Finding Sky (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 1) (12 page)

“It’s a gold hoop with a pearl on it. Just a single pearl. My kids are looking for it.”

She looked at them again. “That’s where you lost it?”

“I think so.”

“Okay. Let me get a pen,” she said. “I’ll take your information in case it turns up.”

“Sure,” I responded. “I’m really sorry to interrupt you.”

My plan was to give her my email address if necessary, which didn’t have identifying information in it. When she was out of sight, I motioned the kids over. “Hey guys,” I said quickly. “Try over there. Maybe it was over there.” I pointed to the spot where I’d dropped it. They rushed over.

“I found it!” Sophie yelled a minute later as Beth’s mom returned.

“Good job!” I said. “Bring it to Mommy!” I looked back at Mrs. Myers. “I’m so sorry we bothered you. It looks like we found it.” Sophie placed it in my palm and ran to Jack, who had something more interesting in his hand—a squiggling worm. He watched it with a smile, and I saw a reluctant grin form on Mrs. Myers’ lips.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m Sonja.” She held her bathrobe closed with her left hand and reached out to shake my hand with her right.

I didn’t think I should tell her my real name, but I didn’t want the kids screaming,
Your name’s not Anna!
if I lied. So I settled on a compromise—my given name—which only my parents and an occasional teacher had ever used.

“Hi Sonja. I’m Nicole.”

Her eyes stayed on the kids. “They’re cute,” she said.

“Thanks. Actually, I was talking to your neighbor Gina today, and I heard about your daughter. I’m terribly, terribly sorry.”

“Oh,” she cocked her head and squinted her eyes. “Thank you.”

“We were wondering, is there anything the neighbors can do to help? In talking with Gina, I got the sense people would love to pitch in, but they aren’t sure how.”

“That’s nice, but I’m sure you heard she ran away. She wanted to disappear, and that’s what she did.” She pressed her lips together. It looked like she was holding something back—maybe anger, tears, or both.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You were just being polite. Listen, my husband and I will get through this,” she said. “It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

“It’s not the first time she’s run away?” I feigned surprise and didn’t enjoy it.

“No, it’s not,” she said with a sarcastic laugh. “I figured you heard from Gina. Beth has left us twice. Came back both times. So maybe this time we and everyone else shouldn’t worry so much.”

I wasn’t convinced. “Where did she go the first two times?”

“Oh, she hung out with friends. Then she visited my parents in West Virginia.” Her voice was sing-songy as she tilted her head back and forth, giving the impression Beth selfishly took off on random vacations. “She just wanted to make a point. She says we’re too strict.” She rolled her eyes. “What teen doesn’t say that? It’s called parenting.”

“I understand. It must be so hard knowing...” I mustered the courage to say it. “Knowing she’s pregnant.”

She closed her eyes, shook her head back and forth, and then looked at me directly. “There isn’t any way she could hurt us more.”

I tried not to be judgmental, but
if
Beth didn’t want to live at home right now, I doubted it was just to hurt them. Who would torture themselves out of spite like that? Probably not a young, helpless teen.

“You sound absolutely sure she left on purpose,” I said.

She rested a hand on her hip and shifted her feet. “I’m sorry, what was your name again?” Uh oh. I wanted to keep asking questions, to keep her talking as long as the kids were happy worm hunting, but I’d gone too far.

“Nicole. And I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m interrupting your day. And I’m being nosy. I just feel awful about your daughter.”

“Beth’s a smart girl. She’ll come home.” She reached for the doorknob.

“I hope so,” I said truthfully.

“Thank you,” she said, cutting me off. “I’ve got to go. I’m glad you found your earring.” The door swung closed and I almost put my foot in it.

“Sonja?” I said loudly. She stopped and looked through the small opening that was left.

“What?”

“Let Gina know if anyone can help, okay?”

“I will. And please thank her for her note.” The door closed firmly.

I glanced at the kids to make sure they were okay. They were, but I couldn’t say the same for the Myers’ mulch, which had become a worm excavation site.

“Stop digging, guys, and start cleaning up. Fill in the holes.” I walked over to help.

While talking with Sonja, I’d inadvertently tuned out Jack and Sophie. I hoped my subconscious was paying attention...that I would have noticed if either of them wandered off...but I wasn’t sure.
Finding someone else’s child isn’t more important than taking care of your own,
I chided myself. Mommy guilt washed over me in a hot sweat.

I cleaned the kids’ hands with bottled water and wipes (their fingernails remained a disaster) and showered them with hugs, kisses, and compliments while we carried our belongings back to the van.
Please God
, I begged,
don’t ever let me lose one of them.

“Enough, Mom! We get it,” Jack giggled.

“Get what?” I teased, giving him another hug. “What do you mean?”

“You love us!” said Sophie.

“Oh, you
do
get it,” I said, hugging her too. “Good!”

The kids spent the afternoon at camp, and I spent it confirming information. Yes, April told me, Beth had run away twice before, just like her mom said. The first time she went to a party and walked around a twenty-four-hour store, refusing to go home in protest against her early curfew, which only made her parents stricter. The second time, she surprised her grandparents with a visit to their West Virginia home, pretending her mom had suggested the trip. The next morning, Sonja had called, and the jig was up. Beth was sent home—with a few new outfits and some cash—and told not to inform her parents of the gifts. Grandma and Grandpa sympathized with Beth’s teenage frustrations, but they didn’t want to anger their daughter, April said, so Beth stayed quiet.

“Do you think Beth could be there now?” I asked.

“No way,” April said. “Her grandparents would never hide her this long. They love her, but can you imagine how pissed her mom would be?”

April had to be right. Would grandparents do that to a daughter they loved?

“And they weren’t even hiding her that time? Beth tricked them?” I confirmed.

“Totally. They had no idea. They were mad. But they got over it.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Eleventh grade, over spring break.”

“So she didn’t miss school?”

“No. She wouldn’t have missed school. I mean, we’ve skipped classes and stuff, but she would never leave school like everyone says she did now. We’re about to graduate.”

“Why did she run away back then? What was so upsetting?”

“Her parents are just way overprotective. They don’t let her do anything. I think she just couldn’t take it anymore. She needed freedom.”

“If they’re so protective, how did she go to parties?”

“Lying. Spending the night at my house. Sneaking out.”

“I understand.” I’d done the same things. I clung to the hope my kids never would. “Do you remember which city her grandparents live in?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s some town where you can gamble.”

“Do you know their names?”

“No. Just Nana and Grandpa. That’s what she called them.”

“Okay. And can you think of anyone, anyone at all, who might be involved, whether Beth’s a runaway or not?”

“You mean like Marcus?”

“Anyone.”

“Marcus is the only one who would have a reason.”

“And that would be...”

“Not wanting to have a baby.”

After camp, a neighbor with similar-aged kids invited Jack and Sophie over for dinner and a movie—not my favorite kind of playdate since it involves no playing, but I let it slide because I loved the other family, the movie was harmless, and picking up the treadmill without kids was a giant bonus. Kids, heavy electronic objects, and my anxiety—not a good mix.

Gina and her strikingly attractive husband—one of those fit guys who would always look spry—moved the treadmill with ease. They didn’t even need my help except to open the trunk. I hoped when I hit my fifties I’d be in shape and upbeat too.
The treadmill will do it,
I told myself.
I’ll get in shape for the first time. Maybe I’ll even lift weights! I’ll be able to outrun bad guys no problem.
Just the idea of keeping up with my kids might be incentive enough. At least I hoped so.

“Did you have fun at the park this morning?” Gina asked before I left.

“We did. Thanks.” I handed her $100 in cash.

“Excellent. I hear you spoke with Sonja,” she said.

“Oh, yeah,” I replied nervously. “Did you talk to her too?”

“She stopped by this afternoon. I guess you mentioned something about my helping?”

“I said you were concerned, and that I thought the neighbors would like to help. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s great,” she said with enthusiasm. I’d forgotten to expect that from her. “I was so surprised to see her at my door. I’ve been dying to do something, and you know I wrote her a note about it. Thank you for getting her out of the house and down here.”

“She doesn’t come out much, huh?”

“No, and it’s such a devastating situation. I think they need others, don’t you? I mean we
all
do.”

“Absolutely. The more people who can help, the better.” That was a fact. “She told me she appreciated your note. What did she have to say?”

“Well, she still didn’t want much help. But she did give me a flyer to copy and hand out. She said to leave the rest to the police.”

My mind was racing. I had to see that flyer.

“She only gave you one?”

“Yes,” Gina said. “But I’ll make more.”

“I’d love to help with handing them out or putting them up. I can take a copy with me and make extras.”

“Sure. That’s nice of you. I’ll be right back.”

I waited in the minivan, air conditioner blasting, inspecting the loading job through the rearview mirror. The back seat was folded down, and the hatchback was tied closed. Andy had promised to help me get the treadmill through the basement door, but I was having second thoughts about where to put it. The basement was cold and uninviting, not somewhere I’d want to jog every day, and my bedroom was warm and cozy. If I had to see the treadmill when I woke up, taunting me, wouldn’t it be hard to ignore? So that’s where it should go. My eyes returned to Gina’s house.

When she bounded down the front steps with a smile on her face, waving a stack of papers, my heart sang. This was more than a way to publicize Beth’s disappearance. It was an excuse to knock on doors and ask questions. I wasn’t good at it, but I was determined, and hopefully that counted for something.

“Here you go. I went ahead and made a bunch.” She divided the stack and handed me half.

“How about if I do that side of the street while I’m here and my kids aren’t?” I asked. “It will be easier.”

She laughed. “Sure. Did I give you enough?”

I counted nine. There were twenty houses on the street, including Gina and Beth’s. Nine was perfect. I took that as a good sign.

“Just right,” I said.

“Hold on.” Gina held up a hand. “I have an idea. How about if we go together? It’s a nice evening, and I could use a walk.”

“Okay,” I said. I hoped her familiar face would open doors—and mouths.

Ten

Gina was a talker, and I love talkers. Wait. Let me qualify that. I love talkers who discuss interesting things, and since Gina and I chatted about parenting, food, vacation spots, and the neighborhood, I wasn’t bored during our hour together. I also found it easy to keep quiet, particularly about personal subjects, which I wanted to avoid. I did reveal I had a degree in forensic psychology, and that after seeing Sophie through preschool, I wanted to catch criminals and support victims.

“How fascinating,” Gina enthused. “So today’s a good start. Now I know why you wanted to help so much.”

Sort of
, I thought while I nodded.

A few residents who answered their doors were shocked to hear there was a missing teen on their street. Most had already spoken with the police. Everyone eagerly accepted a flyer and promised to look out for her. Because Beth was pregnant, people recalled seeing her walk to the mailbox or down the street, but that was about it.

The only neighbor who said she knew Beth personally was Molly, a redhead, stay-at-home mom on Beth’s row, the one I’d seen through the window with her infant. She greeted Gina with a hug and explained that Gina was like a surrogate grandma, since Molly’s relatives lived far away.

I smiled and let Gina do the talking.

Molly had tried to befriend Beth, offering advice, hand-me-downs, and anything else Beth needed. Beth had been polite but unresponsive, except for once, when she asked what childbirth was like. Molly had a baby boy and a four-year-old girl, and both deliveries had been difficult, so she tried not to worry Beth.

“Giving birth is the most incredible thing I’ve ever done,” she said she told Beth. “You’ll do great. I know it.”

“How did she react?” I asked.

“She didn’t say much. Just ‘Oh, that’s good’ or something. But she loved looking at Michael.” She indicated her pudgy baby, lying face-up on a play mat, batting black-and-white shapes that hung above him. “Anytime she’d see us, she’d come right up and ask how he was doing. She’s a good girl. I can’t believe she’s missing.”

“Did she seem like someone who would run away?”

“I don’t know,” Molly said thoughtfully. “Her parents seemed okay. They would say hello and stuff, but that’s it. You know how they are, Gina, right?”

“Very private,” Gina agreed.

“Yeah.” Molly wrinkled her nose. “Nothing seemed wrong, but it didn’t seem right either. Not happy. I didn’t think much about it. But you know, what if she didn’t run away? I mean that’s
really
scary.”

“She was with that one friend a lot,” Gina blurted, as though she’d just remembered this detail. She looked at Molly. “Remember? The one with long, dark hair?”

“You’re right. She came by a lot,” Molly said. “Hopefully the police have talked to her.”

I assumed the girl was April but wasn’t sure how to confirm it.

“Do you remember anything else about her? Like her name or what she drove?”

They looked at each other. “Not really,” Molly said. “She was about Beth’s size. Pretty.”

“Did the police talk to you?” I asked.

“Yeah. But I didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary. And neither did my husband. I wish we had.” Her shoulders slumped.

“Same with us,” Gina added.

“Well, if you think of anything else, the number for the police is right here.” I pointed to the flyer. “By the way, do you know where she was planning to deliver? Which hospital?”

“King County General,” she said. “Same as me.”

The ring of my phone interrupted the conversation. Just as my finger hit the “answer” button, my mind registered the name on caller ID. Dean.

“Hi, Dean,” I said, turning away from Gina and Molly to concentrate. “I’m...” I floundered for a creative explanation but came up empty. “Talking to some people right now. What’s going on?”

“I have a little information for you. When’s a good time to call back?”

“Well,” I glanced at Gina’s hands. She was still holding flyers. “I’m not sure. Can I call you back soon? Or is it something urgent?” If he had big news, I wanted it now.

“No. Not at all. Give me a ring when you’re done.”

“Will you be at this number? The one you called from? It’s on my caller ID.”

“Probably,” he said. “It’s my home number. But you can try my cell too.”

He started giving me the number, but I wasn’t ready.

“Oops. Hang on a second.” I asked Molly for a pen and jotted down the digits. “Okay. So I’ll call you in a bit. I have a few things to tell you, too.”

“Sounds good,” he said.

“And you can always email me if we miss each other,” I added.

“Got it.” I swear I heard a smile in his voice. Could he tell I was tongue-tied?

We said goodbye and I turned to Gina and Molly, who were staring at me.

“Everything okay?” Gina asked.

“Fine,” I said. “Just a friend. He’ll call back.”

“Your face is bright red.” Molly said.

No wonder it felt like I’d stuck it in an oven. “I am a little hot. Whew!” I fanned myself.

“Or maybe
he
is?” Gina said with a laugh.

Oh my. I didn’t want my crush to be obvious. I just hoped I had a better poker face with Dean.

We left Molly’s and headed for the opposite end of the street, where we had one more home to visit. Gina warned me that Don Palmer, a crotchety old man, would be eager to talk, but not necessarily about Beth. She was right. His curtains parted as we approached, and he opened the door before we knocked.

“What can I do you for?” he asked Gina from his porch. I was hopeful, and a touch apprehensive, because his home was near the neighborhood entrance, where he could see everyone come and go. For all I knew, he’d seen me on my last two visits.

Gina introduced me, passed him a flyer, and asked if he knew Beth.

“Course I do,” he chastised her. “The pregnant girl.”

I felt for Beth. Once a teen is pregnant, I wondered, does everyone call her “The Pregnant Girl”? What was next? “The Girl With the Baby”?

“That’s right,” Gina started, but Don wasn’t done.

“The whole neighborhood’s gone down the tubes,” he complained. He pointed a bony finger at me, the sparse white hairs on his bald head shaking as he spoke. “And the homeowners association doesn’t do a thing about it. Gina knows what I mean.” He looked at her for support.

“Don isn’t happy with a few things,” she understated.

I got straight to the point. “Has Beth caused any problems herself?”

“Not unless you count setting a poor example,” he said. “Which I do. What about all the young ones on the street, seeing a teen knocked up, parading around? The world’s going to pot.” He waved a hand in disgust.

“The world
is
a scary place,” Gina allowed. “And I know how much you care about the neighborhood. That’s why we’re here. Neighbors helping neighbors!” I wondered if appealing to his sense of community would work. “This girl ran away—or disappeared for some reason,” Gina continued. “And we’re handing out these flyers to help her parents, seeing if anyone saw or heard anything that could help find her. We want to keep the neighborhood safe, you know.”

Don set his jaw and considered this for a moment.

“She walked a lot in the evenings. About this time,” he offered. I held my breath and waited for more. I actually liked old Don for a moment. “By herself. To the five-and-dime.” He pointed at a convenience store across the street.

“Did she spend long there?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Never noticed her coming back.”

“You never saw her walk back?” I asked. I was genuinely surprised. Don seemed so observant that if he hadn’t seen it, maybe it hadn’t happened.

“Young lady, it’s not my job to keep track of everyone and everything.”

I stifled a smirk and smiled gratefully. “Of course,” I said. “You can only do so much.”

“Tell us one more time,” Gina said. “Did she go to the store? Or just in that direction?”

“All I’m saying is I saw her cross the street.” He pointed at the store again.

“When’s the last time you saw her?” Gina asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. A week ago? Maybe two?”

“Her parents live at the other end of the street,” Gina said. She gestured toward their house. “And they’re heartbroken.” Her words, not mine. “So if you see Beth again, you’ll call the police, won’t you?”

“I will. In fact I’ll probably call them anyway. Have you heard the neighbors across the street? Putting their dogs out at all hours? Disturbing the peace is what they’re doing...”

Don was still talking, but Gina was moving away. “Good evening, Don. Thanks for your help.”

I followed her back to her house, where she handed me a leftover flyer.

“I can’t believe you’re spending all this time helping a stranger,” she said. “But I sure appreciate it. Now enjoy your treadmill, okay?”

I wrote my email address on the edge of the flyer, ripped it off, and asked her to keep in touch if she heard anything.

“I sure will,” she said. “And I’ll tell the police what Don said, too, although I’m sure he already did. They probably got an earful.”

I pulled out of her driveway and took a deep breath. I had to call Dean, but first I’d stop at the convenience store for a few things, including information.

It’s a sad fact I don’t want to confess. When I enter a store, even a rundown, worn-out convenience store, I go into shopping mode. It’s very, very hard not to check prices and see if there’s something I “need.” This is true even when I’m in a rush and running late. Ridiculous.

So my goal in the mini mart across from Beth’s neighborhood was to ignore everything, including an enormous display of clearance summer toys and several shocking magazine headlines—everything except the graying (hair, teeth, and skin), tattooed guy at the counter who, I hoped, had seen Beth right where I stood.

I failed immediately. If he was the owner, I reasoned, he might be more talkative if I made a purchase.

From the aisles of junk food and tiny containers of laundry detergent, mouthwash, and other necessities, I chose a pack of industrial-strength, breath-freshening gum, peanut butter crackers, and a decaf iced tea. In my defense, I did not look at the toys or peruse a single magazine.

While the clerk rang everything up, I pulled Beth’s flyer from my pocket. He spoke before I said a word.

“You know her?” he asked.

“Do
I
know her? That’s what I was going to ask you.”

“Hell yeah,” he snorted. “I hired her to work evenings, but she skipped out on me.” He took the paper from my hand and squinted at it. “Are you shittin’ me?” He looked up. “She’s missing?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” I answered.

He handed back the flyer and tossed my items in a skimpy plastic bag. I worried the bottle would break against the counter.

“That’s crazy,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re not her ma, are you?”

“No. I’m sort of a family friend. I want to make sure she’s safe. You hired her?”

“Sure did. She was supposed to start last week. She comes in all the time, so one night I asked if she wanted a job. I figured with a baby on the way and everything, she probably needed the money.”

The idea of Beth working for this guy was unappealing to say the least. Even if his intentions were honorable, she’d either be alone in the store, or alone with a guy who, at the moment, was a little intimidating. He sported a fire-breathing dragon on his arm and a bunch of other faded art I couldn’t make out.

“When was she supposed to start working?”

“Monday before last. But she didn’t show. I was damn pissed. I’d already started training her.”

He looked me in the eye, and I stared right back with a smile. I wanted to keep him comfortable and talking.

“I understand. It’s hard to find reliable help. But Beth didn’t say anything about going away or anything?”

“Not a damn word. Now I need someone else to fill the position. I’m workin’ too much.”

“Did the police come by and ask any questions? I know they’ve been around the neighborhood.”

“Not unless I wasn’t here. There’s another guy works mornings. Maybe they talked to him or another part timer.”

“Did any other employees meet Beth?”

“Nope. Not enough time for that.”

“Okay. Could I get a card or something? A way to reach you if I have questions?”

“Sure. But I already told you what I know.” He pulled a bent, fuzzy card from his jacket pocket.
Joe Shaw, Owner
.

I paid cash and flipped over the receipt. “I really appreciate your help, Joe. Here’s my email address in case you think of anything. Do you email much?”

“All the time,” he said.

“Great.” I glanced around. “And do you have security cameras?”

“I got four. Why?”

“I’d love to see video of the night she disappeared. Even if she wasn’t here, she lives nearby, and there could be something helpful on it.” I shrugged. “There’s always hope.”

“Yep,” he agreed. “But lady, it’s a real pain to go through that video. I don’t think there’s any point.”

“If you show me how to do it, I’ll do all the work,” I offered as a long shot. “I like technology.”

He sighed and shook his head.

“Come on back. I got nothin’ else to do.” As he started toward a back room, I regretted asking for this “favor,” which I worried could lead to finding out what happened to Beth in a really scary way.

I clutched the cell phone in my pocket and wished I’d told Gina where I was going.
Don’t worry
, I told myself.
Your van is outside. Someone will know you’re here.
I relaxed for a nanosecond until I realized that if anything happened to me, Joe would have my car keys, which were in my hand, so he could not only ditch my car, but also get into anything I ever locked or unlocked (including my house, my mom’s condo, the neighborhood tennis court, etc., etc.). He’d also have my address from my license, pictures of my kids, everything else in my purse (a lot of junk, but still), and a treadmill. This was getting worse by the second.

I dropped the keys in my bag and heard them clink on the bottle of iced tea.
That’s my weapon of choice
, I decided.
If it comes to blows, I’ll swing the iced tea at his head.

I was so busy plotting self-defense that I didn’t notice Joe was sitting in front of a computer monitor with live, color video playing on the screen. I knew it was live because the date and time were listed in the corner. The screen was divided into four shots, one at the empty counter, where we’d just been, one at the store’s entrance, one at the alcohol display, and one near the gas pumps, where my minivan was parked with a treadmill sticking out the back.

“I just got this setup,” he said. “I can barely use it. So I sure can’t teach you.” He picked up an instructional booklet next to the keyboard and began to read.

My impatience and love of computers made me want to shove in and start pointing and clicking. (Maybe
he
was the one who needed self-defense.) I was sure I could figure out the program, but I didn’t want to offend or further irritate Joe. Plus, I was still on guard in case this was a ruse to get me into a vulnerable spot, and it seemed smarter to stand behind him than in front of his slim but taller-than-mine figure.

He looked back at the computer and clicked the mouse. “So what day and time should I check?” he asked.

“Let’s try around 10:30 Sunday night, the day before she was supposed to start working for you. Does it go back that far?”

“It better. The guy who sold it to me said it should.” He typed at a snail’s pace, using only his index fingers.

A slightly blurry video popped up of Joe wearing the same outfit: jeans and a short-sleeved jacket embroidered with the store logo, but the time read 10:30 p.m. on the day Beth disappeared. I got goose bumps, knowing that night, according to April, Beth was hearing April’s news, and she was about to come home.

Joe figured out how to fast forward, and I watched his image hop around the store until someone walked onscreen, a woman in a dark business suit. She paid for something that looked like a candy bar and left. At 11:15, a man with a baseball cap entered, retrieved something from the refrigerated area, and approached the counter. He held out money and froze in place.

“Wait a minute.” Joe had paused the video, creating a surprisingly clear picture. The man might not be identifiable, but he was Caucasian, pudgy, and certainly older than Beth. A baseball cap obscured most of his face.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing really.”

“If it was nothing, you wouldn’t have stopped,” I said. “What is it?”

He shrugged. “I ain’t saying it means anything, but that’s what Beth bought every time.” He pointed at the screen. “Chocolate milk and a scratch-off lottery ticket.”

“Really?” I asked. I leaned closer to the screen. “Can you play it again?”

I peered over Joe’s head at the man paying for a pint of chocolate milk and a ticket, and instead of feeling afraid, I was energized, electric.

“What do you remember about him?” I asked.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Not a damn thing. I’m sorry.”

I tried to imagine what a real investigator would ask. Age? Race? Height? Tattoos? Facial hair? The image of Beth’s tailbone rose tattoo jumped to mind. Joe let the video run again.

“I can tell you he’s about 5’ 8”,” he said. He hit pause again as the customer walked out the door, right past a measuring tape posted at the exit. Joe pointed to it. “See? We have that so we can tell how tall the bad guys are.”

“Great. What about his race and age and stuff?”

“White. And he ain’t no teenager.”

“I agree. What about the other cameras? Do you have those views?” He consulted the booklet again and clicked. The screen split into quarters again, but the parking lot was empty. The customer, wearing a white shirt, khakis and loafers, walked straight ahead on foot, not turning toward Beth’s neighborhood.

“Darn,” I said. “I was hoping he drove.”

“Could have,” Joe said. “If he parked far off. Some spaces are out of range.”

“Did you notice any identifying marks on this guy or Beth, like tattoos or anything?”

I watched him closely. If he appeared to have even a hint of knowledge about Beth’s tattoo, I would die. I remembered an interview I’d seen with an expert on body language. There were so many subtle—yet detectable—signs of hiding information. I couldn’t remember any of them except maybe avoiding eye contact. Joe was looking straight at me with a grin.

“Now you’re sounding official,” he said.

“I’m not official. Just a friend of the family. I swear.”

“I didn’t notice anything about her—and I would have. Look at me.” He held up saggy, tattooed arms.

I wanted to ask if he could rewind further into the past—maybe find Beth shopping, training or interacting with someone—when there was a tinkling sound from the entrance. Joe clicked a tab, and live images of the store returned. There was a woman at the counter.

“Back to business,” he said. His chair scraped the cement floor, and he turned off the monitor.

“What time do you close on Sundays?” I asked.

“Open every night ’til midnight.”