3 Buried Leads (2 page)

After leaving the Frank house in Romeo, I took the same route back to Mount Clemens that I initially used to traverse to the boonies. I stopped at one of the roadside stands and bought fresh corn and Brussels sprouts – and chatted with the woman running the stand.

When she found out where I worked, she seemed unusually excited. “That sounds like a cool job.”

That’s what everyone says. Saying the job didn’t have its moments would be a misnomer. It can be exciting. Sitting through city council and water board meetings, though, is the actual definition of boring. Still, you don’t want to tell random people that. They think you’re just being snarky. Of course, I idle at snarky.

“It’s okay,” I said noncommittally.

“Why are you out here?” The woman looked around conspiratorially. “Are you busting a meth ring – like I read about that woman doing a month ago?”

“No,” I shook my head vehemently, praying silently that she wouldn’t put two-and-two together. I had to head her off before she had the chance to think about it too much. “There’s a woman missing in Romeo.”

The woman looked surprised.
“Really? Who?”

“Her name is Sarah Frank,” I said. “She lives out in Romeo.”

“Do you think she’s dead?”

I shrugged. “She’s just missing right now.”

“I bet it’s human trafficking.”

Human trafficking?
People will believe anything that they see on television. It’s not like human trafficking isn’t a real thing – it’s just not an everyday practice in Macomb County.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “She might have just taken off, for all we know.”

“Is she married?”

“Yes.”

“Her husband probably killed her.” The woman was matter-of-fact. I couldn’t help but smile to myself at how quickly she had flipped her conjecture on what happened, though.

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” I admonished her. What? Just because I was thinking the same thing, that didn’t mean that I was going to put it in print.

The woman pursed her lips at me. I could tell she didn’t like my advice.

“I mean, I would have bet that Elizabeth Smart’s parents did something to her – and I would have been wrong,” I offered.
“The same with Jon Benet-Ramsey’s family.”

The woman actually nodded at my statement. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s just usually the husband, more often than not.”

She had a point.

I took my fresh corn and Brussels sprouts and went back to the office. I took the vegetables into the office with me. I doubted being left in a hot car would hurt them, but I wasn’t taking any chances. There’s nothing worse than the smell of rotten fruit and vegetables, though.

As I made my way to my desk, I saw my friend Marvin Potts holding court in the center aisle of cubicles. Marvin had only been back on the job two weeks. He had been injured when the house of the woman he had been seeing blew up about a month ago. He was still milking the injuries he had sustained in the incident for all they were worth. A consummate hypochondriac, I had worried about the day when Marvin would actually get a real ailment. I had been right to worry.

“I still have a slight ringing in my ears,” he was telling the court reporter. “The doctor says it may never go away. Other people that have had this problem slowly go insane.”

“You’re already insane,” I pointed out, dropping the bag of vegetables on my desk and regarding him seriously for a second. “That’s going to be a pretty short trip for you, isn’t it?”

Potts smiled when he saw me. I was glad he wasn’t holding me responsible for the explosion. It really hadn’t been my fault – no, honestly – he just has bleeding tragic taste in women.

“So, is that woman missing or dead?” The court reporter – Jim Tolliver -- asked the question. I figured he was doing it for professional reasons more than anything else. It’s not like we didn’t get along. In fact, he was one of the few people in the room that didn’t make me want to deafen myself with Q-tips on a regular basis, but we didn’t sit around and gossip like school girls every day either.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “If I had to guess, she’s probably dead. She doesn’t seem like the type of person who would just take off and abandon her kids. Of course, if I had kids, I’d probably want to abandon them, too.”

“Did the husband do it?” Marvin was shuffling from one foot to the other. He was usually a fidgety individual, but his constant motion was a little distracting.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “He seems broken up about it. He could be acting, though. He did wait a week to report her missing.”

Marvin was still shifting back and forth. “What’s the deal? Why are you so nervous?”

“I’m not nervous,” he said.

“Then why are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“That shuffling thing.”

“I’m just in a good mood. Can’t I be in a good mood?”

“Sure,” I said hesitantly. “I’ve known you long enough to know that something else is going on, though, and you’re dying to tell me. You might as well just get it out of the way.”

Marvin scowled at me. “You think you know everything.”

“I do.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“Fine.” I pulled my chair out and made a move to sit at my desk. Once I started writing, I wasn’t going to be in the mood to listen to whatever bit of gossip Marvin wanted to spill – and he knew that.”

“I met someone,” he blurted out.

Oh, great. Marvin’s love interests were getting progressively worse. If they weren’t married and trying to get him to do homosexual threesomes they were Oxy addicts that had their houses blown up in drug busts gone wrong. I was almost terrified to hear about this new woman. “Where did you meet her?”

“She’s a bartender at the Roost.”

The Roost was a dive bar in Warren that Marvin frequented on a regular basis. The waitresses were all young, and scantily clad. I had been there a few times with him. I hadn’t seen a waitress over the age of twenty-five. Since Marvin was fifty, the age discrepancy was starting to get noticeable. He kept getting older – and his love interests kept staying the same age. Pretty soon he was going to be Hugh Hefner – without the mansion, magazine and money.

“Has she graduated from high school yet?”

“Don’t be judgmental,” Marvin admonished me. He hated when I picked on the women he was dating – and yet he kept telling me about them. I think he got a perverse thrill out of me bad-mouthing them – I have no idea why.

“So, have you had sex with her yet?”

Marvin gave me a withering look. “She’s a lady,” he scoffed. “She doesn’t have sex on the first date.”

“Have you had a date with her?” That surprised me. His dates usually ended up as drunken fondling sessions in the backseat of his Pontiac.

“No, but I’ve asked her out and she’s agreed.”

Well, that was actually progress. “Where are you taking her?”

“We’re going dancing at the Boat Basin in the Shores,” Marvin said proudly.

I grimaced. I had seen Marvin dance. He had the rhythm of a deaf octogenarian.
A deaf white octogenarian at that. “Well, that will be fun.” I didn’t want to rain on his parade. Once she saw him dance, I figured it would be all over anyway.

“I think she could be the one,” Marvin said dreamily.

“The one what?”

“The one I’ll marry and settle down and have kids with.”

I blew out a sigh. Marvin met “the one” every couple of months. Usually those relationships ended up with some sort of police involvement. Still, I wasn’t in the mood to get in a full blown fight with him. “Well, I hope it works out for you.”

“Me, too,” Marvin said happily.

I was happy to see that the perpetual whiner down the aisle had heard Marvin’s pronouncement and was now grilling him on his upcoming happily ever after. Kim Hawk was one of those people that had a life-changing drama every day – whether it was legitimate (like a family member getting in a horrific accident) or not (her son dropping the F-bomb on his teacher).

I took advantage of Marvin’s preoccupation with Kim and started to write my story. It really wasn’t all that difficult. There wasn’t a lot of extemporaneous information – so it was a straight-forward mystery at this point. I took the extra time to look up how many people had gone missing in the county last year, padding the story so it was more in-depth than it probably had to be. I was still trying to get off Fish’s shit list.

When I was done, I shipped the story to the news queue and got back up from my desk. Marvin had just finished extolling the virtues of his new lady love and was walking back down the aisle.

He stopped at my desk long enough to pick up the press release and peruse the photos of the missing woman. “She’s pretty,” he said.

“Yeah, she looks nice,” I said.

Marvin read through the press release in its entirety. He’s a newshound. He actually sleeps with a police scanner next to his bed. He loves crime and crime stories. I could tell he was hoping this would turn into something big. I had a feeling he wasn’t going to be disappointed. Unfortunately, a white mother of means disappearing from a ritzy suburb had Nancy Grace written all over it.

“Her husband’s name is Brian Frank?”

“Yeah.”
I had no idea where he was going with this.

“He did it,” Marvin said firmly.

“How do you know that?” I totally agree, by the way.

“He has two first names.”

Even for Marvin, that was some circular thinking. “What do you mean?”

“His name is Brian Frank. Never trust anyone with two first names. They’re always crazy. That’s a proven fact. Everyone knows it.”

Well, you couldn’t argue with that.

After I finished my story, I stopped by Fish’s desk to let him know that it had been filed. My desperation to ease his dislike of me was starting to get a little pathetic. I recognized it – and yet that just made me more determined to get off his list. I was much happier when he was mad at my co-workers. I’m selfish like that; I can admit it.

Fish read the story and said it was “fine.” I knew it wasn’t exactly going to win any awards, but a little gushing wouldn’t have hurt.

Instead, I decided it was time to call it a day. I didn’t want to say anything that would come back to haunt me. That’s a usual occurrence for me. I know when to shut my mouth, but I don’t have the ability in a lot of situations. I decided to just remove myself from temptation. I had to be downtown anyway. I had a bridal fitting.

I’m not the one getting married, mind you. My best friend Carly had been involved in the marriage preparations of the century for the past six months. That meant less time for me – and more time for general bitching. I missed just being able to laze around on the couch and badmouth people with her – but I had more time for video games and movies without her petulant pouting about “wasting my time.” It was a
trade off. Of course, my mom was making up the slack on Facebook. I had a feeling it was a conspiracy.

Anyway, as her maid of honor, I was due for my second fitting on my bridesmaid dress. Usually, this is something I would essentially
lie, cheat and steal to get out of. Carly and I had been best friends since college, though, and I knew there was no getting out of this. She knew all my tricks, anyway. Plus, I was genuinely happy for her. I loved her fiancé, Kyle, like he was my own brother. He was a good guy – and she’d made a good choice.

The dress, though, was another story. It was a lilac sheath that had very little give. I don’t like heels – unless they’re on a pair of really cute boots – but I didn’t think Carly would allow me to wear my new cowboy boots to her wedding. When Carly tried to sell me on the dress, she kept saying it was something I could wear for years. Brides always say that – and it’s never true. The only place I could see wearing this dress again was in my nightmares.

Carly told me the only reason I didn’t like the dress was because it wasn’t fitted properly yet. “It’s just a sample sheath,” she admonished me. “You’ll like it when they take it in.”

I doubted that, but I knew that letting her know how much I hated the dress would only hurt her. And, despite all evidence to the contrary at times, I don’t go out of my way to hurt people.

I drove to downtown Mount Clemens, casting a wary glance at the pawnshop on the corner. I hadn’t seen the owner, Eliot Kane, in weeks – not since he’d been injured in an attempt to save Lexie and me from a crazed stripper with a gun. The ensuing explosion had put him in the hospital. Before the incident, we had been steadily dancing around one another and flirting. Since then? Nothing. I found that I actually missed him.

When I got out of my car, I made sure to walk past his store so he could see me if he was working. I was disappointed to see a young woman working behind the counter instead of Eliot.

The easy thing to do would be for me to call him. I never do things the easy way, though. I never have. Instead, I made my way to the bridal shop – called New Beginnings – and entered.

The minute I walked into the store I felt like I was being smothered by white taffeta and chiffon.
Blech.

“Good, you’re here.”

I turned to see Carly standing in the middle of the store and tapping her foot impatiently. She didn’t look happy to see me. I saw her glance at her watch and fix me with a hard glare. “And you’re only ten minutes late. That must be some sort of record for you.”

“I had to file a story,” I protested lamely.

“You always have to file a story,” she said, striding forward and fixing her hand on my elbow securely. “If I had to guess, it’s more like you were still groveling for your boss to forgive you.”

She knew me too well.

“I was not,” I lied.

“And now you’re lying.”

I bit my lip. I hated it that she knew me so well. Instead, I decided to distract her with something shiny – or lilac, whatever. “So, where’s the dress? I can’t wait to try it on.”

Carly regarded me with her cool green eyes for a second. “That was pretty good. Keep that up while she’s here.”

“While who is here?”

“The Wicked Witch of the Midwest,” she whispered in my ear.

Oh, no. Carly’s future mother-in-law was here. The woman really was the devil. When Carly first started complaining about her, I thought she was exaggerating. After meeting her a few times, I now think she was downplaying it. My mom is the master of the subtle insult. This woman is just flat out mean.

“Where is she?” I cast my gaze around the room wildly. I wondered, briefly, if I could escape the bridal shop without being seen.

Carly must have read my mind. “Don’t you even think about leaving me alone with that woman.”

“I think I forgot to add something to my story,” I lied.

“You did not. Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

Crap.

“Oh, I see she finally arrived.” The voice was like nails on a chalkboard. I had only met Kyle’s mom, Harriet, a few times. Her voice was the stuff of nightmares, though. That clipped, disapproving tone could shrivel the balls of an elephant.

I turned stiffly and took in Harriet. She was in all her glory – again. She was wearing a pressed pink suit that looked like something she had found at a garage sale at Elizabeth Taylor’s house. She was a painfully thin woman, with chalk white skin and pale rose lips. Her makeup was perfect – as usual – and her short brown pageboy was impeccably coiffed. There wasn’t a hair out of place.

I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the shop’s many mirrors. My shoulder length blonde hair looked like it had been through a wind tunnel. I swallowed hard. “Hello Mrs. Profit,” I forced out. “It is so good to see you again.”

“I’m sure it is, dear,” she clucked. “I told you to call me Harriet. You are Carly’s best friend, after all. I wasn’t impressed with that fact, as you know, but my son seems genuinely fond of you, so you can’t be that bad.”

I wondered, briefly, if she would feel the same way if I shoved my new Converse up her ass. Carly pushed me forward. “She’s here to make sure the dress fits,” Carly said.

“Yes,” I lied. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Carly narrowed her eyes at me. She could tell I was lying. I doubted the ever oblivious Harriet Profit was aware of that fact, though. Even if she was, I had a hard time caring. If I never saw this woman again after the wedding, I would consider myself lucky.

“It’s a beautiful dress,” Harriet admitted. “Carly did a good job picking it out.”

Carly basked in the momentary moment. This woman rarely had anything nice to say about her.

“Of course,” Harriet continued. “You should have probably taken Avery’s body type into consideration when you picked the dress.”

What did that mean?

Carly narrowed her eyes dangerously. “What did you just say?” Carly may have been desperate to please this woman, but she was loyal to a fault. She could badmouth me all she wanted, but if anyone else did it they should be ready to have their eyes clawed out.

Harriet pursed her lips. “I wasn’t saying anything bad,” she countered. “She’s just a little hippy. She can’t help it. It was the way she was born.”

I think Harriet thought she was being nice. Carly disagreed. “She’s not hippy. She’s perfectly healthy.”

Harriet looked me up and down dubiously. I could tell she wanted to argue the point, but she wasn’t going to fight in public. Harriet was all about outward appearances.

Despite the fighting stance she had taken, Carly decided to let it go – for now. I had no doubt this was going to become a “thing” later that night. Carly pushed me towards the changing room, shoving the lilac monstrosity in my hand as I went. “Don’t dawdle in there,” she warned me. “Let’s just get this over with. If you draw this out longer than you need to, I’m not going to be happy.”

I couldn’t agree more. I slipped into the dress, glancing at myself in the mirror and grimacing. Now that Harriet had called me hippy, that was all I could focus on. Great. Something new to obsess about.

I stepped out of the dressing room and found Carly sitting in a chair outside. She was randomly shooting a series of patented glares in Harriet’s direction when she was sure the older woman wasn’t looking.

Harriet turned when she heard the sound of the curtain being pulled back. “It fits,” she sighed in relief.

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“Well, Carly says you like to eat, so I was a little worried they would have to let the dress out.”

It’s not like I eat a cow
everyday. The first dress fitting had been a month ago. It’s not like I’d ballooned into a beach ball in the intervening weeks. Carly got to her feet and regarded me with a genuine smile. “You look great,” she exhaled in relief.

I narrowed my eyes as I regarded her. “Did you think it wouldn’t fit, too?”

“No,” Carly hastily responded. “I just wanted to make sure the dress looked as good in person as it did in my mind.”

What a liar.

“You look really good,” she repeated.

“Yes,” Harriet agreed. “The color really suits your skin tone. You look so much better now that your garish tan is fading.”

I hadn’t been insulted this much since my mother had seen my new “Fuck you, you fucking fuck” shirt from
The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo
.

“Can I take this off now?” I couldn’t get out of this shop quick enough at this point.

“Of course, dear,” Harriet waved me off. I saw her glance slip to my
Goonies
socks and the slight, almost imperceptible shake of her head.

I quickly slipped back into my jeans, T-shirt and hoodie and exited the store with the dress in my hand. I had already paid for it -- $250 that I would have much rather spent on new Converse and video games – and I was ready to get out of this hellish situation.

I froze when I heard Harriet start talking to Carly a few feet away. “What are you going to do for shoes?”

“We’re having heels dyed,” Carly said.

This was the first I had heard of that. “Those ugly satiny ones you showed me? I didn’t agree to that.”

“You’ll be fine,” Carly shushed me.

“How do you even know what size shoes I wear?”

“You have huge feet. You’re always complaining about how huge your feet are. You’ve got seventy pairs of shoes in your laundry room – and they’re all the same size – stop being ridiculous.”

“I’m changing into something comfortable at the reception,” I grumbled under my breath.

“I’m sure the dress will look great with canvas high tops,” Harriet clucked sarcastically.

If I had a hammer, I’d totally throw it at her right now.