Finding Sky (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 1) (22 page)

That was all I could do. It was time to call Dean.

“Hey, Nicki.” His voice was gravely. I hoped I hadn’t woken him. “What’s up?”

It took a few minutes to fill him in, answer his questions, stop imagining him in bed, and get to the point.

“I’m going to talk to April today,” I said. “I bet she might have some of Beth’s passwords. Even if she doesn’t know them, maybe they’re on her computer. Do you think your computer forensics investigator could tell?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll be happy to put you guys in touch. He’s teaching an upcoming class anyway. His name is Darrell.” He gave me Darrell’s extension and suggested I call him Monday. “So, you doing okay?” Dean asked.

“I’m trying.”

“You’re obviously strong and independent, and that’s great, but anyone would be scared right now. I’m scared
for
you. You should let the authorities handle this. That’s what I’d do.”

I appreciated his attempt to protect my dignity.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t freaked out,” I admitted. “Especially because I’m a mom.” I needed to change the subject. “If this is Marcus’s rival gang, Los Reyes, intimidating me, how do you think they know where I live?”

There was silence on the line. “When Marcus was shot, your car was on the scene, right?”

“Yeah. For a while.”

“Maybe someone paid forty bucks to look up your license plate.”

“Can anyone do that?”

“The law’s pretty strict about it, but certain people, including PIs, can do it at certain times. And your name would be on the police report—again, private information, but certain people have access to it. It’s hard to believe a gang could get hold of it, but stranger things have happened.”

“Or maybe someone just followed me home. I was pretty distracted. I wouldn’t have noticed.”

“True,” he said. “And wasn’t there an accident that night?”

“You mean when Marcus hit some parked cars?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s probably an accident report from that, which would be easy to get if your car was involved. But yours wasn’t, was it?”

“No. And I have no idea whose cars were hit. One was a black pickup truck. The other was a sedan.” I should have paid more attention. I was too panicked.

“The fact is someone found you. Do you have a security system?”

“No. But it’s on my to-do list. I’m supposed to meet with someone from the gang unit, too. So I better get going.”

Twenty-One

It’s strange how intimidating small tasks can be. My to-do list was short because I wasn’t sure how to proceed, yet it felt daunting. What would I say to April and her mom? Should I have trusted Edith? How would the gang officer treat me? And what kind of security system did I need? Imagining Beth waiting for me to make progress was like pressing a launch button. Time to move.

To give Edith as much time as possible to watch the Rushes, I tried April’s cell first. She had a laptop, she told me, and Beth used it regularly. Hesitation in her voice gave me a familiar feeling. She was holding back.

“Is this an okay time to talk?” I asked. “I’m not sure where you are.”

“I’m home,” she said. “It’s fine. My mom’s downstairs.”

“Okay. I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.” I started with a softball question. “Do you know when Beth last visited her grandparents?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the last time she ran away. I think it’s been a while.”

“So if anyone had seen her there recently, would it be a surprise?”

“It would be to me,” she said. “Why? Did anyone?”

“I’m trying to figure that out.” I wasn’t ready to discuss Edith or the mailman yet. “Anyway, do you happen to know any of Beth’s online passwords? I’m hoping you do.”

“I already told you I didn’t,” she answered slowly.

“I know. But that was a while ago,” I said, giving her an out, “and you didn’t know me as well. Hopefully now you trust me more.”

“Uh huh.”

“So maybe you can share more with me.”

“Yeah. I guess so. I might be able to remember some of her passwords.”

“That’s great. It might really help us.”

“Okay. Do you need to come over and look at my computer or something?”

“Maybe. But if you give me the passwords, I can start checking her accounts from my house. Would you be okay with that?”

“Sure,” she answered without elaborating.

Time and patience were slipping away.

“What’s wrong, April?” I asked. “Please tell me so I can help.”

“Remember I told you that I didn’t
use
her accounts? I didn’t really. But I read all her emails. I’m really sorry. I was just so curious and I wanted to help. I also sent some emails to her, especially right after she disappeared. If you find them I’ll be embarrassed. And please don’t tell my mom about them.”

“I’ll do my best to keep them private,” I said. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did you send any emails from her address?”

“No,” she said.

I wasn’t sure I believed her, but I didn’t want to upset her, so I left it alone. Instead I tried to put her at ease.

“If I were you, I’d have read her emails too. They could provide great clues. Did any of them stand out?”

“No. I was hoping I could figure out where she is. But I couldn’t.”

I asked if Beth had created any documents on April’s computer. She hadn’t, April said.

“April?” I asked. “If Marcus did take Beth, why do think he did it?”

“To get rid of the baby.”

“Do you think that’s what happened?”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

I empathized. Neither did I.

April’s Mom was next. She answered their home number, and our conversation was brief, but friendly. I apologized for not having anything concrete to share. I hoped my call to Edith would change that.

“Hi, Nicki,” Edith greeted me warmly when she answered.

“Hi, Edith. I wanted to check and see if you’d noticed anything with the Rushes.”

“Well, not yet. I went to church this morning, and I’m baking cookies now. I’d like to bring them some, along with other neighbors, so it looks natural. What do you think?”

“I don’t know. They might think it’s strange, since you don’t normally socialize with them.”

“Yes, but old ladies can get away with a lot without looking suspicious,” she said.

She had a point. I confirmed that she still had my numbers and reminded her what to ask the Rushes. Then I paced the room, wondering if they were home, regretting I hadn’t checked before calling Edith, and willing her to call me back quickly.

I also considered alternatives. Maybe April could call and ask for Beth—with me listening in, just to see how the Rushes responded.

And if I didn’t get anywhere today, what then?
I’ll have to talk with Dr. Rush tomorrow at that 10:30 appointment,
I realized.
That won’t be fun.

While I waited, I used my cell to check Beth’s email using her password. The only thing better, I imagined, would be complete access to her Facebook page, which I’d check next, and her text messages. I really needed my computer back. My phone made this process nauseatingly slow.

Beth’s old emails, it turned out, were a gateway to her past social networking messages. Anytime someone had posted on her wall, it showed up in her email, along with responses to any messages she’d left online. I scrolled down, looking for standout names or subjects. Unfortunately, most of it was teen talk and inside jokes that didn’t make sense to me, and if April hadn’t noticed anything suspicious, I probably wouldn’t either.

I focused most on emails around the time of her disappearance. The day before she disappeared, she’d exchanged messages with the adoption social worker, giving the clear impression she had no plans to back out.

Dear Beth,

I hope your OB visit went well. Please call and let us know. We also need to arrange a meeting for you and the adoptive parents. They’re really looking forward to seeing you.

Talk to you soon,

Diane

Hi Diane,

The appointment was good. Everything’s fine. I’ll call you soon about the meeting. I can’t wait until this is over! Who is allowed to be with me at the hospital?

Beth

I wondered if she’d ever made that call. Once, Kenna had mentioned that being in the delivery room was a possibility—a choice that was up to Beth. I couldn’t imagine being in Beth’s position. Marcus was out of the picture. Her parents weren’t supportive. She’d fought with her best friend. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d turned to her grandfather, a relative and expert, for last-minute support.

April’s emails after Beth disappeared were nothing to be ashamed of, although I appreciated her concern. She pleaded with Beth to understand that yes, she was gay, but she had a crush on a girl at school—not on Beth. Beth’s friendship meant everything to her. She wanted and needed her friend back. It was heartbreaking to imagine April coming out for the first time only to be rejected. Her emails sounded sincere, but I reminded myself to be objective. Only Beth and April knew the truth about their relationship.

Reading email and arranging a same-day home security review passed the time before Edith finally returned my call.

“Hello, dear,” she greeted me. “It’s Edith.”

“Hi Edith,” I said. “How did it go?” I sounded relaxed but wanted to shriek,
What happened?! Tell me everything!

“Well, I talked to Dr. Rush about his granddaughter, and he said she’s not there currently,” she said. I was dumbfounded. Edith had gotten somewhere. She’d spoken with Dr. Rush.

“You mean she’s not home? Or she’s not living there?” I talked as quickly as I wanted Edith to reply.

“She’s not living there now, but she visited three weeks ago, which must have been when I saw her. He said after her visit, she went missing, which confirms what you told me. That was about it. He was rushing out the door so fast he barely remembered to take the cookies I brought.”

My heart dropped. I’d been hoping for an answer. A miracle. This wasn’t it. I felt like a popped balloon.

“I appreciate this so much, Edith,” I said. “You’ve been an incredible help. You don’t need to do anything else except stay in touch if you see any sign of Beth—or anything else notable. And keep this whole thing just between us.” I gave her all my phone numbers. “I’ll always be happy to hear from you.”

I arrived at the police station at 10 a.m. sharp and asked for Sgt. Dwyer. His greeting was so friendly I could almost ignore his imposing height and stocky build. He led me to a bare interview room and asked me to review the whole story, start to finish. This time, I had Kenna’s permission to explain what I knew about Marcus, which was a relief.

Dwyer’s gaze was a disarming mix of intense and understanding. I kept reminding myself to stick to the basics, but I ended up feeling lucky to escape without confessing my life story. I was thrilled when he stopped asking questions and walked me out.

“Let’s go over it one more time,” he said, referring to anti-gang precautions I should take. “Tell me what you’re gonna do, and what you’re not gonna do.”

I held up a hand to tick off four essentials. “I’m going to change my routines, relocate, avoid being alone, and stay accessible.” I pulled out my cell phone and wiggled it for emphasis. Dwyer wanted me reachable—and able to call for help.

“Did you know that
any
cell phone with power should be able to dial 911—even old ones without service?”

“No. I didn’t.” I hoped that tidbit would never come in handy.

“Now you do. So take care of yourself and your family, okay?”

“I will.”

“These gangs are into drugs, weapons, prostitution, and more. Let us handle it. Just look out for number one.”

That didn’t sound like advice a good PI would take.

Before pulling away from the station, I left Kenna a message about the beer can. Part of me wanted it to be hers or Andy’s so I wouldn’t have to report it. Another part was hopeful it would show which lowlife had been in my house.

So far, Dwyer had told me, none of the fingerprints in my house matched anyone on file. The DNA swabs would take a lot longer to process, but they kept hope alive.

Halfway home, Kenna returned my call. I pulled over to talk.

“What’s this about a beer can?” she asked.

I described what I’d seen in the recycling.

“I don’t drink that, and Andy doesn’t either. That’s weird. It has to be from the break-in.”

“That’s the only explanation,” I said. “But a criminal who recycles? Come on. I hope it has fingerprints. Or maybe the recycling can will.”

We hung up so she could teach and I could get home to meet the security company. If the salespeople preyed on fear, I was in trouble.

I got home with a few minutes to spare and called Dwyer to report the can. He advised me not to touch it, and said he’d send evidence techs out. He’d also update Suarez and Walters, the officers who’d responded to the shooting and break-in.

“Fingerprints aren’t the only thing they can get from a can,” Dwyer reminded me. “They can swab for DNA, too.”

“Isn’t it weird that I found it in the recycling?” I asked.

“Sure. But stranger things have happened. Criminals aren’t known for their smarts.”

I excused myself when the doorbell rang and explained it was a two-man security team. They walked around the house, inside and out, and noted just how poorly I was protected. Where were my motion sensor lights? Prickly shrubs? Upgraded locks? Industrial-strength window and door hardware? Opaque curtains? And of course they wanted to install a system that would alert the world if it was breached. It would also alert Visa that I’d officially gone mad by adding the equivalent of a car payment to my monthly bill.

I couldn’t afford what this company was selling, and the more I listened, the more vulnerable I felt—even
before
their speech about fire, carbon monoxide, and medical emergency features. Had someone told them I was an overprotective widow being stalked by gangsters? Because they had a way of hitting every nerve.

When the doorbell rang again, it was the evidence techs, and the security guys looked surprised when I introduced them.

“What?” I teased. “Is this the first evaluation you’ve done at a crime scene?”

We laughed, but I could have cried. I wanted this process to make me feel better, not worse. Reassured, not frightened. I let everyone finish their work and sent them packing. I needed some time to think, I explained, before committing to a year of “alarming” monthly bills. I also wanted time to check out do-it-yourself systems at the local home improvement store.

After my Dad passed away, I was forced to get comfortable with home improvement. When something needed repair, either I had to do it, or I had to pay someone else. Often I procrastinated until a problem became dangerous, unlivable, or embarrassing.

I thought I’d seen alarm systems in the aisle with child-proofing supplies, so I headed there first and found two options. One had cameras, and the other didn’t. There were also single-room motion sensors and accessories, including outdoor signs and window decals. I wished the alarm company had let me buy those. (“Sorry guys. I can’t afford the system, but how much are those stickers?”) Maybe I could find some online.

For ease of installation and affordability, I chose the non-camera system with a door alarm, window alarms, and a motion sensor for the basement. It also had a chime feature, so anytime the front door opened, I’d know. A great feature with a potential escapee like Sophie.

It took two hours to install the system and test every sensor. I might have sustained hearing loss during the process. Afterward, I called Mom to check on the kids, hoping I wasn’t distracting her from their needs. We agreed to meet the next day for dinner at a mall restaurant. I’d make every effort not to be followed.

The longest they should stay with her
, I thought,
is one more day. But what if they’re still in danger? I have no way to “quit” this case or stop being a witness to Marcus’s shooting. Unless someone stops me themselves.

I ended the day by reviewing my file about Beth. I read every detail and added anything I could think of. Then I set the new alarm system and went to bed, hoping I wouldn’t hear any unexpected noises, yet missing the familiar interruptions of precious kiddos.