of her system for about ten minutes—machine off and safety cord hidden—and then I issued a stern warning about touching the treadmill without permission.

“I don’t even want to touch it,” Jack said. “I like running outside.”

“I love it,” Sophie said. “When I grow up, I want one too.”

“Someday you can buy one with your own money,” I said. “How do you think you’ll earn it?” I took her hand and led her away from the treadmill.

Sophie started babbling about possible careers: running a horse farm, being a doctor, or “chef-ing” at her favorite Mexican restaurant. I took pride in successfully redirecting her toward the bathroom to scrub her teeth.

With Sophie, this was often a battle, so I took on the role of a make-believe character inspired by the late, great Crocodile Hunter. I morphed into “The Crazy Babysitter”—a jolly, overly dramatic and somewhat confused babysitter with a heavy Australian accent. The Crazy Babysitter also worked part-time as a dentist and zookeeper.

Jack was already brushing but asked for a double-check from The Crazy Babysitter. I found swamp scum in his mouth. (It turned out to be leftover toothpaste.) Sophie was next. I heard my cell phone beep and saw Dean’s number pop up, but I chose to ignore it and make Sophie my priority.

“What did you have for dinner, young lady? Let me see those teeth of yours!” I demanded. “Crikey! Those teeth look stronger than an elephant’s tusk. I’m afraid to get in there!”

We laughed our way through the bedtime routine and another night ended well, at least for my little ones.

Life was anything but normal, but I followed my normal routine of sitting at the computer and eating after the kids were in bed. Dean had texted the most likely last name of Beth’s grandparents: Rush. He also said Joe’s record looked clean so far except for a few speeding tickets. Same for Beth’s parents. I texted back a quick “THANKS!” and got busy looking up West Virginia Rushes on every address site I knew. April thought they lived somewhere with gambling, but an Internet search showed several towns with casinos. Instead of calling everyone listed, like I had with Beth and Marcus, I decided this was a good excuse to call April. Maybe one of the Rushes would ring a bell for her, even though Beth referred to them as “Nana and Grandpa.” April sounded wide awake when she answered.

“Hey April. It’s Nicki,” I said. “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” she answered politely.

“That’s good. I wanted to run something by you. I’m going to read you some names. Can you tell me if any sound familiar?”

“Okay.” She sounded skeptical.

“Annabelle Rush. Franklin Rush. Graham and Marcy Rush. Martin Rush—”

“Oh, wait, stop. Marcy is Beth’s middle name. She hates it.”

She was right. I remembered seeing “Marcy” on the adoption forms Beth had filled out. I mentally kicked myself for forgetting.

“Do you think she could have been named after her grandmother?”

“She
is
named after her grandmother,” April confirmed. “The one in West Virginia. I forgot about that. You know her other grandparents died in a car crash, right?”

“Yes.” The adoption forms had revealed that, too. Beth’s paternal grandparents had died when she was young. “Thank you so much, April.”

“Sure. But I didn’t do anything. I mean, I doubt her grandparents know anything. You already know the story about last time.”

“I know. But everything’s worth a try, right?”

“I guess.”

“Do you have any other ideas? I’d love to hear them. Even if they seem silly to you.”

“Not really. Except to talk to Marcus.”

I didn’t tell her I’d already done that. What I wanted to do was follow Marcus again.

“Do you ever talk to him or see him around?”

“No. But I know where to find him.”

“Really? Where?”

“Anywhere there’s a party. He’s always there. Probably dealing.”

“So when’s the next one?”

“I don’t know. I’m kinda taking a break from that scene after the last one. I was seriously sick for like the whole day after that.”

“I’m sorry. If you hear anything, please give me a call. You shouldn’t go. But I could keep an eye on things.”

“Uh huh.” I heard some rustling. “My mom’s coming and I’m not supposed to be on the phone,” she whispered. She clicked off.

I hung up and looked at the pad where I’d written and circled “Marcy and Graham Rush.”

Back online, I found something interesting—fascinating, really—about Graham Rush, Marcy’s apparent husband. There was a separate business listing under his name.
Rush, Graham, MD.
But that wasn’t all. Another search brought up an unexpected fact about Dr. Rush. He was an OB-GYN. Did April know this? Would Beth have turned to him for help? And would he have given it secretly? I crossed my legs protectively, aware that even though I wasn’t due for an annual exam, I’d probably have to see the doctor anyway.